msmeechul

[giantkillerjack]

Hey anyone else remember the episode of Adventure Time called "Evergreen" where it's revealed that the original bearer of the crown to whom it was "forever linked" was actually a neglected child (and prior reincarnation of Finn) named Gunter trying to be like his wizard father?? Anyone??? Because I had fully forgotten until re-watching the episode last night and I'm losing my mind about the implications.

(This episode is also a devastating look at how a mistreated child unconsciously learns that he must treat himself and those he has power over as cruelly as he has been treated. Adventure Time has so much sadness and madness, y'all.)

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 10)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds 📍 Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 10 Good Deeds

Alastor takes you out as promised, but work/hobbies call him away. Not that you mind, you have your own hobbies to pick up.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, references to racial violence, reference to a word that’s now very much a slur, Hate for Aubrey, inaccurate portrayal of how easy it was to drink, oh yeah murder, mentions of a dismembered body, bloody shoes, physics hijinks with a corpse, these idiots in love, gators aaaaaye baby, domestic fluff?? Kind of?? Did I do it?!」

I think about Emmett Till often. Though his heinous murder came after the time this story is set, what happened to him wasn’t an isolated incident. So it is referenced here in a sense, because I can’t stop thinking about him when I think about racial violence in the south both what it looked like before and what it looks like now. I don’t say anything explicit and change the act, but it is still important to warn you. If you don’t know about the tragic death of Emmett, here’s a site with links to articles and essays. Be careful, it is awful and his deceased and battered face will come up on some links, as his mother wanted the world to see what they did to her baby. It’s an image I cannot forget and I rightfully shouldn’t. I know it’s off to have such a heavy topic before this love story but this case is the kind that would motivate such a killer as Alastor, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to remind us of Emmett’s short life even if it’s done in a silly fanfic surrounded by nonsense. So forgive me for perhaps an odd real life addition, I’d be disappointed in myself for not addressing it when Emmett has been on my mind every time I think about the era someone like Alastor could have lived in. An era that did exist and people did live and suffer in.  An era not far removed from us, my father was alive when this happened.

Part 10 - Good Deeds

minors if you interact I will interpret that as a deep hate for me as a person so MDNI 👌🏼

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.” 

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow. 

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them. 

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which. 

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you. 

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.”  You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it. 

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles. 

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak. 

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?” 

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth. 

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus. 

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both. 

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own. 

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe. 

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked. 

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?” 

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in. 

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once. 

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write. 

And some of you would be mourned more than others. 

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes. 

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share. 

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him. 

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you. 

How terribly did you love him? 

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing. 

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.” 

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.” 

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection. 

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers. 

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.” 

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of  the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast. 

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar. 

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky. 

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening. 

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.” 

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still. 

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.” 

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower. 

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

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Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways. 

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind. 

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat. 

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled  “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

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“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway,  that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin. 

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated. 

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded. 

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Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring. 

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart. 

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then. 

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.” 

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off. 

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her. 

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger. 

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling. 

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse. 

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!” 

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint. 

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he’d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had. 

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods. 

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig. 

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them. 

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours. 

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt. 

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body. 

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any.  The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river. 

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home. 

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go. 

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him. 

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off. 

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters. 

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap. 

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name. 

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him. 

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

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[bebetae]

imperfect [5] | lee donghyuck / haechan

Genre: eventual smut, angst

Pairing: dystopian au, rebel!haechan x f.reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Synopsis: At birth, everyone has their worst trait tattooed on their wrist. You might as well introduce yourself with the reason why someone shouldn’t like you. But, you were a “perfect”, as they called you, one of the few in the world. You didn’t have a tattoo. You weren’t flawed. You were worshipped, and Haechan hated that. His rebellion did, too.

Warnings: character death, guns, violence, blood, injury, bombs and explosions, lots and lots of angst sorrynotsorry

* this fic holds mature themes that may not be suitable for some readers including death, depictions of sex, and violence. If you are not comfortable with these terms, I ask that you do not read this series.

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It had only been half a day since you’d stayed in the castle, and you were already being doted on by the kingdom. You were given food, a grand bedroom, and greetings each time you walked past someone down the many hallways. You learned that the patrol unit that found you was out on a routine investigation of the island, issued by the King after hearing about the unknown group that shot your helicopter down from the sky.

With the constant flow of discussions and debriefing, you didn’t even get a chance to visit Jaemin. Finally, you were sent to the medical wing once one of the maids brought you new clothes to change into and noticed the burns on your arm. She hurriedly led the way and stopped to push the door open for you.

The woman in there was surprised when she saw who had walked in, but you gave her a polite nod and approached the boy who’s bandages she was replacing. Jaemin sat up immediately before making a pained face, huffing as the nurse urged him to lay back down. You smiled sadly at him, noticing the paleness of his skin and how much thinner he looked after only a couple days, but Jaemin only flashed you one of his signature, wide smiles.

“Looking pretty good, right?” he joked, patting his bare chest confidently. Despite his state you could admit he looked much better than he did when you had left him, and if you knew anything about these boys, you knew they would fight to the very end.

“I don’t know, Jaem. I think you need a haircut,” You ruffled his hair playfully, and once the nurse finished applying the fresh bandage, she gave you both a curt bow and walked to another door to the left.

“Thanks for staying alive,” you sighed, pulling a chair up from the side and setting it beside his bed.

“I’m the one that should be doing the thanking here,” Jaemin scoffed, his fingers toying mindlessly with the cord of his IV drip. “They told me they didn’t know who set the flare off, but I know it was you, Y/n,”

You nodded and watched him as he sighed, turning to look out the large window where the full moon shone brightly on the landscape below. The curtains were drawn back allowing you both to see the view from the elevated ground the castle sat on. The mountains surrounded you on both sides, a single strip of valley between that giving a view to the ocean, miles away. From where you were, the treeline below blocked any trace of the Wastelands near the shore, giving the illusion that this was paradise in a new world, one that didn’t have the scars of the past.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he murmured, still not looking at you.

“Thought about what?” You didn’t know exactly what Jaemin was talking about, but you had an idea, and you weren’t quite ready to address the giant elephant in the room.

“What I’m going to do now,” Jaemin hummed lightly, his smile having faded but not completely, his lips ghosting its shape. “I know I’m not who you want. I knew it back then, too. I was just selfish because I thought I was going to die,”

Tears were forming in your eyes. You cried for him just like you did that night, the same hollow feeling in your chest. You were thankful he continued, because you couldn’t force any words out even if you tried.

“I’m sorry you had to play a role in my dramatic demise. It hurt knowing your kiss was intended to give me life, and not love. I didn’t really deserve it, not after all the things I’ve done, but I’m someone who’s never really satisfied. All I’ve ever wanted is to be wanted. Whether it was by the capitol, or a lover, and maybe, just maybe, a perfect. Call me crazy, call me obsessive, but in my dying moments it meant everything to me. I’ve been thinking about it constantly now, and I realize I mistook my burning passion for love. All my life everything had been taken away from me, and I wanted it all to fall back into my lap even if I had to die for it. Even for you, Y/n,”

“I’m tired of people dying for me. It hurts so much, Jaem,” The brokenness of your voice made Jaemin look back at you, and with great effort he reached one weak hand up in offering, letting you hold it in heartbreaking comfort.

“You’re special, Y/n. I know you may hate it, but it’s the truth. We’re all expendable in a way that you’re not. Any of us will give our lives for this, if it means winning in the end,”

“And what if I’m willing to do the same? I can only take so much before I give,”

Jaemin’s eyes were dazzling with something close to hope. He saw what everyone else could see in you. Everyone besides yourself.

“We want you to live, so don’t feel so bad about it, okay?” His hand squeezed onto yours with all the strength he could muster then. “I want you to live. Haechan wants you to live. Is that enough?”

So he knew. Not that it was much of a secret, but the look in his eyes told you he’d seen right through your hearts, yours and Haechan’s. There was not much you could say. Silence filled the room and you knew this moment was one you would look back on. For strength, for hope, and for motivation to get through this hell. With burns and wounds, but alive. You just hoped the others would walk alongside you when the dust cleared and you tread across the ashes of the bridges you were bound to burn.

Someone burst through the door, startling you both. A soldier had entered.

“Apologies for barging in like this. Ma’am, the King is calling you to a meeting. Allow me to lead the way,” he urged, seemingly in a hurry.

“Right now?” you asked, wondering why he would call for a meeting so late.

“Yes. The rebels flew in ten minutes ago,” Both you and Jaemin had looks of surprise, and Jaemin let go of your hand slowly.

“You have to go. I’ll be okay here,” he spoke. You moved to stand up, but he latched onto your wrist quickly and brought your attention back to him for just a second.

“Thank you, Y/n.” he whispered. “I owe you my life, so be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” you spoke back. It was the last thing you said to him before you left, speed walking behind the soldier as he took urgent steps down the many twists and turns. Eventually, you both reached large double doors at the end of one of the halls, and the two men stationed at their posts moved to open the doors for you to enter.

“Thank you for coming. I apologize for the late notice,” King Adan spoke, and he was sitting in a large chair located at the head of the room. You looked around and saw all of the prospects standing before him, and Taeyong motioned for you to stand with him near the front. You nodded to the boys as you weaved your way through them, and Taeyong patted your shoulder once you joined him. It was as if he was saying, it’s nice to see you.

“I have already spoken to Mr. Lee, but here in the islands we would now like to extend our gratitude to all of you, for not only willingly joining us hand in hand toward the fight, but for standing on the front lines,” King Adan spoke, Taeyong nodding in confirmation.

“We’ve devised a plan that has been in the works for days now, but we feared we could not share it with all of you until now, as it has been brought to our attention that there may be an enemy in this room,” The King’s eyes were kind as the scanned the room, but the air was tense. “Because of this, I also apologize that our notice has been posted to you all so suddenly. That being said, the execution of our plan takes place tomorrow,”

Your heart thumped in your chest, and you had a feeling this wasn’t going to be such an easy task. You felt a presence step closely behind you, and you glanced back briefly and locked eyes with Haechan, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“Tomorrow, at dawn, you all will be heading off to Exodus,”

There were murmurs from behind you, but Taeyong held a hand up to enforce silence. Everyone was clearly surprised, and maybe even worried. Exodus had become a tightly knit city of intense security since the rebel’s attack last year, now a fortress that seemed impenetrable. You knew better than the rest, as you had been to the city yourself since it’s revamping. A chill ran through you when you thought of Sehun, the boy you’d shoved to the back of your mind all this time.

“I’ve always believed that transparency is the key to trust in leaders. So, I’m going to be completely honest,” The King rose from his seat, subtly adjusting the jacket of his suit as he prepared for what he was going to say next. “Y/n, we’re going to be using you, from now on,”

“What does that mean?” Haechan growled, stepping to the side so he could stand in front of you, and he looked between both the King and Taeyong in confusion. “What are you going to do with her?”

“Haechan, we’re not going to hurt her, but we will be putting her in quite a risky position,” Taeyong explained, turning to the boy. You would be lying if you said you weren’t scared, but you kept yourself from trembling, for everyone else’s sake. How could they be fighting for a girl if she wasn’t ready to do whatever it took?

“I’m pleased to say that the capitol still believes Y/n is being held captive under the rebels. With this, we have an advantage. We will be using her by convincing them that we’ll hurt her. It’s to my understanding that the perfect there, Oh Sehun, has reason to stop that from happening,”

No, this wasn’t what you’d ever wanted. You had hoped they wouldn’t drag him into this, but you shouldn’t have been surprised. You bit your tongue, stopping yourself from refusing. This was much bigger than you and him now. He was no longer your childhood friend, he was your enemy. And you were his.

The meeting continued without further interruptions, and you were all given very specific instructions to follow. Everyone had a role. And if this all went well, it would change everything.

------------------------------

“Everyone keep your heads intact. We all need to be at the top of our game,” Taeyong instructed, pacing back and forth across the center of the large plane you were all seated in. “Stay sharp, stay focused, and never lose your wits. Even if you’re faced with an impenetrable obstacle,” His eyes glanced to the side, at the boy seated with his head down. Jaehyun had been seemingly lifeless since last night, when it was first announced where the mission would take place, his mental trauma turning into determination.

“You know the rules, Jae. If we’re going into your home city, the prospect can’t go,” Taeyong sighed, trying to reason with the fuming boy.

“I’m going tomorrow, Taeyong,” Jaehyun concluded. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Our entire rebellion relies on the success of this task. We can’t afford any mistakes, and something tells me I can’t trust you to keep your head on straight out there,” Both boys were being extremely stubborn on this topic, but Jaehyun only shrugged nonchalantly, as if there was nothing possibly stopping him. Nothing Taeyong could’ve said would’ve changed his mind.

“There’s no way in hell I’m not going to be there,” he demanded, standing up from his chair. “I have to witness it. I have to watch as the city burns to the ground,”

And so all 22 prospects, not including Jaemin, rounded up at the crack of dawn to board one of the kingdom’s many cargo planes. The plan was to land on the beaches of the Southeastern shores of Exodus, King Adan sending your plane and three others for military personnel along with several technicians needed to execute the first phase. The phase that laid heavily on your shoulders.

“Head out, captain,” a voice spoke from the radio in the cockpit, and once everyone was seated and strapped in, the pilot began approaching the take-off strip. The interior of this aircraft was a bit different from the Nighthawk, made better for battle than leisurely travel. It was dark and you could see all the firearms and gadgets in crates near the exit, provided by the Islanders. It was truly amazing that you’d all found an ally in an entire city, giving you more resources and power than you could have ever imagined.

The aircraft was built for speed, the flight moving South estimated to take merely three hours. Until then, you went over the script in your head dozens and dozens of times. You felt someone nudge you from the side, and you looked over and only just realized Jeno was sitting to your left. You were so anxious and wrapped up in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice.

“It’ll be fine,” Jeno reassured you, patting your fisted hand in comfort. “Besides, I’ll be there,”

“Right, because that makes the situation better for both of us,” you said sarcastically, knowing that none of you on the plane were safe. Or guaranteed survival.

“It means you’ll have a big strong man by your side,” he boasted, and you rolled your eyes with a half-hearted chuckle. It was the last thing you did for the rest of the flight, the ride seeming to drag on, yet it ended all too quickly as you felt the aircraft begin its descent.

“Crew 1, with me,” Taeyong called down the strip, once the tires landed onto solid ground. You and five other figures stood, all of you heading down to the exit, the boys nodding at you as you passed. When you emerged from the hatch the air was hot, sun blazing, and the pilot had managed to land in a field of dirt and decaying plants that seemed far away from much of anything else. Chenle was walking in front of you, and he headed toward the back of the filming crew as they emerged from their own plane, beginning to set up. He opened his laptop, getting right to work.

There were a total of three cameras, each pointed toward the same spot in the center, the place you would be. The rest of you followed Taeyong toward a man in a hat, a lady also approaching you with a bag in her hands. Taeyong and the man conversed, likely discussing the exact image they wanted to portray. You were led to your position, and the lady greeted you saying she was a makeup artist. She brought a few things out of her bag and brought them up to your face, her brush painting red across your skin to simulate wounds. She haphazardly brushed some of the dirt from the ground on your face, and with a thumbs up, she finished.

The four prospects brought to stand orderly behind you all wore excessive coverings on their faces and hair, concealing their identity. Jeno shot you a sly wink from the end of the formation, and you took a deep breath as you turned to face the cameras. You had to kneel, but they didn’t tie your hands together. That was for later.

“Cameras, rolling,” the man from earlier announced, turning to Chenle who was still typing away at his keyboard.

“I’m ready. The video will be projected live in 3, 2--” Chenle gestured at the director, and you took it as your queue to drop your head low, hiding your pathetic face from view. Taeyong came from behind the center camera and began walking into frame towards you, his red hair lazily tucked into a black baseball cap, a bandana tied around his face, his piercing eyes and blazing scar on display.

“To my beloved nation of SM,” Taeyong began, his steps leisured as he stopped just in front of your right shoulder, swiveling around to face the camera. “I’m sure you’ve all been wondering where your precious little perfect has been all this time,”

Both of you committing to your characters, Taeyong reached down and tugged your head up, and you faked a grimace as your face was finally on screen. Across the world, in every city, your grim face was displayed on every home television, every electronic billboard, just so everyone could watch. This was your official acting debut.

“Isn’t this a sight? The nation’s sweetheart held captive by the rebels? You’re probably wondering how we’ve gotten here, Y/n and I. I sincerely apologize for having to be the one to break the news, but here I am, telling you all that your leaders are incompetent,” Your eyes flickered to Taeyong for only a moment, and despite his face covering you could see in his eyes just how much he was enjoying this.

“We are just like you, the rebels. Born in the cities and destined for lifelong competition, not only with each other, but within ourselves. We battle with what’s brought upon us from childhood, fighting what haunts us everyday,” Taeyong’s piercing, intimidating stare bore into the camera lens, his eyes burning with anger and excitement. He held up his left wrist, baring it to the world, and the four prospects behind followed suit. You weren’t sure if one of the cameras were zooming in, but each tattooed word was put on display.

“You don’t have to be afraid of us. We’re not here to rain terror on the world. But if you are a member of the capitol, if you are in a position of undeserving power, then I’m here to tell you that there will no longer be peace on your shores. Everything you’ve built for the past century will burn to ash. It will belong to the Wasteland’s of our history, and the first step to all of that, the beginning of the end, has come.”

Taeyong slowly pulled his pistol out of his belt, his sturdy, sure hand directing it to your temple. You flinched away from the metal barrel, your eyes pleading as they looked into the camera.

“No, please!” you cried. You took your unbounded hands and gripped the gun, your hands shaking. It was quite a shot, a perfect kneeling at the mercy of the rebellion’s leader, a gun to her head.

“To the world,” Taeyong spoke, his finger smoothly sliding the bullet into place. “We are NCT,”

And then a button was pressed, and the video cut short. The director waved his hand in signal, and the six of you on screen relaxed. Taeyong reached a hand out to help you up, clapping you on the back in approval, but none of you had much time to waste.

“They’ve scouted our location,” Chenle called, clicking a few last things on his screen before shutting his computer closed. “You have twenty minutes,”

Taeyong nodded, the film crew already disassembling the setup, They were quick and practised, and you bowed to them politely as you passed to get back to the aircraft. Yours was the largest, housing all the weaponry and prospects, while the other three planes were filled with the crew and military accompaniment. Once the six of you stepped back into the cabin, the hatch closed and you were off.

Your plane headed up North, first dodging the direct airpath so as to not get caught by incoming attackers, while the other three headed back West. They were decoys, luring Exodus’ army away from the city. A perfect diversion for the lot of you to infiltrate.

“Everyone remember why we’re here,” Taeyong called down the line of seats, slipping the strap of his rifle over his head as the destination drew frighteningly close. You peered out the window behind your head, your eyes widening at the sight. Exodus was nothing like you’d remembered it, a city of concrete and weaponry with a single fortress on the East wing. Gardens and greenery were uprooted and replaced by tarmacs and military bases, homes reduced to high rises to make room for more training fields. You wondered if Sehun was in there. There was no way he wasn’t. Taeyong continued speaking before you could observe the land any further.

To the informants in Exodus, your plane seemed like another routine fly-in from the Key Islands, a city they know of as trustworthy, but they had no idea what was coming.

“We’re here to take another city. The hub of the capitol's military strength. It won’t be easy, and we’ve done all we could, so now we have to grit our teeth and fight. The weight of the world is on our shoulders,” Taeyong paused as the plane began to descend, everyone taking it as a cue to begin strapping on their gear. Noticing his silence you all looked up at him, and the boy’s eyes observed each face before him, the faces of his friends. He didn’t want to let his guard down, or influence you all when you held him so highly, but he needed this. Taeyong needed to voice it now, or he might not ever be able to.

“I’m honored to be able to fight alongside you all. I hope we can all cross paths in the end, victorious,”

And with that, the plane’s tires met the ground, and seatbelts were being torn off. You looked across the way to a pair of familiar eyes, and Haechan smiled at you as the hatch slowly began to open, clearly trying to comfort you. You were forced to stay in the back, the last to exit the plane, while Haechan stood in the front alongside Lucas and Taeyong. Lucas heaved a large round sphere from the crate beside him, and without hesitation, tore the pin from its safety cart and launched it out of the aircraft. Shouts could be heard from the other side before an explosion sounded, puffs of black smoke filling the air.

The three men at the front led the group as everyone began filing out. Only the sound of steps could be heard as everyone snuck stealthily into the blinding fog. Equipped with protective eye gear, the prospects had much less difficulty navigating in their respective groups. You heard gunshots from both sides, and you weren’t sure where they were coming from or who they were directed at, but you kept going. There was no turning back for you.

You were assigned to Jeno and Jaehyun, the trio of you making your way into the already infiltrated front gate. There were separate military convoys from the kingdom that timed their entrance with your aircraft, serving as extra brute force. One of the soldiers stood at the door and propelled his arm in circles, ushering the three of you inside. Even with a mask to cover your face, everyone involved knew it was you, a large red stripe on the sleeve of your uniform.

A large explosion came from the squat building to the right, the entire structure crumbling in flames. You could faintly make out the spray painted words on the front wall before it fell apart; Artillery.

“This way,” Jaehyun called, leading the way down the now empty hallways. Mark and Doyoung had been in charge of leading the patrol guards away from your route, and so far, you hadn’t encountered any unwanted company. Jaehyun easily navigated the building, accustomed to the layout from living there most of his life. If you hadn’t looked well enough, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight crease in his brow and the tense muscles in his back. Jaehyun was uncomfortable here, and it showed.

“Right here,” he called, opening a single wooden door. Inside was a room full of control panels and scientific equipment, and you cringed at the state of it, ignoring the corpses on the ground with fresh bullets in their heads. This is war.

“Find what you’re looking for, and then we’re leaving,” Jeno called, stationing himself by the entrance as you ran around looking for what Chenle had told you to look for last night. A chip.

“I don’t see anything!” you called hastily, swiping through one of the tablets frantically. Jaehyun was helping you look, rustling through the endless desks and drawers. Suddenly, sirens began blaring inside the building, a fire alarm sounding above. It was the signal from Taeyong. Your time was running out. You looked up at the spiraling red light in the corner, when your eyes landed on the door right below it. It was tucked in the corner and you might’ve otherwise dismissed it, but something told you that what you were looking for was behind it. You sprinted to it and tore it open.

Gunshots rang, and you tried to duck away, but it was too late. The bullet lodged itself into your left shoulder. For a second your body was completely numb to the pain, the adrenaline and shock in your body serving to erase it. Jaehyun came up and shot them, a man in a lab coat already nursing a hole in his stomach and a discarded gun in his hand. It wasn’t until you watched his body go limp did the pain finally set in and you bit your lip so hard it broke skin, piercing and blinding and it felt like your entire body was centralized on that single wound.

“Fuck,” Jeno cursed and ran over to help you stand, Jaehyun entering the room first. It was small and starkly clean, only two computers stationed on either side, both facing a white marble display case in the center. Robotic arms were surrounding it, frozen mid-construction, a singular tiny electronic chip placed in the center. Jaehyun snatched it off the stand and handed it to you, and you grabbed it with your mobile arm and placed it into the designated pocket on your belt. You grit your teeth and followed the boys as you ran out of the lab and back into the hallway, baring through the pain.

Suddenly, bullets whizzed from behind you, you shrieked, and then the three of you scrambled to get away from incoming attackers. Jaehyun pulled you around a corner while Jeno pushed you in front of him, and the footsteps behind you died as he stuck around the wall and turned to shoot. You heard one scream, two, but then a round of bullets hit the wall above Jeno’s head and he cursed, hot on your trail once again.

“Do you have any ideas?” you asked Jaehyun, the man ripping off his goggles and glancing back every so often. Strangely, the soldiers behind you had stopped shooting, and you wondered if they had run out of bullets. But why couldn’t you hear footsteps? You turned and no one was behind you anymore. What was happening?

“Follow me,” Jaehyun ordered, sprinting just a bit quicker as you and Jeno fought to keep up. Your chest was heaving and it was a while before you made one last turn into a hall with a dead end, and Jaehyun rushed toward the lone door at the end, punching a code into the side as Jeno stood guard at the side, firing down the hallway.

“This is a safe room, it’s an elevator that goes to the rooftop. I’ll dispatch the others to meet us there,” he explained, the keypad glowing green. The metal sheet slid up automatically and revealed a glass box of some sorts. You were the first to enter, still clutching your bleeding wound in attempts to slow the flow of red. Behind you, a ruckus occurred.

“What are you doing?” a voice shouted, and then a thud sounded and you whipped around to see Jaehyun doubled over in pain, Jeno standing there, alone.

“What’s going on?” you shouted, but Jeno was lightning quick as he leaned into the box you were in and pointed his gun at the door mechanism on the inside, shooting it into a ball of sparks. You and Jaehyun could do nothing as he stepped back out in time before the door shut heavily. You tore off your helmet with wide eyes. In panic, you began pounding on the glass, confused.

“Jeno,” Jaehyun murmured, looking at his friend in disbelief. The look in his eyes made everything much clearer in your mind.

It was him. Jeno was the mole.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno spoke to you, turning to look at you for a second before something began whirring up in power.

“No!” you cried as the elevator jolted and you began rising up and away from the two boys, and you turned away at the last second when in between the sliver of wall where you could still barely see them, Jeno wound up and landed a punch into Jaehyun’s jaw.

You were helpless as the elevator climbed up, higher and higher until light peeked through the glass and you were facing the rooftop.

“Y/n,” a voice called. You turned back forward, and you were met with a chilling sight.

Your eyes locked and you nearly forgot why you were here. Sehun always had that kind of effect on you.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he admitted, his voice sad and genuine. But then his gaze darkened, and he looked down. “I just wish it weren’t under these circumstances,”

He was by himself, leaving the two of you alone under the cloudy sky. It was dark and gloomy, a reflection of the death and despair running rampant through the city. You were sure the others had made their way back to the aircraft by now, everyone who had made it out alive, but there were surely three of you missing from the bunch. For a second, you hoped they would stay behind, maybe come looking for you, but you dismissed it as quickly as the thought had come. You wanted them to leave, and not worry too much. Don’t look back.

“You bought him out, didn’t you? Lee Jeno,” you spoke, your words surely muffled behind the glass and beneath the cloak of tears stuck in your throat. Sehun sighed, looking sideward at the hazy skyline.

“I did what I had to do. You know that better than anyone,” he spat, his gaze truly hardening now.

“How did you find out?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you. In your past life, you would’ve felt guilty lying to him, but you were different now. You’d lie to him for the rest of your life, and willingly.

“I didn’t,” Sehun conceded. “I just guessed. This was all one big assumption, Y/n,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled. It surprised you.

“You know, despite the fact you’re on their side, I still know you better than any of those prospects do. I’ve known you your entire life, from the day you were tested and they told me I’d be getting a new friend. They told me to be nice to you, to treat you well. I was only 5 years old then,”

Your heart was dropping with each word. Somehow, this felt like a speech of goodbyes, of departure, and not one where two friends might be catching up with each other. Sehun wasn’t making up for lost time.

“And I did just that, didn’t I? I treated you well, Y/n. I can almost say you were everything to me,” his eyes were sad now as they looked at you. “You know when you were first taken? The night of the 99th anniversary? I didn’t know what to do with myself. You were ripped from my grasp and I couldn’t find you again. I wanted to tear the world apart, and I did. I spent every waking moment looking for you, but now I understand why I was always empty handed. You didn’t want to be found,”

He was breaching into your heart just like he always did. You could almost see your youthful friend behind those eyes, under all the layers he’d built up over the years.

“I’m sorry, Sehun. I want you to know it was much bigger than you and I,” you said, tears threatening to spill. His eyes glanced down to them, and you could see the conflict in his expression, almost desperate. Neither of you spoke for a moment, waiting for the other to. He gave in first. Just like he always did.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. I can save you, if you just come back to me,”

You hated that you considered it, even if it was for just a moment. Both of your hearts broke when you shook your head.

That was the moment the line between the two of you was cut. No matter how you felt about each other, despite how badly he loved you, it was over now. The tragic end to you and Sehun, the nation’s couple. And before anything else could be said, the door to the rooftop banged open and an angel appeared.

“We’re on the rooftop. I’ll get her out, I promise,”

“Jaehyun,” Sehun acknowledged, yet he didn’t even turn. He just knew.

“Sehun,” Jaehyun replied, tossing his radio away and balling his fists in preparation. His face was bloody and you wondered where Jeno had gone. Jaehyun didn’t even have a gun.

In a matter of seconds, you witnessed a pure showcase of brotherly competition, the both of them turning to each other in a moment of glaring silence. And then Jaehyun ran forward, and Sehun had the audacity to smile.

“Hello brother,” Sehun called, taunting him. Jaehyun growled.

“You’re not my brother,” he spat, reaching down trying to snatch the gun from Sehun’s belt. The older man dodged his reach, elbowing him in the jaw.

“Have you forgotten?” he asked, sweeping a kick under Jaehyun’s feet, bringing him tumbling to the ground. You were pounding on the glass, but they both ignored you. “I think you have, Jae. I was the one who kissed up to the instructors for you, I was the one who took you out training so you could improve. You would be nothing without me,”

Both of them were good fighters. It was between the innately talented Sehun, and Jaehyun, who worked himself to the bone.

“How fucking generous of you,”

It was like years of pent up tension was being released in one battle, the boys putting their souls into fighting one another. This wasn’t a matter of survival, and you weren’t even sure how to label it, but this was something deep rooted. Something personal.

“I’d like to think so. You hate me for reasons out of my control. It was never my fault, but you didn’t have anyone else to blame, so you blamed me instead,”

Jaehyun was panting, and through his pain and exhaustion, he lunged one last time. That time, his hand secured around the handle of Sehun’s pistol, but he was too late. His half-brother grabbed him by the collar, slamming him into the wall behind him. The gun clattered to the floor, tossed 10 feet away from either of them. Jaehyun was knocked out, but he gave Sehun no time to grab his weapon before shots rang behind him.

You stood back from the glass, firing your own gun round after round into the panel, and Sehun watched as the glass broke more and more upon each bullet. When the cracks had dug deep and wide enough, you sprinted forward and rammed your good shoulder forward as it shattered from the force. Landing on the cement, you rushed to snap open the magazine of your gun.

You had one bullet left.

Your shoulder was screaming in pain and you weren’t sure how, but you willed yourself to charge at Sehun. He dodged your incoming punch but you spun and whirled a kick that grazed his torso. Sehun had a look of panic on his face, and for a second he didn’t even move. He didn’t want to hurt you.

And then it happened. He caught your fist in his clenched hand, and his eyes began to glow.

He had activated. While you were threatening his life by fighting, he had prevented your activation just by hesitating to hit you. You were done for. It was raining now, the clouds above dark due to an impending storm. His eyes were all you could see behind the sheet of water.

You tried to rip your arm from his grasp but his grip was iron and he tossed you to the floor, your body crashing onto the concrete and a gurgling cry came out of you as you nearly fainted from the pain in your shoulder. You heard a clatter beside you but you couldn’t possibly wrap your head around it, all your effort being put into just standing up. When you did, you wished you hadn’t. The noise was your gun slipping from your belt, and now you were staring down the barrel being pointed at you at the hands of Sehun.

“You don’t have to do this,” you begged, looking at the man desperately. “You can still join us,”

You were trembling and for a second the light in his eyes flickered, his internal conflict so strong it broke through for just a moment.

“No I can’t! You think you’re the only one to give it a fighting shot? You’ll never win. There’s no happy ending for people like us,”

“But we can try,” you insisted. Slowly, his eyes began to dim, until they were the same brown ones you were so familiar with. It really just made it worse for the both of you. Now Sehun had to press the trigger on his own volition, in his own sufferable state of mind. This wasn’t a soldier pointing a gun at you anymore, this was your best friend.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” he breathed out, his eyes sad as he shook his head. “I really did love you,”

The wind was howling around you, but your hair was too drenched to fly in it. The whirring of a hovercraft sounded somewhere in the distance. You wondered if the prospects could see you now, standing at the mercy of Sehun, staring down the barrel to the bullet you couldn’t stop. Your heart longed for Haechan, and you prayed he was living to sit in that aircraft.

The boy, alive and well, was yelling at the window, pounding against the glass as Taeyong was trying to pull him back. There was nothing they could do. The boys were quiet, most of them turning away, some with their heads in their hands. Nothing else could be heard except the chilling screams coming from Haechan’s chest. They were too far now to even hope to reach you. Sehun knew the time had come.

“Things should’ve been different,” he croaked, the rainwater mixing with the tears welling in his eyes and his throat was dry as he spoke. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,”

You couldn’t say anything to him, standing there with your hand pressed against the bleeding wound of your arm. The rain was starting to pour down relentlessly now, and you could barely see him through the thick rain, but you knew his hand was shaking. Your eyes closed. You could hear the click as he locked the final bullet into place.

Bang.

You flinched, but there was no impact. Your eyes opened, and your breathing stopped as Sehun looked down at the blood pouring out of his heart.

“Y/n,” he sputtered. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Behind him, Jaehyun was kneeling on the ground, his brother’s gun in his hand. He released and it thudded heavily against the concrete, but he wasn’t crying like he should have been. His eyes were empty, and he looked at you instead of his brother. The brother he murdered.

The entire world stopped. It was a tragic ending to a chapter of your unfinished novel. The chapter that was designated to Oh Sehun. You were given another chance. Your story wasn’t over, and both you and Jaehyun knew the cost.

You were the one crying instead. It wasn’t Sehun’s fault, he shouldn’t have been the one laying there. He was only a pawn of the capitol, a boy brainwashed by those who should have been shot instead. But in the end, he took the bullet. The handsome, charming boy you once imagined a life with was gone. His eyes would never glow again.

“We have to win now, Y/n,” Jaehyun pleaded. “Everything we’ve done, all the blood on our hands, it has to be worth it.”

You collapsed to the ground, brushing the hair out of the face of your childhood friend. Softly, you lowered the lids of his eyes with your cold, trembling fingertips, closing your own shut to give Jaehyun privacy in his despair as he looked up to the sky, letting the rain cry for him.

~

Everything after that happened so quickly you barely remembered it. You were being pulled away from Sehun’s body and ushered into the aircraft, and you handed someone, anyone the chip from your pocket before collapsing into a seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You lost a piece of yourself that day. And as you began your journey back to the islands, you cursed anything and everything that brought death to life, because this was one that you would never be able to move on from. You’d carry the guilt of Sehun’s death forever, unlike the others who’d died for you, because love and war are not the same. You know that now.

a/n: yeah so this one hurt a lot.... sorry? let me know what you think though! this chapter was the hardest to write so far, so feedback would be greatly appreciated.

taglist:

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permanent taglist: @fanficbitchwhowriteskpop @negincho @astroodledream

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[lexosaurus]

Going Angst Week 2021: Family/Friends

Read: [1: Birth] [2: Instinct]

Continuation of the No One Knows AU plotline.

---

Everything had changed since the accident. The biological differences were obvious. He glowed, his hair inverted, his eyes turned green, he had ectoplasm running through his veins, he was cold, he didn’t need to breathe as much in human form—the list went on. 

But the psychological ones were easily more terrifying.

And nothing scared him more than the way his friends and family were treating him as of late.

He knew that deep down he would never be able to match the way he acted when he was fully human. But that didn’t mean that his heart didn’t skip a beat every time someone shot him a worried glance, every time someone asked if he was alright, every time he caught himself doing something wrong. 

He wasn’t human anymore. He wasn’t even sure what he was now, and Vlad seemed to have too much fun emotionally torturing him to give him a straight answer.

“You up for a movie tonight?” Tucker asked, leaning across Danny’s desk. 

“Hell yeah,” Sam said. “My house?”

“Oh, you know me too well. What do you think, dude?”

Danny realized that both teens were looking to him for an answer.

He wanted to stay home. Hanging out with either of them meant there was a chance they would see him slip up, and he couldn’t have that.

“Sure.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound too pained.

“Perfect!” Tucker clasped a hand down on his shoulder.

Danny tried not to duck away.

“So we’ll go to Sam’s after dinner. I can bring snacks. Anything you want in particular?”

The thought of eating anything was nauseating. “No. I’m fine.”

“Alright, I’ll just bring the usual then.”

But Danny should have known that something was up. After all, it had been a while since they’d done a movie night. And lately, Sam and Tucker had been acting...oddly. 

Well, that was nothing new. Danny thought that as time went on, they’d forgive him for being a bit jumpier than usual and everything would go back to normal. 

Except, of course, it didn’t.

The past few weeks had been especially hard. It seemed like they constantly had something to say, but never did. The worried glances had only increased, and the silent conversations seemed to only grow.

Danny had been trying his best to act normal, act human, but it seemed like the more he tried, the worse they’d get.

So of course, in between the first movie and second, the elephant in the room finally stomped all over Danny’s metaphorical floor.

“Hey, Danny.” Sam glanced over at Tucker. A moment passed between the two before Sam nodded and turned back to Danny. “We really need to talk to you.”

Dread pooled in his stomach. He knew exactly where this was going. “I can start the next movie if you want?”

“No, Danny. Listen, can you just sit down for a second?”

His ghostly instincts were begging him to run, but his human side forced him to sit down.

��Listen, we know that...well, Jazz told us about the lab accident.”

Danny could have sworn his heart stopped beating.

“She said it was pretty serious? And she was surprised that you hadn’t told us?” Sam fidgeted with her black rings. “We didn’t say anything to you because we wanted you to be the ones to confide in us.”

“That and we didn’t want you to get upset that we were talking to Jazz about you,” Tucker interjected.

“Right, and Jazz only told us because she was worried. And honestly? We’re really worried too.”

Any oxygen left in Danny’s body was sucked out of his throat like a vacuum.

They’d found out. They knew the truth, they knew he was a freak of nature half ghost and they were going to out him, they were going to tell his parents, they’d tell the school counselor, and Danny would have no one and he’d have to run away to become Vlad’s apprentice and he’d change, he’d be corrupted, he wouldn’t make it out alive.

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t say anything?” Sam asked, her violent eyes brimming with concern.

“I…” Danny’s mouth felt like it was lined with cotton. He tried to swallow, but it was like swallowing sand. “I didn’t want you to worry is all.”

“Yeah, and we get that,” Tucker said carefully. “But, I mean, we’re your best friends. And dude, you’ve been...well…”

At Tucker’s helpless glance, Sam took over. “You just have been acting really off lately.”

“Sorry.”

“No!” Sam nearly leapt out of her seat. “Danny, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I mean, hell, if I nearly died in a lab accident I’d be acting off too. It just, you know, it explains a lot. It must have been really terrifying.”

Danny didn’t trust himself to say anything. 

How much of his personality had shifted because of Phantom, and how much had shifted because of the accident? Were his ghostly instincts really creeping up that much into his human form? 

Would he ever be the same again?

Did they know?

“Is there anything you wanna talk about?”

“We’re all ears, dude.”

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t say a word. Not without outing himself as Phantom, and that was bound to backfire on him in the worst way possible.

Oh god, he was acting too suspicious. He needed to save this.

“I’m good.”

There was a beat of silence.

Sam leaned forward. “Danny...I don’t mean to sound like Jazz, but bottling stuff up isn’t—”

“I’m fine!” Danny snapped. “I didn’t say anything and I’m sorry, but you know it’s not every day like you’re nearly electrocuted to death in your parents’ ghost portal.”

“Is that what happened?” Sam’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my god, Danny.”

“Holy shit,” Tucker agreed.

Danny threw his arms out. “Ta da! I survived, I’m fine. Nothing to talk about.”

“Danny, I—”

“No.” His tone was final. “Drop it, seriously.”

Another beat of silence passed, and then Sam finally sighed. “Fine, but I’m telling you as your friend that if you ever need anything, we’re here for you.”

He wished he could have trusted those words. But he knew they were nothing more than a farce.

It would have been cruel to hold onto false hope.

Still, he tried to smile. “Thanks.”

Even though he knew he hadn’t fooled anyone.

---

Maddie’s POV

Maddie watched her son from across the kitchen table, just as she’d done every night for the past several weeks. Quietly, as inconspicuous as possible, always watching.

Ever since the lab accident, he’d been….different. Jack hadn’t noticed, but to Maddie the changes were far too obvious. The dropped spoons, the flash of green behind his eyes, his limbs losing visibility without him even noticing, their ecto-inventions that always seemed to go off around him.

One day, she even saw him walk through his bedroom door.

At first, she thought it was just a simple case of possession. But there were telltale signs of possession, one’s that Jack, for all his enthusiasm, always failed to take into account.

Sure, Danny’s eyes flashed green every so often, but most of the time they were blue. Human blue.

And then there was his personality. In cases of possession, the ghost would be completely controlling the body. But in Danny’s case, he was still very obviously Danny. Still the sweet boy she always knew him to be, but he was just...different. Jumpier. Scared.

Like he knew he was living a lie.

And then, just a few weeks after Danny’s run in with the portal, a new ghost appeared. 

Of course, Maddie didn’t make the connection at first. The ghost was obviously new, and didn’t seem to have a grasp on its powers. Its fighting was laughable, its ectoblasts nearly always missed, and it seemed to constantly forget about its core powers.

Not to mention, its hair was white. Danny had black hair.

But then the ghost gave itself a name: Danny Phantom. And that was when Maddie decided to take a second look at it.

It was Danny’s height and build, its voice sounded similar to Danny’s, it seemed to know all of Danny’s classmates, it used a Fenton thermos, it wore a hazmat suit that looked eerily similar to the ones in their basement closet—not to mention that Danny’s hazmat suit had gone missing recently.

On its own, one small correlation didn’t mean anything. But when the little similarities kept piling up, then Maddie had to draw some sort of conclusion.

Just what was the conclusion though?

The Danny across the table had gone to school like any other human child, he’d eaten his meals like anyone else, he’d hung out with his human friends, he talked with his human family. On paper, he seemed normal.

Human.

But his grades were in a downwards spiral, Jazz had expressed concern about him and his friends, he’d been breaking curfew, and there were times when she’d peak into his room at night to find him gone.

He could have been just experiencing trauma from the accident. Maybe he was rebelling. There were so many explanations for his behavior that didn’t involve ghosts.

But then he’d do something ghostly or a weapon would beep around him or Phantom would fly nearby, and her red flags would be raised once again.

Maddie learned long ago to trust her red flags.

The Danny across the table took a bite of his salad, and his face immediately scrunched up.

Maddie felt sick.

He swallowed, and Maddie could see his eyes watering. “Is there something wrong with the lettuce, Mom?” 

She feigned innocence. “Hmm?”

“I don’t know,” he prodded a carrot on his plate. “Something just seems off.”

“Tastes fine to me,” Maddie said. “I just bought this lettuce today. Jazz, is yours okay?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Maddie suppressed a grin. She could always count on her “facts and research only” daughter.

“It could be the dressing? I used a new brand tonight. It’s healthier than the other stuff.” 

That, or it was the small amount of blood blossoms she’d blended into the vinaigrette. 

“Maybe.”

But it couldn’t end here. She needed to know. She was a scientist, she had to see the experiment through.

“Eat the rest of your salad, honey. I’ll buy the other brand tomorrow, okay?”

Danny carefully put another forkful of salad into his mouth. He gave a small wince, but swallowed. 

“Good boy,” she said. “I have fudge in the fridge for when you’re done.”

“Oh, fudge?” Jack exclaimed. He shoveled the rest of his salad into his mouth. With a mouth full of food, he said, “Thanks, Mads! You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome sweetie!”

Jazz made a face. “Gross, Dad.”

Jack laughed and bantered back at his daughter, but Maddie had already tuned out of the conversation. Her only focus was on Danny, whose face was now just too flushed to be healthy. Still, he forced himself to eat.

There was just no question. No doubt about it.

No matter how Maddie looked at it, this was proof enough.

Danny Fenton wasn’t human. The portal hadn’t nearly killed him, it probably did kill him. And now here he was, pretending to still be a part of the family while using Phantom to distract them from the fact that he was a ghost.

It was a truly elaborate ploy. And if Maddie was anyone else, his plans probably would have worked.

But she was Maddie Fenton. She had a PhD in ectobiology. She’d been researching ghosts for twenty years.

Dinner ended, and the children went upstairs to do homework. Although, if Maddie looked, she was sure Danny wouldn’t actually be in his room. And if she went outside, like she’d done in nights past, there was no doubt she’d see Phantom soaring through the skies.

But she knew. She knew. She knew.

She slipped a white business card out of her jacket pocket, grabbed her cell off the counter, went into her bedroom, and dialed the number. 

It rang once, then twice, then stopped. A deep voice sounded from the other line. “Maddie Fenton? I figured I’d be hearing back from you. Have you made your decision?” 

“Yes.” Her voice was mechanical, as if she’d only called about a malfunctioning weapon. “I have. I agree to the partnership.”

“Excellent. And the terms are to your liking?”

“Yes.”

“Understood. We’ll be in touch tomorrow to sign the official contract. Will your husband be involved in this, or are you working alone?”

Maddie closed her eyes. “The contract will be for my name only.”

“All right, then. We’ll talk tomorrow. You won’t regret this.” 

“I know.”

---

<previous / next>

[painless-innit-colourful]

'Blind Trust'

AU where Tommy loses his memory temporarily on being resurrected, and when he leaves the prison, he has no idea who he is or who he can trust. Tubbo's nowhere to be found (not that he even knows him). Jack wants him dead. Ranboo's the only one he feels safe with. TW for vague references to the abuse of the exile/prison arc, and a bit of blood.

Something happened to him, he’s pretty sure.

He remembers pain. He remembers fear. He remembers a feeling beyond both of those things, a ripping sensation, a great agony, a fearsome sense of loss. He seems to remember a feeling like being ripped apart, and then reassembled, only like it happened a hundred times, fracturing him to pieces, nothing but apathy for any parts of him lost along the way. He thinks he knows what it’s like to be caught in a seemingly endless cycle of neither existing or not. The ache in his bones, the pounding in his skull, the itchy tremor beneath his skin - he imagines this is what death feels like. He imagines that he’s known death, tasted it, danced in its cold hold, and somehow, evaded it, somehow let go.

But that would be crazy.

Only there’s one more major issue.

Whatever happened, he can’t remember.

Panic rises; he pushes against it, disliking the familiar sensation of drowning. He takes stock of what he does know. The green man he was trapped with, he’s not nice. The green man that let him out… He’s not nice either. Without even knowing why, he’d stood, shaking violently next to his rescuer, and whispered “You left me. You left me in there with him.” He can’t even remember if that’s true.

There are items in his pockets, things in the tatty backpack on his back. He has food. He has blocks. There are no books, no labels in the clothes, no receipts or cards or papers. Nothing that tells him anything about who he was. Is. The items are too heavy, too many random things, what’s he gonna do with all this random paraphernalia? Too much, too little. Nothing that he feels any immediate attraction or attachment to. Nothing that gives him a clue as to who he is. If he’s anyone at all.

There’s a trident, mixed in with the assortment of random blocks. He puts the bag back on his shoulders and holds it with one hand, weighing it against nothing but the pain in his heart. It evokes a lonely feeling. It smells like salty water. It tastes like tears.

He soars through the air, and if he closes his eyes, he’s somewhere else, flying over a calm sapphire ocean. The water is still, the air is heavy, the stars are so near. He’s one of them, part of the sky, just another light for the uncaring mortals below, going about their business as if nothing has changed, as if he wasn’t once part of their society and now he’s nothing but dust, no tears shed, no love lost, as if he never mattered, as if he won’t be missed-

The ground reaches up to meet him, and he crashes into its embrace, and something inside him is terribly, terribly broken. He can’t have been like this before, whoever he was. There’s blood, bloody fingers touching a scrape the length of his back, and it seems to multiply, running down his forearms, over his eyes, pooling beneath him as if to pronounce him dead then and there. He scrambles away, and it reaches for him, tendrils like vines trying to claim him, undo him already. He’s been reborn, delivered from whoever this body belonged to before to this new life, but whatever has given him the chance is already taking back their gift. He rifles through the backpack looking for something to wrap around his wound, something to hide the bloodstains, something to make it go away, please make it go away-

He comes up with a high vis jacket - bloody hell, was he a lollipop man? - and it’s barely anything but it certainly distracts from the crimson, so it’ll do. His trousers are stained an unnecessary shade of red, and he’s panting with an unnecessary terror. He isn’t under attack. He isn’t being attacked. He isn’t going to be killed.

With an uneasiness that feels unearned, he walks along the wooden path ahead of him, away from the imposing black building that threatens to suffocate him with helplessness everytime he looks at it. There’s a petite, yellow building decorated with purple flowers, round like globes and sweetly-fragranced. He reaches out to touch one, to hold it in his hand, and it seems to disintegrate between his fingers, a tiny explosion of colour that withers into nothing like a candle being extinguished. He steps away quickly before it starts turning red too.

Speaking of red, he backs directly into the perimeter fence of a ruby-red monolith, striped and vaguely-rectangular in shape. He’s about to turn and retreat from that too (before he breaks anything else), when he spots a man, standing stoically by the door, wearing a high vis jacket. Before he knows it, the boy is pushing through the fence and approaching with a vain curiosity. ‘You’re dressed like me!’ He wants to call out, because this man is the first that doesn’t immediately strike him with the urge to run for his life.

Confusingly, the man doesn’t react immediately to his approach, gaze directed ahead with a thousand yard stare. He is surprised, naturally, when the man’s head turns sharply and looks him in the eyes. “WELCOME BACK TO THE BIG INNIT HOTEL TOMMYINNIT!! IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN…”

“AAH-!” He shrieks, flailing violently backwards and falling on his ass. His breath comes out in short pants.

“YOU SURE WERE GONE A WHILE TOMMYINNIT… WE MISSED YOU…”

Was that his name? What is this crazy guy talking about? The words were summoning scraps of memories that reached out to each other, trying to build bridges and webs between each other, colouring the gaps between themselves with bright blues and warm greens and soothing beiges; yet the webs collapsed as soon as they formed, like they were made by the world’s most ineffective spider. At least he knows he had once belonged here now…

“What are you making a fuss abou-” From the building emerges a nearly bald man wearing hi-tech glasses, and the boy is hit with two knee-jerk reactions. The first one, a sense of camaraderie, the urge to smile and joke and tease. And the second is the blaring of his danger sense like a nuclear siren, screaming at him to run, get away, get away quick and hide.

“What the f-” The man roughly taps the blue side of his glasses, leering at the boy. “...No- What the fuck.”

“I don’t know anything!” The boy throws his hands up, instinctual surrender. “I don’t have anything!”

“What are you-”

“Why are you saying that?” He squeaks, fear clogging his throat.

The man swipes his hands through the air, cutting the boy off. “No, shut- Bigger elephant in the room, why are you alive?”

He freezes, his body dumping all the adrenaline he thought a boy his size could hold into his bloodstream, his limbs tensing to sprint away. Any second now the weapons would come out, the red would return, he can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t do this-

“You’re dead- You’re dead! You died!” The man’s voice is rising until he's almost shouting, yet the frightened boy stops backing away, because something doesn’t make sense, this doesn’t seem like a threat- No, this is- this-

“I grieved for you.” Their eyes meet, and despite the statement, the glare from behind the red and blue lenses is cold and unforgiving, and it sends a shiver through him. “You’re not back.”

“I- I don’t know what you mean…” He raises his hands defensively, but instead of swinging, the man just laughs with a sound like rolling thunder.

“Oh don’t play dumb with me Tommy. No one comes back-” He catches himself. “I mean, most people don’t come back.”

“I- I don’t understand…” He mutters. “I… died?”

The man crosses his arms, scoffing with immense disapproval and scorn. “You wanna speak up? Or d’you want to keep playing stupid? Because I’m not an idiot Tommy. Do you take me for a fool?”

“I don’t know what’s going on!” His hoarse whisper comes out as a shout, and his hands fly to his hair, gripping the strands like they're a rope someone would use to rescue him. “I can’t remember what’s happened, and you keep saying I’ve- died- and nothing makes sense and I don’t even know who you are…” His voice cracks and breaks as he struggles to get the words out, process their meaning, determine their level of truth. Then it shatters, dropping to barely above a whisper again as his knees shake with the effort of keeping him on his feet. He chances a glance at the man’s expression, apprehensively waiting for his judgement, and is met with a glare to rival Medusa’s.

“You don’t know who I am.” His tone is level, and yet, threat runs through it like a river, threatening to catch him in the rapids, pull him under and fill his lungs full of lies, or his own blood, or worse. The man reaches up to push his glasses back up his nose, and the boy flinches back onto the main path. “You are so… selfish.” He opens his mouth to counter, but no sound comes out. “You’re selfish! Shit like this… This is why you deserved this. This is why you should’ve stayed dead.”

Why does that hurt so much? He wants to reach through the fog in his mind, knock down the walls and see this man as he should’ve. Their history- It's all in there somewhere! Somewhere, locked away, inaccessible, painfully so. He hugs his arms to his chest, they are already bloody, he realises, the bandages to protect his bleeding heart.

“I mourned you! I grieved for you, and now I remember why I wanted you dead.”

That's it, he’s gone, he's scrambling along the path, he’s clumsily vaulting the gate, grazing his knees, tears staining his cheeks, hands gripping his sides, nails breaking skin, heart and feet thudding the rhythm to a song he barely remembers, ‘Stay alive, stay alive-’

Terrified and confused and so, so weary, he runs until he can no longer see the black building, or the yellow one with the flowers, or the red one that feels so familiar in a hopeless way. He follows the hills and dips of the wooden path, feet falling into familiar grooves as he winds along the peaks and troughs, past peculiar buildings and strange establishments. Eyes watch him as he goes, their murmured exchanges commenting on his appearance or his desperation or no doubt what he’s done, what he can’t remember, how bad he’s been. He’s a freak, he thinks he hears someone say. There’s more red: twirling vines undulating down towers or wrapping tendrils around infrastructure. It reaches for him; it beckons to him with a hissing voice. He dashes harder: he wants away. From everything, and everyone.

He runs until his lungs hurt, until his legs are screaming at him to stop, and he all but collapses outside a brick house. He’s on his hands and knees, although he doesn’t remember falling, and he touches his head to the floor like he’s praying, and that’s when he hears the solitary voice:

“Tommy?”

Oh shit a brick.

“Please- I’ll go, please just- Let me go-” The words barely make it past his raw throat. His eyes meet that of the enderboy’s ahead of him, and he feels frozen to the spot, and it sends another shot of panic through him. He doesn’t know how much more he can take. “Please- Just let me go.”

The boy with his half-and-half complexion and fascinating eyes approaches, palms facing Tommy - for that’s got to be his name by now - like he’s closing in on a skittish cat. “You’re- Oh… You’re-” He’s slack-jawed, and then he suddenly snaps out of whatever awed trance he’s slipping into, and comes even closer. “Tommy? Are you alright? It’s only me, it’s-” He seems to cringe slightly, for some reason. “-It’s Ranboo.”

“Ranboo.” His mouth forms the word, tastes it. It tastes… sweet. Not sweet like honey but like… a cake. Time slows, the world stops spinning like a top, and the ground settles beneath Tommy. There are no warning sirens harmonising with this boy. His heart rate slows gradually as the much taller boy crouches by his side. “You’re- You’re here…”

“Ranboo,” He says quietly. “Why is everyone looking at me like I just came back from the dead?” The question echoes in the immediate quiet, and he fears the answer to an irrational degree. “Um…” Promising start. “Obviously you know what happened, I mean- Or what everyone thinks.” He amends on catching sight of Tommy’s changing face, as his heart sinks further towards his stomach.

“Ranboo.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t remember anything before- before- before the big black building and some green fucker- I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why people hate me, I don’t know what’s going on-!”

“Whoa, okay.” One of Ranboo’s hands, the black one, lands on his side, the touch sending an involuntary shiver through him. “Do you… Do you remember me?”

The question is innocent enough, but all the muscles in Tommy’s body tense again, preparing themselves for the next mad dash downtown. There seems to be a terminal ahead, he could change direction and lose him-

“N- No.”

“Right, okay,” The older boy chuckles to himself. “That explains a lot actually.” Tommy’s danger sense flickers. “What- What do you mean?”

Ranboo’s smile is not cruel, nor does it inspire machiavelli; it’s kindly and soothing. “You and I… We have an on-off friendship. I don’t think you’ve properly decided whether you like me or not.”

“Why don’t I like you?”

He shrugs, looking bemused. “Would you believe me if I said I have memory problems too?”

And Tommy actually chuckles at that. “Maybe.” He swipes at some of the tears drying tracks into his face. Ranboo watches the motion intently. “...Are you okay?”

“I-” He pauses, a thousand answers taking their turn on the end of his tongue, before what comes out is: “No. I don’t remember anything, I barely know my own name, I- people hate me and I don’t know why, and- Everything hurts. Listen to me, Ranboo, I have these terrible- like, flashes of something, where everything hurts and it feels like I’m being ripped apart but the whole world is dark and cold and- and-”

The whole world is not dark and cold, though the outside of Ranboo’s jacket is. It must look a peculiar sight, he supposes, one teenager holding another, both sitting down on a public highway, but it’s happening.

It’s happening, he realises. It’s real. Someone’s holding him.

...Okay.

“You’re alright.” Ranboo murmurs, and Tommy leans into the hug, bringing his arms up to place weakly around Ranboo’s middle. “You’re okay, you’re alright.” The words surround them in the quiet, sentinels standing guard against the rest of the world.

“I’m not.” He replies involuntarily.

“Okay.” Ranboo concedes. “But you will be.”

A long moment passes, and then Tommy speaks again, for a reason he can’t grasp. “Ranboo, I- don’t seem like a very good person. This guy - I think I used to know him - he called me selfish, told me he wished I’d stayed dead. I don’t think people… like me very much.” But to that, Ranboo only shrugs.

“I wouldn’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a bit rough around the edges, but you’re alright really.”

“I’m alright?”

“You’re human. As messy and mortal as us all.”

It’s as if in that moment, the floodgates open. Tommy suddenly remembers himself. He knows the pattern of the flag of L’Manberg, he knows Tubbo’s preferred way of having his coffee (no milk, two sugars), he knows Wilbur’s favourite songs and which ones Techno will throw a sword at you for singing. He knows - partially - why Jack hates him, and incidentally, who Jack is. He knows that he died, and how, and what and who he saw beyond, and why he was stuck there in the first place. And he knows all the details of his complicated relationship with the boy whose arms he’s currently occupying.

And he pushes it all away. He snuggles closer to Ranboo, closes his eyes, and leaves it for later, logical operation be damned.

Turns out a blind instinct can be right.

[someguynamedstevewrites]

My Roommate is an Apparition: An Apparition A-Pink-ciation of Culture

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

From the diary of Lily:

------------

When I was little, I used to talk to my stuffed animals all the time.  They were my soft, cuddly friends who were always there for me, and even though they never spoke a word, I always imagined I could hear what they wanted to say.  Even as an adult, I still treat inanimate objects like they’re people too.  In fact, everyone does at some point or another in their adult life.  Anyone who has ever argued with their car that refused to start knows what I mean.

But recently, I realized that sometimes people can do... well the opposite. That sometimes we don’t treat people (who are actual, real people) like they’re people.  It’s not something we consciously think about, but it’s more like we forget that, well, people are people.  I know this sounds really dumb, but I felt like I needed to write about this after a... well after an “argument” I had with my roommate.

I’ve lived with my roommate for a few months now, and I thought I had gotten to know them pretty well.   They like to watch cartoons (like, seriously LOVES them) and we had worked out a TV viewing schedule to make sure that we got along together.  But the other day, I realized that I wasn’t necessarily treating them like they were their own person.  I didn’t mean to do that, but it just kind of happened, and...

...well it gets really complicated because, technically, they aren’t a person.

I mean, they aren’t human; they’re an apparition.

It made me think about all those stories about monsters and ghosts.  Like a ghost used to be human, but then they died, and their spirit became a ghost.  Do we still treat the ghost like the person they were when they were alive?  Outside of a few exceptions, the answer’s a definite yes.

But what about an apparition? It’s kind of like a ghost, but it’s not. I mean, it’s not the soul of someone who died or anything. They just sort of exist. (Would Slimer from Ghostbusters be an apparition or a ghost?).

------------

So anyway, reason I’m bringing this all up is because of what happened last weekend. I was channel surfing through the Cable Guide and as I’m flipping through, I pass by Boomerang (you know, the cable channel that spun-off Cartoon Network to hold all the older cartoons?) and all of a sudden, my roommate appears out of nowhere (literally) and practically grabs the remote out from my hands.

“Hey! What gives!?” I say to them.

They immediately change over to Boomerang and my TV screen is suddenly filled up with the color pink. At the same time, my roommate starts “doot-ing” along with the song and goes, “Doo-Doot! Doo-Doot! Do-Doot-Do-Doot-Do-Doot Do-Doot-De-Dooooooooo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doooot”. I have no idea what they’re doing, but then the cartoon starts up and it’s the Pink Panther.

Rhetorically, I go, “What’s this?”

“Pink... Panther...” my roomie says.

And then I make my first mistake by saying, “Huh. Never seen it before.”

Now if I had been paying attention to them, I probably would have seen the face of shock they were making. “You... NEVER... saw it!?” They gasped.

“Nope. Must have been before my time,” which was totally true. I mean, I later found out my Dad used to watch it when he was a kid. It wasn’t on TV when I was growing up. (Why am I defending myself for not watching a specific cartoon?)

Anyway, roomie asks, “Watch... with me?”

And then I, being a total dumbass, say, “Nah. Think I’ll get some dishes in,” before getting up and walking away.

If I had stayed put for just a few seconds longer, I would have heard them asking, “...please?” (In case you’re wondering, they told me about that later.)

------------

Yes, I hurt its feelings.  Yes, it was insensitive.  Yes, I am sorry.  But like I said, the thought didn’t even cross my mind back then.  As far as I knew, as long as my roommate had their cartoons, they were happy.  It didn’t occur to me that they cared about anything other than the cartoons themselves.

For the next week, my roommate made sure I knew, now and forever, that this was not true.

My first clue that they were mad at me was later that evening when I went to the living room to watch my usual shows.   It was my turn on the TV, and usually I have to pry my roommate away so I can watch what I want to watch. But that night, the instant I walked into the room, they changed the channel to what I wanted, put the remote down on the couch, and left the room without saying a word.  I thanked them, plopped myself down, and went straight into couch potato mode.

This should have thrown so many red flags in my head, but for some reason, it didn’t.  Maybe I was being too self-absorbed at the time? Maybe I was just tired and thinking, “Aww man, I gotta work tomorrow!”?  No matter the excuse, mistakes were made, and I started paying for them the very next morning.

My “haunting” kicked off with waking up to find most of my rock collection missing.  I have a particular affinity for pretty rocks and gems (I’m kind of a rock nerd) and have my favorites out on display.  But that morning, the only rocks that I could see were the pink ones.  Someone had pilfered almost every pebble from every pedestal to perturb me.   (I saw a chance for alliteration and took it! So sue me!)  I was still waking up and too tired to care about it at the time (me making excuses again) and had work, so I got ready to go and left.

Now I’m not sure how they did it, but my roommate did something to my car radio.   I turn it on and all I get are tunes by Henry Mancini.  Fifty percent of the time, it was the Pink Panther theme, twenty-five percent was the theme from A Shot In The Dark (I had to use Soundhound to figure out that one), and the rest was a mix of some of his other work.   It didn’t matter what station I tried changing it to!  Although I did learn that Mancini composed Baby Elephant Walk, so that’s something.

By now, I’d already figured out what was going on (roommate did it), but couldn’t really do anything about it because I still had work to go to.   As if the daily grind working at an art supply store wasn’t hard enough, I had to work while having the dang Pink Panther theme stuck in my head all day.  Not even the music that played over the store radio could get rid of it.  (Given the quote un-quote “music” they play over the speaker system, I eventually considered it a good thing.)

Then I came home, and that’s when things REALLY escalated.  First words out of my mouth after I walked in was, “Hey, I’m hoooOOOOOLY~!”  Every single wall in the apartment, from the living room, to the kitchen, to the bedroom, and even the bathroom...

PINK!

All of them were painted PINK!

Like strawberry frosted doughnut pink!

As I’m gawking at the interior design sugar rush nightmare, out walks my roommate from around the corner.  Immediately, the first thing I noticed was that they had feet. (Normally, they don’t have feet; they just kind of “hover” or “emerge from the ground” or something.) They had their eyes closed, head held up, and made a point of showing off these noodle legs they had constructed by skipping every other three steps.

They were doing the Pink Panther shuffle.

They walk out of my line of sight and I run over to have a word with them, but by then they disappeared.  I look around and all I see is more and more pink.  From behind me, I hear a mix of snickering slash wheezing.  Like you ever hear of this cartoon dog named Muttley?  They were laughing like him.  And of course, I turn around, and the only thing I see is more pink!

------------

I knew that my roommate could be ornery at times, like that time I tried to get an idea of their daily routine by setting up a webcam, but this...

I mean, where did she even get the paint?  (Upon reading back here, I realized I referred to them as a ‘she’ even though I’m not sure if they are a ‘she’ or not.  Yeah, I can edit it to a more neutral pronoun, but something tells me I ought to point this out instead of editing it, for some reason.)

I was half tempted to get back at them by painting the walls back to their original color (they do sell paint by the gallon where I work, and I get the employee discount), but realized they’d just paint(?) the walls pink again.  Like I’d turn around after thinking I finished only to find the work I did completely undone.  I could just picture my roommate doing that and finding it hysterical.

Anyway, tacky as the pink walls were, I didn’t get too angry about them.  For starters, my lease agreement said that I couldn’t paint the walls without landlord approval.  But my lease agreement also acknowledges that my apartment may be haunted.  If the landlord ever brought it up, I’d just tell them the “ghost” did it.  Second, these pranks my roommate was pulling were kind of amusing and didn’t really bother me that much.  (I mean sure, I wanted my rock collection back but I doubted my roommate would have thrown them away.  They know how much they mean to me.)

The one thing I was putting my foot down on was that I wasn’t going to ask my roommate what was wrong.  I got the hint, sure, but I wanted them to know that if something is bothering them, they need to, y’know, actually say something instead of leaving spooky pink clues.  They were being a butt, and my hope was that when they saw how much the pink wasn’t bothering me, then they’d finally open up.  This went on for about a week with me going about my daily routine only to be surprised by the occasional pink interruption.

Like on Wednesday, I go to the fridge to get something to drink, and all I find in there is Pink Lemonade.  It actually wasn’t that bad, but I have no idea how my roommate actually got it given that they never leave the apartment.  Thursday, I get a notification saying a package arrived, and find my roommate used my debit card to order the entire Pink Panther cartoon series on DVD.  And earlier on Tuesday, I got a call from my landlord asking if I knew why someone had called in an order, in their name, to have Owens Corning insulation installed.  In case you weren’t aware, that’s the pink insulation who has “you can guess who” as their mascot.

------------

So, Friday rolls around, and by now, the entire apartment is pink.  Like EVERYTHING.  The furniture, the electronics, the toilet, the sink, the appliances, the TV, and everything in between has been made pink somehow.  I’m not sure who out there still makes pink toilet paper, but apparently my roommate has either some special powers I don’t know about yet, or they got connections.

At this point, since my roommate had yet to approach me about “The Pink-ening”, I began playing the reverse-psychology card.  I came home and got to making dinner.  While some of this was a bit more expensive than what I usually spend on food, I figured it was worth it if it meant getting my roommate to talk to me.  My menu included delicious smoked pink salmon, some crab linguine with a nice amount of pink to it for a side dish, and some mashed red potatoes that turn out nice and pink if you got the right recipe.  To wash it down, I picked up a glass of pink lemonade from the fridge, and in the freezer, some strawberry sorbet.

I get down to eating at my pink table, with a pink wooden chair, pink napkins, pink silverware, pink glass of pink lemonade.  It took a little more effort to put this together, but I made an exaggerated point of showing off how good this pink meal was and how much I was just enjoying all this pink.

About halfway into my meal, I get a feeling that someone’s standing behind me.  It’s hard to put into words how you know someone’s there especially since my roommate doesn’t really eat or breath.  It’s like the hairs on the back of your neck become sensitive like cat whiskers and can just... feel that someone’s there.  Usually sends a chill down my spine when that happens, but this time, I was ready and waiting for it.

“Care to join me for dinner?” I say without turning around.  If I had, they probably would have vanished on me again like they had been doing all week.

“Looks... good...” they say in their ever so familiar by now raspy voice.

“Got something you want to talk about?” I ask between bites.  There’s a brief pause as my roommate thinks to themselves.

“...yes,” they finally answer.

“Okay.  Pull up a chair!  It’s been a while since we just, y’know, talked and stuff,” which was true.  

The instant I said that, I realized that even before the “week of pink” began, we hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together outside of our usual TV time.  I had long since figured out that my roommate wanted me to watch Pink Panther with them, but I just thought they wanted to show it to me to show off how (subjectively) good the cartoon was.  Only then did it hit me that they wanted me to watch it with them because they wanted to watch it together with me.  It was like they were hoping for some roommate bonding time or something like that.

Now, it wasn’t like we weren’t talking to each other before this.  I greeted them whenever I saw them, and let them know whenever I came home or was leaving. but we hadn’t actually talked, like... “talk-talk” in a few weeks.  Instead, the conversations over the last few weeks were like the kind of conversations a person would have with their pet cat or pet dog.  Like you’d talk to them, but not really expect an answer from them.

I had been treating her like a pet more than a person.  (Did it again!  I’m thinking I’ll ask them later what kind of pronouns they’d like me to use, or if they’ve even given any thought towards gender or anything).

My guess is that my roommate picked up on this themselves, and just like a disobedient pet who is bored, lonely, or other, they made a mess of the place.  Maybe they were thinking that if I was going to treat them like a pet, they would act like one too?

Of course, I didn’t mean to treat them like that.  I don’t think anyone really does mean it when they do.  It just kind of happens without thinking about it.  The whole reason I’m writing this down here in you, diary, is so that I can make a mental note slash reminder to be careful of doing that kind of thing.  It’s especially important to remember when interacting with other people, like my co-workers or the store customers.  (Unlike my roommate, they can’t get on my case by making my entire apartment pink.)

------------

Now where was I?  Oh yeah, our talk.  I think I remember the most important bits of it.  It went something like:

“So, whaddya wanna talk about?” I ask between bites of food.

“Pink...” they say to me.  I wait a moment, expecting them to say “panther” after that, but it when it doesn’t arrive, I step in.

“Yeah!  Pretty amazing what you did with the place!  I didn’t know things could even get this pink!” which was one-hundred percent true.

“...Thank...you...” they say with a smile.  I can tell that was not the answer they were expecting as I could have swore they turned and blushed.  Although I couldn’t tell because of how pink everything else was.

“Although,” I add, “I don’t think the landlord is going to like the apartment being this pink.  If it stays like this, they might kick me out.  And we wouldn’t want that, right?”

Now my roommate, the apparition, actually looks shocked for a moment.  The thought hadn’t entered their head, and for a moment, they looked a little scared.  “N-n-n-no...” they stuttered.

“Well, I’m sure together, we can get this place back to the way it was before the next time they have an apartment inspection.  Whenever that is,” I reassure them.

“Yeah...” my roommate nods.

“Say I got some time off this upcoming weekend.  Want to watch some Pink Panther with me?”  (Oh my God, you should have seen the smile on my roommate’s face when I asked this.)  “I see I have the DVD collection now, apparently,” I say with a wink, “and we can even watch the movies together too.”

“...movies?” they ask.

“Yeah, the Pink Panther was a movie first before it became a cartoon.  It was a live-action movie, but... well some of it’s like a cartoon here and there.  Lots of slapstick comedy that I think you might like.”  They were practically beaming and agreed immediately.  

After Friday’s dinner, we watched some of the cartoons (which are actually pretty funny) and for the upcoming weekend, we’re doing a Pink Panther movie marathon with cartoons mixed in to spice it up.  I also found out that my roommate doesn’t just watch the cartoons, but actually knows a thing or two about them.  Like how Friz Freleng, one of the directors and creative minds behind the original Looney Tunes cartoons, was involved in the Pink Panther’s creation along with a new studio after he left Warner Brothers.  I don’t know how my roommate came to know so much, but it’s pretty cool.

Anyway, I got me some sweet, pink treats to snack on during the movie marathon.  The apartment is still pink as can be, but my roommate said they’ll take care of it once the marathon’s over.  Exactly HOW they plan to take care of it, I have no idea.  Oh well.  No use pinking too hard about it.

(HA!)

[thewalkingdead-imagines]

My Take on TLOU 2

Warning: Major spoilers for tlou part 1 and 2 below!

Before I start: None of my criticism is meant as hate against anyone who loved the game. This is just my personal opinion, if you liked it or feel differently than me, that’s completely fine, to each their own!  Also, this is solely about the plot, not the gameplay, the scenery, the graphics etc. because those were unarguably breathtaking and incredibly well done. Either way, here we go:

• Starting off with the elephant in the room: I absolutely hated that they killed Joel. I hated this so so much. 

1. The fact that they killed him at all Killing off a main Character is rarely the right call and it most definitely wasn't the right one for tlou in my opinion. Joel and Ellie’s father-daughter relationship and its growth was what made the first game so special and by killing Joel, they killed a whole lot of the game’s essence already. Plus, and this is a personal thing, I (and I am 100% sure lots of others) loved Joel as character, which makes killing him off even worse. ...which lets me come to my second point

2. How they killed him First, the fact that they did it so very early on in the game. I spoiled myself on accident and knew he was going to die way before I even started the initial game but I can say that I was entirely shocked that it happened at the start. I thought it might be done towards the middle, which would have at least given us some time with him and a possibility to say “goodbye” in a way but instead you get very few moments with him at the start and then his death. That’s it. That alone is a punch in the face for anyone who loved this character and the first game. Then, they make him save Abby only for her to lead them into an ambush. I was also very confused that they made Joel follow her without questioning it, sure this one is debatable, but after years and years of being a hardened survivor, do you really think he would just trust a random stranger? He grew softer, sure, and he also grew to trust people more, but not enough to just follow a random stranger who said they had a whole ass group without questioning it at least for a moment. He didn’t even seem to be just slightly wary and to be honest, that just seemed unnatural to me.  The brutality of his death is another punch in the face. Abby tortured him, for god knows how long. She first shot his kneecap off and then tortured him until he laid paralyzed on the ground, blood overflown and barely conscious. They did that to a character the whole first game lead you to love. Then they make Ellie come in to watch Abby give him the rest with a fucking golf curb while she pleads for his life. Sorry but what the fuck? We’ve seen Joel survive so fucking much, he’s survived being impaled by an iron rod for fuck’s sake and took out whatever people threw at him and he dies like that? Without even giving him the possibility to fight back? There’s so much going on in my head when I think about that moment that I honestly can’t even put all of this into words.

• I get that this all was done to set up the remaining plot and honestly, that was the next problem in my eyes. This whole story revolved around a revenge plot and how much you have to stop this circle of revenge. To me, that’s more of a predicable and overused plot but that might be a personal thing. My problem is even more that they made the whole story about this and that it felt like a severely forced teaching moment / moral of the story type of thing that lasted for 25(?) hours. I’m not against teaching moments per se, that’s not the thing, and I wanna be clear about that but I hate it when its a. forced b. way too obvious and feels unnatural, and to me that was the case in the second part.

• Now about 1/3 through the game, I didn’t want to completely give up on it yet. I thought/hoped there might be a chance for me to even somehow like it in the end. So I wanted to  stay open and for a little I could still see that there was a bit of the essence of the first game left. I loved the cut scenes of Joel and Ellie so so much. I can’t emphasize how much I adore them. They did a great job with them, really. The scenes at the museum are pure perfection and they honestly made me despise the fact that they decided to kill him even more. I will never get over Ellie putting the hats on the dinosaurs and Joel, and I will surely not get over his gift to her. This guy went out and searched his ass off to find her a cassette with the first moon-landing, just to be sure that he has the perfect gift for her. This is beyond adorable. I’ve rewatched these scenes so often already and they honestly get me emotional each time. These scenes felt like the first game again, they gave you that cozy, warm feeling when you got to watch their relationship grow. I also loved the guitar shop (or their way towards it) cut scene, it kind of conveyed what I would’ve wished for for the entire game. A good bunch of action and horror when they have to make their way through but it still has the essence of their relationship and their story when they discuss the teenager’s deaths.

• In short, I really really wanted to see more of these cut scenes and kept on hoping for more until they switched everything up and a cut scene for Abby started. 

• I already expected them to try and make Abby look better or made the thing she did to Joel kind of “understandable”, especially because I’ve seen that there were people who really started to love her character. So I kind of expected something big to happen. To me, it didn’t. So her father was the surgeon that Joel killed. Sure she hated Joel (fair enough, he killed her parent) but is that enough for me to understand, excuse etc. what she did in Jackson? Fuck no and that has several reasons. → Joel didn’t kill (nor fucking tortured!!) her father because of something small, like a few supplies etc. he killed him because he literally was about to kill his adopted daughter for a vaccine that might have not even worked out. He killed him to protect someone. Also:  → Her father moreover visibly seemed to doubt that he would do this procedure if Abby was the immune girl, which is pretty much hypocritical bullshit. → Abby’s father didn’t give a shit about Ellie too, he could have let her wake up and make a conscious decision whether she wanted to do this, he didn’t. He just approved of killing her → He threatened Joel with a surgical knife  → He would have stayed alive if he would have let Joel just go with Ellie / refrained from killing her  So this honestly didn’t make me feel for her, this only made my rage for her grow. She had to know that Joel killed her father (and prevented the vaccine) because he didn’t want this little girl to die for something that might have not even worked. Then, he saves her ass from a sure death and she still decides to torture him to death? There was not one moment of doubt in Abby, not one and what makes it worse is that she doesn’t show any remorse about what she did at any time during the game

• I really hoped that they would stop after this but they really made you play all 3 days as Abby, the same time as Ellie. They really force you to play as character who has killed and brought so much pain over the characters you grew to love (probably as an attempt to force you to like her after seeing her side). So instead of using these hours to give you time to play with these beloved characters, they give it to her. Sorry but that’s bullshit. 

• Besides this, it also absolutely threw off the pace of the plot. You just wanted to know what happens to Ellie now that Abby on top of it all also killed Jesse (!!!) and instead you get thrown back to square one. • I’m not interested in her weird love triangle with Owen and Mel, I don’t care how she got from Salt lake city to Seattle and I don’t care about her work out program. All these plots just frustrated me more tbh.

• Now, I wanna add that I tried to ask myself if I would’ve liked her if she hadn’t killed Joel and honestly, I’m 100% sure I wouldn’t. I just really don’t like her personality. All this time she just seemed bitter and boring, moreover she repeatedly said that she helped those others for herself and to top it off, she also fucked a guy with a pregnant girlfriend (fuck Owen too btw). So again, how do you expect me to like her?

• I did like Lev and Yara. Honestly, if naughtydog wanted to do something so very new, they could’ve just made a whole story about Lev’s struggles within this post apocalyptic community. That would have at least been interesting and wouldn’t have fucked your favorite characters over, just saying.

• Now flash-forward to the scene back at the theater. Abby’s just killed Jesse, she’s got Tommy hurt on the floor and then you’re forced to play as her and hurt Ellie? Fuck that  (Also, the way they had Ellie walk around in that scene? C’mon that’s not how she’d walk around a room while she’s searching for her enemy)

• This thing kind of leads to one thing that wraps up a lot of the end well, Ellie was panicked and broke down when she realized that Mel was pregnant, Abby said “good” when Ellie plead for Dina’s life and said that she was pregnant. I’m not saying that there’s a general difference between Ellie killing people and Abby killing people, it’s obviously shit either way but there’s a clear difference in how they handle it. Ellie is clearly distraught while Abby stays cold, and after everything (also everything else I’ve mentioned) they still wanna make you sympathize with Abby and be angry with Ellie for doing all this. A lot of the game is set up to this (at least that’s what i felt like). Just one example: Abby plays fetch with dog, Ellie is forced to kill dog (also, weird how you’re just forced to kill dogs when you play as Ellie and not Abby, huh?)

• While naughtydog tried to make YOU (as well as Ellie, honestly) see all the different points of views they make Abby entirely ignorant to it, without any remorse and still try to make you have sympathy for her. She does not try to be insightful regarding what she’s done to Joel and see Ellie/Joel’s side just once. She actually mentions that Joel deserved much worse and suggests she did everything right in Jackson. This ignorance and complete lack of remorse...I think this is one of by biggest problems with this plot. Also, that very last attempt to make you feel for Abby when she’s lost her bulk and stand at those pillars? Really? Kinda cheap 

• Again, I get where they wanted to go with the story. I get that they wanted to show that you lose everything when you just seek for revenge and that the circle needs to be broken, but it was so one-sided in the end. Both, Abby and Ellie lost a lot, but Ellie loses absolutely everyone and Abby still has Lev. Ellie loses even two fingers, which doesn’t even allow her to play guitar, which is another fucking punch in the face. It was more about letting Ellie face the consequences instead of Abby and to me, that’s just the wrong call to make after the entire first game lead you to love her and Joel. So, it felt dissatisfying to let Abby go in the end. I get why they did that but it felt like this whole journey was for absolutely nothing. Especially after they ripped her from a life with Dina and JJ to go back to hunting Abby down. She lost everything and didn’t even get to end it. 

• Generally, what this game did...I don’t think that this is something you do with beloved characters. You just don’t do them completely dirty and they did so with Ellie and Joel. People loved this game majorly because of Joel and Ellie’s story and relationship and were excited to see more of it in the next part and they screwed those people, their viewers and players, completely over. You don’t have to be a complete viewer pleaser, don’t get me wrong, but you also don’t need to completely shit all over them. After all, these are the people who buy and support your game, it’s just not fair to them.

• This might be a personal thing but I’ve seen so many creators ruin good stories just because they wanted to do something super creative, edgy and entirely new with it. 99% of the time that goes horribly wrong. Don’t get me wrong, you have to do new things to keep it fresh but at the same time you cannot lose what made a story special in the first place. You have to make sure to keep the essence of the story alive and at the same time do something new with it. Unfortunately, i feel like the creators of this game didn’t even want to keep this essence alive, they just wanted to do something entirely new and they belong to the 99% who managed to ruin it.

• You know what I would have loved as plot for the second game? If they would have let Ellie explore that her life can mean something and matter even without a vaccine. The first game even perfectly set the second one up for this. Resolving Joel and Ellie’s conflict + making Ellie realize that she’s more than just her immunity + a new adventure...that would have perfectly continued the story. It would have kept the essence of the game going and mixed it with something new. Now, they pretty much ignored how Ellie felt about this part (except for two cut scenes and a tiny bit here and there) which was pretty much her main issue since she got bit. The last cut scene with Joel and her outside...it just made we wish so much that they got the chance to properly talk everything out. And by now, I kinda just pretend that everything after this night didn’t happen.

• So honestly, I’m just very disappointed and upset. It felt like they were mostly just trying to prove that they had the balls to pull a plot like this off, to show that they had the balls to kill a beloved main character and have you play with their killer.  Sure, that might be ballsy and bold, but to me, that’s not what good story telling is about. Good story telling is not a game of “my dick is bigger than yours”. But maybe that’s just my opinion.

And there’s one more thing: Happy endings aren’t always bad, lazy and unrealistic And depressing endings aren’t automatically creative, deep and good I feel like that’s something a lot of creators don’t realize

[drferox]

How to Sedate a Werewolf, really.

So you need to sedate a werewolf.

You unlucky bugger. You poor, unfortunate soul. Your single stroke of luck is that you've somehow managed to hide yourself away in a veterinary clinic which means you have at least Buckley's Chance of getting the job done, and Buckley did manage to survive a good 30 years or so.

Why you need to sedate this werewolf is, frankly, your own business. Maybe they are, in daylight, a friend or companion. Perhaps it's for research. Perhaps you'd really prefer to kill the thing but you don't think you can. Or, I suppose, you might secretly be the werewolf trying to prevent yourself from going on a violent spree and just don't want to tell me. It's alright, I wont snitch.

Good choice picking a vet clinic, one facility with a decent chance of having equipment on hand to sedate a large, opinionated canid with an uncertain chance of death. Now, quickly, what options do you have?

I'm going to assume you're in a bit of a hurry and have nearly no medical knowledge, but are capable of reading a label and figuring out how to use a needle and syringe. (Hint: pointy end goes into the patient) Use the biggest needles (probably pink ones) that you can, they inject faster and will penetrate even cow skin so  unless there's the whole 'only silver can damage them' thing going on, should be fine.

Oh, and tranquilisers don't work like in the movies where the animal blinks twice and falls over. It takes multiple minutes, maybe even up to 20, for an animal to feel the effects and they are capable of resisting some, especially when full of adrenaline. Even two minutes wrestling with a recently injected werewolf I would expect to challenge you.

Opioids: Most clinics do, honestly, have opioid medication. However, it's probably locked away quite securely in a safe so you may or may not be able to access it depending on how resourceful you are. In terms of doses for a werewolf, which we assume is at least human sized, just assume "lots."

You can inject opioids just about anywhere and they will work, you don't have to hit a vein (tricky in an opinionated werewolf) but intravenous works faster.

Fentanyl is very fast acting, sedating, but wears off quickly.

Butorphanol is going to slow them down but not knock out on its own, lasts a couple of hours.

Buprenorphine is mildly sedating

Methadone and morphine are decently sedating. Morphine may cause a bunch of nausea too, which may mean the werewolf is less interested in you if it's primary motivation was hunger

Etorphine is really unlikely to be in most veterinary practices. It's colloquially known as 'elephant juice' because it's for knocking out elephants. It's pretty much guaranteed to knock out a werewolf, but no guarantee on keeping it alive. It should always come packaged with the antidote, 'Revivon' aka 'make alive juice' because it is extremely lethal to you, the human. The rule is you draw up the antidote and have it ready to go first before you touch the elephant juice. Now, just how human is this werewolf you're facing?

Acepromazine: Look, it's a super commonly used sedative in veterinary medicine but in a fit adult animal it's going to be little more than an inconvenience. Comes as tablets and an injection but I wouldn't waste your time. More for 'taking the edge off' than outright sedation and an opinionated werewolf has more than just an edge you need to take off.

Medetomedine & Dexmedetomedine: Ah, the good old 'domitor', a favorite for aggressive dogs. It will knock out basically any canine, but the time it takes to do so can vary. Don't be afraid of big doses in a healthy adult (eg the werewolf) because there is a reversing agent if you go too far.

It can be injected, but it can also be administered orally if you can lay bait for the werewolf. Oral is a little slower but potentially safer for you as you don't have to be actually near the werewolf.

Xylazine is very similar to medetomedine, but comes in two concentrations: 20mg/ml or 100mg/mg. Bigger is obviously better in this situation so just go to town. Can also be reversed if required.

Valium and friends: Benzodiazepines are technically sedating, but a healthy adult would need to chow down on a lot  of these to get that effect, and they're quite likely to get the serious munchies before they fall asleep. Now I'm not privy to your scenario, but I would expect giving a werewolf the munchies without sedation is probably counterproductive to your plans so I probably wouldn't bother with these.

Alfaxalone: I've written before about my love for alfaxalone, and that you can pretty much use it on every exotic species in veterinary medicine, and the usual dogs too. Works fastest intravenously, but you can give it into the muscle or just 'into patient' and it will still work, just slower. It does have to be injected though, and it will sting when injected outside of a vein, but you will end up with a properly anaesthetised patient. And if required, you can then 'top up' intravenously when the patient is more compliant. You can even keep them on a constant dose to induce a coma if required so for the long game when everything is under control, alfaxan is your friend. It is shelf stable but you might find it in the fridge. I would expect a large syringe full to adequately knock out even a big werewolf, and if it doesn't quite then it should at least be slowed down.

You can also use the anaesthetic agent propofol this way, though it requires a larger volume.

Ketamine: Ketamine is your friend in an emergency! It can be absorbed every which way - intravenous, intramuscular, by mouth, sprayed onto eyes even - and at low doses will sedate, at high doses with be anaesthetised and maintains the swallowing reflex so the patient probably wont choke and die. It is, however, probably stashed in the safe with the opioids.

But being able to spray it at a snarling face and still have it partially absorbed is potentially very useful if you're in a tight spot.

Phenobarbitone: You know what's often not in the safe, because despite it's potential for abuse it's classified as an S4 and not a drug of addiction in Australia? Phenobarbitone. We use it for seizures but it's main side effect is sedation, and that's what you want today with that werewolf you have to deal with.

There's also often a lot of it on the shelf in pharmacy, because it comes in bottles of 100-200 tablets. You can hide them in food or powder them and if you can bait the werewolf, that's a very viable option to render it nearly unable to move. And it lasts a long time, easily 8 to 12 hours, aka all night.

I said nearly unable to move because even very sedated dogs on phenobarb can act up if you make a lot of noise or movement around their head, so still be cautious or at least give them a blanket. And it will induce hunger, often mega hunger where patients will scream and thrash until they're given something to eat, or start eating their bedding, bandages on their legs, food bowls, etc.

At least with that sort of hunger you have the potential to get them to eat something else...

Pentobarbitone: Don't confuse this with pheno, this is the death juice. It's in a massive bottle and a bright green liquid in Australia, but may be pink or blue overseas.

It's an extremely potent anaesthetic, is kills by overdose, but if you don't quite give a lethal dose you will have a comatose patient. Potentially comatose for days. And a lower dose than that results in a patient who can't walk straight and is at least easier to handle.

You can inject it anywhere into the animal, but it causes a lot of pain if you get it outside the vein because it's so alkaline, and it will cause a lot of tissue damage if the patient survives. But they can also feel the effects from eating it.

And there's a good chance there will be bodies in the freezer of the vet clinic that were euthanised with pentobarbitone, and those bodies are all poisonous if the werewolf should eat them.

"Okay Ferox, but how would you deal with a werewolf coming to get you at the vet clinic?"

Well I probably have access to the safe, so if I can:

convince it to eat as much phenobarbitone or pentobarbitone as I can before it reaches me

Lace more meat/chicken/canned food with medetomedine

Inject with a combination of ketamine, medetomedine and the strongest opioid I have, ideally through a cage door or some barrier.

"And, uh, if hypothetically you were the werewolf trying to keep yourself out of trouble for the evening, asking for a friend?"

Phenobarbitone tablets, medetomedine and ketamine by mouth before turning.

Secure self in stainless steel cage/run

Bait inside with cage with more meat/chicken/food that has more ketamine and medetomedine in it

This hopefully keeps me asleep for 8 hours or so, causes me to wake up with the munchies, eat more laced food indiscriminately and pass out again shortly after escaping the confines

Food laced with pentobarbitone outside of that, if I've not managed to eat myself to sleep by then.

Hypothetically, you know. Since you're asking for a friend.

This topic was chosen and viewed early by my wonderful Patreon supporters. Thank you for your ongoing support.

[vampiregirl1797]

You’re My Eternal Love

Edward Cullen x Reader

 GIF Not Mine.

 Warnings: Self-depreciation, pining, minor angst, major fluff. Bella isn’t nice in this one guys.

 Word count: 14,843—super long so be sure to grab yourself some snacks and a cuppa tea!

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 Summary: Bella and Y/N go to Italy to stop Edward from committing suicide. It’s going to be a difficult excursion for more reasons than Y/N can possibly imagine. For starters, she doesn’t possess the same mind defences as her sister, meaning she’s much more vulnerable to the gifts of Aro and Jane. But that isn’t going to stop her from helping to save the man she’s secretly in love with. She’s done a very good job at keeping it quiet so far, especially with Edward’s ability to read her thoughts. Y/N is well aware that she’s risking her life, but as long as Edward’s is saved, her own existence is of little consequence to her. The danger, she’s prepared for, but to have more revealed than she’s ready to reveal is going to be the hardest part. Everything has the potential to fall to pieces, but will it? Also let’s pretend that Bella is a year younger, putting her in junior year and Y/N in senior year.

 I took a deep breath as I processed everything that I’d just been told. Edward had gone to the Volturi—Vampire royalty who created and enforced rules that everyone belonging to that species must follow—in order to end his own life. I internally cursed my sister’s recklessness.

 ‘Let’s just jump off the cliff, Y/N. What’s the worst that could happen?’

 She’d dragged me along to keep her company on LA Push beach as she waited for Jake—her new love interest—to finish his wolf patrol and meet her. The werewolf had forewarned her that he’d probably be late, so I was a means to avoid boredom. If she hadn’t played the sister card, I wouldn’t have gone. If I’d just ignored her insistence at trying another reckless activity, this wouldn’t be happening. Edward would be living his immortal life danger free in… wherever the hell he had been. But no, Bella had insisted that it would be a rush, something Jake had got her hooked onto after she’d bought him some bikes to fix up as an excuse to spend some time with him. She’d gone first, even though I’d still been trying to talk her out of it, and I’d waited anxiously on the cliff edge for her face to break the surface of the angry blue sea so that my nerves would fade. But that hadn’t happened. She didn’t come up, and stupidly, I’d gone after her. If I’d stopped to think logically I would have realized that I was human, too. If Bella hadn’t been able to fight the waves to escape the ocean, why would I have a chance? I should have screamed for help, perhaps loud enough for some of the resident werewolves to hear if they were nearby.

 Unfortunately, logic and reasoning goes out of the window when someone you love, when your sister, is in danger. So without thought, only glaring panic echoing throughout my veins, I’d jumped in, the ice-cold water encasing me like a predator caging its prey. Again, if I’d been calm enough to be rational, I wouldn’t have wasted the precious energy I’d had frantically searching, my arms slashing as fast as they could through the dark abyss of water. Any attempts to locate my sister had failed and in a moment of sheer stupidity, I’d opened my mouth, as if to call out her name. The water rushing into my mouth and down into my lungs had been the last thing I remembered as I closed my eyes and allowed death to claim me.

When I’d woken up on the beach, my lungs burning and throat raw, with Sam Uley standing over me I’d been disorientated. But the wave of realization washed over me with more ferocity than the waves had, and I was soon frantically looking around for Bella. She had been fine, sat over on a fallen log about twenty feet away on Jacob’s lap. He was holding her close and I’d remembered the shot of betrayal that shot through my heart like an arrow at her lack of concern. It burned like I’d been branded with a constant reminder of how little my sister appeared to care for me. When I looked back to the alpha werewolf, to thank him for saving my life, he’d told me I was welcome without taking his disapproving eyes off Bella. That had been the first time my defensive hackles hadn’t rose at the sight of someone criticizing my family—I was always in her corner, but in that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to even muster up an insincere effort. Sam had taken me home, not addressing the elephant in the car, and I waited until I was in the security of my bedroom to let the tears fall.

 I had been starting to wonder if anyone—other than Charlie and Renée even cared about me. I thought the Cullen’s had loved me like family, I knew I had loved, still loved, them in that manner. All but one. I banished that thought from my head and returned to my original thought. If my own sister didn’t care if I lived or died, then how could I be sure that any of the Cullen’s had loved me like I loved them? That particular thought had me wallowing in self-pity for most of the day and after I’d showered, I’d basically collapsed into my bed and allowed exhaustion to claim me. Apparently almost dying really took it out of you.

 I’d woken to my shoulder being shaken by something very cold and as if my depressing thoughts had conjured them—well one of them—Alice Cullen had been stood there with a relieved and confused expression on her face. I’d told her everything that happened and she filled me in on some of the things the Cullen’s had been up to, though her details on Edward were minimal. I assumed that was because she didn’t want me to potentially pass on information that would hurt my sister, so I didn’t comment, though I myself was secretly relieved. Information on the boy who’d never known—would never know—that I loved him was just too much for me to handle. Bella had joined us well past dark and had a much more resigned reunion with the pixie haired Cullen. I’d been confused at her lack of enthusiasm, but she was polite enough and agreed with my insistence that Alice should stay with us for at least a few days before she left again. But she didn’t seem to care either way, and I found myself irked by that before a thought entered my mind: what if the presence of Edward’s sister was bringing up memories that were simply too difficult for her to bear? I softened marginally after considering that, but not much.

 But apparently, that hadn’t been the reason for her indifference at all, as while Alice stood in front of where Bella and I were sat on the small couch in our home, my sister couldn’t appear less interested in what the psychic vampire was saying to us. I felt my first spark of anger then, but I pushed it down knowing that I needed to convince her to come with us, otherwise we’d have no hope of saving him, and the possibility of that hurt too much for me to consider it for more than half a second.

 ‘Bella, we have to go. This is Edward we’re talking about, you owe it to him to let him know you’re alive at the very least.’ I insisted, I knew my eyes were most likely burning with panic that she wouldn’t go and anger that she looked between the vampire and me as if we were discussing the weather forecast.

 Something in my expression must have convinced her, or maybe she realized that if Alice wanted to get her to Italy, she would be able to very easily whether she wanted to go or not. Either way, I ran to my room and frantically packed two backpacks, one for each of us, full of essentials before I returned to the living room where Alice was already waiting. Bella pulled on her jacket and took her designated backpack without complaint or haste while I retrieved our passports from the drawer in the kitchen. I scribbled out a note to Charlie explaining that Alice, Bella and I were taking an impromptu trip to Seattle to spend some quality girl time together before Alice left again. I apologized for the timing but promised that we’d be in touch. I scribbled down Alice’s cell number and signed our names. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too mad, or worried, but I knew those hopes were fruitless because of course he would be. But I didn’t let that concern me as I slid into Alice’s car, at least not while I had bigger concerns on my mind. I ignored the screeching of the tires as she gunned the accelerator and sat back in my seat, eyes closing as I tried to pacify myself with imagining Edward happy and most importantly… alive.

 This had better work.

 //

 When we finally arrived in Volterra, the heart of the Volturi city, Bella had been sent off to the clock tower while Alice and I made our way to them through the shadows. I had lost sight of her in all the pedestrians wearing read from head to toe, and I found anxiety swirling in my stomach as I hoped she moved with more urgency than she’d been showing all day. If Edward exposed himself and died because Bella didn’t move with enough haste… I wasn’t sure I’d be able to forgive her.

 We located them in the alley underneath the clock tower, but neither looked happy to be in one another’s presence. In fact, Bella looked down right pissed and Edward wasn’t far off, either. The only difference in his behaviour was that his eyes held relief alongside the anger. Despite what I was sure would turn into a lover’s reunion that would wound me irreparably, I couldn’t find it within myself to care because Edward was okay. I leaped into his arms as soon as I’d saw him, not giving it a second thought as my own relief overpowered me and controlled my actions without permission.

 Before any words could be spoken between the four of us, two vampires joined us in the shadows. Their names were revealed to be Demetri and Felix and I felt myself tense as they revealed that the Volturi wanted to see all of us. My eyes flitted to my sister and away again before I gave away any weakness. She might not have cared for my well being, but I certainly cared for hers. I didn’t try to fight the sheer panic and anxiety that formed in my gut as we were herded underground by the two male vampires and the other female, Jane, that had joined us moments after. What was going to happen? They couldn’t have wanted to see Bella and I out of mere curiosity. I felt myself shiver as I realized the implication of our presence—we were going to die. I wondered if there would be any way that I could barter my life to save Bella’s, but why would they even consider that as an option, when they could easily kill us both anyway? It wasn’t like I had something to offer them that they would be interested in. It hit me then; Bella had a better chance of getting out of this than I did, regardless. Her mind defenses made her interesting, and I could only hope that Aro and the others would see potential and allow her to leave if she became immortal. That was what she wanted, anyway. And seeing as she didn’t care if I lived or died, it shouldn’t be too difficult for her to leave me behind to feed the hungry vampires. I fought back a shudder at the thought but felt myself relax with the knowledge that Edward, Alice and Bella had a very good chance of leaving here alive.

 I jolted when a cold hand enveloped mine and looked into the black eyes of Edward, gazing at me with a mixture of concern and fury. I wondered what I had done to receive such a reception but I realized that he’d probably been hearing my inner monologue and I felt my lips tilt up into a sheepish smile. I also felt my heart squeeze in hope—if he was angry with me discussing my death with myself so calmly and clinically, maybe he did care for me? Maybe all of the Cullen’s did? Or perhaps his selflessness wouldn’t allow the thought of another sacrificing their own life for his immortal one. I sighed at that thought; it was more likely after all.

 It didn’t seem to take long for us to reach the room we were expected in, or maybe it did. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts I hadn’t really been paying attention. If Edward hadn’t taken it upon himself to guide me, I probably would have ended up walking into the back of Jane, not realizing we’d stopped. I definitely would have been dinner then. I blinked myself out of my self inflicted daze and glanced around, noting the medieval structure of the small, circular room. I felt like I’d travelled back in time to the sixteenth century as the interior felt so much like a castle. The grey cobble stones made up the walls from floor to ceiling and I felt myself shiver as the coolness of the room caught up with me. The three vampires we were here to see sat in front of us on three identical wooden thrones. Aro I recognized from the painting I’d been shown once; he sat in the middle. Another dark haired vampire sat in the throne to his right, while a blonde male sat in the seat to his right. Aro looked positively delighted at our appearance, as if we were old friends who’d simply popped in for a friendly visit. I shuddered at the over familiarity and wondered if the recognition in his eyes were because of a gift similar to Alice’s. Did he know we were coming?

 He stepped down from his throne, stopping a few feet away from the four of us, clapping his hands together in delight just once before they dropped to his sides. Bella stiffened as his eyes trailed over her with moderate interest, but when they fell on me he positively beamed, much to my confusion. Edward stiffened and gripped my hand tighter, pulling me half a step behind him. I wondered what Aro had thought for him to do that, but I didn’t comment on it, trusting his judgment.

 ‘No need to fret, Edward. I simply wished to introduce myself to your… friend.’ I frowned at his emphasis on that word, his tone implied that he knew something I didn’t, which didn’t make any sense.

 ‘I understand Bella is immune to your abilities, but Y/N is not. After seeing her from your mind, your point of view, I am more than curious to see inside this particular humans head.’ He practically purred and I wondered if I would lose my head if I told him to fuck off. Probably.

 ‘What are your abilities exactly?’ I asked, my voice no more than a murmur, but that wasn’t a problem for my present company.

 ‘Aro can read every thought your mind has ever had with just one touch.’ Edward told me, his eyes remaining on the ancient vampire stood before us but his head tilted in my direction to avoid miscommunication.

 I felt my eyes widen in horror and I spoke without thinking, ‘absolutely not.’

 That only seemed to pique his interest more, if that were possible. His dark iris’s positively gleamed and he took half a step forward, pausing at the growl that left Edward’s throat. I felt my heart skip a beat at the sound, not out of fear, but surprise.

 ‘It’s nothing to fear, child. Just one touch, it’s completely painless and I must say, your reluctance has me wondering what you’re so eager to hide.’ He grinned and I wanted to scream.

 ‘I’m not worried about pain; I’m more worried about invasion of privacy. Edward I’m used to, at least with him I only have to worry about what he hears when he’s around, but for you to hear everything, things that are supposed to be private… well I can’t say I like the idea.’ I ran my free hand through my hair, stressed because I knew that Aro seeing all of my thoughts would mean that Edward would be able to read them at the same time.

 Everything I’d worked so hard to hide would be laid out on a silver platter. A wave of nausea washed over me and Edward held me tighter to his side, I felt myself relax as the cold chased away the sudden bought of sickness but my fear remained. But as I met Aro’s eyes again, I could see his patience wavering. Him “asking” had never really been him offering a choice, it had been him attempting to allude to a sense of security that I knew he wouldn’t deliver. I had no options in this. Not really. I sighed and stepped forward so that I was now half a step in front of the vampire who still had a hold on me, in more ways than one. I held out my free hand, palm up and tried not to wince when the black haired vampire was suddenly stood right in front of me, taking my thoughts greedily. His eyes glazed over as if he were suddenly somewhere else and I tried to hold back the sheer terror attempting to break free by distracting myself at how different each vampire’s skin felt. Edward’s was as cool as marble but some how soft—Aro’s felt like sandpaper that had been pulled from the freezer. I longed to release his hand but I knew it would be pointless to even try; I’d probably cause myself more harm. So I stood there for what felt like hours as Aro sifted through every thought I’d ever had with the look of a reader flicking through their favourite book. When he did release me, his eyes not quite yet returning to reality, Edward scooped me up and put a three-foot gap between me and Aro before I’d fully registered that I was even freed from the sand paper touch. I avoided Edward’s expression, afraid of what I would see now that he knew what I’d been keeping to myself for so long. Despite the panic that my feelings were most definitely going to complicate everything, I couldn’t help the small echo of relief at him, at someone, finally knowing the secret I’d buried deep inside myself. Even if one of those people was a member of the deadliest coven in the world.

 ‘So… fascinating!’ He yelled with childlike glee, his eyes flickering between Edward and I, ‘to see how much you pine for one another, how much pain could have been avoided by simple communication!’

 I frowned, confused and despite my head telling me not to, I looked up to the vampire still holding me to see his expression completely blank and void of emotion. I sighed in annoyance, wishing I could read his mind like he could so easily read mine. Aro must have misunderstood. There is simply no way that the godlike perfection of Edward Cullen would pine after me when he was so enraptured with my sister.

 ‘You don’t believe me, do you child?’ Aro’s voice caused me to look back over to him and I felt unnerved at the smug, knowing expression he wore.

 ‘You believe his heart lies with her.’ His eyes left mine to look over to the only other human in the room, his eyes narrowing in what appeared to be distaste before his dark gaze was once again back on me, ‘you believe he came here to end his own life because Bella jumped into the water.’

 I felt a flash of irritation through the confusion that was swirling through my belly. I wanted an explanation over what the hell was going on, but I didn’t want it from him. I wanted it from the vampire standing next to me, the vampire who hadn’t yet relaxed his tense and protective stance beside me. I looked past Alice, who was stood next to Edward, to my sister and wondered why she didn’t seem as confused as I did. But there was no emotion on her face. She wasn’t angry at me potentially being in love with her ex-boyfriend. If anything she looked uninterested and I briefly wondered if she loved the werewolf more than I’d realized. I’d thought he was just a rebound, after all how could anyone truly replace the incredible person she had lost due to his desire to keep her safe? Evidently, I was wrong. Bella was over Edward, perhaps more than I’d realized, and I wondered for the first time if she’d ever even missed him. If the haze she’d briefly slipped into upon his departure hadn’t been depression as I’d originally thought, but rather indifference. The answer hit me like a slap in the face.

 She’d never loved him.

 That was why it had been so easy for her to carry on as if nothing had happened. That was why she didn’t care about Edward potentially killing himself. I wondered then if I’d simply been deluding myself for the months they were together, if I’d merely been projecting the way I’d felt about the vampire onto my sister, because I couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t love him with every fiber of their being.

 But if that was the case, why had they dated for so long? Why had Edward left to protect her, if there had been no love between them to begin with?

 I sighed, looking back up to Edward again, appraising his expression carefully, but it was no use. He was a master of control—he simply looked calm, emotionless and I felt like I wanted to scream in frustration. I wanted an explanation from him. I wanted to know what was going on, definitely, but I didn’t want to hear Edwards’s thoughts edited by Aro. I wanted to hear them directly, from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. But it didn’t look like I had a choice because Aro was only too delighted to relay what he’d seen like he was re-accounting his favorite TV show for those who’d missed it, and Edward was frozen still.

 ‘The most interesting part about it all is your unwillingness to admit your feelings for her, Edward, despite the fact you feel so… broken without her around.’ He tusked as he thought, most likely flicking through all he had seen, ‘you—.’

 I blinked in surprise when Edward finally unfroze, his eyes turning to me for the first time in what felt like years. I was taken aback by the emotion swirling in his dark, thirsty eyes and found myself unable to look away as he spoke, his soft voice wrapping around me like velvet.

 ‘You’re right, I do owe you an explanation and I will give it to you.’ He took an unnecessary breath, ‘your sister’s blood isn’t the blood that is irresistible to me, yours is. I dated Bella as a way of having an excuse to be near you, without being too close. I didn’t trust myself, you see, and when your sister got hurt all I saw was how easy it would be for you to be fatally injured because of me. I couldn’t bear it. That’s why I left; I figured it would be what was best for you. You didn’t know how I felt, how much I love you—your life would be untouched by me, and you’d be able to live the normal, happy life you deserved.’

 I could feel the surprise on my face, but my thoughts were spinning too fast for me to worry about my expression in that moment. Could he care about me enough to fake a relationship in order to assure I was protected from himself? I couldn’t believe it, and yet I could. I’d have be stupid to ignore the love shining in his eyes as he looked at me, to disregard the gentle and tender way that he held me. Edward loved me. My heart like it was going to expand out of my chest as I thought I love you, Edward. I always have and I always will. His eyes softened, and before him I never would have believed that black eyes could be gentle, but they were and I felt myself melting into his touch, not caring about our audience.

 There was still so much we needed to talk about, like why Bella had gone along with the relationship—she would have known that Edward’s love wasn’t genuine, that I was sure of, my sister was anything but unobservant—so why hadn’t she said anything first? I’d also needed to lecture Edward on keeping his feelings from me, on coming to Italy to end his—God, I couldn’t even finish the thought—but I was aware that there was a possibility that I wasn’t going to leave here alive. And strangely, I couldn’t bring myself to muster up too much panic over that. Knowing Edward loved me as I loved him? That was all I needed to die happy. Maybe that sounded crazy, but it was the truth. I noticed Edward’s eyes harden at the turn my thoughts had taken and he held me tighter against his side, his body once again becoming very still. His change in behaviour seemed to heighten the tension in the air, tension that I’d been blind to as we’d been lost in our own bubble for who knows how long, but I was very aware of it now.

 ‘Right, well obviously we have a matter to discuss and a verdict to come to.’ Aro smiled, his face suddenly malicious as he thought over what he could accuse us of to justify our deaths.

 I only hoped Bella, Alice and Edward would leave here alive. After all, the two vampires hadn’t broken any laws after all and Bella had the excuse of already knowing about vampires because of her werewolf boyfriend.

 ‘I don’t see how any punishments should be administered, Aro.’ Edward spoke up, his voice full of confidence and assertiveness, though his expression remained as expressionless as stone, ‘no rules were broken.’

 The blonde vampire in one of the three thrones spoke up for the first time, his long, bony finger pointing at me and then Bella as he spoke, ‘that is not true. You’ve exposed our secrets to humans. They know too much, they must either be turned or destroyed.’

 ‘Yes, Caius I would agree with you, when it comes to Y/N, but Bella is a little more complicated, I’m afraid.’ Aro pursed his lips, placing his hands to his face in a prayer potion that I was too on edge to find irony in, ‘she cohorts with werewolves, our natural enemies, and therefore her knowledge of our existence can be justified.’

 I breathed a sigh of relief at that and tried to ignore the smug smile that formed on my sister’s lips. Aro’s dark eyes turned to me next and I felt a shiver slither down my spine.

 ‘Y/N, with you my brother is correct. Humans are merely forbidden to know of our existence, except for unique circumstances, of course,’ his eyes flickered to Bella and back to me so quickly that I wondered if I’d imagined it, ‘unless Edward is willing for you to become immortal and prove it, then unfortunately you’ll die here today.’

 A growl rumbled in Edward’s chest at the threat behind the ancient vampire’s words and he held me tighter. I knew what I wanted. It was something I’d dreamed of more than once, to be with him forever. Of course the happy feeling my dream inspired was often chased away with guilt when I regained consciousness, but the desire still remained, no matter how wrong I believed it to be at the time. But now, it was possible. I could be with Edward for eternity, if he would have me. I wouldn’t want to force myself on him forever if he didn’t really want me, after all what was to say he wouldn’t lose interest within a few months of us actually being in a relationship? He could easily grow bored with me, and soon realize that I wasn’t interesting, or funny or beautiful. He would realize he didn’t love me after all, and the thought of that was so painful that the thought of dying by the hands of the Volturi didn’t seem so bad. I’d rather die now than expect an eternity with the man I loved, only for him to discard of me when he realized I wasn’t good enough for him. Because I wasn’t, was I? My heart sank with the realization and a sigh fell past my lips. I opened my mouth to tell them to kill me, because I loved Edward too much to force him into an eternity with me that he’d probably never considered, or wanted. But Alice’s voice, soft as wind chimes, injected into the conversation for the first time. I noticed Aro’s delight as the younger Cullen spoke up.

 ‘She will be one of us. I’ve seen it. I can show you, if you’d like.’ She held out her hand, the same way I had, but somehow with much more grace. Aro stepped forward and took it eagerly, his eyes un-focusing and a look of sheer enjoyment freezing on his face.

 I took his distraction as an opportunity to look up to Edward, my eyes pausing on the dark circles underneath his orbs and wondering just how long he’d gone without feeding. He looked incredibly thirsty and I felt my heart twist in concern. His eyes met mine, soft as melted licorice and smiled a small, gentle smile that had my heart stuttering in my chest. I thought he might grin at the reaction, but Aro’s gasp of wonder drew our attention and I looked over to see him taking me in with an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

 ‘I can see that there are no issues at all.’ He grinned, but it didn’t offer any comfort, ‘you are free to go, we ask only that you do not linger in the city.’

 ‘That won’t be a problem.’ Edward’s voice was polite, but the hostility behind his speech was still present, even if it was only the slightest hint.

 I looked over to Aro, managing a glimpse before Edward steered me away, and I wondered if he’d been able to sense he anger behind his words. It didn’t seem like it—he was smiling like a cat that ate the cream, no trace of offence on his expression at all. I leaned further into Edward’s hold as we escaped back through the way we came, Alice and Bella trailing behind us. It didn’t take us long to reach the streets and after the younger Cullen had retrieved our bags from wherever she’d stashed them earlier, we climbed into the new car she’d managed to steal. Bella sat in the passenger seat while Edward and I took the back. I marveled at how natural it felt to be in the vampire’s arms, it was if I belonged there and I tentatively wondered if it felt the same for him.

 ‘Are you okay?’ my fingers carefully traced the dark circles underneath his eyes that hinted at the discomfort he was probably feeling.

 He took my fingers in his free hand and bought them to his lips, kissing them before entwining our hands together. My heart stuttered in my chest and he smiled, ‘I’m perfectly fine, better than fine actually.’ His face went to my hair and I could hear him inhale my scent, a contented noise falling from his lips.

 ‘I know what you mean.’ I murmured, turning my face into the crook of his neck and inhaling his sweet, addictive scent. I’d never been this close before—in the past I’d only ever caught a whiff as he walked past me, or reached over me to grab something, but now I was surrounded by his wonderful smell and I found myself pleasantly overwhelmed.

 ‘By the way, we will talk about those absurd thoughts you were having earlier. Don’t think I’ll forget.’ His voice was low as he murmured in my ear, the promise behind his words made me shiver and I wondered what thoughts he was talking about.

 ‘Okay,’ I agreed, knowing he’d have to be near me to have that conversation, and I still wasn’t completely convinced that he wasn’t going to change his mind on a whim.

 A small rumble sounded in his chest, but it wasn’t threatening, it was more a sound of frustration and I wondered if his thirst was bothering him more than he wanted me to know. I was just thinking about moving off his lap—honestly I couldn’t even remember how I’d got there—but he was holding me tighter before I could even complete the thought. I didn’t fight him, trusting that he knew his own thirst and restrictions better than I did, and it wasn’t like I was uncomfortable, so I decided to appreciate his closeness, not knowing when I’d get the chance again. My eyes fluttered shut as I worked to commit the moment to memory—the way he felt against me, hard, cold and comforting, the way he smelled, sweet, wonderful and soothing. I was so dedicated to my attempt at committing that moment to memory, that unconsciousness fell over me without warning, but in the arms of the man I loved I couldn’t help but feel anything other than content.

 //

 Waking up was a disorientating experience. I was still in a car, but it was different somehow, and I wasn’t conscious enough to figure out why that was or how I’d been moved without being woken. I was still in Edward’s cold, comforting hold and I found myself wanting to fall back into unconsciousness, more tired than I realized, but I heard voices that I wasn’t expecting. My eyes fluttered open and I glanced around, shying away from the brightness outside of the car window and hiding my face into Edward’s neck for a moment to give my eyes time to adjust. I couldn’t resist a discrete inhale while I was there and I felt myself relax further into his arms before I lifted my head again, looking to the driver. I frowned in confusion when I saw a bulky, brawny frame instead of Alice; I was even more confused to see blonde hair over the passenger headrest instead of my sister’s brunette head.

 ‘How long have I been out?’ My voice sounded scratchy and I found myself wishing I had a bottle of water to soothe it. I settled for clearing my throat and swallowing a few times instead.

 ‘Just over ten hours.’ Edward’s musical voice answered, soft and soothing as his lips found my hair. My heart sped up and he chuckled quietly, his eyes fluttering shut as if he were savoring the sound.

 ‘Where’s Bella?’

 ‘She’s in the other car with Alice, Jasper, Carlisle and Esme. Rosalie wanted to ride with us to try and apologise, of course your unconsciousness didn’t really help her there.’ He chuckled again, a mixture of amused and angry.

 I frowned, ‘I’m clearly missing something here.’

 ‘Alice didn’t tell you how I heard about her vision?’ he looked down to me, continuing when he found the answer in my head, his voice bleak, ‘Rosalie tracked me down to tell me what Alice saw. I called to see if it was true and a boy… Jacob? Answered the phone and told me Charlie was planning the funeral.’

 That was news to me, I hadn’t even known there had been a phone call, or that Jacob had even been over that day. I’d come down stairs to find Alice stood in the middle of the living room, frozen with horror and Bella sat on the couch, confused and a little annoyed. All I’d known was that Edward had gone to Italy to— I shuddered, unable to finish the thought—that was all I needed to know. The why or how didn’t matter to me, I just knew I’d needed to stop him. My hold on his shoulders tightened as relief overcame me—we’d succeeded, he was fine, safe.

 ‘Y/N?’ Rosalie’s voice bought me out of my thoughts and I looked over to her, my eyes softening at the remorse I saw in her honey colored eyes, ‘I’m so terribly sorry that my rashness resulted in you having to risk your life, but I will never be able to thank you adequately for being brave enough to save my brother. I certainly don’t deserve it, but I hope you can forgive me.’

 ‘Of course I forgive you, Rosalie. How or why doesn’t mean anything to me, all I cared about was making sure Edward left Italy alive. That’s all that matters.’ I gripped him tighter to prove my point and my eyes fluttered shut when his cool lips kissed me behind my ear.

 ‘Thank you, Y/N.’ Rosalie said, sounding much less troubled, but I suspected that she was going to beat herself up over this for a long time. I offered her what I hoped was a comforting smile.

 I wished she wouldn’t, I meant what I said about the how or why not mattering, but if we really considered it, wasn’t this really my fault? I was the one who jumped off that cliff after Bella. I flinched as I remembered waking up on the beach to the alpha being the only one who seemed to care for my wellbeing. Edward’s arms tightened around my waist and a growl rumbled in his chest, clearly not pleased with my sister’s lack of interest in my life. I melted further into him, grateful for how safe his arms made me feel and I found myself selfishly hoping that I wouldn’t lose that. That I wouldn’t lose this feeling… that I wouldn’t lose him. But as I started to recognize the familiar sights that told me were entering Forks, I realized that wouldn’t be possible.

 ‘I’m not leaving.’ His lips were at my ear, his cool breath making me shiver and feel warm all at once, ‘I promise, I’ll never leave you again, Y/N. Not unless you order me away.’

 I turned, looking into his dark eyes and I felt my heart pound at the sincerity that I saw in there, but still doubt crept in. Was he promising me this because he felt indebted to me for saving his life? Not that I thought that was entirely my doing, it had certainly been a group effort, but still… could that be a possibility? His eyes flashed and darkened, something that I wouldn’t have thought achievable as his orbs were already unbelievably black, but the anger dragged them further into the abyss.

 ‘Like I said, we’ll talk about your thoughts later, when you have time. But for now, you’ve got to go home and check in with Charlie. You’re excuse was a good one so he hasn’t sent out a search party for you… yet.’ His eyes had softened, but the hardness still lingered around the edges.

 I blinked, processing his words, ‘I said Alice, Bella and I had gone to Seattle for a few days before she left… won’t he find it odd that I’m being dropped off by you three?’

 Edward smiled, ‘you’re not. We’re going back to our house first and Alice will drive the both of you back in the same car she arrived in.’

 I nodded—that made sense after all and so there wasn’t anything more to say. I sighed as I thought about being able to have a shower, and brush my teeth. My clothes hadn’t even changed in the days we’d been gone, despite the backpack of essentials I’d packed. It just hadn’t seemed important. All I’d been able to think about, to worry about, was Edward. Showering and changing hadn’t been a priority, at least not for me. I sighed again, this time dejected as I wished the vampire holding me didn’t have to leave, even if it would only be for a few hours.

 ‘We’ll be back together before you know it. After I’ve changed, hunted and showered—not in that order—I’ll be climbing through your window, I promise.’ His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cool winters night.

 ‘I believe you.’ I murmured, falling silent again, hoping Charlie didn’t give us too much of an inquisition.

 Edward and I had to talk.

 //

 Charlie hadn’t had much of a reaction when Bella and I walked through the door. In fact, he didn’t seem perturbed by our arrival at all; he spared us a glance and a mumbled greeting before returning to the game he was watching on TV. I sighed in relief and made my way upstairs while Bella called out that she was heading over to see Jake. Charlie replied with an affirmative and I heard the sound of my sister’s truck starting as I climbed the stairs and headed straight for the bathroom.

 The first thing I did was brush my teeth, scrubbing until I was sure all of the grime had been removed and the horrible taste in my mouth had been replaced with mint. Then I’d stripped off my clothes and spent longer than what was probably necessary in the shower. I couldn’t help it—it felt so good to be clean again, and I couldn’t help but revel in the feeling for longer than I usually did. But I eventually washed the last of the suds off my body and the conditioner out of my hair. Satisfied, I wrapped my hair and body in separate towels before heading to my bedroom. After making sure Edward wasn’t already waiting in my room, I dried myself off and quickly dressed in some cotton shorts and an oversized sweater I’d stolen from Charlie a few summers ago. I left my hair down to dry and tossed the damp towels into my laundry hamper along with the clothes I’d worn for who knows how long. I moisturized my face and applied deodorant but didn’t bother with perfume.

 Once I was decent I decided to head downstairs to get myself something to eat once I realized that I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d ate something. That might have been a contributing factor to my exhaustion I thought as I pulled out a few slices of left over pizza that Charlie must have ordered while we were gone. I placed them on a plate and then put them in the microwave, pouring myself a glass of milk and sipping on it as I waited. Half of the beverage was gone when the microwave beeped. I pulled the plate out and sat down, chewing quickly but carefully, not wanting to burn myself on the reheated food. It didn’t take long and soon enough my dishes were washed and put away and I was heading back upstairs after calling out a goodnight to my dad.

 The smile that formed on my face was wide and involuntary when I saw Edward sat in the centre of my bed, eyes closed and still as a statue. I felt my heart speed up at the sight of him; he looked serene, the dark circles under his eyes now gone, his clothes fresh, and she small smile on his lips hinting at knowledge of my reaction. I stepped into the room, barely registering the door closing behind me and the lock clicking in place. Before I could even blink he was in front of me, taking his hands in mine, the cold temperature of his skin quickly chased away by the warmth his touch bought me. I wondered if it would always be that way, and I found myself hoping it would as he led me to my bed, sitting down next to me and burying his face in my hair.

 ‘Hmm I will never get used to how wonderfully sweet you smell to me, Y/N.’ His voice was a purr against my neck as he placed a kiss to the hollow of my throat. My eyes closed, the pleasure his touch bought too potent to fight.

 ‘Before we get too carried away and lost in the moment, there are some things we need to discuss,’ he said, his voice light but I could detect the importance behind his words.

 I turned my head to look him in the eyes; the butterscotch color that greeted me was so smooth I felt my heart melting in my chest, as I got lost in his hypnotic gaze. He chuckled, his fingers gently caressing my cheek before his hands found mine as if he were restraining us both in his iron clad grip.

 ‘There are some thoughts I heard in Volterra and again on the way home that have me concerned.’ His eyes conveyed his worry, ‘the idea that I could ever be bored of you, Y/N, is so ludicrous that I cannot quite put it into words. I have tried to pin point the moment I fell in love with you hundreds, if not thousands of times, but I remain unsuccessful because I cannot remember a time that I didn’t love you with every fiber of my being. I’ve never loved someone like this before, so I have nothing to compare it to, but I’m certain that it isn’t the type of love that you ever grow bored of.’ His disbelief at the notion simply couldn’t be faked, not that well, even by Edward, ‘my reluctance to turn you into a vampire has more to do with me not wanting to risk your soul. I believe that we as creatures are cursed to eternal damnation, that our souls are condemned the moment we are bitten, and to doom you to that same fate… I couldn’t do that to you, Y/N, no matter how wonderful the idea of forever with you is.’

 ‘You really love me?’ I asked, my voice not holding as much disbelief a once had over the topic, ‘you would have me forever? You’re not saying this because you feel indebted to me?’

 He chuckled, his honey eyes dancing with mirth as he lifted a hand to ruffle my hair before dropping it to rest on top of mine again, ‘of course not, silly girl. I wouldn’t pretend to be in love with someone because they saved my life, perhaps I would offer the ability to call in a favour, but that’s it. And as for forever, the idea of it doesn’t sound so daunting if you were there to share it with me, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t do that to you.’

 I was silent for a long moment as I took in the sincerity of his words, and the epiphany hit me so quickly and unexpectedly that I felt like I’d been punched in the ribs. I remembered all the times almost eight months ago now, before he left, when I’d swear Edward was staring at me, only to look up and see him looking in the complete opposite direction, with a smile on his face and a soft look in his beautiful golden eyes. I remembered the times that I’d been having a horrible day at school and something small but significant to me had happened to improve my mood—the red velvet cupcake in my locker after I’d got my period in gym—the offer to write me a copy of his notes after I’d been close to tears of frustration at being unable to keep up with the teacher—those were only a few examples, of course. All things he’d done to make my day better, to help me in any way he could. How had I not seen it sooner? Why had I let my own insecurities convince me that I’d never been worthy of his love? Because it was clear to me now, the epiphany cleared my vision and allowed me to see the truth, uncorrupted by my self-destructive thoughts: Edward loved me as much as I loved him. The love in his warm eyes and his dazzling smile confirmed it.

 After that topic was discussed we somehow found ourselves lying in my bed. I was underneath the blue sheets while Edward lay on top, the thin cotton providing a little resistance to the cold emanating from the vampire, not that I minded. My head rested against his chest and my right hand was entwined with his left, as we both seemed to delight in playing with each other’s fingers.

 ‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.’ I murmured, keeping my eyes on his hand in mine.

 He sighed, already knowing what I was going to ask, I wanted to hear his explanation, to know why he had done what he had done, ‘when Rosalie told me that Alice had a vision of you drowning and I called Charlie and that boy seemed to confirm it, I was beside myself with grief. I’d already been in bad shape, trying to keep away from you, but learning that you were dead… I couldn’t bear it. It may seem an overreaction seeing as you didn’t even know of my feelings for you, but I’ve loved you for so long, and taking myself away from you for your own safety was like losing a part of my heart. It was a constant ache that I couldn’t soothe, but that was nothing to how it felt when I thought you were gone. My heart felt completely and utterly… void, as if you’d taken it with you to whatever afterlife you’d gone. A part of me liked the idea of that, that you had my core with you, wherever you were. But the majority of me was smothered with an emptiness that burned from the inside out, and I knew I couldn’t possibly face an eternity of that feeling. That was why I decided to go to Italy, to end my own life, because I selfishly couldn’t bear the thought of the pain, but also because a small secret part of me hoped we would be reunited in another life. I do believe that our souls are cursed to damnation from the first bite, but that didn’t stop me from wishing that I could see you again, to reveal my feelings…’ he paused, tilting my chin up with a cool, long and gentle finger. He wiped away the tears that had fallen, ‘I’m incredibly grateful that I have had the opportunity to be honest with you and to show you how loved, adored and cherished you are, so long as you want me.’

 ‘I’ll always want you, Edward.’ I said, my voice ringing with a finality that made his eyes soften with awe, ‘that will never change.’

 He didn’t say anything, because nothing needed to be said. After a while, I felt myself fighting sleep, not wanting to miss a moment of the perfect serenity I felt in his company, especially now I was sure it was real. But Edward knew, of course, and he picked up one of the books I had piled on my bedside table and started to quietly read to me, his voice wrapping around the words like velvet, the softness impossible to resist. I found myself idly wondering how he knew that his voice relaxed me to the point of contentedness, but I was too far-gone to voice it as sleep claimed me.

 //

 ‘This is ridiculous! Who cares about a play Shakespeare wrote two hundred years ago?’ I groaned, my head hitting the desk in front of me with more force than necessary, but I hardly noticed the pain—Othello had already given me a headache, what was a little more?

 Edward chuckled, his cool, soft touch moving up and down my spine in a comforting gesture. It had been a few weeks since Italy and we were both back in school, him falling into the curriculum with ease while I was struggling even though I hadn’t missed any classes.

 ‘He’s not so bad, love.’ His cheek rested against mine as I lifted my head, and I had to take a moment to get used to the sweet, comforting scent that was encircled around me.

 I sighed, feeling my body meld to his as he wrapped his arm around my waist, I turned my head and rested it against his shoulder, wondering how long I could get away with avoiding the literature in front of me. I much preferred being in Edward’s arms to trying to decipher the old English in front of me. The vampire chuckled at my actions, and my thoughts too knowing him, and held me tighter. I felt him kiss my hair and take a deep inhale. The contented sound, too low for others to hear, made my heart skip a beat—I could’ve sworn I felt him smile against my scalp when he heard it.

 All too soon Edward leaned me away from him and I straightened with a reluctant sigh, knowing he wouldn’t be releasing me unless it was necessary. And sure enough, the teacher was returning to the classroom, photocopies for his next lecture in hand. The kiss Edward placed on my forehead lessened my frustration a little, and when he pulled away we shared a genuine, happy smile before we returned to the essay question we’d been given.

 ‘Seriously is this even English?’ I rubbed at my temples, knowing I was going to have one hell of a headache before this class was even over.

 ‘Just focus on the key words in the question, and put together what they want you to say from that.’ At my confused look he elaborated, managing to explain it in a way I understood. I could have kissed him, but I didn’t, instead I looked back down to my paper, hoping he didn’t notice the blush on my cheeks.

 We hadn’t actually kissed yet, not properly anyway. I didn’t know why, because in every other way each movement was natural in a way that felt like we’d been together for years rather than weeks. It might have been my fault—I’d never been in a relationship before, and I’d certainly never kissed anyone. So I might have been subconsciously avoiding it out of fear of doing it wrong, of being awful at it. But that was crazy, right? I mean, everyone had to have their first kiss sometime and as long as it was with the right person, someone who cared about you as much as you did them, then a little potential awkwardness was nothing to be afraid of. Logically, I knew that, but I was a coward and inexperienced, so I didn’t want to be the one to make the first move—especially not at school. People were still staring, partly because the Cullen’s were back—well Alice and Edward were, the rest had “graduated” almost a year ago—and partly because I was the Swan Edward was holding hands with in the halls now. I hadn’t actually heard anyone talking about it, nor had I had anyone directly ask me anything, but I knew they were talking about it. I didn’t want to know what they were saying, because I couldn’t imagine any of them were nice things, but I felt more like an animal in a zoo than I did human these days. So first kiss at school was completely out of the question, even if being around Edward was like being in our own specially designed indestructible bubble. I didn’t want them to have any more ammunition than they already had.

 The bell rang as I was finishing up my last sentence and Edward waited patiently for me to pack up before taking my backpack and my hand. On our way to the cafeteria my sister passed us, heading in the direction of the exit, I frowned and was about to call out to her when my vampire whispered an explanation in my ear.

 ‘Jacob’s come to meet her for lunch, don’t worry she’s not ditching.’ He placed a kiss behind my ear before pulling back and any trace of concern I’d had was replaced by a pleasant tingle where his lips had touched my skin.

 ‘I still don’t understand what happened there, you know.’ I murmured too low for other eavesdropping students to hear, but Edward wasn’t any other student.

 ‘Bella knew that our relationship wasn’t genuine, she went along with it because she hated the other male attention she was getting from students she wasn’t interested in. She noticed the other human’s reluctance to be near us and figured I’d be good at keeping any unwanted admirers at bay.’ He whispered into my ear, placing random food items on the tray I was carrying for the “both” of us.

 ‘Okay… it just seems a little extreme, especially after what happened last spring.’ He knew what I was referring to, and his eyes tightened slightly as he remembered James, Laurent and Victoria. His response was low as we took our seats at our usual table, Alice was already there, her eyes lighting up at our approach.

 ‘That was an unforeseen circumstance, those vampires weren’t supposed to pass through our territory and changed their mind at the last second.’ He said, his words coated with guilt even though nothing had actually happened, ‘we dealt with them, anyway, there and then. I’m just relieved you weren’t there. If James, the tracker had smelt your blood and seen my protectiveness over you… it could have turned into a game for him.’

 I nodded, smiling as he slid my seat closer to him so the left side of my body was in line with his right. His arm settled over my shoulders and I reached forward to grab a banana from the tray of food that settled on the table in between us.

 ‘Can I ask you something? And will you be completely honest with me, even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings?’ I asked, my voice quiet as I looked in between both Alice and Edward.

 It was about Bella. My sister’s dismissal and lack of interest in my life had been playing on my mind a lot lately. Had she always had this attitude towards me, and I’d just been too lost in being the protective older sister that I hadn’t noticed? Edward of course heard the question before I voiced it out loud and the sadness that swirled in his honey colored eyes told me the answer before his musical voice could deliver it. He kissed my forehead and caressed my cheek, before Alice’s soft; wind chime bell voice broke the moment.

 ‘Bella has never shown any kind of interest in your well-being, Y/N, in the moments I’ve seen between the two of you now and in the future.’ I could hear the sadness in her voice as well and I bit my lip in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

 How could it be? Had I done something wrong? Something she couldn’t forgive me for? I racked my brains, but I couldn’t think of anything, except Edward, but I knew they’d never loved each other that way, and she was definitely in love with the werewolf so what was it?

 ‘It was nothing you did, love.’ He kissed my hair again, his soft voice murmuring into the dark strands, ‘you’re not responsible for her decisions or her feelings, do you understand? It’s her loss and you have plenty of others who love you like a sister, some a daughter and one who loves you with every fiber of his existence.’

 A wave of pure happiness washed over me as I looked in between the two Cullen’s. They were right, what was one person’s lack of love in the face of a whole family who cared for me as their own? I decided then and there that Bella’s decision to treat me as a stranger rather than a sister would never bother me again, because I had all the family I could ever need, and the love of a man who was more perfect than I deserved. I was the luckiest human in the world.

 //

 The rest of the day flew by and I was so relieved—we only had a few more weeks left until graduation and I could have a break from the headaches the exams were bringing me. As Edward and I drove to his house—my request as I knew Charlie would be at work and Bella would probably be at the reservation—I wondered if I’d have another chance to graduate school. As a vampire. I wondered if I’d have the chance to graduate enough times to the point where I’d be able to face the curriculum, exams, with the same casual confidence that Edward and the rest of the Cullen’s could.

 It wasn’t as if I’d never considered it before, and despite Edward’s assurance that the Volturi wouldn’t come to check my mortality any time soon; I found myself picturing it more than I ever had. It used to be that I would dream of it, dream of being with Edward forever, to have him look at me like he loved me, and I would wake up and reality would shine down on me as the sun rose behind the clouds. At that point I’d force the secret desire down, ashamed to feel such a way about my sister’s boyfriend. But now I knew my feelings were returned, it was hard not to think about my future with the vampire, and no matter how many times I thought about it, my desire to join him as an immortal didn’t change.

 I knew he didn’t want that, because of my soul, but I also knew that this didn’t just involve him anymore, it involved all of the Cullen’s. All of the ones I’d considered as family when I’d first met them over a year ago. They all—except for Rosalie—had accepted me a lot faster than my sister. At the time I hadn’t understood why, but I’d come to learn it was because Alice’s visions assured that I was going to be a member of the family soon, while Bella was not. And now I worried about when the Volturi would come, would Edward’s inherent desire to keep me human result in the destruction of the family I’d barely had the time to get to know?

 We arrived at the white mansion in the woods and Edward was opening my door for me before I had even unclipped my seatbelt. I offered him a thankful smile as I climbed from the car and took his hand. He returned it, but I didn’t reach his eyes—I knew that meant he’d been listening to my thoughts and he wasn’t fond of what he had heard. I kissed his cheek, and tugged him lightly; he released a breath and led me into the house. It was quiet when we entered and he revealed that Emmett, Jasper, Alice and Rosalie were on a hunting trip in Mount Rainer, while Esme and Carlisle had gone away to visit friends in Alaska for the weekend.

 ‘Do you need to hunt?’ I asked, my fingers tracing the barely noticeable circles that were starting to form underneath his eyes—his orbs were still golden, but were darker like honeycomb rather than the butterscotch shade that meant his thirst was satiated. It wasn’t something you’d notice unless you knew what you were looking for.

 ‘I’m fine, they’ve only gone for a chance to hunt something other than deer and elk.’ He smirked, kissing the palm of the hand that still lingered on his perfect face, ‘if I get thirsty I’ll be out and back within an hour.’

 I smiled, my eyes falling to his lips and my earlier thoughts popped back into my head. My heart picked up and my breath got caught in my throat, before I could shake my head to clear it of my errant thoughts, Edward’s cool hands placed mine on his shoulders. I gripped him there and shivered in pleasure when his touch glided down the exposed skin of my arms, to my waist, where he pulled me closer. I didn’t know what was happening, but I didn’t have the concentration power to ponder it, as the warmth his touch left behind was distracting me. My eyes fluttered shut when his forehead fell against my own. I could feel the coolness of his body, the sweetness of his breath, and his scent surrounded me to the point of my mind being overwhelmed with him.

 When his lips met mine, soft, icy and tentative I swear I was incapable of coherent thought. All I could think about was how wonderful and right his mouth felt moving against mine. As the kiss progressed, his tentativeness melted away and turned into something more sure, more passionate and fiery. A sound echoed in the high ceilinged room, but I was too lost to wonder if that sound came from me. My hands moved of their own accord and slid into his soft bronze hair, attempting to pull him closer than he already was. I was aware of my lungs burning in my chest, but having Edward so close was beyond intoxicating, and so I was incapable of pondering what that meant. My vampire’s hands moved to mine in his hair and gently but firmly broke my hold. After another moment, his lips stopped in their movement and he pulled an inch away from me, allowing the opportunity to breathe. It was then that I realized how much I needed oxygen as my lungs pulled the air in as quickly as possible. My forehead fell to his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around my waist as he too caught his breath. He recovered before I did and lifted me up to sit on the couch in the living room with me on his lap. It felt like it took longer than it did, but eventually my breathing returned to normal and I leaned back, staring into his eyes as an unstoppable thought echoed through my mind.

 That was my first kiss ever and my first last kiss.

 ‘That was…wow.’ I blushed at my incapability to adequately put the kiss into words, but I wasn’t going to try when I knew it was fruitless.

 ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, love.’ His smile was dazzling and I felt myself beam in response to his happiness.

 I slid to his side so that we could watch the TV together, ignoring the desire to press my lips to his; I needed to be good. I knew how difficult it was for him to touch me in the simplest of ways, and I know if I’d been the vampire in that interaction, I would have had great difficulty concentrating on not hurting him while my thoughts were overwhelmed with desire. That was why I rarely initiated any touches between us; I didn’t want to take him by surprise, I wanted him to be in complete control when he touched me, because it was him who had the most difficulty. I smiled when his lips kissed my hair, and snuggled closer into his side, sighing contentedly when he held me a little tighter. At around dinnertime I called Charlie and asked permission to sleep over at Alice’s. I lied and told him the rest of the family was camping this weekend and I wanted to keep her company. He bought it and I hung up as Edward rejoined me in the living room. My brows rose in pleasant surprise when I saw that he was carrying a bowl of cheesy pasta and a glass of water.

 ‘You cooked?’ I grinned at the bashful, proud expression on his face, ‘how?��

 ‘Learned from the cooking channel.’ He winked and I ignored the fact my heart skipped a beat as I accepted the meal from him. He settled next to me again, his arm around my shoulders as I ate.

 ‘There’s something I want to run by you.’ I admitted, placing my now empty bowl onto the coffee table next to my half empty glass of water, ‘I want to put up a vote. For me becoming a vampire.’

 I felt him stiffen and after stealing myself, I looked up at his expression. It was frozen in surprise, but I could see the horror and rage burning in his honeycomb eyes.

 ‘I know how you feel on the subject, and I know what your answer will be, but this is more than just me and you now, Edward. It involves everyone, and I will not put everyone in danger because of me.’ My voice was firm and sure; it was something I’d been thinking about for weeks now; whenever Edward wasn’t around to distract my thoughts. I knew what I wanted, I’d never been more sure of anything, and I wanted to start living that life. Not because I felt the pressure of the Volturi potentially popping by for a visit, but because I wanted an eternity with him. Call it irrational, call it too fast, but I didn’t care.

 He was silent for a long moment, his eyes observing my expression and listening to the thoughts in my mind. Eventually the hardness around his eyes thawed and he nodded once, clearly not happy, but he respected my decision. I smiled, more than grateful for his attitude and kissed the palm of the hand that was resting over my shoulders. I knew he’d argue the opposing side, and I was fine with that, because I knew either way, vampire or not, he would be by my side loving me as I love him. And that’s all that mattered.

 //

 Epilogue: ten years later.

 After the Cullen’s had voted in favour of me becoming immortal 5-2, I’d been turned at the end of July. Between graduation and then, quite a few things had happened. Edward had presented me with a proposition. He’d asked me to marry him in exchange for him turning me into a vampire instead of Carlisle. What had surprised him was my willingness to do that—despite my Mom and Dad’s failed marriage, I’d always dreamed of finding my own husband one day. Of finding the perfect man for me to spend the rest of my life with, and after joking with Edward that I’d expected a proper proposal rather than a business deal from an old-fashioned gentleman, he’d grinned and promised to make it up to me.

 Not two days later he took me to a meadow he’d discovered in the forest. The moon was high enough in the sky to brighten the field for us, and it created a perfectly romantic ambiance. We’d had a picnic in the moonlight, a few battery operated candles also placed in the grass to allow my less sensitive eyes better sight. When I’d finished the delicious sandwiches that he’d once again prepared, he pulled me to my feet before he himself dropped to one knee. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me that night—his eyes had been softer than honey and shone with so much love and adoration that my knees felt weak. He promised to love me forever and asked me to marry him. I’d of course said yes, jumping into his arms and kissing him passionately. He’d chuckled and placed a finger to my lips as I’d been about to apologise for hurdling myself at him when I knew how careful he tried to be. All thoughts of apologies melted from my mind as I watched him slide the ring onto my finger—it was a white gold emerald cut ring, the centre stone was topaz in colour and there were white diamonds on either side. The yellow stone reminded me of his eyes and he’d sheepishly chuckled and admitted that was why he’d chosen it, because he wanted me to have a reminder of him with me always.

 We’d officially tied the knot in July at the Cullen property. It had been a very small, intimate wedding, despite Alice’s desire to expand the guest list. There weren’t more than fifty people in attendance, and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Alice of course organized everything—I hadn’t trusted anyone else to pull together a wedding in such a short space of time, and I certainly had no idea where to start. Other than asking Alice to be my maid of honour and Rosalie to be a bridesmaid, seeing as she was more of a sister than Bella was, even if she didn’t like me very much, I’d given up the reins completely to the psychic vampire. Charlie and Renée had been in attendance, but Bella hadn’t been invited. Edward and Alice had asked me numerous times if I was sure of that decision, but I knew I was. She wasn’t my family and she hadn’t been for a long time, she had made that decision and I was simply respecting her wishes. And as I’d realized all those weeks ago— your family didn’t have to be the ones you were biologically related to.

 My dress had been magnificent; it was form fitting and yet not so tight that I couldn’t walk properly. It was overlaid with lace and held a mixture of vintage and modern; a perfect representation of Edward and I. Alice and Rosalie both wore baby pink floor length dresses, the silk material being simple and yet elegant. Jasper and Emmett had led their respective partners down the isle, with the curly haired vampire being Edward’s best man. Charlie walked me down the isle and Carlisle officiated the wedding—I’d suggested to my vampire that having someone we both loved officiate the ceremony would make it that much more meaningful, and he’d agreed. There had been no question over whom we would ask, and the emotion that had overcome the eldest Cullen’s face when we’d asked would be something I’d never forget.

 After Edward and I had officially been joined in holy matrimony, we’d left the very same night to enjoy our honeymoon. Edward had insisted on surprising me with the location and I’d been happy to let him have the responsibility—all of the ideas I had were places that were known for rain. I figured that would be best with my husband being a vampire; I didn’t want him to spend the three weeks confined to the indoors, only to come out at night. However, I didn’t need to worry about that as he had taken me to Isle Esme, a gift from Carlisle just off the coast of Brazil. The privacy meant we could be out in the sunlight as often as we wanted and I was grateful for that as we spent most of our days hiking, swimming in the ocean or lying on the beach.

 Despite the traditions of a “honeymoon” we didn’t take that step during our three-week blissful vacation. I knew how difficult it would be for him and I told him I had none of those expectations because of that reason. I didn’t want him to wonder if my lack of interest had anything other underlying reasons behind it. Because it wasn’t that I was uninterested— in fact, I was very much looking forward to being able to be with him in that way, but I didn’t want to push it. Though I trusted him completely, I knew he’d never forgive himself if he slipped even for a second and accidentally hurt me. But I didn’t need sex to feel close to him. For the entire vacation we were attached at the hip, whether it was holding hands, or me sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped around me, we were never not touching. It was wonderful.

 Unfortunately, it couldn’t last forever and when we returned back to Forks Edward and I took some time to visit Charlie before we went to Alaska for “collage”. It was nice to see him again and remind him I would always love him as I said goodbye at the doorstep of the home I’d grown up in. Bella hadn’t been there and when I’d asked Charlie told me she was on a trip with Jacob, but that suited me just fine; her absence meant our farewell wasn’t tainted by disdainful glances.

 Upon arriving in Alaska, I realized the house we moved into was of the same interior style to the one in Washington and it was hard not to find the familiar decoration comforting. The whole family was reunited upon the move as a new state meant the opportunity to start over, though it was believed I wouldn’t be able to leave the house for a few years as I mastered my thirst and ability to resist human blood. Edward had changed me on the last day of July—the last thing I saw, before the pain became so unbearable that focusing on something else was impossible, was the honeycomb eyes of my husband, full of love, adoration and remorse. The pain burned consistently for what felt like longer than the three days I was promised, but I knew Edward never left my side as screams passed through my lips despite my attempts to hold them in.

 He held my hand through it all, and when I woke up to face my new life, his face was the first thing I saw. I remember being completely amazed by his magnificent beauty as I looked at him through my new eyes—it had been like seeing him for the first time. The hand that wasn’t being held in his reached up and traced over his cheek gently, mindful of the extra strength I’d been warned about, and a gasp had left my lips at the feel of his skin against mine. It felt smoother somehow, and warmer. He’d smiled and reminded me that we were the same temperature now and I returned the gesture, reaching up and pulling his mouth down to mine. We kissed passionately for a moment and when we parted I told him I loved him. He had beamed with happiness and hugged me to his chest, inhaling my scent and relaxing for what I was sure had been the first time in three days.

 Carlisle, Esme and Jasper had joined us then. The former couple welcoming me to the family while the latter eyed me warily. I’d frowned in confusion, and a little offense, until I’d realized what had caused his behaviour—I was the newborn, he was expecting me to be bloodthirsty and irrational. As that thought crossed my mind I became aware of the burning in my throat—I felt like I hadn’t had a drink in weeks and I knew what I needed. Edward smiled comfortingly and I relaxed at once as he announced that we were going hunting. That had been incredible. Running through the forests in my new home had been thrilling, my enhanced senses making it more beautiful than I’d thought possible. Hunting didn’t take as long as I’d thought, and after drinking a few bears and a moose, I felt full and the burning in my throat was none existent. As we’d returned to the house, racing with Edward, I was overjoyed at how happy and content I felt—this was the life I was destined to live. I was certain of it.

 I blinked out of my trip down memory lane as someone gently but firmly kicked my leg under the table. I looked up to see Jasper cocking his brow at me in question—he’d probably felt the thirst I’d been remembering as I woke up as a newborn. I shook my head in answer to his silent inquiry and went back to picking apart the cookie on my plate that I of course had no desire to eat. Edward and Emmett hadn’t joined us at the table yet—their class had been on the other side of campus and they had to move at a human pace to get here, so the four of us usually beat them. My lips pursed as my gaze flickered out of the window and when I saw the snow that was falling in thick flakes to the ground, my lips twitched as I fought a smile.

 ‘Your doing?’ Alice asked, her lips not even moving as she followed my gaze.

 ‘Maybe.’ I grinned.

 That was something I’d discovered in my first few years—I could influence the elements, including being able to change the weather whenever I wanted. I didn’t do it often, as Carlisle had pointed out that constant and unpredictable changes in weather were bound to draw attention and obviously, that wasn’t okay. So I only ever gave into the desire once every few months, otherwise I restricted my influence behind closed doors where no one else was aware. It was fun, but beyond anything else it relaxed me and provided a healthy outlet for any emotions I couldn’t express otherwise. Of course Jasper would have helped if I asked, but I wanted to feel my grief, not have it taken away.

 ‘The first snowfall of the year. It’s pretty, too bad it’s going to be washed away by rain tomorrow,’ Alice commented, her eyes lingering on the scenery outside before she looked over to me, worry shining in her black eyes. We were all thirsty today, which was why Jasper in particular was on edge. Thirst was actually something I handled quite will and within I few months of being newborn, I’d enrolled in high school as a freshman as soon as my eyes darkened to gold.

 ‘I’m okay, Alice.’ I murmured, knowing if any humans were looking in our direction they wouldn’t even be able to see my lips moving.

 ‘No you’re not. You don’t have to lie to us, Y/N.’ Jasper replied, his foot finding mine underneath the table again and giving me a playful nudge.

 ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I bit my lip, grateful crying wasn’t possible, ‘I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.’

 ‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’ Rosalie said, placing a hand over one of mine. I smiled gratefully, happy that the blonde had warmed up to me over the years. It would have sucked spending an eternity with her hating me.

 ‘Thank you, Rose.’ My head rested on her shoulder for a moment as I hugged her from the side. I sat up afterwards, being sure to move at a human pace—it was simply too easy to move at vampire speed.

 ‘How do you feel about shopping tomorrow after school?’ Alice asked and I bit back a groan.

‘I have homework.’ I said, it was a poor excuse and she knew it—I had plenty of time to finish any homework I might be assigned, so realistically I was free as a bird.

‘Nice try. You need new clothes, the trends are changing and you’ll start sticking out soon.’ She grinned in victory when my shoulders slumped in defeat.

‘Fine.’ I threw a cookie crumb at her, laughing when she caught it without an issue.

I didn’t notice the small smiles that formed on the faces of my family at the sound—I’d been down ever since I’d found out that Charlie had passed away. It had been a total shock, healthy one day and the next he’d had a fatal heart attack. Edward had held me for four hours straight when I found out, not once did he complain, he gave me all the time I needed as my body shook with sobs. It had been a few months since I’d got the news now and I was starting to come out from underneath the dark cloud of grief, much to the relief of my family. They hated seeing me so forlorn.

My head snapped up almost too quickly as I caught Edward’s scent as he entered the Cafeteria, our brother trailing behind him and laughing his booming laugh at something the bronze haired vampire had said. Seeing them joking around together made me smile and when Edward winked in my direction my head ducked bashfully. I heard Emmett making a joke at my expense, amused I could still be modest after ten years, and I bit back a grin when I heard the curly haired brother masking a sound of pain, indicating my vampire had taken a jab at him. I felt myself relax down to my bones when Edward slid into the empty seat to my left, his right arm automatically wrapping around my shoulders.

‘How was class?’ I asked, entwining my fingers with his where they rested on my shoulder. His free hand was idly pushing food around on his tray as Emmett answered on his behalf.

��Actually interesting. The new girl was snuggling up awful close to your husband there, sister.’ He winked, his grin growing at my frown of annoyance.

‘What new girl?’ I was surprised I’d missed the news, it was rare for new students to enroll here—not many people willingly wanted to go to school where it was freezing more often than it was warm.

‘Jody Hendricks.’ Edward murmured, the corners of his mouth falling in distaste, ‘I didn’t speak a word to her but she wouldn’t shut up for the whole class.’

‘I see,’ my eyes darted around the room as my irritation grew—I wasn’t usually the jealous type, but I blamed my short fuse on my grief.

It wasn’t hard to find her for two reasons: first, almost everyone was staring at her. Second she was staring at my husband. A growl formed at the back of my throat, too low for any humans to hear, but definitely loud enough for my family to pick up on. Emmett and Jasper snorted in amusement, but I didn’t pay them any mind as Edward’s hand came up to caress the side of my cheek, effortlessly earning my attention. His gentle touch erased the death stare that had been present on my expression meer moments before, and melt into something much softer. When I saw the amusement in his dark eyes I felt embarrassment wash through me like a tidal wave: what had I been doing? Of course I knew I had nothing to be worried about, but emotions were irrational and I’d been overcome with the jealous feeling before I’d been able to consider the ludicrousness behind it.

My thoughts were silenced as Edward’s lips moved against mine suddenly. The kids was deliberate, allowing anticipation to build between us like a slow building fire, and just when I was starting to forget where we were he pulled away, placing a kiss to my forehead. My smile was genuine and soft as I looked up into his eyes, that mirrored the same gentleness. The onyx orbs shimmered with adoration as he stared back, meeting my gaze head on. Immortality had been everything I’d hoped it would be and more, which I hadn’t thought would be possible, but it was. My love for Edward had only grown and flourished, as had the love I held for the rest of my family. Without a doubt I had been born to be a vampire, this is where I belonged, surrounded by my adopted family and in my husband’s arms. Here, I was home. And I couldn’t imagine that would ever change, even if I lived for an eternity.

[ieattaperecorders]

Chrysalis

How much would Martin be willing to turn his back on in order to keep the one he loves? One possible outcome of Jon's will-he-won't-he (become an eldritch abomination) arc. A bit longer, probably easier to read on Ao3. Spoilers up to MAG 163. 

Read it on Ao3. 

Things like day and night didn’t really exist anymore, Martin knew that. But the quality of light from the sky -- slate-gray, cold and impenetrable -- made it feel like early dawn, which seemed as good a time as any to set out.

He shifted the lightweight bag on his shoulders. It was kind of nice that they didn’t need to load up on food, he supposed. Made the packing easier. Jon stood nearby, staring up at the endless gray with a blank expression on his face. There was a second bag slung over his shoulder beside the one Martin had packed, holding the tapes and statements. He’d refused to leave them behind.

Martin took out the safehouse keys and paused, hand halfway to the door, as he realized what he was doing.

“You know, I was just about to lock up,” he said, turning to Jon with a wry smile. “Isn’t that ridiculous? What am I worried about, someone coming in to rob our creepy cabin that eats people? Steal the silverware that’s probably alive and evil?”

Jon turned from the sky and smiled fondly at him. “If anyone did break in, they’d likely just settle inside and never leave.”

“Yeah.” Martin sighed, looking back at the cabin. “Shame burning didn’t work. You were right about that one.”

“It’s not made of wood and stone anymore.” Jon said. “It’s a part of this world, now. It doesn’t need to worry about fire.”

“I know it’s just just one place out of countless others and all. . . still wish there was something we could do. I mean, someone could stumble across it, couldn’t they?”

“I don’t know, Martin. I don’t know if anyone’s likely to be in a state to make it here.” Jon said. “But if someone did, they’d probably know not to trust anything that looks like safety.”

“Very cheerful.”

“Sorry. I did mean for that to be reassuring.” Jon mumbled. Something silver-bright flashed in his gaze for a moment. “At any rate, I - I don’t think you have to worry. It’s not for anyone else.”

“It’s not . . . sorry, what?”

“It’s our nightmare.” Jon said quietly, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. He walked to the door and placed a hand flat against it. “My fear of losing you turned into a cloying lie of protection. Your fear of watching me . . . .” his voice went quiet. “. . . Decay. In my despair, in that room. The love we have for each other no longer something in which either of us can take comfort.”

He lowered his hand and turned back to Martin conclusively. “It’s for us. It’s what the safehouse was for us in our darkest moments. I don’t think anyone else would even see it.”

“You’re talking like it was made for us.” Martin said after a moment of silence.

“It was, in a sense. Shaped around us. Like mold growing over an old mask, taking the form of a human face.”

Jon turned away from the cabin and walked towards the path. On impulse Martin put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“I’m scared too,” Martin said. “But we have a plan, and we have each other.”

Jon smiled sadly at him, needing only the barest prompting to nestle himself into Martin’s arms. He held him for a while, breathing deeply.

“I’m not afraid of anything out there.” Jon said softly. “Not directly. I’m just . . . scared I’ll lose you to it.”

“You won’t.” Martin said, and it felt like the truth. “I know, I know, there’s untold dangers and horrors the likes of which I can’t imagine, etcetera. But you’ll be there when I have to sleep, and I’ll be with you the rest of the time. And if something separates us, then we’ll just have to fight until we get back to one another.”

Jon nodded, then glanced back at the unchanged sky. “And. . .if I. . .lose myself?”

Martin was quiet for a while, unsure how to answer that. Then he gave Jon’s hand a squeeze, and smiled.

“If you do, I’ll come and find you. Bring you back,” he said. “Just like you did when I was lost.”

And oh, the smile on Jon’s face when he said that. It gave off a warmth that spread and spread until it covered Martin like a ray of real sunlight. If he could still make Jon smile like that, he could do anything.

“You know what I really want to see?” Martin asked.

“. . .What?”

“The look on Elias’s face when we kick down his door.”

Jon laughed, a sharp, loud noise of surprise and genuine mirth, and grinned. “Oh yes. I’m looking forward to that one as well.”

Martin kissed Jon’s hand and lowered it to his side, fingers twining with his. The two of them turned with purpose toward a path that once led to a village, which once had people, in what once was the world.

* * *

The journey would be the journey, according to Jon. Martin could accept that . . . mostly. He at least accepted that walking was the only way to get there. Even if he had been planning to dig his heels in on that, he’d have changed his mind after that road with all the abandoned cars. Too many of them had teeth.

It was just . . . the Beholding had never given Jon useful information before. No warnings about people who were coming after him, or knowledge about what happened to Sasha. Certainly not anything about what Elias was really up to. But it wouldn’t have given him that, would it? No. It would have hid that information, just like it hid the way to quit the Institute. So what did that say about the fact it was now telling him how to reach the tower? Either it wanted them there or . . . maybe it wanted them to go through everything in between. Throw themselves at all this horror, for its own pleasures and purposes.

Martin didn’t suggest turning around, though. A chance to confront Elias and find a way back was worth the risk of feeding the Eye, and besides, where else would they go? Regardless of the sinister force behind it, Jon’s insight continued to guide them across one nightmare after another.

It was while they were were traveling one of the empty spaces between when Jon stopped in his tracks, inhaling sharply. Martin stopped a pace later.

“What is it?”

Jon hesitated, swallowed and shook his head. “It’s. I’m all right.”

“Jon.”

“It’s just . . . a lot. Loud.” Jon muttered. “It will get worse the closer we go to what once was London . . . there were fewer people in the countryside.”

“Do you need a minute?” Martin frowned, concern edging into his voice.

“Yes. No.” Jon shook his head and resumed walking. “I think it’s better to keep moving. Standing in place just makes the moment longer, you know?”

“Just pace yourself, all right?” Martin followed.

Jon shrugged at him. “It’s not really something I can stop.”

They continued on, through forests of mirrors that they knew better than to let themselves reflect in. Through storms that went from rain to ice to shards of glass. Through tunnels they found themselves in after open countryside with no transition, like travel in a dream. They held hands and navigated the darkness by touch and by each others voices, and walked on.

* * *

Their bodies didn’t tire in the same way, but rest was still needed if only as respite from everything else. They tried to pick spots that were quiet and gave them room to run. At one point they settled in an empty place beside a road they’d been walking down. When Martin tried letting go of Jon’s hand to remove his jacket, Jon’s grip on him tightened.

“Don’t let go of me. Please,” he muttered. “Not while we’re stopped here.”

Martin paused. “Is switching hands okay?”

Jon nodded. Martin took the strap off his right shoulder, then took Jon’s right hand before shrugging off the left strap, slipping the bag off without breaking contact. He moved Jon’s hand to his knee while he removed his coat and folded it into the bag. As long as there was some physical connection, Jon seemed all right with it.

“What’s different about here?” Martin asked as he did this.

Jon frowned. “Don’t look directly at it, but. . . to your left. Have you noticed?”

Martin continued looking straight ahead, but let a little attention drift to his periphery. A few yards away from them there was something . . . off. He couldn’t tell if it was the color of the sky, or something about the ground, or the few bits of plant life that grew there, but something was wrong in an undefinable way. If there was one thing he could identify it was that the crooked, leafless tree near the horizon was the same one he’d been seeing in the corner of his eye for hours, and their distance from it hadn’t changed. The landscape was following them.

“I’ve noticed . . . something,” he said. “Didn’t really make note of it, I guess. Because there’s always something?”

“The Unknowing is strong there.” Jon said. “We may have to go through it eventually, but for now it’s keeping its distance. Oh. Try not to think directly at it either.”

“What does ‘think directly’ m--oh, dammit.” Martin winced as a wave of disorientation his his mind, momentarily blurring his thoughts and making his pulse race. “Jon. . .you know that when you tell someone not to think about something--”

“They immediately think about it.” Jon grimaced. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought--”

“It’s all right, it’s all right. . .I’m fine, really.”

Don’t think about pink elephants. Martin told himself, and images of pink elephants tumbled into his mind. He focused on not thinking about that for a while, only half-considering the landscape to the left as he did so.

“So . . . should we be staying here?” he asked. “Is it -- well, I won’t ask if it’s dangerous, but do you think it’s more dangerous than everything else is? Or about the same?’

“The latter, most likely.” Jon said. “I just don’t want to lose sight of you. It’s still something of a . . . blind spot for me. I don’t want to risk not being able to find you if anything separates us.”

Martin wondered if Jon was being overprotective in thinking that an instant without constant physical contact could result in something swooping in to pull him away, or if Martin was being complacent in thinking that wouldn’t happen. He supposed it didn’t matter. Either way, he didn’t mind.

“Are you all right here?” Martin frowned. “I mean, if the Unknowing is, ah, bad for you . . . .”

“It’s sort of a relief, actually.” Jon’s brow knit. “I think it’s having some dampening effect on the Watcher. It makes everything softer. Quieter.”

“Really . . . .” Martin resisted the impulse to look or think closer at what they were talking about. They weren’t talking about anything. Not anything other than pink elephants, which he was still steadily avoiding thoughts of. “Should we try skirting a little closer to it? I mean, if it’s not more dangerous than any other place . . . maybe being near it would actually be good?”

A breeze blew in from Martin’s left, carrying noise on the wind. He heard the faint groan of a calliope and two whispering voices. They didn’t sound entirely like Tim and Sasha. But they also didn’t sound unlike them enough. He could tell from the expression on Jon’s face that he was hearing them too.

“Let’s not.” Jon said.

Martin nodded. “Yeah. Let’s not.”

* * *

There were close calls. They’d been prepared for danger, but preparation only gives you so much. When one fell the other could grab them and dig in their heels, they could run from waves of screaming flesh or burn back things that slithered from behind walls. But there was always more, and the dangers were never simple. And every time something got too near or gripped too hard for Martin to pull away, Jon was quick to put himself in front of it. He’d pin it with an unnatural gaze, eyes wide, teeth grinding in concentration and pain until something intangible was ripped away and they could resume running.

Martin should have been more afraid for himself. He knew he was vulnerable in a way Jon wasn’t. When the grass beneath their feet twisted into patterns so mesmerizing that Martin didn’t notice it was winding around him, Jon kept him walking. When something made Martin forget the world had ended, forget that they weren’t back in London during a time when everything seemed gentler, Jon shouted the truth at him until Martin believed it. Jon saw which parts of the ground were real and which ones shouldn’t be stepped on. Even the things that jumped out of the shadows with teeth and claws seemed to have more interest in Martin.

But he knew Jon was vulnerable too, in a different way. He was always ready to use his power to protect Martin, but it wasn’t really his power, was it? He directed and channeled it, sure. But it was the Watcher that was reaching through him, and Martin didn’t forget that.

One frightened morsel of humanity probably didn’t mean much to the Eye in a world that was nothing but food. Though Martin wasn’t safe from it, he doubted it had any special interest in him. But it had intent where Jon was concerned. It wanted something from him. Even after everything it had taken from the man Martin loved, Beholding was still hungry for more. Each time Jon drew on it, Martin swore he took a little bit longer to look back at him. He was certain the hollows in Jon’s face had been getting darker, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him blink.

So he did what he could. He kept the axe close and used it as best as he was able. He stayed alert. When something with long, ropey limbs and a face like an inside-out deer emerged from the hillside and wrapped itself around him, he tried not to panic. And when Jon jumped in and stilled it with a look Martin wriggled out of its tendrils, grabbed Jon around the waist, and ducked through a crevice in the rock wall.

With a loud scraping noise, the stone slid closed behind them - trapping the monster outside but plunging them into darkness. Martin groaned internally. Leaping from one danger into the teeth of another was starting to get so commonplace as to be tedious. He could feel Jon’s hands gripping his arm tight enough that he was sure there’d be bruises later, though he stayed completely silent.

Martin yanked the torch out of his backpack pocket and clicked it on, mentally crossing his fingers. The batteries were just lumps of matter - the torch worked when it wanted to, didn’t when it didn’t. But today it was cooperating, and its beam lit up the cavern around them. It was small, but not quite ‘pressing down from all sides’ small, which was good. It seemed for the moment that they were alone, which was also good. It also seemed that there was no way in or out, which was not as good. Martin tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, as if the air wasn’t quite enough to fill it.

“Okay. Well. I don’t think it can get in here. . . .” Martin said, flicking the light around the chamber. “Maybe we--”

The beam passed across Jon’s face. His eyes reflected it like a cat’s, which barely even registered as ‘weird’ anymore. But for a moment in the dark of the cave, there were more than two lights looking back. At least a dozen eyes glinted from the shadows around Jon, and Martin’s arm jumped in surprise. When the light returned it was just Jon’s own eyes watching him, blinking and squinting in the flashlight’s beam.

“S-sorry.” Martin angled the torch back towards the cave wall.

“Mmmhmm.” Jon rubbed his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Are you?”

“Yes. . .I think so.” Jon looked around the chamber. “I don’t see anything else in here. . .”

“You mean see, or see?” Martin asked, trying to make it sound like a joke.

“Either.”

“Hmm.” Martin moved the light around more methodically, in case he’d missed an exit or a tunnel the first time. Nothing. “Doesn’t look like there’s any way out. At least I’m not claustrophobic.”

The second he said that, he could feel the chamber shrink a little around him.

“Had to say it, didn’t you?” Jon smiled ruefully.

Martin winced. “I should just stop talking.”

“I wouldn’t like that.” Jon said.

“Are you okay?” Martin frowned. “I mean. . .after the coffin. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was getting to you. . . .”

“There isn’t a fear I’m not marked by in some way.” Jon’s voice was grim. “That was the whole point. But I’m not panicking yet.”

Martin nodded and sat against the chamber wall. He could feel exhaustion sinking in. That last burst of adrenaline burned through his reserves, which had been low for a while.

“I think . . . I might need to sleep again soon,” he said.

“Well. At the risk of provoking another change . . . there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger here.” Jon said.

They both paused and braced themselves, waiting for a reaction. None came, and Jon continued.

“We could rest a while, find our way out when you wake,” he finished, sitting down beside him.

“As long as you’ll be okay here.” Martin said.

“I’ll be all right. Besides, we are here now regardless of how we feel about it.” He leaned against the wall beside Martin. “Thank you for pulling me away. I think that I was . . . . Well, anyway, thank you.”

“Of course.” Martin put a hand on his. “. . . Thank you for protecting me.”

“I always will.” Jon whispered, a intensity in his voice that thundered against the cave walls.

“Not unless you have to, all right?” Martin swallowed. “I don’t know if it’s smart to . . . you know. Use its ‘gifts’ too much.”

“I’m not going to let something take you if I have the power to stop it--” Jon began.

“I’m not asking you to.” Martin said. “Just . . . be careful? I can get away on my own sometimes too, you know,” he added the last in a teasing tone. As if this was all about Jon not giving him enough credit.

“Right . . . of course.” Jon spoke reluctantly, as if someone was reminding him of the health risks posed by cigarettes. Not disagreeing, but at the same time. . . well. “Of course you can. I’ll be careful.”

Martin pulled Jon a little closer and kissed him. It was a reminder, and it was gratitude, and it was also just a kiss. Then he passed the torch to Jon. They both tensed for a moment when it clicked off, but there was no awful sound of rock walls suddenly shifting. Martin’s eyes adjusted to the dark, which meant this was the sort of dark that eyes could adjust to, and as far as he could tell the chamber had remained the same size. They placed their bags around them and used coats as padding against the hard stone.

Jon settled Martin’s head in his lap and kissed his forehead, obviously trying to hide the dread. Martin felt it too. He told himself that the next thing he’d remember would be waking with only the ghost of terror he couldn’t recall gnawing at him. But deep down he knew that wasn’t how it worked. He’d likely forget his dreams, but he’d still have to endure them first.

Sleep was going to come whether he was ready or not, and there was no point in fighting it. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the soothing feeling of Jon’s fingers in his hair, until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

* * *

He woke gasping, pushing himself off the cave floor. His last cry still echoed in the cave around him, and his breathing was ragged. Martin felt around himself. . . even in his state of disorientation he could tell something was very, very wrong. Then it hit him - Jon wasn’t there. He wasn’t sitting beside him, wasn’t stroking his hair or squeezing his hand or wrapped around him and murmuring soothing words in his ear. For the first time since the world had ended, Jon wasn’t holding him when he woke.

“Jon!?” he called in alarm, eyes still adjusting to the dark.

Jon didn’t call back, but Martin could hear something coming from the other side of the cave. He felt around until his hand closed over the torch and he clicked it on. It lit up a silhouette on the other side of the chamber, sat facing away. It looked like Jon from behind, but Martin was immediately wary. He couldn’t see the figure’s face. Why hadn’t he replied when Martin called out? Why wasn’t he turning now?

Martin shone the light around the rest of the cave and found it empty, so he got to his feet and slowly approached. As he got closer, he heard what definitely sounded like Jon’s voice coming from the figure, whispering something indistinct.

“Jon?” Martin asked quietly. The figure didn’t respond. Hesitatingly, Martin moved to its side so he could see its face.

The figure didn’t spin violently around to reveal black pits for eyes and a maw full of fangs, nor did it fall over revealing a dessicated corpse, or dissolve into insects, or any of the other countless things that ran through Martin’s mind as he got closer. Its face was just Jon’s face. It was Jon. He was staring at the cave wall, apparently entranced.

He didn’t seem to see Martin. Whatever he was watching, Martin suspected it was well past the actual boundaries of the cave. His face was fixed in an expression somewhere between fear and wonder, and there were tears in his eyes. But as Martin watched, a smile slowly spread across his face and his mouth formed the shape of the word ‘beautiful.’

“Jon. . . .”

Martin might have gripped his shoulder a little harder than he needed to, shaken it a little more than necessary, but it snapped Jon back to reality. The smile fell away completely and he glanced around in startled confusion.

“Mh. . .” Jon began to mouth his name, then trailed off. Horror seemed to be settling on him.

“. . . What did you see?” Martin whispered.

Jon stared for a moment, then closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “Terrible things.”

A thousand questions, a thousand more concerns were running through Martin’s mind. But like an idiot, all he thought to say was, “you weren’t there.”

“Wh--wha--”

“When I woke up.” Martin explained. “You weren’t . . . you were just staring . . . .”

“Oh. . .oh,” Jon reached for him, speaking emphatically. “I’m so sorry, Martin.”

“No, it’s - - it’s all right, that isn’t what I mean, I just - -”

How could he explain it? Yes, okay, he was a little needy when he woke, and yes Jon not being there had been . . . upsetting. But he wasn’t frightened right now because of how much it meant to him that Jon was there when he woke up. It was how much he knew being there when he woke meant to Jon. It was the fact that Jon had never left his side while he slept. Except tonight he had. Something had moved him away and kept him from hearing his voice. And that scared Martin more even than waking alone in the dark had.

Regardless, Jon was pulling him into an embrace he didn’t feel like resisting. So he reached out his arms and held back, tight as he could without crushing him. He heard Jon mutter apologies, soothing things and reassurances. But the fear didn’t leave this time.

They huddled together for a while, neither eager to break the hold. Eventually Martin shifted them into a more comfortable position, leaning himself against the cave wall and Jon against him.

“. . . I’m worried about you.” Martin said, after a while of silence.

Jon didn’t seem to have any reassurances in him for that. He just squeezed Martin’s hand very, very hard. Martin reached up and bushed his fingers over Jon’s temples, tenderly. Jon closed his eyes.

Even in the barely-there light of the cave, he could see the deep lines under Jon’s eyes. Between that and the gray that had taken over his hair, he was beginning to resemble the old man he always used to act like. Martin fondly ran his thumb over the little crow-foot wrinkles extending from the corners of Jon’s eyes. Then he stopped suddenly, taking a closer look.

They weren’t wrinkles. They were cracks.

* * *

Everything about the place screamed “leave.” Scorched scrap walls, doors ripped off their hinges, murals smeared with blood and ash. But things were bad in all directions, and Jon insisted this was the path they had to take.

Martin avoided taking in details as they walked, scarf over his face to keep from breathing in ash, which saturated the air. He didn’t speculate on what terrible fate had befallen this place, but it did seem strange that a settlement like this existed at all. It looked like it had been built after the world had changed, and it had time to build itself well. The shacks weren’t slapped together, they’d been reinforced and decorated. Woven blankets, curtains of beads and other possessions lay shredded in the empty doorways. There were the beginnings of farms and communal areas broken among the ruins. Had that much time really passed? Maybe time was just that malleable now. Or maybe this place had come into being already built up, already ruined.

Thinking about that kept Martin from thinking too hard about the bodies lying huddled on the ground. It wasn’t just sorrow or horror at the story those charred husks told that kept Martin from letting his gaze settle on them. They were the first people he’d seen that looked truly, truly dead.

Fates worse than death were one thing. He’d seen plenty of those, and yes, they were terrifying. But Jon had guided him back from the Lonely, and Martin had given him voices to follow out of the Buried. As long as they were both alive, there was a chance. Awful as being trapped in a three by three foot box or shrouded in an aching, numbing mist or wracked with fevers for eternity might be, they could hope to find their way out of it. Death was different. Martin was fairly sure that was still true.

He tried not to think about it. Kept walking.

Unfortunately, and in retrospect predictably, the settlement was a maze. The farther in they went, the more it began to grow and stretch out around them. Martin quietly cursed when he realized what was happening. He should have been used to the nightmare logic that was now natural law, but it seemed there was nothing to do now but press on.

At one point Martin realized that Jon wasn’t next to him. There was a moment of panic before he turned to find that he’d only stopped a few paces back. He was staring at a ruined fence, face slack. Martin exhaled and walked back to him.

“Jon, come on,” he tugged at his arm. “We can’t stay here.”

It took a moment for Jon to register Martin’s touch. He blinked at him, eyes slightly glazed, breathing heavily. His eyes were red, but Martin didn’t see any tears.

“Here. . . .”

Martin put an arm around Jon and gently turned him until his face was completely hidden in Martin’s jumper.

“Don’t look at it. Just hold onto me and keep moving.”

Jon didn’t respond, but Martin felt his arms reach around him and grip firmly. They began walking again, slower now so that Jon didn’t stumble. Martin kept his hand on the back of Jon’s head and they got some distance that way, Jon’s arms occasionally tightening a notch more, then relaxing, then tightening again. Martin didn’t want to guess what he was seeing.

Very suddenly, that grip tightened enough to squeeze the breath from Martin, and Jon’s face pulled free from his jumper with a gasp.

“. . .They’re still here,” he whispered, eyes wide.

Martin didn’t ask ‘who’ because it didn’t matter, the fear in Jon’s voice told him everything he needed to know. He felt the wind pick up, ash swirling in the air around them. In the distance, Martin was sure that he saw figures gathering.

“Shit.” Martin squinted at the distant forms. Some were close enough for him to make out details, twisted masses of scorched skin and scar tissue. Not human in shape, but made of human shapes - limbs and backs and screaming faces.

“This. . . .” his thoughts from earlier bubbled up with the rising tide of fear. “This one wants to kill us. Doesn’t it?”

“It won’t kill us.” Jon said with certainty.

“That’s something, at least,” he swallowed.

“It’s Desolation,” Jon continued, voice small. “It’ll kill one of us, leave the other alive to mourn. Like it did with them,” he pointed an unsteady hand to one of the figures.

Martin’s arms tightened around Jon. “Okay. Running? Running sound good? Can you, uh, See a way out of here?”

“I’m trying, but. . . ” Jon grit his teeth, pressing the heel of one hand against his forehead. “It’s all too much. The -- the loss, the anguish. I - - I can’t see anything past it, I- - ” his hand began to shake.

“Okay.” Martin looked around. Right or left, fifty fifty chance, right? Or it would be in world where the cardinal directions stayed where they were. “Hold my hand, and just - - just tell me if you see an exit.”

Jon nodded weakly, and they ran. But it was hard. The rows between the ruins were narrow, and ash obscured Martin’s vision. Worst of all, Jon couldn’t seem to keep his legs under him. Usually he was the faster of the two, but now he kept turning back, slowing and stumbling until Martin was almost dragging him along. Finally Martin gave up, grabbed Jon around the waist and threw him over his shoulder.

The figures were drawing closer, gathering together to form one mass - a towering thing with a choir of screaming mouths. How could something that big move so fast? It was catching up, and with Jon’s weight Martin was tiring already. Then one foot landed in a way that it shouldn’t have, his legs turned under him and they both went down, rolling away from each other on the soot choked ground. Martin immediately pushed himself up again. No time to stop, no room to catch his breath. Jon was a few feet away, curled around himself and shaking violently. His eyes were completely glazed over.

When Martin reached to help him up, Jon gripped his hand and looked at him pleadingly.

“Run,” he whispered. “Just run.”

Not a chance, Martin thought, but then the ground shook and the thing drew in on them. He had only a split second - it was here and it was close too close and there wasn’t time. But the things in this world were always more interested in him, weren’t they? If he did run, maybe he could lead it away. By himself he might be fast enough to lose it and come back around.

There was no time to weigh the options. He chose what seemed like a chance for escape over holding Jon and waiting for death. Martin ran.

There was a moment of relief when he looked back and saw there was some distance between him and it. Then confusion when he realized it wasn’t running after him at all. It was still in place, twisting and screaming, but not coming closer to him or Jon. Behind it, Jon was standing up.

Jon looked at the creature and his gaze was as eerie and intense as ever. But something was different this time. Martin found himself thinking he’s crying. And then, no. . .those aren’t tears.

With a terrible sound, Jon’s body split with cracks. They curled around scar tissue, opened the lines of his face and opened him. But what came out from inside him wasn’t blood and flesh and bone. It was dark and alive with movement, like television static. And inside that shifting haze, countless eyes peered back.

The cracks spread outwards from Jon. They split the sky, opened tears in reality. And where the sky was rent, Martin saw the merciless gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher. It was a hungering brightness at the center of everything. It was as impersonal as a surveillance state, yet as intimate as a face breathing into yours while you slept, horrible to see but impossible to turn away from. And the fullness of its stare was focused on that mound of flesh and sorrow and pain.

The things’ scream gave Martin the jolt he needed to tear himself away. He covered his face with his arms and huddled until the noise was abruptly cut off. In the silence that followed, Martin waited a good, long moment, then he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

The creature was. . .empty. That was the only word for it. It had fallen apart on the ground, lumps of flesh twitching and hissing, but with nothing at all inside them. Not dead. Not physically hollowed, but empty. Jon stood in the middle of it all. The cracks in the sky had closed, thankfully, but they still twisted across Jon’s back, warping his form.

“. . . Jon?” Martin said uncertainly.

Jon’s head snapped in his direction, and there was nothing in his eyes that Martin recognized. Only a piercing and terrible hunger.

Martin stumbled backwards as Jon made a beeline for him. Something caught his foot and he went down hard, landing sprawled on the ground. When he looked up Jon stood over him, and Martin was a frog open on a dissection table. He was an insect pinned under a child’s thumb. He was a secret caught in a blinding light, and every instinct in his brain was screaming at him to hide, but there was no place for him to go.

He was afraid of losing himself. Martin thought. He was afraid of losing himself, and I kept saying we had to go and now he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone and there’s nothing - -

The Archivist reached down, placing a hand on each side of Martin’s face and holding his head still. Martin should have been running, or screaming for him to stop, or socking him in the face. But all he could do was stare numbly back and wait for whatever would come.

“I’m sorry. . .” Martin said, anguish in his voice. “I’m so, so, sorry. . . .”

The figure in front of him lowered its forehead, pressing it against Martin’s. And suddenly, Martin Knew that Jon loved him.

It was immutable and certain as gravity had once seemed. He didn’t simply trust that Jon loved him, didn’t just understand it to be true because of the way he behaved and the things he said. Martin Knew it to his core. Jon loved him, he loved him so, so much. He had loved him for a long time now, and in that moment Jon loved him no less than he ever had.

The full weight of that love settled in him, the warmth and the brightness of it filled his mind and for a moment it overwhelmed everything else. He forgot the settlement, forgot the cracks in the sky. There was nothing but him and this one, perfect truth. He would never forget it, never deny it, never be able to doubt it. There was only one other thing Martin had ever Known so deeply, and he had spent most of his days since then trying not to think much about it.

Then the moment passed. The feeling faded from an all-consuming understanding to a gentle, quiet certainty. When he came back to himself his face was streaked with tears. Jon had taken a step back, giving him room to breathe, and now stood silently in front of him.

“Jon . . . ?” Martin asked, softly, hopefully. “Is it still you?”

Jon opened his mouth and the sound of crackling static came out. He reached for Martin, who drew back without thinking. Jon paused and lowered his hand. He patted himself on the left side of his coat, just over the pocket. Martin reached into his own pocket, feeling the shape of the object inside. When he realized what it was, he laughed. He couldn’t help it. The tape recorder clicked on as soon as he removed it.

“I think so.” Jon’s voice came out of the recorder, slightly distorted by the hiss of playback. “Though . . . I suppose I don’t know how one tells that sort of thing?”

“Okaaay. . .” Martin exhaled, looking from the recorder in his lap back to Jon. “Okay. This is new. Sort of weird, but could be worse?”

Jon took a careful step closer, testing to see if Martin would draw back again. He didn’t, and Jon sat on the ground beside him. The cracks in his body were slowly closing, the blur of static and Watching getting smaller between them. Martin set down the recorder, which continued to play Jon’s voice.

“Are you all right?” Martin asked. “You were looking pretty, uh . . . .”

“. . . Terrifying?” Jon tilted his head in Martin’s direction.

“Well . . . .” Martin didn’t want to use that word, but all the other words he could think of were just synonyms for it.

“Monstrous?” Jon supplied.

“As long as it’s still you, I don’t care.” Martin said emphatically.

“It is.” Jon said, with a little more confidence. “I’m - - I’m still me. Just.” He held up an arm and watched as the lines running through it slowly sealed themselves. “. . . With some some changes.”

The cracks now resembled long, twisting scars more than anything else, though in his periphery Martin swore he kept seeing things open and blink on Jon’s body. His gaze was still piercing, but with the panic passed Martin could also see there was affection and recognition in those uncanny eyes.

Okay, he thought to himself. Take a breath. Check in. It’s not as bad as you thought but this is obviously a . . . new challenge. See how he’s handling it.

“What exactly happened back there?” he asked.

Jon took a deep breath, and a sigh came from the recorder.

“It was overwhelming. It had been bad before, but . . . all those people.” He turned to stare at the sky. “They thought they had a safe haven. They built up walls and invented wards and believed they’d found tricks to keep the nightmares out. But it was all just so they’d have more to lose. So they’d build and love and cherish things that could be torn away from them. Just fattening them up.”

Jon moved his head and gestured while he talked, pantomiming his own speech. It was somewhere between unsettling and comical at first, but soon it began to feel natural and Martin noticed it less and less.

“An entire town,” Jon shook his head. “Silently screaming their stories of terror and agony and despair at me. I was wrapped in it all, and I couldn’t see out.”

“I’m sorry . . . ” Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, mindful of the wide, curling scar that covered his palm. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

“But it’s all right. I’m all right now,” Jon turned back. “Better than all right. It doesn’t hurt anymore, Martin.”

In the back of Martin’s mind, a tiny noise began to sound. Like a distant, muffled alarm. “I’m . . . not sure what you mean? What doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Any of it.” Jon smiled. “The fear and anguish, the things the Watcher feeds me, none of it hurts at all. Something happened back there . . . I was trapped in the heart of their pain. There was nothing outside of it - I didn’t remember you were there, or who I was, or why we were here. There was only the collective suffering of a thousand terrified souls, and it hurt more than anything I have ever known. And in the depths of it all, I realized that it didn’t have to hurt.”

There was a strange giddiness rising in Jon’s voice, and the alarm in Martin’s head rang louder.

“I could choose to stop letting it hurt me. I could finally stop tormenting myself, open my mind and drink everything in. And I did. And it was wonderful,” Jon stared out into the distant sky. “And all I wanted was more.”

“So. . . .” The alarm bell was reaching a crescendo now, and Martin struggled to keep his tone even. “What happened back there. . . what you did to it . . . .”

“I was greedy.” Jon smiled behind his hand, his tone sheepish but without regret. “I needed every drop.”

“Jesus, Jon.” Martin muttered.

“. . . And then I heard you!” Jon continued, unmindful of Martin’s tone. “And I remembered. And I realized that it was dead, and you were safe, and we were still together.”

Jon took Martin by the shoulders, gripping him with an manic energy that was startling, yes, frightening even, but still familiar, still so much like Jon, too much like him to be anything else.

“It was going to separate us, but I stopped it. It didn’t stand a chance against me. I don’t know if anything can anymore. I’ve gained so much . . .” he continued, eyes bright and alive. “I can feel my mind expanding to fill every corner of this dreadful world. I am burning, and drowning, and weeping, and writhing, and falling and dying and it is--” he closed his eyes, head tilted back in an expression of pleasure. “--Glorious.”

Martin looked at him grimly. “This is what you were afraid would happen. Isn’t it?”

“Not quite.” Jon smiled. “I was afraid of giving in, yes. I was afraid, and it feels ridiculous to say this now, but I was afraid there’d be a time when the things that I see would only ever feel right and leave me only with satisfaction. But what scared me the most was the thought that, if that happened, it would mean I could no longer love you. That you would just be something for me to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard,” he sighed, a sound of great relief. “But that didn’t happen. You Know that now, don’t you?”

Martin nodded, as there was no point denying it. In the corner of his mind, the image of the thing he had seen beyond the sky still lingered, and Martin wondered if it was capable of laughter. If it was laughing at them right now.

“This was. . . .” Martin pulled away from Jon, curling his knees up to his chest. “This was what it wanted too, wasn’t it? Why it let you know about the tower. It wanted us to keep throwing ourselves at the nightmares until one of them finally made you break,” he laughed once, a mirthless, choking noise. “I was an idiot to think that there’d be a reset button. A way to fix everything if we just went back. . . .”

“Martin . . . that’s not true at all.” Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “A way back does exist. I know what it is now. You were right all along. I was wrong.”

“Wh- wait . . . really?” Martin blinked.

Jon nodded. “The Ritual that brought about this world is still ongoing. It will go on for all eternity, never stopping, never, ever finished. But if it were to finish, if it were stopped or interrupted. . . .” He trailed off expectantly, leaving Martin room to fill in the blanks.

“Would everything really go back?” Martin looked around at the ruins - the charred wood, the whirlwinds of ash, the lumps of flesh that were first people and then things and then nothing. “Is that even possible now?”

“The world might have a few scars. One or two spots that don’t come back all the way. A few unfortunate souls who retain memories, plenty of bad dreams. I can’t say what state humanity would be in if it happened after eons had passed.” Jon tapped his knee thoughtfully. “But if it were done now, or soon? I think there’d barely be any damage at all.”

Guarding his heart was futile, hope pushed its stubborn way in whether Martin wished for it or not. They could go back to a world that yes, was often frightening and often cruel but was also gentle and kind and infinite things that this world wasn’t. All those people trapped in endless nightmares could just go back to their lives, they wouldn’t even know what had happened. It was too great a hope to keep down.

And if the old world came back . . . Martin didn’t know what that would mean for Jon now, truly. But if all of this could be undone, there was a chance for anything, wasn’t there?

“. . . There’s a catch.” Martin said. It wasn’t a question.

“Obviously.” Jon smiled sardonically. “The way back is very simple. Not easy, but simple. I suppose that’s the way of these things. Do you want me to show you?”

“I mean. . . yes.” Martin could faintly hear the alarm starting up again, but it didn’t change his mind. Whatever the catch was, they’d face it together. “I do.”

Jon looked at him for a moment, smiling sadly, then shook his head.

“No,” he brought his hand to Martin’s temple, “you really don’t.”

As soon as the hand touched him, Martin had his answer. It wasn’t a bone-deep Knowing like before, it was just information. No different than if he’d read it somewhere, save that it was given to him all in an instant.

Gertrude had said it herself. Jon was the ritual. He’d become it the moment he took on the role of Archivist, and now he had reached his apotheosis. While he continued, the ritual would continue as well. The only way to end it was to end him. No magic circles or ancient artifacts or complicated chants were necessary, just the sort of implements one would expect for such a task. The only truly difficult part was that being the linchpin of the apocalypse had made Jon very resilient to damage. Not invulnerable, just resilient. Killing him would take patience and determination. First the eyes, then the voice box. Then fire. . . .

There were other steps but Martin was trying very hard not to think about them. He curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around himself, shaking his head. Numbly, he felt Jon gather him up. His top half was tugged into Jon’s lap, and his head gently settled against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Martin.” Jon whispered.

“That’s not fair.” Martin groaned, tears in his eyes.

“I fear fairness rarely has anything to do with these matters.” Jon sighed, nestling Martin closer and stroking the back of his head. ”. . . It’s going to be all right.”

But that calm, resigned tone only filled Martin with anger, anger he didn’t want. Of course Jon was all right with this. Jon had been wanting to punish himself ever since he read that statement, and now he had the perfect justification for it. What was one person, after all, against the suffering of billions? You couldn’t argue with the math of it, no one could.

But when that one person is the world to you, what then? How do you save a world that takes that person away? Jon couldn’t tell him it would be all right, because he wouldn’t have to lose anyone. He wouldn’t have to go on afterwards, alone.

“It isn’t, though.” Martin said through gritted teeth.

“It is. I promise.” Jon said, tone still soothing.

“It’s really, really, not, Jon.”

“But it is.” Jon bent down and kissed the top of Martin’s head. “Because I won’t let you do it.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and even then Martin wasn’t sure he heard right. “. . . What . . . do you mean?”

“I won’t let you kill me to save the world,” he explained. “Even if you believe you have to. If you think that you have no choice but to put the fate of world first, I still won’t let you do it.”

Jon smiled affectionately as he spoke. “And you can’t sneak up on me, not anymore. There’s no plan you can concoct no matter how brave or brilliant that I won’t see coming. You can’t just overpower me, either, I’d stop you if I had to. Not the way Jonah did--” he added quickly. “I’d be gentler than that. But I would stop you.”

Martin blinked, disbelieving, as Jon continued to stroke his head, voice soft and serious.

“You won’t ever have to make that choice,” he finished. “Between me and the world. Because I’ve made that choice already, and there’s nothing you can do.”

The whole picture was beginning to fill itself in for Martin. He realized what Jon was trying to do and he pulled back, breaking contact.

“So it’s not my fault,” Martin said, voice grim. “If the worlds stays the way it is. Because I can’t stop you.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“That’s not how it works.” Martin said. “That’s not how . . . responsibility works.”

“Why not? You deserve this.” Jon insisted. “We deserve this, Martin.”

“I’m not sure we do, though?” Martin ran a hand through his hair, “and besides, I mean . . . this?” He gestured vaguely to the scene around them. The ruined flesh and burned homes and devastation that may as well have served as a map for everything else.

“No, you’ll see--” Jon leaned forward. “Everything is going to be different now. It isn’t just the Beholding. I am the single point of terrible knowledge around which this world turns. I can shield you from everything in it now. Even the fear. Even the dreams. You won’t ever have to suffer through those again, I promise!”

Jon clasped Martin’s hands, lit up with excitement.

“No more nightmares. No more guilt. No more playing those tapes over and over just to make myself suffer. We can go anywhere! This world is ours to explore and take of for all eternity. The things we’ll see, Martin,” his gaze was distant, rapturous. “Such horrible wonders. . . .”

He must have noticed Martin’s expression, because his own face sobered and he added, “but . . . you won’t have to see them. Not if you don’t want to. I can protect you from that too.”

“You’ll hurt people.” Martin said flatly.

“I was already hurting people.” Jon said. “Everything the Watcher fed me magnified the suffering of its victims a hundredfold. It’s no different now.”

“You didn’t have a choice then.”

“I don’t have a choice now.” Jon said, gesturing towards the sky. “It’s going to continue, the endless stream of fear and anguish. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.”

“But you used to want to.” Martin insisted. “And that means something. It means something that you didn’t want this.”

“Would you rather I go back to being miserable?” There was reproach in Jon’s voice. “You said yourself that it hurt you to see me wallowing. And it did! I was hurting you. And I was hurting myself, too.” He frowned. “Do you know what I would have done back then, if I’d known how to stop the ritual?”

Martin realized Jon was reaching towards his temple again and he jumped, pulling violently away.

“Don’t!” he shouted. Jon flinched, hand still halfway in the air. “Don’t- don’t show me. I don’t want to see it.”

Jon’s face softened. He lowered his hand and nodded. “I won’t.”

“Jon. . .you’re scaring me.” Martin said.

“. . . I know.” Jon’s voice was quiet. “I can see your fear. It’s rolling off you like ripples on a pond.” He tilted his head and leaned closer, something like wonder in his voice. “I wasn’t sure at first, but- -”

“Jon.”

Martin’s voice was firm with a chastising edge, and Jon seemed to snap out of it. He blinked sheepishly and looked down, folding his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “That was, ah . . . sorry.”

“I- I don’t know.” Martin took a long, shuddering breath. Everything was roiling inside him. “I don’t know what to think. . . .”

He found himself remembering the woman who’d seen Jon in the cafe. The shock and disbelief that he’d felt when she talked about what he’d done. . .and Martin’s first reaction had been denial, hadn’t it? Not denying the truth of her statement, just denying that it could really be Jon. It could be instinct or addiction or mind control. There could even be the devastating possibility that it just wasn’t him anymore, that he was lost and there was only the Archivist. But as frightening as that thought had been, Martin found himself wondering if there had been a reason he’d considered that possibility but not a third one. That it was still Jon, and that he’d been in control, and he’d still done it.

Martin wondered what he would have done if the end of the world hadn’t happened. If they’d somehow escaped that but not the Eye, and it was a question of Jon either feeding on peoples’ traumas or growing slowly weaker, willingly starving until there was nothing left. Would Martin have changed his mind then? Would he have seen that third possibility as more palatable?

He supposed if it had actually come to that, there would still have been the Institute’s gory retirement policy. But they were well past that point now.

Jon still loved him, and Martin knew he still loved Jon. If he needed any proof of that, the way he felt at the thought of losing him removed all uncertainty. But love didn’t always mean safety. Sometimes it meant the exact opposite, and there was no kindness in the Watcher’s gaze. If Jon had truly embraced the Eye and was content to let the world suffer so that he could watch, did love make a difference in the end? If Martin rejected Jon now, if he disappointed him, if his own love wasn’t enough, would Jon turn on him?

“Never.” Jon said adamantly, speaking as soon as the thought entered Martin’s mind. “Not if you broke my heart, or told me you never wanted to see me again, or tried to burn me alive. I promise.”

A laugh came out of Martin. It was probably the wrong reaction, but he couldn’t help it. The pleading intensity of Jon’s voice combined with him just casually reading his mind. It was too much.

“I guess privacy’s not going to be a thing anymore, huh?” he asked.

Jon smiled weakly. “Is that a joke?”

“Not intentionally.”

Jon started to reach for his hand, then hesitated. “I understand if you’re scared. It’s . . . well, it’s probably only natural. But I promise you are safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you or . . . feed on you. I know this has changed me, and maybe not all those changes have been for the better. But it has also clarified me. There are things I understand so much more now.”

Martin was quiet. Carefully, giving him time to pull away, Jon reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I will never hurt you.” Jon said softly. “I will never reject you. I will never change my mind and stop loving you. You don’t ever again have to be afraid that I only stay with you because I don’t truly see your flaws. That I don’t know the real you. That you’ll one day show me something that’s too soft, too needy, too unlovely and my feelings will sour. Because I see every part of you now. I know you totally and completely.”

Martin inhaled sharply, but those inhuman eyes held his gaze.

“I see every ugly, petty thought you’ve ever had.” Jon continued. “Every shame, every regret, every embarrassing secret. All the parts of yourself you wanted to hide because you were afraid they’d make others hate you, I know them all. And I only love you more. The joy of knowing you is the most wonderful thing, Martin.”

He smiled warmly, reaching to stroke Martin’s cheek. “Even now, I see a part of you still thinking I’m a monster who needs to be destroyed for the greater good, and I love that you care so much about this world. At the same time I feel that resolve begin to crumble, and I love that you care so much about me.”

There was no denying the truth of it what Martin was hearing. Those words resonated with the sure and steady certainty that Jon had placed in his mind, and he felt weak.

He was telling the truth about something else, too. That resolve in Martin was slowly, quietly crumbling. As he thought that, Jon leaned forward and kissed him once, tenderly. Then rested his forehead against Martin’s and sighed with contentment.

“There’s something else I need you to know.” Jon said, quietly. “The way I am now, I know that. . .well, there’s a difference in power. And I want you to stay with me, more than anything. But I also won’t make you a prisoner.”

He pulled back to look at Martin. “If you didn’t want this, if you didn’t want me . . . it would break my heart, but I wouldn’t stop you from leaving. I would still keep you safe even if I had to do it from a distance, and nothing in this world would hurt you. You could go wherever you wished. You could find other people and try to help them, or ease their suffering. You could even try to stop the ritual.” Jon smiled at him fondly. “Raise up an army against me. I wouldn’t let you succeed, but I wouldn’t stop you from trying. If that was what you wanted.”

It didn’t escape Martin’s notice that Jon had begun speaking in the hypothetical, and he was fairly sure he knew why. If Jon saw as much as he said he did then he knew Martin’s decision had already been made. Probably just saying his piece now. He always did like to talk.

Jon’s smile became a little sheepish, and he shrugged. “I do mean it.”

“I know.” Martin said.

It was funny, he thought, how people changed. Sometimes it was dramatic and revelatory, sometimes it was a profound realization. And sometimes it was just a matter of quietly cutting off all excuses. Blocking off one path after another until the one you were always going to follow is, in fact, the only one left.

“If we find them. . .Melanie, and Basira, and the others,” Martin asked. “Can you protect them too?”

“Yes.” Jon said without hesitation. “And it won’t be long. I can find them much more easily now. Even Daisy . . . oh, you should see her now, Martin. She’s so beautiful,” he held his hand halfway to Martin’s face, eyes lively and glinting. “. . .Would you like to?”

“I’ll see her when we find her.” Martin said after a pause.

Jon nodded. He stood and offered Martin his hand. As he took it Martin saw tears, real tears, just brimming in his eyes. For a moment he wondered if it was a good sign that Jon was still human enough to cry. Then he wondered what made him think crying was a humans-only thing.

“Promise me one thing.” Martin said.

“Of course.”

“If you know what I’d have done if you’d. . .left me that choice. Put it in my hands whether or not to stop the ritual.” He paused. “Don’t ever tell me. Don’t ever show me. I don’t want to know.”

Jon looked at him, and Martin saw nothing but love in his eyes. He brought Martin’s hand to his face and kissed it.

“I never will,” he promised.

* * *

The plastic knob on the kettle clicked off, a cloud of steam pouring into the kitchen. Martin was rummaging through the cabinet, selecting a pair of mugs. He paused by the window. It had stopped raining recently and the warmth of the sun made steam rise off of London’s streets. Martin leaned out and breathed deeply, taking in the afternoon air.

Petrichor, he thought, smiling.

Years ago he’d made an offhand comment about liking the smell of rain, and Jon had gone off for minutes about soil and scent-producing bacteria. At the time it had been . . . pretty annoying, actually? Because Martin had known what petrichor was. Couldn’t have told you where he’d heard it, the internet probably, but he’d known it and he was a little irritated that Jon assumed he didn’t. Back then Martin had taken the presumption and Jon’s lecturing tone as more evidence that his new boss thought very little of him. But in hindsight it just filled Martin with affection. Recognizing Jon’s tendency to ramble on about something that he was excited to know without really noticing he was doing it.

Martin glanced at the dark figure in the corner of his kitchen, then went to pour the tea. He took his time, enjoying the mundane ritual of tea, strainer, and hot water. He filled his cup, added milk, then paused.

He sensed something, a feeling on the back of his neck, and when he turned the figure was standing behind him. Martin had neither seen nor heard it move. It stood perfectly still, and it was all eyes.

“What do you think, Jon?” he asked. “Sugar, or no sugar?”

Jon didn’t say anything. He never did in dreams. Martin wasn’t sure why, truth be told he hadn’t asked. There were so many things he’d come to file under “spooky Jon stuff” these days that he just accepted a lot of it. But Martin still liked talking to him. Felt sort of rude to just ignore him. Whatever Jon was doing - standing there, unmoving, unblinking, gaze fixed intently on him - it kept the nightmares away, and Martin was glad for that.

“Good point,” Martin said, stirring in the sugar. “May as well live a little, right?”

The tea smelled like tea. The countertop was solid, cool and felt just as it should. There were no uncanny dimensions to the kitchen, nothing out of place or subtly wrong about it. But he always knew that it wasn’t real. He couldn’t forget that the dream was a dream, or fully lose himself in it as he had in dreams before. That was one thing that Jon couldn’t give him, apparently.

Back in the world, Jon would be holding his sleeping body. Maybe resting Martin’s head in his lap, or curled around him in a mimicry of sleep himself. Part of him was there, part of him was here in the dream. And another part would be stretching itself outward, taking in the countless horrors that surrounded them in every direction.

After their time in the cabin Martin’s nesting instinct had been pretty well diminished, so he didn’t have much inclination to settle anyplace in particular. And Jon didn’t seem to care where they went as long as they kept moving, giving him new things to see. So he tried to find places that would be pleasant for Martin.

For the last. . .well, for a while, anyway, they’d been in a deep forest. The trees stretched higher than should be possible, some wider around than an office building. Shadows pooled deeply between them, and sometimes he saw massive, primordial shapes moving in the distance. But none of those creatures ever came near Martin. The colorful creeping vines that moved of their own volition never tried to wrap themselves around his limbs, nor did the shining clouds of iridescent insects ever cover him in a swarm.

Martin had to admit, when you had the privilege of safety from them, even nightmares could be beautiful. He’d walked with Jon down roads that had twisted into impossible knots without ever getting lost, without even getting dizzy. They’d traveled through a darkness so deep and silent that it swallowed the sound of Martin’s breathing, but he never lost sight of Jon and so it held no fear for him.

Once, he’d caught Jon looking curiously at a distant gray shore before glancing back at Martin, shaking his head and turning in the opposite direction. He hadn’t objected to avoiding that place, but later Martin found himself wondering what it would have felt like. To walk through the Lonely hand in hand with Jon, knowing he was loved and that the man who loved him was keeping the fog from reaching him. There was honestly some appeal to that.

Sometimes, very rarely, Martin heard screams in the distance. But Jon didn’t need to be close to get what he needed, and he generally made sure any sounds were too far away to notice.

Martin made a second cup of tea for Jon. He left it on the counter like a private joke, then went into the sitting room. The fluffy gray cat that had been napping in the corner lifted his head with interest when he entered and padded over, winding around Martin’s legs. He reached down to scratch behind his ears.

He had only met the Admiral once, the day they found Georgie and Melanie. Given how that meeting had gone, he knew he wasn’t likely to ever see the cat again. But Jon put him in all of Martin’s dreams since then. All things considered, Melanie and Georgie had been doing well. Which is to say they were exhausted, beaten down and traumatized, but still alive and with one another. The Entities didn’t have much interest in Georgie, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Not as long as Melanie was afraid of losing her.

Well . . . she was safe now. They both were. They had Jon’s protection even if they didn’t want it, and Martin felt some petty satisfaction at that thought.

The Admiral pulled away mid-pet, attention diverted by what was either a fly or a piece of lint floating in the air. He stalked towards it, head lowered, tail twitching in predatory anticipation.

Finding Daisy had been easy. Apparently Jon hadn’t even needed her exact location. just went to a place that he said “suited her now” and waited for her to find them. When she emerged all muscle and teeth and knives in the dark, Martin had nearly made the mistake of running. But Jon spoke in a reverberating voice and she was forced to answer back, settling down once he’d had her talking for a while. She did maul him a bit afterwards -- apparently not happy about being compelled. But it healed quickly and Jon admitted he may have deserved it.

She started traveling with them after that. Hard to say how long they’d been together with the way time was anymore, but it was long enough that Martin had gotten used to having her around. He was surprised how much he actually liked Daisy? She was good to talk to once you got past certain quirks, and he even missed her when she went off on long hunts.

He knew Jon was glad to have her near. There was something complicated that ran between those two. They liked each other, and they took a quiet comfort in each other’s presence. But there was also an unspoken sadness whenever they looked at one another. Martin wasn’t sure he fully understood what passed between them in those moments, but their friendship seemed good for Jon. Had there ever been even a slight chance of Martin feeling jealous or cut out seeing a deep, mysterious, bond between them it simply wasn’t a concern anymore. He felt Jon’s love for him deep in his soul. It was a single point of terrible knowledge around which the world turned. Nothing could shake that from him.

And if Martin occasionally caught Daisy eyeing his legs like she was deciding which tendon to cut, well. He’d gotten used to creepy looks lately.

“There you are, Jon.”

Jon was barely a foot away, eyes locked on him as always. Martin smiled. He never saw Jon move in dreams, but he was never far. Totally still, expression unchanging, no more responsive than a piece of furniture. Martin considered the sweater on the back of a chair and thought about draping it over one of Jon’s arms like he was a coat rack. He’d done it once before. They both laughed about it after he woke up.

This time he didn’t. Instead he sat in a chair by the window, setting his tea down beside him. Noticing that there was now available lap space, the Admiral stopped toying with his prey and leaped onto Martin’s lap, purring noisily.

They’d seek out Basira next. He and Jon had actually found her once already, before Daisy joined them. She’d been wary of them both and wasn’t exactly warm, but had been glad to accept Jon’s offer of protection. There was apparently some concern about a promise she’d made, but Jon seemed confident she’d come around. She just needed a little more time, he assured Martin, then they would bring Daisy to her. And then there would be four of them.

Martin glanced up to find Jon had moved again, now watching from the corner. Martin nodded to him and picked up the book of poetry he’d been thumbing through, one hand still idly petting the Admiral. He went from page to page, reading a little then flipping ahead, back and forth in a relaxed half-focus. The end of one poem in particular caught his attention.

Oh stars and dreams and gentle night

Oh night and stars return

And hide me from the hostile light

That does not warm, but burn

That drains the blood of suffering men

Drinks tears instead of dew

Let me sleep through his blinding reign

And only wake with you

Martin closed the book and turned to the window, to a London that was long and forever gone. Afternoon light trailed over sidewalks, spilled around the people going by. Families were walking their dogs, kids returning from school. A group of teenagers passed beneath his window, laughing and teasing one another.

A knot of sorrow, sudden and heavy, pulled at the pit of Martin’s stomach and a sob rose out of him. He covered his mouth as a second one emerged. Alerted to the sudden change, the Admiral lifted his head. He sniffed at Martin’s face and kneaded his shirtfront with tender paws.

Martin breathed deeply, body shuddering. He stroked the cat that wasn’t real, and looked out at a beautiful world that would never exist again.

And everything was wrong. And everything was terrible. And Martin was loved.

And everything was going to be all right.

[the-kaedageist]

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” [what else could this be but widomauk?] xoxo

God, what a beast you spawned with this prompt. I haven’t even written Widomauk before!

Widomauk, #31: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” (1,928 words because WHAT)

The tavern was in a secluded part of Rosohna two blocks away from the Xhorhaus, sheltered in between a blacksmith’s shop and a large building that looked like it fulfilled some sort of need for municipal bureaucracy. Mollymauk located it at the end of his first two weeks of returning to the loving arms of the Nein, noting its presence on some sort of errand he was running with Beau, and within three days he found himself sitting at the counter, halfway to the bottom of a bottle of wine and trying not to think about red hair and blue eyes.

The first thing Molly had noticed was that Caleb was different. The whole group was, of course; they fit together like a puzzle, the sharp edges sanded down. The Nein felt like a family, and Molly wasn’t sure that there was still a place for him among their ranks, not anymore. Caleb’s changes weren’t even the most profound – that award obviously went to Veth, with her mischievous halfling smile and her avoidance of alcohol – but it was the change that went straight to Molly’s gut. Caleb smiled more. He was clean and had grown his hair long. He was as handsome as Molly had suspected, so long ago. However, past Caleb had been too much of a mess to be worth pining after.

This time, Molly was drinking his weight in wine, glancing around the bar looking for someone to take him home and distract him.

It wasn’t just Caleb, of course. It was resurrection – the last thing he’d wanted – and the avalanche of memories that had returned with the reawakening of his body. It was being whisked halfway across the continent by Caleb’s magic to a city shrouded in darkness, the Nein’s new home, brought to a house filled with memories of him and a hot tub named with his initials.

It was realizing the person they remembered wasn’t quite the person he was, and worrying what they would do about that once they figured it out.

Thankfully, before Mollymauk could get too maudlin, a handsome drow entered the tavern. He was a tall man with the muscles of a soldier, distracting Molly away from his existential angst with a coy look. He took his wine and his low spirits and joined the man at his table, and banished all thought of existential despair – and attractive redheads – from his mind for the rest of the evening.

A week later, he was back. He didn’t drink as much, that time – Jester had teased him a bit about having to cure his hangover, and Molly didn’t want to risk the group thinking he hadn’t grown along with them. Another drow caught his eye this time, with an androgynous haircut and elegantly bejeweled ears, and Molly distracted himself quite heartily with them, not stumbling back home to the Xhorhaus until the early hours of the morning.

Caleb was waiting up, sitting out in the front of the house, his profile lit gently by the string of lights from Caduceus’s tree.

“Beau was worried,” Caleb said, his face unreadable.

“I’m fine.” Molly brushed past him and into the house, which was quiet and dark. Soft footfalls signaled that Caleb was following, and a moment later, three globes of light swirled in the air around him, lighting the downstairs interior.

“You keep leaving,” Caleb said stubbornly. “You didn’t even tell us where you were going.”

“I can take care of myself,” Molly told him, not appreciating the reminder that the rest of the team was now double his strength. He quickly climbed the stairs to the “guest room” which had become his own before Caleb could continue his scolding and was unconscious only a few seconds before his head hit the pillow.

The third time, he didn’t have the opportunity to pick up anyone.

“So this is where you go,” said a familiar accented voice as Molly glanced forlornly into his stein of ale. A moment later, Caleb seated himself heavily beside him, his hair gleaming almost too-bright in the candlelight. Molly looked away, catching the eye of the bugbear who was bartending. The bugbear, who had heard a bit too much about Caleb to make Molly completely comfortable, raised his eyebrows and brought Caleb some of the same ale without being asked.

“This is where I go,” Molly said awkwardly as Caleb took a sip of ale.

They drank comfortably in silence for a few moments, giving Molly time to study Caleb out of the corner of his eye. Caleb was comfortable, now, clever and confident and far more alive. He still wore trauma like a second skin, but it was also clear that being with the Nein had started him along the path of slowly healing. Molly wanted to watch him constantly, cataloguing all the ways he was different – and he wished he’d been present to watch the transformation in real time. Instead, he was still the same shitty charlatan, low-level and up to his ears in lies and bullshit memories.

It wasn’t until he’d finished his first ale and started on a second that Caleb turned to speak. “What is wrong, Mollymauk?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t send Caduceus out to fetch me,” Molly said, staring into his stein. “Isn’t that his role in the group? He sorts the rest of you out?”

“We are all capable of sorting the others out,” Caleb said, a hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “We just, most of the time, choose not to.”

Molly didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d died and been replaced by a competent cleric who was clutch in battle. He drained his ale to the bottom of his stein and held it up. The bugbear bartender, by now a dear friend, gladly filled it back up and took the proffered coin.

“Are you going to tell me?” Caleb asked. The strangeness of it – Caleb trying to help, Caleb here next to him, dressed in Xhorhasian fine clothing with his hair drawn back into a soft ponytail, Caleb’s body thrumming with power even beneath the surface – struck Molly all at once, and he took in a deep breath for courage.

It would be so easy, to turn around and look Caleb deep in the eyes and be honest. To tell him he was feeling out of place, broken into tiny pieces, empty once more. To flat-out admit that he didn’t know if he was really the person the Nein had remembered for all this time.

Instead, he chose the easy way out, because it was what Mollymauk Tealeaf did. Oh, he put on a good show, putting on a saucy pout and trying to slur his words more than necessary, but he still made a choice not to confront the real elephant in the room.

Instead, he steeled himself and said, “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

He watched the gears turn behind Caleb’s gaze. This was it. Caleb would give him a look of disgust or sadness and leave him to his own pity party. Caleb, whose boundaries were practically an armored bastion, would never let this sort of comment pass.

Caleb was staring at him, mouth agape. He shook himself slightly. “You’ve been…kissing strangers, pretending that they’re me?”

It wasn’t a lie, but the dumbfoundedness seemed a bit over the top. Caleb was stupidly hot. Was it that hard to believe? “It’s been difficult. You don’t really look like a drow.”

Caleb wheezed a bit beside him, and it took Molly a minute to realize he was laughing.

He didn’t even think he’d seen Caleb laugh, before.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, waving a hand in his direction. “I’m not laughing at you. I just…yes, I can imagine I do not look like a drow.” He met Molly’s gaze with some intensity, surprising him. “I’m also sorry you have felt the need to…play make-believe.”

Something bitter twisted inside Molly, his expression growing sour. “You don’t have to patronize me,” he muttered, dragging his gaze away. He took one last gulp from his ale and set it down. “I’m sorry you drew the short straw and came to fetch me. I’ll let you finish your drink in peace.” He started towards the door, fully intending to stumble out into the night and go find another tavern to drink in. Maybe he’d go dancing.

A hand caught his around the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to find Caleb watching him. “I did not draw the short straw,” Caleb said, his voice quiet but intense. “You mean a lot to all of us, Mollymauk. I have been worried about you. I have been through much, but I have never been dead and brought back to a world changed.”

Molly didn’t meet his eyes. “It sucks,” he said.

“I dreamed of you,” Caleb said conversationally. “For months, afterwards. You haunted all of us, but me, especially.” He gently tugged Molly back in to sit on the barstool on his other side, facing him. “I never—I was not in a place, where I could have—but I think I knew.” Despite the incoherence of his words, there was a confidence in his shoulders as he leaned over and pressed his hand to Mollymauk’s heart. It was beating so intensely that Molly was sure that Caleb could feel it through all the layers of clothing. “There was a connection, between us.”

“There was,” Molly said faintly. Gods, how the tables had turned.

Caleb gave him a wry smile. “I spent months thinking how to give back the gift you gave me,” he said. “Now, we have gifted it back ten times over. We have all grown and changed, surpassed the people we were originally and become something more. And you are one of us, as you always have been. You will have your chance to grow into us too.”

Caleb grasped Molly’s face between his own and Molly’s mouth went dry. For a moment, he thought Caleb was going to kiss him, and those blue eyes did stray momentarily to Molly’s mouth as though he was thinking about it. Instead, Caleb leaned over and pressed his lips to the center of Molly’s forehead, a parody of a moment long ago, in a mineshaft in the Marrow Valley with flames all around them.

“You’re one of us,” Caleb said, “And I don’t know the person you’ll become, but I am interested to find out.”

Molly felt his eyes fill with tears, unbidden and unwanted. He quickly blinked them away.

Caleb released his face, leaning back on his stool and studying him. “If you are still looking for people to kiss,” he continued slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words were leaving his mouth, “I do not think you will need to pretend, any longer.”

Mollymauk stared at him, barely able to hear the sounds of the other patrons of the tavern over the hammering of his heartbeat.

He swallowed hard. “Well then, Mr. Caleb,” he said, the old playful nickname tasting almost foreign on his tongue. He leaned forward on the barstool, knocking their knees together and slowly leaning his forehead against Caleb’s to give him time to move away if he chose. Caleb watched him with wide eyes, but didn’t flinch. Instead, he glanced back down at Molly’s mouth, licking his lips.

“Yes, Mr. Mollymauk?” he asked, a bit of a waver in his voice.

“You talk too much,” Mollymauk said right before he kissed him firmly.

Give me a dialogue prompt!

[crescent-quill-writings]

Swaddled in a Midnight Sun

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda

Words: 2785

Relationship: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/ Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette

Additional Tags: Canon Era, Alternate Universe: Angels, Angel!Lafeyette, fluff, snowstorms, near-death experiences, horses

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The wicked winds blowing in from the north had frozen the earth, frost-bitten the air, and brought the world to a standstill. Those who could took shelter within their homes around the hearth, waiting for the seasonal celebrations to bring relief from the permeating dark and cold of winter. The world was peaceful in its icy, permeating silence, almost beautiful, too.

Still, there was a war that needed to be fought and won.

There was an elephant among the ice and snow of the Patriot’s camp. The conversations were hushed, threatened by the violent weather whipping around them and tension so thick it could be sliced through with a bayonet.

“Do you think the war will be over in time for Christmas?”

“Doubt it. If we’re lucky the redcoats will get us before we freeze to death.”

“I just hope we don’t run out of rum before then…”

“Ay, I’ll drink to that.”

John Laurens had had enough of the morbid, idle chatter the soldiers distracted themselves with. The war could be won before Christmas, and the British wouldn’t even know what hit them. Even though the chance to turn the tides in their favour was just within reach, apparently no one had the balls to brave the elements and bring a message to Washington. It was only a little blizzard, after all. What’s the worst it could do?

With a sharp whistle that pierced through even the howling northern winds, John’s trusted steed came trotting over to him in an instant. He mounted the spotted chestnut in one swift motion, and barely a moment later they were galloping off into the dark December night.

“If you want something done right, you do it yourself.”

 *~*~*~*~*~*

 Though he was gripping the reins with all his might, John could no longer feel his fingers. His cheeks were stinging and reddened from the frost-bitten whips of wind lashing at his skin as he rode onwards. Even the forest path offered little relief from the relentless blizzard, and his steed’s heavy breaths were like a smoking gun in the sub-zero air.

“Just a little longer, girl, we’re halfway there.”

In truth, John didn’t actually know how far they had gone. With the frost on that was threatening to freeze his eyes shut and the heavy cloak of snow and darkness he could barely see ten feet ahead of him.

Despite the deep-set chill in his bones, he fought off another shiver and forced himself to focus on the way forwards. His efforts didn’t work as well as the soldier wished. Though it was just for a moment, his vision faded and his senses dulled.

In that little sliver of time, John missed the splintering of frost-bitten wood as a great fir succumbed to the season’s savagery.

John swore with a shout as his steed reared up with a shrill cry of a whinny, “Sunny- Steady, girl!”

It was no use. There was no calming the mare’s frayed nerves against the shock of adrenaline the near-death experience caused. John barely had enough in him to stay awake, nevertheless, fight for control of his horse. His frozen fingers released the reins and with a swift kick from his steed he was sent crashing into the snow.

Winded from the impact with the frozen ground, John gasped for a breath of icy air as he pushed himself onto his knees. He could only just make out the sound of the mare’s swift hooves clambering through the snow before she too was lost to the darkness.

He never realized that the cold could burn worse than the brightest of blazes. His military coat was useless against the winds that rocked him to his very core and sapped whatever was left of his strength.

“Gotta stay awake,” John whispered through chattering teeth as another shiver wracked his body, “There’s a war we need to win, people we can’t disappoint.”

But John was fighting a losing battle.

The frost of numbness that had taken away feeling from his extremities begun to permeate his whole body and mind. He tried to fight against it, and though his will to survive was strong, the winter was stronger.

For a moment, John no longer felt so cold, only tired. So tired that he could sleep forever should the opportunity ever present itself. His body ached for something to rest upon, somewhere to lay his head, and through bleary eyes, the snow beneath him looked to be a good bed for until the storm passed.

He let himself relax, slowly unravelling as he began to fall into his deathbed. He expected to feel the soft diamonds of the blizzard’s wake to meet with cheek. He expected to slip into an eternal sleep as heavy frost froze his eyes shut. That moment never came.

 *~*~*~*~*~*

 John wasn’t sure when the frost finally released his thoughts, but he didn’t care either. In his moment of lucidity, he focused on the secure, welcoming embrace of another. He shifted closer to them with an unintelligible sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed himself into their chest for every bit of warmth they had.

He whined when he felt them shift, crowding more into their space to keep them from slipping away. He felt their chest vibrate with a quiet laugh before a pair of soft lips graced his forehead.

John finally peered up at the one holding him so dearly, only to gasp at who he saw, “Gil!”

“You gave me a good scare there, mon etoile,” Lafayette spoke, and though his tone was sweet he couldn’t hide the crystalline tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Sil tu plait, for both our sakes, never do something like that again.”

John couldn’t help but laugh at the request, though it seemed his smile brought more relief to the Frenchman than he could’ve imagined. He laced their fingers together and cuddled closer, enjoying the company of his foreign companion.

“I am just happy I managed to find you in time,” Lafayette continued with a small sigh, brushing a few of John’s curls from his face. “You do not always make my job easy.”

“Gil, what are you on about?” He frowned, unable to make sense of the Frenchman’s words.

For a moment John wondered if Lafayette was real or just a trick of his mind to turn his final moments into a pleasant dream. This realization terrified him and sent his rational thought spiralling down a rabbit hole of paranoid panic. He didn’t want to go like this, he didn’t want to be another casualty to the warring weather. He wanted to survive. He needed to survive.

“Deep breaths, mon etoile, what is the matter?”

“This… This can’t be real. You can’t really be here.” I’m dying!

John pushed himself out of Lafayette’s grasp, stumbling back into the snow before managing to get himself on his feet again. He teetered under the force of the whipping winds, a deep chill seeping into his core as he tried to make sense of his reality. It was dark, it was cold, he was lost and he was alone. I should be alone…

Unable to make sense of his situation both John’s body and mind began to crash. He lost his balance, falling into the snow as he once again gave in to a wintery grave. In an instant, he was in Lafayette’s arms, held so tight he felt like the singular reason for the Frenchman to be on this earth.

“John, you mustn’t move so suddenly!” He admonishes, though his tone was undercut with sorrow as he began to cry, “If I could not bring you home safe… Mon Dieu, I would not know what to do with myself.”

There was a distinct pang of guilt in John’s chest as he stared dumbly up at the Frenchman, watching him cry. He swallowed thickly, reaching up with a shivering hand to cup Lafayette’s cheek in an attempt to calm his grief.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay,” He whispered, making Lafayette focus back on him and not on what could have been, “I just don’t really know what’s going on right now…”

A silent question hung in the air, one John was sure would break both his and Lafayette’s heart if he ever put to words. Thankfully, the Frenchman seemed to understand as he gave a solemn nod and a sigh before he next spoke.

“Be not afraid, mon etoile, you are well and alive,” He began to explain, placing his larger palm over John’s hand as he pressed a kiss to his tender, frozen skin, “And I am real, though I have not been entirely honest with you…”

“Whatever it is, Gil, you can tell me,” John reassured, though he could not stop the shine of fear in his eyes. It was hard not to worry about what Lafayette would say next when he still couldn’t make sense of what had already happened.

“I am not supposed to do this, but…” The Frenchman hesitated only to shake his head and find his resolve again. “It is best if I showed you.”

John opened his mouth in a question, but Lafayette only hushed him with a gentle kiss before covering his eyes with his hand.

Though he could not see, John felt the shift in the world around him. It was silent, the howling winds put to an end by only Lafayette’s will. He felt a single snowflake land on the tip of his nose, tickling him with a moment of cold as others fell in slow-motion onto his golden-brown curls.

Then, Lafayette pulled his hand away to allow John to take in the newly calmed environment. It reminded them both of how beautiful a winter’s night could be, but John was still left with so many questions. He looked to the Frenchman for answers, only to be stunned into silence from what he saw.

Shining like a midnight sun with beautiful hues of blue and speckles of gold were a pair of angelic wings resting behind Lafayette in relaxed arches. They pulled close to his body as the Frenchman gave a sheepish smile and a tilt of his head in response to John’s reaction.

“Surprise?”

“Of all things, Gil… I never thought you were this,” John trailed off as he reached to trace his fingers along the edge of one of the Frenchman’s wings, quietly admiring their delicate strength. “I guess it makes sense, though, I always thought you were too perfect to be human.”

Lafayette couldn’t help the warm, bubbling laugh that escaped him as he brought John to his feet, leaving a wing draped over his shoulders like a cloak. “It makes me happy to see you are still well enough to flirt. Come, let’s get you home.”

John could only laugh along with the Frenchman as he took his arm like a lady accepting a dance at the Winter’s Ball. He wasn’t sure if they could make it back to camp by the morning, but with Lafayette by his side, John didn’t care.

Before they could begin their hike the galloping of swift hooves sounded in the distance, sending both the angel and the soldier on high alert.

They expected to see British calvary darting through the trees ready to take them out, but instead, they were familiar, always welcomed face.

“Sunny!” John beamed at the spotted chestnut’s appearance, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes… Didn’t think I’d get to see you again so soon.”

But the mare wasn’t the only one who approached. Following close behind was another horse, a familiar-looking bay with an even more familiar rider.

Alexander barely allowed his steed to properly halt before he leapt off its back, rushing towards John and Lafayette for a desperate embrace. “You scared me half to death! Don’t you ever going riding out into a blizzard like that again, I don’t care if your life depends on it!”

“It’s good to see you too, Lex,” John replied with a weak laugh as he ruffled Alexander’s hair.

Still, as Alexander continued to ramble on John couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to Lafayette. He looked up at the angel in question, absentmindedly running his fingers through his feather down as he leaned more into the warmth of his wings.

There were so many things John wanted to ask, about Lafayette, about what this meant, about everything. He couldn’t find the words to begin, never mind the fact that the adrenaline-filled need to survived had dissolved into the calm night, leaving a sluggish fatigue in its place.

“Hush, mon petit lion… Save your sweet nothings for the morning,” Lafayette suggested with a soft smile, placing a hand on the small of each soldier’s back. “Let us get back to camp before sunrise, oui? I believe a good night’s sleep would do us all some good.”

Despite the huff that Alexander gave in response, he still couldn’t help but grin at the Frenchman’s words. He gave John and Lafayette one more squeeze before slipping out of their embrace to mount his steed once more.

Lafayette kept John under his wing as he led him over to the spotted chestnut. He let John mount first, though as the Frenchman settled behind him it was obvious he’d be taking the reins. John didn’t entirely mind, he knew that Lafayette was a good rider and frankly he was grateful to be able to spend more time swaddled in angelic feather down.

Alexander led the way home, keeping the pace at a gentle canter. Feeling safe and secure with Lafayette behind him and Alexander only a few feet away, John allowed him to slip in and out of sleep as they rode onward.

Who knew a near-death experience could be so exhausting?

“We are home, mon etoile,” Lafayette cooed quietly as he shook John awake, “As sweet as you look while asleep, I can’t imagine a saddle would make for the best mattress.”

“It’s only a little worse than the cots they give us,” John mutters with a small laugh as he slipped off of his steed’s back.

Alexander was by his side in a moment, playfully jostling John as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Said the guy who nearly took a nap in the snow. C’mon, we’ll push our cots together so we can cuddle up, it’s the best way to avoid hypothermia.”

“Be honest, petit lion,” Lafayette chided softly as he ruffled Alexander’s hair. “You are just jealous that John has been swaddled without you.”

“So what if I am? It’s not like everyone gets to be in love with a literal angel.”

As the two other soldiers shared a laugh, John began to space out from the conversation. Having an answer to one of his many questions made him remember the original purpose of his journey; a message for the general to tip the scales in their favour.

“Wait,” He murmured, stepping out of Alexander’s and Lafayette’s hold as he stops to think. “I gotta- I gotta see Washington, there’s information from the south he needs to know!”

“Hey, Jacky, take it easy,” Alexander spoke as he took John’s hand again. “His Excellency already knows, a courier came through as soon as the snow stopped. It’s all gonna be okay.”

John couldn’t quite describe his relief at the sound of this news. He let out a sigh, the last few tensions finally leaving his body.

“That means the only thing left on the agenda is a good night’s rest,” Lafayette concluded with a small smile. “Come, my tent is not far.”

 *~*~*~*~*~*

 John was sure it was sometime near dawn when he blinked open his eyes. He rolled over lazily and pulled the blankets closer to him, only end up sneezing as his nose was tickled by soft feather down.

He smiled, feeling Lafayette shift next to him as he fixed a few feathers that had been ruffled by sleep. The Frenchman murmured something unintelligible in sleepy gratitude as he pulled John closer.

On Lafayette’s other side, Alexander was being held the same John was; a strong arm holding him close and a wing around his scrappy frame to keep him warm.

John closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax once more in Lafayette’s care. Even in the middle of a deadly winter and a losing war, the three always found these little perfect moments when they were together. It made sense now, and knowing that he and Alexander would be safe no matter how the war went was a peace he never thought he’d know.

Who knew all it’d take was a little blizzard to feel so safe and warm.

[richieisabastardman]

Stop It (Tenth Doctor x Reader)

Summary: You had been travelling with The Doctor since his ninth face, and been in love with him just as long. After the loss of Rose, your friend and The Doctor's companion, The Doctor took on Martha Jones as a co-companion. When you see her pining after The Doctor so hopefully, you try to put a stop to it, for the sake of her heart and yours.

Word count: 1984

Warnings: Angst? A bit of unrequited love but that’s fixed real quick. 

Link to Masterlist

“Stop it” you said, staring at the aloof Doctor as he played with his toggles. The Tardis’ toggles that is.

Having returned from your adventures in the Andromeda galaxy, Martha had decided to go rest, the day’s activities proving too much. The Doctor had sent her away with a smile, and she had hovered within the console room for  a moment, perhaps lost and distracted by that smile, before sending a curt smile your way and leaving for the TARDIS’ hallways.

“What?” he asked absentmindedly, raising an eyebrow as he finally looked over at you.

“Stop leading her on”

You had been through this. The heart break of loving such an extraordinary being and finding no love in return. Well not no love, just a different sort of love. A platonic love. A lovely love none the less, but not the type you wished for. You had dealt with that (in an unbelievably unhealthy way but that’s neither here nor there) and you were over it.

You were over him.

But you refused to let Martha go through the heartbreak you had to endure.

“Leading who on?”. He was playing dumb. Not a good look for The Doctor. Though you could tell he knew what you had meant by how he avoided your gaze, fiddling around with the console. You had flown around with him enough to know that he wasn’t really doing anything with it, just distracting himself.

You rolled your eyes at his childishness and deciding to indulge in your own kind. “The TARDIS. Playing around with her bits like that and not even buying her a drink first, shameful really, Doctor”

He grinned at you then, his tongue poking out between his teeth for a moment before his gaze was off of you once again and back on the controls of his beloved TARDIS. “Oh we’ve had many drinks together me and her, don’t you worry”.

The silence hung around the two of you then. You had only felt such a heavy silence with the man twice before. Both of you could hear the words yet unsaid floating between you, taunting and teasing (but The Doctor was always good at that, wasn’t he?)

“I was talking about Martha” you replied finally, leaning your hip against the console lightly and staring at the tall man.

“I know”.

“Then why didn’t you reply properly?”.

“Because it wasn’t a statement worth replying to properly ”.

And there was the nastiness that crept up on him every so often. It would poke its head out from behind him and would try to bite your tongue from your mouth (in a very non-sexy way, to be clear). The Doctor had been alive for so long he surely had enough practice with verbal quips that shut down a conversation in seconds. But the malice in his voice when he engaged in such an act was so rarely heard by his companions that when it did appear it was, to put it plainly, scary.

You were used to it now. You had had your fair share of experience with it. When he lost Rose, it was as if any little thing you did was now subject to scrutiny. He had only calmed after you finally had enough and threatened to leave, to go back home and never see him again. That had hurt him. You had hurt him. And part of you felt proud for it because finally someone stood up to The Doctor in his moment of malice and it was you. But when his eyes had begun to water, you had felt bad again. You had felt evil and unlike yourself and so you had held him. He had rested his face within the junction of your neck and shoulder, lost within your hair. He had held you tightly around your waist, pulling you closer and closer to him. And for a moment all the work you had done to stop loving the man had returned with no complaint from you, no sir. The moment had been far too intimate to be just a moment between friends. But every moment felt like that with The Doctor, didn’t it? The fleeting touches, the hand holding, the hand resting gently on the small of your back, the hugging. All of it so intimate.

Yet, the next day after this moment with The Doctor, it was as if nothing had happened. He had busied himself with the TARDIS and finding somewhere new to jet off to. You had mourned for your hope the day before and then moved on, as it was all you could do.

“She really likes you” you say, parting yourself from the memory in which you had been lost in for a moment.

“I like her too” he replies. You wished he would just look at you.

“Not the way she likes you. She adores you. She thinks the sun shines out of your arse”.

“Oi” he finally turned to you “watch it”.

“You know its true though, don’t you Doctor”.

“How do you know all this then, huh? You got psychic powers or something you haven’t informed me about?”.

Because I’ve been in her place, Doctor. I know how it feels. It hurts. Not in the way poets describe it. It doesn’t feel like your heart being ripped out of your chest. It feels your heart… it was never even there. You forget what having a heart feels like. But you mourn for it. And that’s the pain. I don’t want her to feel like that.

Instead, beyond any judgement of your own and perhaps as an act of fate (or malice sent straight from Hades) you replied, “Because I love you too”.

The moment the words left your mouth your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, as though it wasn’t even you who had revealed such a secret directly to the man it was about. The subconscious had become conscious. Surely there were defence mechanisms to stop this kind of behaviour in its tracks. “Damn you, Freud” you mumbled.

The doctor stared at you, his eyes squeezed together in confusion. “What?” he whispered.

“I was thinking about defence mechanisms” you replied quietly, looking at him. He was finally looking straight back at you. You wished he would stare at the console once again, maybe flick a few switches, anything to get his eyes (wide and soft in their gaze) off you.

“What?” the Doctor replied again, shaking his head. “No not the Freud thing, the thing before it”.

Might as well stick to my guns you thought. “I love you too?” you replied, though it released from your mouth as a question.

“Since when!?” he exasperated.

“Since your last face” you replied. You sounded guilty. Why did you sound guilty? Was it the feeling of the words left unspoken between the two of you? Or was it simply the elephant in the room?  

Rose.

By any other name she would have caused just as much tension.

He had loved Rose in a way you were sure he would never love you.

He hadn’t stopped staring at you, his jaw tight and his eyes, to you, appeared full of pity.

“Stop staring at me” you said, staring right back at him.

“Why didn’t you-“ he started but stopped himself, answering his own question within his mind. He knew why and suddenly he felt guilty too.

He began to move towards you and you froze where you stood, confused by his actions. You raised your eyes to meet his as he hovered above you. He leaned down to place his forehead gently against your own and shut his eyes gently. You did the same.

Here was the intimacy again, you thought, here are the fleeting touches that we will never talk about again.

But you didn’t stop him. How could you, when his hands moved to rest softly upon your jaw and neck, and you could hear him breathing, heavy and deep.

And then you felt his lips upon yours and you froze. He continued to kiss you, and you reciprocated, kissing his soft lips gently, both of your eyes still shut.

You pushed him away gently, opening your eyes to his face, sullen and confused. His eyes shined in the light of the console room, and you hoped dearly the wetness there was a trick of the lights.

“We can’t do this to Martha” you practically whispered.

You watched him clench his jaw, his sad gaze never leaving your own. “This isn’t about her, is it?”.

You felt a fire and heaviness within your chest at his words, accusatory and all-knowing, but it died when you replied “We can’t do this to Rose”.

And that was the kicker wasn’t it? Whilst you had always felt The Doctor would not love you as much as Rose, you had only really felt that way after she was gone. When you had travelled with the two of them, The Doctor surely treated you as romantic interest equals, flirting and teasing. At first you thought that maybe that was just The Doctor, or maybe that was just who his new, tenth version was like. But his actions proved just a little bit too loving, just a little bit too intimate for it to be the case.

The Doctor had loved Rose. The Doctor had loved you. He had just loved you a little more privately.

Sure, Rose was smart enough to probably know there was some tension between the two of you, yet she had never mentioned it. And then when she was gone, all the feelings of schoolgirl excitement in getting attention from The Doctor became guilt. All his touches that once cause a tingling within your skin and stomach now almost made you ill with regret of things that hadn’t even had the chance to happen.

“Rose loved you” he said, ripping you away from your thoughts. Your guilt.

“Not like she loved you” you smiled.

“Does that mean we can’t love each other?” he asked, though you knew it was rhetorical. “Has she claimed me so that I can’t love anyone else? I have to mourn my love for her for the rest of my life?”

You laughed sadly at that.

“If that’s the case, is it not enough for me to mourn my love of her? Why do you have to do it to?” he continued.

You looked up at him then from behind tears you hadn’t realised had began to form within your eyes. He moved towards you again slowly. He traced his hands down your arms lightly and took your hands in his own. His hands were so soft, you noted, something rare for a man. Though he wasn’t a man, was he? You supposed you should remind yourself of that more often.

The face that stared at you now with tired, red-brimmed eyes would someday be the face of another. The hands that held yours would someday change shape and size and softness. The lips that kissed the skin of your hands now would be a slightly different shape and fullness. The man that pulled you towards him lightly and held your waist tightly against him would someday be another man. And then another man. And then another man. And maybe one day a woman.

And somehow you didn’t mind. Somehow, as he leaned down to place his lips upon yours again, firmly but with so much love, you realised you would not mind at all. Because it would still be him.

You broke away from him again but this time much softer, as he still held you within his arms, hands tightly around you. You stared up at him and smiled and he returned with a grin, wide and cheeky as it always was.

“You can’t keep leading her on” you warned once again, and he nodded his head.

“I won’t”.

[tomcat-acaphe]

CPR Masterpost

Roughly 54% of Americans know CPR. That is shockingly low.

So, for those who don’t know, only half know, need a reminder or think they know but don’t, let ya boy educate you.

Pre-Physical CPR: Remember DRS (Doctors!)!

D: Danger. Is there danger nearby? Oftentimes people go into cardiac arrest due to, say for example, touching an electric fence and getting electrocuted. Following on from that example, are they still attached to the electric fence? Is the patient still in danger? If they’re in danger, leave them and don’t do CPR. Still call an ambulance though.

R: Response. Shake em, shout at em, call their name, anything! If they respond with words, don’t do CPR. They’re probably just out of it.

S: Shout for help. You’ll ideally want as many people who can do CPR around as possible. ALSO, CALL AN AMBULANCE.

Physical CPR: Remember ABC.

A: Airway. Lay their head back and open their mouth. Make sure the airway is clear.

B: Breathing. If they aren’t breathing, they’re in danger. Lay your head down on its side near their cheek. Use your eyes to also look if their chest is moving up and down. While doing that, if you can’t hear/feel the breath after ten seconds, they aren’t breathing.

Please note there is also a thing called Agonal breathing. If they’re gasping like a fish out of water or not breathing properly, THEY ARE DYING. It’s a brain reflex, they aren’t actually getting any oxygen.

C: Chest Compressions. Start 'em. Do them until you either physically can’t or the ambulance arrives. This is why shouting for help is important. Compressions are very exhausting and if you’re not physically fit you’ll tire quickly and need to alternate.

Extra Note:

Sometimes, if you’re really good and really lucky, the person may wake up. Often this is temporary. Still keep doing compressions. If they become verbal and tell you to, quote enquote ‘piss off, geroff me!’ There’s a good chance they’re alive now.

How To Do Compressions Properly:

Place the heel of the hand on the breast bone at the centre of the person’s chest. Place your other hand on top of your first hand and interlock your fingers.

Position yourself with your shoulders above your hands.

Using your body weight (not just your arms, trust me, if you just did your arms you’ll get very tired very fast,) press straight down by 5-6cm (2-2.5 inches) on their chest.

Keeping your hands on their chest, release the compression and allow the chest to return to its original position.

Repeat these compressions at a rate of 100-120 times in a minute until either: an ambulance, you get exhausted or you feel slightly tired and have a friend who can take over.

If all this is too complicated to remember, don’t worry. If you put your phone on speaker, the person on the other end will walk you through it in real time. If you can’t take away anything else from this, please take away this fact.

Misconceptions:

Q: Do I have to do mouth-to-mouth?

A: Nope! In fact, I’d advise against it. Mouth to mouth actually does little to help the patient and is arguably detrimental due to an exchange of germs. Just stick to chest compressions.

Q: Do I have to sing Nellie The Elephant?

A: Also nope! Any 100-120 BPM song is fine. There’ll be a list below.

Q: Am I pressing hard enough?

A: No. Unless you’re pressing 5-6cm or 2.5 inches down, you are not. It looks weird and wrong, but that’s because you’re literally acting as their heart for them. If you’re questioning if you’re pressing hard enough, you probably aren’t. If you think you are, push a little harder. It’s possible and very easy to not push hard enough, but there’s no such thing as too hard. Push them so hard they make a hole on the floor if you have to.

Q: Oh no! I heard a rib crack!

A: That’s good! Oftentimes, the ribs have to break in order for you to actually have any hope of successful CPR. Don’t stop because you heard a rib crack. There’s no such thing as pushing too hard. There is such a thing as not pushing enough. It’s better to have a friend alive with a few broken bones than your friend dead.

Q: The patient is a woman and I’m scared that if she wakes up she’ll sue me for touching her breasts. Should I risk it and perform CPR anyway?

A: Don’t worry. You’re protected by the Good Samaritan Law. I’m not a lawyer, so if any one who knows the law could possibly fact check me on this personally, but the Good Samaritan Law states:

“The Good Samaritan Law offers legal protection to people who give reasonable assistance to those who are, or whom they believe to be, injured, ill, in peril, or otherwise incapacitated.”

So even if the patient does wake up and your vital readings were wrong, the law should be on your side.

If you think someone needs CPR, don’t question the legal trouble it’ll get you in later. Just do it.

Q: Don’t I have to check for a pulse?

A: You could, but breathing is much more reliable. Locating a pulse can take a while. (Sometimes people can only feel it in their wrists, some people only feel it in their neck. There’s no one guaranteed location. Everyone is different. Unless you know that person extremely well and know their best pulse spots fir some reason, (I’m not judging your friendship,) chances are it’ll take at least 30 seconds to locate a spot. This is especially hard when someone doesn’t have a pulse.) Breathing, on the other hand, is much more reliable and quicker to do, (10 seconds check, let’s say you were slow and took 2 seconds positioning, that’s 12 seconds max.) Time management is extremely important during CPR and every second counts. I understand most American places recommend checking for a pulse, but everywhere in the UK, (including NHS.gov and the British Resuscitation Council (used by all nurses and doctors as gospel, pretty much unheard if outside of professionals apparently?) My mum also said so.

Songs that are 100-120 BPM to sing instead of Nellie The Elephant: (Feel Free to Add!)

Sweet Home Alabama (Lynyrd Skynyrd) (100bpm)

Tainted Love (Straight No Chaser) (100bpm)

Through The Fire And Flames (Dragonforce) (100bpm)

Breaking The Habit (Linkin Park) (100bpm)

This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race (Fall Out Boy) (100bpm)

Dancing Queen (Abba) (100bpm)

Hips Don’t Lie (Shakira) (100bpm)

Gives You Hell (All American Rejects) (100bpm)

Icicles (The Scary Jokes) (100bpm)

Rock Your Body (Justin Timberlake) (101bpm)

Steppin’ Out (Joe Jackson) (101bpm)

Welcome To Tally Hall (Tally Hall) (101bpm)

Cecilia (Simon and Garfunkle) (102bpm)

Semi Charmed Life (Third Eye Blind) (102bpm)

99 Luftballons (DDR) (102bpm)

Stayin’ Alive (Bee Gees) (103bpm)

Stronger (Kanye West) (104bpm)

All Star (Smash Mouth) (104bpm)

Hard To Handle (The Black Crowes) (104bpm)

Rolling In The Deep (Adele) (105bpm)

Good Day (Tally Hall) (105bpm)

Are You Gonna Be My Girl (Jet) (105bpm)

Numb (Linkin Park) (107bpm)

Set Fire To The Rain (Adele) (108bpm)

Stronger (Britney Spears) (108bpm)

Eye Of The Tiger (Survivor) (109bpm)

Just The Way You Are (Bruno Mars) (109bpm)

Hollaback Girl (Gwen Stefani) (110bpm)

Another One Bites The Dust (Queen) (110bpm)

Till It’s Over (Tristam) (110bpm)

Grenade (Bruno Mars) (110bpm)

Never Gonna Give You Up (Rick Astley) (113bpm)

Under Pressure (Queen and David Bowie) (113bpm)

Banana Man (Tally Hall) (113bpm)

Two Trucks (Lemon Demon) (114bpm)

Uptown Funk (Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars) (115bpm)

What Doesn’t Kill You (Kelly Clarkson) (116bpm)

Once In A Lifetime (Talking Heads) (117bpm)

Call Me Maybe (Carly Rae Jepsen) (118bpm)

Don’t Stop Believing (Journey) (118bpm)

Bad Romance (Lady Gaga) (119bpm)

Just Dance (Lady Gaga) (119bpm)

Poker Face (Lady Gaga) (119bpm)

Tik Tok (Ke$ha) (120bpm)

Teenage Dream (Katy Perry) (120bpm)

DJ’s Got Us Falling In Love Again (Usher) (120bpm)

Revenge (Captain Sparklez) (120bpm)

If you want to check your favourite song is one you can use but it’s not here, go onto the website tunebat.com and type in the title. It will tell you the BPM and other fun facts like what key it’s in.

Sources:

http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/first-aid/cpr/

http://www.resus.org.uk

My Mum (Registered Band Six District Nurse (Going for Master’s Degree currently.)) (She read and fact checked this for me. Thanks, Mum!)

http://tunebat.com

My own knowledge having this drilled into me from a young age. (From sources above, especially ‘My Mum.’ You can’t find that website anymore.)

[huntertales]

Part Two: G.I. Jane. (Devil May Care S09E02)

Episode Summary: In the aftermath of the fall, Sam and the reader are taken by surprise when they learn Crowley is still alive–and stuffed in the trunk of the Impala. A temporary situation before the reader and the Winchesters relocate him to the Men of Letters dungeon. Kevin is anything but enthusiastic about seeing the king of hell under the same roof as him. However the three hunters want the demon close, hoping Crowley will provide useful information about others of his kind. Meanwhile, Abaddon re-emerges and plans to take over hell. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,098.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You never had such a strong desire to push your laptop off the library's table and away from you more than you did at this very moment. You let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed your aching eyes from staring at the screen for the past forty-five minutes. After combing through endless articles over every state in the country, you had officially hit a dead end on trying to find a lead. You weren’t sure what you were even supposed to be looking for anymore. You put in seven hours last night with Sam trying to do some research while Kevin tried translating the angel tablet some more in hopes he could find a way to undo the mess Metatron had made. The three of you accomplished absolutely nothing, forcing you to go to bed grumpy and even more stressed than how you started out.

You looked at the bottom right corner of the screen to read the time: 5:27 A.M. You reached for your empty coffee cup and contemplated if your heart could handle another serving. You’d been up for almost an hour after tossing and turning for half the night until you gave up on trying to sleep. Your restless mind wouldn’t stop thinking about everything that was happening. How was Kevin handling the fact that Crowley was staying in the bunker? Was Cas even anywhere near Kansas? What if he was hurt? What if you couldn't fix the damage that was done upon heaven?  How the hell did you not know you were...you stopped yourself when you reached for questions you didn’t want to think about. 

You gave up on trying to bury the anxiety down and tried to distract yourself instead by doing some more research. Maybe while you were wasting your time trying to sleep something had popped up. However your attempt at trying to be helpful ended with you wasting another hour of your life you couldn’t get back. You brewed yourself a pot of coffee since you weren’t going back to bed and had your routinely two cups of coffee, thinking it would make you sharper to finding a needle in a haystack. Only it made you feel like your heart was about to jump out of your chest. You didn’t understand what was going on with your body. 

Normally it took you that amount to get your eyes to stay open in the morning, now it felt like you couldn't sit still, it was like your body was more sensitive to the substance. Maybe it was your restless mind that was having some sort of negative effect on your body. Whatever the reason was, you couldn’t sit here anymore and stare at your laptop screen. You needed to get out of here and distance yourself for a little while. You decided to do something you hadn't done in years; you were going to go for a run. 

Running was something you used to do almost on a routine basis when you were younger. It started off as a way to keep yourself healthy and keep yourself in shape. Back when the only thing you were good at when it came to hunting was researching the history of a creature and how to kill it. Slowly it turned into a ritual for you that you looked forward to every morning. You laced up your sneakers and hit the local park that was a ten minute walk from your house with your favorite cassette tape or CD. Sometimes you let the sounds of nature be your music. You decided that’s what you needed right now. 

You changed into some sweatpants you had buried somewhere in your room and grabbed your sneakers that were collecting dust in a box of your old belongings from your house. You didn’t realize how much you missed running until you stepped outside to see it was still dark and the sounds of crickets chirping in the distant woods. You inhaled a deep breath of the fresh air and began on your journey, hoping your muscles weren’t too rusty for the handful of miles you were about to accomplish. Maybe you could even see the run rise while you were out. 

Over an hour later and several miles down, you arrived back at the bunker with the intention of distancing yourself away from technology for a little while longer for a chance to clear your head and look at this whole situation from another point. It seemed to do you some good when you found an article that caught your interest. You skimmed through it for a second time to make sure this was something worth looking into as you wandered over to the table after brewing yourself another cup of coffee. You told yourself that you worked off the caffeine to treat yourself to a third one after you brewed yourself another pot before you hopped into the shower after dripping with sweat from the workout. 

You felt more refreshed after the run along with changing into normal clothes after your shower, yet your hair was still damp and face bare of any makeup you were still contemplating applying. One of the perks you learned quickly while living in the bunker was the endless hot water you had, along with the pressure that eased your aching muscles. You accidentally lost track of how long you had been standing in the shower, it was almost as if you had zoned out.

You glanced up when you heard the sound of slippers dragging around the bunker's floor and heading towards the kitchen, the noise made you break your concentration away from the article you had been reading more intensely now. A smile crept to the edges of your lips at the sight of a still sleepy looking Dean. The man was dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt he fell asleep in after calling it quits for himself a little after midnight.

"Morning." You greeted the man in a little too chipper of a voice for the both of you, taking you by surprise.

"Morning, sweetheart." Dean managed to grumble back.

You made your way over to the man to give him a quick peck on the lips like you normally did every morning before going back to your coffee to take a sip. You directed your attention back to the article that seemed like something worth investigating. At least it was the closest thing you had at the moment that caught your interest. Dean made his way over to pour a cup for himself. He noticed the pot was still scolding hot, which meant it was fresh. He looked around the kitchen to find evidence of another partner to join you. Sam wasn't around. And Kevin was most likely still sleeping from the stressful three days he had to endure on his own. It was just you.

"Hey, what time did you get up this morning?" Dean asked out of curiosity. You glanced up from the phone and to him, wondering why he wanted to know. "You came to bed at two. But when I went to the bathroom at six, you were gone.” 

"Oh. I decided to do a little research. Then I went out for a run afterwards." You told the man, taking a seat at the table to try and continue reading. "I just got back an hour ago." 

Dean looked up at the clock to see that it was a little past eight. It was common for you to be an early riser than him, except for the rare moments when the both of you spent the mornings cuddled in bed together. All though there were problems coming at you from both sides, Dean hoped you might have decided to sleep in. He would do anything to be wrapped up in each other's arms. He didn't know the last time where he could forget about the world and its problems. It was just you and him. Nothing else to worry about. Even if it was for a few minutes, it was what he needed right now. To have you near him, safe and sound. Knowing that you were okay. At least, to be reminded that he still cared for you. He still loved you.

"That was two hours ago." Dean said. You shrugged your shoulders and gave the man a slightly confused look as to why he was putting so much care into this. The three of you had strange sleeping patterns, it came with the job. You were lucky if you even got four hours of sleep. Suddenly Dean was acting as if this was out of the ordinary for you. "What time did you actually get up?"

"I don't know. I really couldn't sleep. I think I got up a little after four. Did a little digging for an hour and then I went out for a run." You gave the man a highlight of what you had been up to over the past few hours. You rubbed a hand over your aching muscles, trying to get used to the pain you hadn't felt in a while. "I shouldn't have done that extra mile. I'll be feeling it later, that's for sure." 

"Are you sure you should be going this hard? I mean, you just..." Dean found himself trailing off, his silence mentioning the elephant in the room none of you had spoken about since a few nights ago. You watched as he gave you a serious expression, along with a worrisome glint in his eye. "I don't want you pushing yourself. Not when you're still in such a fragile state. We don't know how much damage was done on your body after the trials. Take it easy." 

You put your phone down to the table and gave the man an annoyed glare. “Why are you talking to me like that?”

"...Like what?" Dean asked you. He found himself responding to your question a few seconds later after you forced him to break his concentration away from his personal thoughts. 

"Like...I don't know." You weren't sure how to explain it to him without sounding crazy yourself. He walked on eggshells around you. You understood on some level that he didn't want you pushing yourself too hard, despite telling him over and over again that you felt fine. But it was how he spoke to you. Almost as if you were...dumb. Putting emphasis on certain words for you to comprehend them more easier. He was acting as if you didn't know the limits of your own body. "I'm fine." You tried to tell him, but even you knew that was bull. "I mean, fine as someone in my condition can be." 

"All I'm asking is for you to take it easy. Don't be signing up for any marathons soon." Dean said. You rolled your eyes and moved your attention back to your phone, already growing tired of his overly protective behavior. "Did you find anything interesting? Angel-y?"

"Try demon-y. I found something weird enough for us." You said. You handed over your phone for Dean to take a look after he poured himself a cup of coffee and joined you at the table. From the look on his face after he scrolled through the article it seemed he was interested himself. "If we leave in the next hour we can be there this afternoon." 

Dean let out a quiet sigh from your eagerness to jump on this case, however he agreed when he nodded his head and handed your phone back to you. You smiled at him and got up from your seat, mentioning about letting Sam know and getting everything ready to head out sooner than later. The older man simply took another sip of his coffee and rubbed his aching head. 

+ + +

The moment you stepped out of the Impala and made the mistake of taking in a breath you were bombarded with the overwhelming stench of rotten eggs. You had to cover your nose with your hand and take in shallow breaths to keep yourself from inhaling too much of the smell that you despise more than anything in the entire world. Despite the report that caught your attention hours ago, evidence that pointed to demon activity was still fresh like the smell lingering in the air. You slammed the backseat door and inspected the crime scene in some kind of attempt to piece together what happened here. A military base was hit with a strange crime after several soldiers who were seen boarding up on a local bus ended with them going missing without a trace and other passengers dead without a clear cause.

You took notice of a few local police officers that surrounded the scene and taped off the perimeter to ward off any curious civilians. You adjusted your blazer and tried to smooth out any wrinkles on your black slacks after sitting in the car for so long. The professional outfit gave you an illusion that you were someone with authority. It paired well with the fake federal badge burning a hole in your pocket, waiting to be flashed at any officer who tried to stop you.

"Oh, God." Sam muttered to himself. It seemed he took notice of the smell when he stepped out of the Impala a few seconds after you did. "This place reeks of sulfur."

“Between the stink, with the freak thunderstorms, and every cow dead within three miles,” You listed off the rest of the red flags you had caught after doing more research before you left. You 

ducked underneath the police tape Sam held up for you and his brother. “I’ll take demons for a thousand, Alex.”

You reached a hand inside your jacket pocket and pulled out your fake badge when you saw a soldier dressed in her uniform come forward to you. “Hey. Agent Stark. These are my partners Agent Banner and Agent Rogers. FBI.” Dean introduced himself first to the woman before nodding a head to his brother and then yourself. “Just need to have a look around.”

“Why?” The woman questioned all of you. “This is a military case, not a federal one.” 

“Well, that’s not what our supervisor said.” Sam said. 

“That so?” You felt a sigh threatening to escape your mouth when you realized this wasn't going to be easy like you hoped it would be. She wasn't going to crack so easily when you were on her territory, trying to poke your nose into her case. You forced your hands to rest at your side when she crossed her arms over her chest. "Then maybe him and I ought to have a chat.” 

Dean wasn’t going to let this spook him from doing his job. It wasn’t your first time dealing with someone who didn’t fall so easily for the fake badge and the promised word that you were some sort of federal agent. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number for someone who would be the perfect boss to a couple of fake FBI workers. You wondered who the hell that was going to be. It used to be Bobby who saved your asses from getting into trouble. Sometimes it was one of you when you stayed back to do some research for the hunt. You kept a straight face when you realized who Dean was calling. 

“Hey, boss. Uh, we got a little problem here.” Dean spoke to none other than Kevin Tran, who was back at the bunker working on translating the tablet. That's how you left him after you told him you were following the lead to a potential case. He sounded a little surprised from how the older Winchester greeted him, slightly thrown off by being called boss. Dean rolled with it without missing a beat. "Yeah, just a local badge needs confirmation that we’re supposed to be here...how the word came down from FBI headquarters in D.C.” 

After doing this for long as you have, you learned how to talk out of your own ass and make it sound official. Dean handed the phone over to the soldier and gave her a tight smile. You really hoped Kevin didn’t drop the ball on this one. You didn’t want to spend the night in jail.

“This is Sergeant Miranda Bates.” She introduced herself with her title. “Who am I talking to?”

“Uh, Kevin…” You slightly leaned in closer to the woman to eavesdrop on the conversation she was having with the kid. You bit the inside of your cheek when you heard the kid give a last name that couldn’t have been anymore fake sounding. “Solo.” 

“How old are you?” Miranda asked him, finding his voice awfully young sounding. 

“Old enough.” He responded. “And I’m with the FBI, so you have to do what I say or—”

“Listen, kid. I don’t have to do anything, and I don’t take orders from the feeb, so unless you can give me one good reason you got a couple of pretty-boy agents poking around my crime scene, I’m gonna put them in cuffs and spank your ass raw.” Sergeant Bates layed down the law in a threatening tone of voice as she told the kid how it was going to be. You raised your brow slightly from the questionable tone she was speaking to him in. “Understand?”

“Cabo last June.” Kevin might not have a way with words like you and the boys, but he was smart enough to know how to make someone do what you want. He grabbed his laptop and quickly made his way into finding something that would make the woman back off. You watched as she slowly grew quiet at the mention of her past trip. “That’s my reason.” Kevin began to scroll through the pictures of the woman’s private life that would surely get her kicked out of the military. “Oh, my favorite’s you in a sombrero doing a body shot off some naked guy in a luchador mask. Super-classy.”

“How did you find them?” She asked him, trying her hardest to keep her voice calm. 

“‘Cause I’m Kevin frigging Solo.” Kevin whispered into the phone, mocking her threatening tone she used on him just seconds ago. You felt a smile creeping at the ends of your lips when Bates began to change her behavior. “So, unless you want this forwarded to your commanding officer, Major Velasquez, I suggest you give my guys anything they want. You understand?”

Sergent Bates swallowed at the compromise she was put in, “Yes.” 

“‘Yes...sir.’” Kevin corrected the woman. 

“Yes, sir.” Sergent Bates repeated after him. 

Bates handed the phone back to Dean after finishing up her call with the young man, the look on her face was enough to know that she wouldn't be giving you a problem anymore. You gave her a smile at your cooperation and watched as she walked away with her tail between her legs. Dean put the phone back to his ear, curious as to what the kid managed to pull on his own.

“Kevin, what the hell did you just do?” Dean asked. 

“All military computers are linked to the same network.” Kevin explained. You and Sam gave the man a curious expression to see if you had permission to the crime scene after all. Dean nodded his head and let the both of you be on your way while he finished up the conversation with the kid about how he managed to get access. “I hacked it.” 

"Hey, Kevin." Dean got the kid's attention before he hung up the phone and got back to his work. He knew the poor prophet was dealing with a lot at the moment, from the pressure he was under and the guest he was stuck with back at the bunker. Dean could hear the stress in Kevin's voice. He might not say it a lot, but sometimes everyone needed to hear some praise for a job well done. "Good job, buddy."

Dean ended the call and joined the both of you back on the bus where you were observing a dead body leaning back in his seat. You pointed to something on the man’s naked chest after the coroner must have been the one who undid the buttons of his blue shirt and tie to figure out a cause of death. To the untrained eye there most likely wouldn’t be anything unusual. You and Sam quietly spoke to one another about a strange mark on his chest that you were familiar with. 

“Hey.” Dean said. You looked over in the older Winchester’s direction when you heard his voice as he made his way forward to you. “Anything.” 

“Yeah, this guy was shot in the heart.” Sam told his brother what the both of you discovered.

“That what killed him?” The older man asked. 

“Maybe—fifteen, twenty years ago. Every one of these bodies has a fatal wound or two or three, but they’re all old.” You said. “It’s physically impossible for anyone to have survived these kinds of attacks on their own.” 

“So, we’re looking at meatsuits?” Dean wondered. You nodded your head at the possibility. “The bodies took a licking, and the demon inside kept them ticking.”

“Probably.” Sam said. “I think they were possessed, and now those soldiers are.” 

"Excuse me, agents." You looked over your shoulder when you heard Sergent Bates' voice coming from behind you. She approached you with an outstretched arm holding a tablet. "We pulled this off a security camera. You might want to take a look.” 

You mumbled a thank you to the woman and grabbed the tablet from her to examine the footage. You and the boys watched as a line of soldiers made their way off the bus, looking very much alive like you suspected. You hit the pause button when you noticed the last person walking off the bus wasn’t wearing a military uniform like the rest. You furrowed your brow slightly and zoomed in on the face. The problem with demons was that deep down they were nothing more than a puff of black smoke who could take over any human body they wanted. You felt your grip around the tablet tighten at the sight of a familiar meatsuit—one you thought you had burned to a crisp.

“Abaddon? Seriously?” Dean questioned the both of you about how the body of Joise Sand was walking around without a scratch on her body. “Thought you Kentucky fired that meatsuit, Y/N.” 

“I did, Dean.” You reassured the man of that fact. 

“Well, then, how did she get it back?” Dean asked you, as if you knew the answer off the top of your head. You could only shrug your shoulders and thank the officer who held up the police tape while you made your way back to the Impala after finishing up here. “And why’s she playing G.I. Joe?”

“No clue.” You muttered. “Why don’t you ask her yourself when we find the bitch?”

“Oh, I will.” Dean said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Then I’m gonna chop her freakin’ head off—again.”   

+ + +

You laid in the backseat of the Impala with your back pressed against one of the doors and your heels long abandoned on the floor, lost in the darkness of the night as you focused on catching some sleep after the lack there of the night before. You felt more at ease with the familiar vibrations of the engine and the bumps of the road. There wasn't much more you could do for the case except try and get some rest while Dean drove back home. While you tried to fall asleep, you wondered how Abaddon was able to bring her charred meatsuit back to life. You remembered bits and pieces of the past several days, even less of the night at the church. But you knew for sure about the memory of dosing the knight of hell with holy oil and setting her suit on fire. 

You were almost drifting off to a sleepless slumber, your head slowly bobbing up and down as you felt your eyelids drift shut. Right as you were about to close them, you suddenly felt yourself jerk wide awake at the sound of your phone ringing. You let out a sharp gasp from the unexpected noise that scared you. You quickly realized your surroundings and reached for your phone, wondering who the hell was trying to call you. When you saw Kevin’s name appear on the screen, you thought the kid had found something useful on the angel tablet. But it turned out your problems had reached his end.

“Kevin, wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.” You tried your hardest to get the kid to stop talking in a rushed voice so you could understand him better with what he was trying to say. You rubbed your eyes and tried to get yourself to focus on the things he was saying, hoping the boys might be able to make sense with the phone on speaker. “Slow down, for God’s sake.” 

“She gave me these coordinates.” Kevin rushed out a series of numbers that you couldn't figure out on your own. You quickly waved a hand for Sam to track them while you listened to the rest of the information he had for you. "And two names, Irv Franklin and Tracey Bell." 

“Irv’s a friend.” Dean said. “Don’t know Tracey.” 

"All right, the lady said they were hunters and if you didn't go save them, that she would kill them." Kevin relayed the message back to you. You couldn’t help yourself when you rolled your eyes at the cliched threat you heard plenty of times before. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that song before.” You muttered to yourself. “You think these demons would get some better material by now.” 

“Y/N, who was she?” Kevin asked you. 

“She’s the bad guy. All right, new job. Dig up everything Men of Letters have on Knights of Hell.” You said. You felt a little bad giving the kid for work to do with the other responsibilities he had piled on his shoulders. Kevin sounded a little overwhelmed, but he agreed. “You find a way to kill one—I mean permanently—drop a dime. Thanks again, Kevin.” 

You ended the call a second later and shoved it back into the pocket of your blazer. You pushed yourself up to the front seats and looked over at Sam, wondering he was able to figure out the coordinates Kevin gave. “The numbers point to a spot on the outskirts of Eugene, Oregon.” 

"You boys know this is a trap, right?" You asked them. You were a bit surprised to see Abaddon sticking her head out like this, especially after what you did to her. They nodded their head a little too casually for the situation you were about to take on. “And we’re just gonna walk right into it?”

“Guns blazing.” Dean said. You softly bit your bottom lip at his plan of action that you expected out of him. For someone who wanted you to take it easy, you found it surprising he wanted you part of this with his brother. He took his gaze off the road for a moment to look at you. “You with me, sweetheart?”

“You know it.” You said. 

You reassured the man of your full cooperation as you leaned further and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and patted Sam on the shoulder before you retreated into the backseat again. You might have not been able to shut the gates of hell once and for all, but killing the demon who played a part in ruining your life was second best. There was nothing you wanted more right now than to see the redheaded bitch dead once and for all. 

[Next Part]

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Summer's Circus: Part 1

By Barbara Davies

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle (uber)

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Summer Walsh owns a struggling circus with a dark history. When journalist Alison Carmichael walks through her Big Top, though, things might just start looking up for the distant Ringmaster.

It was late Wednesday evening when the last trailer finally limped on site. Summer watched anxiously as it eased its way between the other trailers, caravans, and vans to its designated spot, its tyres leaving huge ruts in the turf.

So much for 'Flaming June'. Rain had soaked the work crews as they pulled down the Big Top and loaded the unwieldy poles and sections of canvas onto the long trailer kept specially for the purpose; rain had streamed down her van's windscreen every second of the journey by tortuous, winding B road; and it was *still* raining, the hills surrounding Cheltenham almost invisible through the downpour.

She sighed. At least Cox's Meadow had turned out to be a proper field, she consoled herself, not one of those derelict building sites that were all most councils could seem to spare these days. She wondered who Cox was and what he would have made of the meadow that was rapidly turning into a swamp. For this they were paying £1,000 a week? Tomorrow they'd have to get the boards out - couldn't expect the public to wade through mud. She rubbed her forehead tiredly.

"Headache, boss?" Pyotr Dyakonov had come up behind her, unheard in the pelting rain.

"Yeah," Summer confessed. "Just the usual 'Will we be ready in time,' 'Will people like us enough to pay to see us' kind of headache."

"We always are; they always do," said the acrobat complacently.

Summer raised an eyebrow. "I thought Russians were s'posed to be pessimists."

He shrugged. "Things always seem to work out OK when you're around, Boss."

Summer snorted. "Yeah, right."

"It's true," protested Pyotr, stroking his moustache.

"Tell that to Uncle Tommy," she murmured, too low for Pyotr to hear. She turned away and began the tricky process of picking her way carefully between the ruts and puddles towards her caravan.

***

Alison replaced the telephone receiver and let a broad grin plaster itself over her face. "Tomorrow, I'm going to the circus!"

For a moment she allowed herself to feel the excitement she had felt as a little kid, even hopped up and down a bit, then she sobered. This wasn't for pleasure - well, maybe just a bit. This was her chance to prove she could hack it, to call herself 'freelance journalist' and mean more than the book reviews and column fillers that were the only things on her CV so far.

She paced up and down, hardly seeing the little sitting room, considering what to take with her. Her camera, of course. The article would be nothing without pictures, but she was good at photography - she could probably come up with something colourful and spectacular. Her tape recorder. Some spare batteries, a pen and notepad, just in case.

If all went well, she'd be interviewing each of the performers, maybe even the owner of the circus herself. Summer Walsh; what an unusual first name. Alison crossed to the table and rechecked her notes. Yes, it *was* Summer. And not many British circuses were owned by women, according to her research.

Would that make the interview harder, she wondered suddenly. Men were so easy - you just dressed femininely, batted your eyelashes, and simpered. Her Mother had taught her how to flirt with them from an early age, and then been devastated to learn it had been a waste of time. She sighed, remembering how difficult it had been coming out to her mother, how she had wished that her father had been alive to take her part as he always had.

She shook off the melancholy memory, and her doubts. "I can do this," she told herself. "I *will* do this." After all, all circus owners, regardless of their gender, would welcome a chance of free publicity, wouldn't they?

Alison remembered the circuses of her youth, full of horses, elephants, tigers, and lions. These days British circuses without animals were the norm - unrelenting pressure from animal rights protestors and the RSPCA had seen to that. She wondered if the show could possibly be as magical without animals.

Well, tomorrow night she'd see for herself, wouldn't she.

***

"Out of the question." Summer glared at the man who had barged into her office five minutes earlier, and who, rather disconcertingly, reminded her of an orangutan. (It must be the ginger hair and long arms, she decided.)

"I don't think you quite understand." His earlier affability had vanished.

"What's to understand?" she demanded. "I have all the permits and licenses I need. Why should I want to spend more than I have to?"

So far she had managed to keep a tight rein on her temper, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Especially since she was exhausted from helping the work crews to assemble the tiered seating inside the Big Top.

"For a quiet life," he said. "For oiling the wheels of progress -"

"For greasing your palms, you mean." If he thought the sunglasses and leather jacket made him look cool, thought Summer, he was wrong.

"Call it what you like, Ms Walsh. But I think you'd be very unwise not to -"

"I said 'no'. I meant it."

"I see. That's unfortunate."

Summer stood up, placed her hands firmly on the desk and leaned forward, fixing the man with a feral glare from which, to her satisfaction, he flinched. "You're just running a glorified little protection racket, aren't you? Well, no deal." She bared her teeth at him. "You haven't met Tonio and Marcello yet, have you? They're strongmen, they perform under the stage name Men-o-War. I'm sure, if you met them, you'd understand why."

Her visitor was already backing towards the door, looking anxiously through the glass as though expecting the two strongmen to be waiting outside for him. Which, if she'd known he was coming, they would have been, she thought sourly.

"This is probably the worst decision you've made, lady -"

"What happened to 'Ms Walsh?’"

"- in a long, long time."

As he disappeared, like a rat up a drainpipe, she wondered gloomily if he might not just be right.

***

Alison halted just inside the tasseled blue-and-white marquee that was the Big Top, and surveyed her surroundings. It would hold about four hundred people, she judged, but it was barely a quarter full. She checked her watch. There was still ten minutes before the performance was scheduled to begin, but she was doubtful the place would fill up.

She tried to get a sense of the kind of people that had come to the circus. Some were parties of adults only, chattering excitedly to one another; some were adults with children, the parents wearing longsuffering looks; and some, like herself, were alone, their wistful expressions indicating a desire to recapture the magical experience of their youth.

Alison suppressed a smile and searched for Block D. Ah, there it was - the far side of the tiered seating, near the ramp that led from the ring to backstage. She eased herself along the row of tip-up seats until she came to the one that matched the A9 on her ticket stub then sat down gratefully.

She made herself as comfortable as possible on the very basic seat then opened the brochure, emblazoned: 'SUMMER'S CIRCUS', that had cost her a pound. As she had feared, it consisted mainly of advertisements for ice-cream and hotdogs - but a loose sheet of A4 itemized tonight's running order.

She closed the brochure and leaned back, squinting first at the apex of the Big Top high above, then at the trapezes, wires and safety ropes a little below it, then at the ring itself - not covered with sawdust, these days, she noted - which was a lot smaller than her childhood memories had led her to expect. Not bad, she decided, feeling pleased with herself - she should be able to see the performers close to as they came up the ramp into the ring. She pulled her camera from her pocket and hung its strap round her neck ready.

A group of well dressed people - businessmen and women and civic dignitaries by the look of them, one overweight man even wore a chain of office round his neck - approached her block and began to take their seats in the front row. A rather striking dark-haired woman was directing them - her scarlet jacket had wide lapels and tails, and she was wearing a matching bow tie.

The woman smiled brilliantly and said, "I hope you enjoy the show." Alison eyed her with interest.

"I'm sure we will, Ms Walsh," said the man with the chain.

So that was the mysterious Summer Walsh? Well, well.

As the scarlet-clad woman strode away, Alison found that she was suddenly looking forward to interviewing the circus owner.

***

Summer made her way backstage. It was chaos; organized chaos - at least she fervently hoped so.

"Five minutes to the Overture," she yelled. "Everyone okay?"

"Okay, Boss," came the chorus of replies.

She stepped over the pile of baseball bats that looked like wood but weren't. They belonged to Egor and Maks who were due on first after the Overture. As she negotiated the clowns' other props: a foam rubber hatchet, a scrawny looking chicken, and a huge inflatable ball that after the Intermission would be bounced off the audience's heads to screams of fear and delight, her mind returned to the mayor's party.

"Pompous ass," she muttered. He had insisted on complimentary tickets for his wife and colleagues too. "Does he think we're made of money?"

Summer knew the figures all too well. Just to survive, the circus needed three thousand customers a week. Paying customers, like that little blonde who had been sitting just behind the mayor and his cronies. Her thoughts dwelt pleasantly on the woman's interested green eyes for a moment, then she remembered her intention to see how the Ticket Office was getting on.

She was heading for the office wagon at breakneck speed - she had barely ten minutes before she was needed in the ring - when she noticed that a weaselly little pickpocket was working the queue.

With a growl of anger, she somersaulted neatly over the goggling members of the public and launched herself at the man whose hand was about to delve into an unsuspecting customer's coat pocket.

He took one startled look at her and tried to bolt - but by then she had him by the back of his coat collar.

"'Ere, what d'ya think you're - Ulp!" His protest became a strangled squawk as an arm strengthened by years of trapeze work held him effortlessly six inches above the ground.

"Going somewhere?"

He struggled briefly then stopped and concentrated on simply breathing.

"You have a choice, sunshine," growled Summer. "You can spend this evening down the nearest police station...or..." She lifted him higher and watched him think through the implications.

The thief smiled rather glassily at her. "No harm done, lady," he babbled. "I was just looking after a few things for their owners. Know what I mean?"

She lowered her arm, and saw relief wash over his face as his feet touched the ground again. Then she released her grip on his coat collar and held out her hand meaningfully. "Give."

Reluctantly he reached into deep raincoat pockets and began to pile purses and wallets and wristwatches into Summer's hands. From the Big Top came faint music, the first bars of the Overture, reminding her that time was passing.

"Need a hand, Boss?" Tonio and Marcello had joined the little crowd of bystanders watching the proceedings as though it were part of the evening's entertainment.

She nodded, relieved to see them. "I'm due in the ring. Make sure these -" she pushed the pile of purses and wallets into Tonio's huge fists "- are returned to their rightful owners. Most'll have some kind of ID or photo in them, I expect. The rest - well, you may have to ask members of the audience to check if anything's missing."

She rubbed a hand tiredly across her forehead, annoyed at the extra work the thief had caused. If she reported him to the police, even more time would be lost. No police, then. Unless...Suddenly, she remembered the orangutan who had tried to sell her protection.

"You," she turned back to the thief. "Who are you working for?"

"No-one. I'm strictly freelance."

Summer put on her best scowl and took a threatening step towards him.

"Honest." He raised a shaking hand in defence.

She nodded. "Okay. One other thing."

The still unnerved thief looked expectantly at her.

"If I catch you in my circus ever again, I'll let these two - " she indicated the strong men examining the stolen booty "- tear you to pieces. And have no doubts, they can do it, too." She glared at him. "Do I make myself clear?"

The thief winced. "As crystal."

"Now, get out of my circus."

The thief needed no further urging.

***

The Overture ended with a flourish (*Also Sprach Zarathustra*, if she wasn't mistaken) and Alison clapped appreciatively. It amused her that such a tiny orchestra - two men, a drumkit, and what looked like a steam powered synthesizer - was capable of generating music with such power and volume. Circus people, she was rapidly learning, were nothing if not resourceful.

The ringmaster had just stridden into the ring - she recognized the dark-haired woman in the scarlet jacket immediately - when Alison became aware that a big man in black sweatshirt and jeans was easing his way along the row of seats towards her. She frowned.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said politely, as he got nearer, easing her fears, "but is this yours?" He was holding out a wallet similar to the one she owned and pointing to a strip of passport photographs.

Abruptly, she recognized the unflattering snaps she had had taken at the Post Office photo kiosk last week. She gasped and felt for the pocket where she usually kept her wallet. It was empty.

"That's mine. But how did you? I mean - "

The man smiled and handed her the wallet. "Pickpocket was working the Ticket Office queue," he said simply. "The Boss caught him. Persuaded him to return the stolen goods."

There was a subtle emphasis on the 'persuaded' that piqued Alison's interest, as did his accent, which was, she realized, foreign. She checked the contents of the wallet, and was relieved to find that nothing was missing. "'The Boss?’ You mean, Ms Walsh?"

"Yes. Everything there? Sorry to rush you, but I've got several more owners to locate."

"Oh, sorry. Yes, everything's here, but -"

But the man was already turning to go. "Enjoy the show, Miss," he called back to her.

Still feeling rather stunned by this turn of events, Alison turned her attention back to the ring. The attractive ringmaster had disappeared and two short men with unwieldy moustaches and red noses, dressed in appalling yellow-and-black checked suits and bow ties, were starting to hit each other with baseball bats.

***

The trouble with seeing the show from the inside, thought Summer, was that, unlike the appreciative audience - who were clapping wildly at every little thing - you were all too aware when things didn't go right.

For example, the music had started off slightly too fast, but Ruud and Jan had quickly corrected that. Then Egor had tripped over one of Maks' big feet but had deftly turned it into an extra piece of ' business'. And Grigori had almost dropped one of his flaming torches, but an extra flourish distracted the audience from his mistake.

The ringmaster sighed. No matter how often and thoroughly they rehearsed, it was always the same. First-performance-in-a-new-town nerves. But as the evening progressed, she could feel the nerves calming, the professionalism of the performers taking over.

But it was time to announce the next act. She strode out into the ring, fixed a smile on her face, and clicked on the microphone.

"And now, for your enjoyment, Summer's Circus presents, all the way from Greece: the *stupendous* Miss Clio."

She gestured extravagantly towards the maroon velvet curtain that hid backstage, and, right on cue, a petite figure in a pale pink leotard appeared and bounded up the ramp to join her.

"Break a leg, Clio," she murmured. Her reward was a dazzling smile.

Summer withdrew, and watched Clio go into her act.

First came the smile and wave to the audience, then the Greek woman reached for her little ladder and began to climb, adjusting her balance constantly so that the unsupported ladder would remain vertical. When she was settled, Andor, her young male assistant, appeared, carrying a pile of cups and saucers, and proceeded to throw them to her one by one. Almost nonchalantly, Clio would catch each cup or saucer and then throw it up so that it landed on the top of her head. Gradually a stack of alternating cups and saucers grew.

Summer had had no doubts at all, when she'd first seen Clio's act, that she was a must for the circus. On paper, catching cups and saucers while balancing on a ladder was a nonstarter, but in real life there was something about the precision and skill displayed by the young Greek woman that made the audience hold its breath.

As Clio caught yet another saucer, and was greeted with wild applause, Summer's thoughts turned inwards.

It looked like her gamble that the affluent Cheltonians would flock to the circus hadn't paid off - the Ticket Office receipts had confirmed what her squinted glances into the spotlights told her: the Big Top was only half full tonight. What with the appalling weather, the orangutan demanding protection money, the pickpocket ripping off customers, and the question of what would happen when Uncle Tommy discovered his least favourite niece was back on his patch. She sighed.

A teaspoon landed with a loud clink in the topmost saucer, and the audience went mad. Clio's act was winding down. Almost time to announce the aerialists, thought Summer, rising to her feet.

The Finale had met with sustained and enthusiastic applause, and the two man band was playing music calculated to get the audience heading for the exits, when Summer went round backstage congratulating the acts and patting people on the shoulders. There had been no major mishaps, and everyone was feeling relieved.

She was looking forward to a shower, a hot meal, and an early night, and was half way to her caravan, when she remembered she had rashly agreed to see a journalist - Alison Carsomething - about a possible article on the Circus.

She groaned, and trudged over the waterlogged ground towards the trailer that housed both the Administration and Ticket offices.

A blonde woman was waiting for her outside the Admin office. She looked vaguely familiar, thought Summer, traipsing up the short flight of steps.

"Ms Car-" She trailed off.

"Alison Carmichael," said the woman helpfully. "And you must be Summer Walsh." She held out a hand.

Summer grunted, gave the hand a perfunctory shake, then began to unlock the door. "Come in."

She switched on the light, and crossed the office to the battered old desk. The journalist followed her inside, glancing at the dingy interior assessingly. Hmmm, thought Summer, having noticed the camera around her visitor's neck, I don't imagine you want to take a photo of *this* for your article, Ms Carmichael.

She dragged a plastic chair from its place by the wall and indicated it before moving round behind the desk. The journalist sat down. Summer did likewise.

"I really enjoyed the show tonight, Ms Walsh."

"Thanks."

After a moment's silence, the blonde woman realized Summer wasn't going to say any more and picked up the conversation. "Um, we spoke on the phone, about the possibility of my doing interviews with you and with your performers."

Summer nodded.

"So, I was wondering..." The journalist bit her lip.

Summer glanced at the message pad where she had written details of their telephone conversation and frowned. What had she been thinking? "I don't seem to have made a note of which paper you write for, Ms Carmichael," she said apologetically.

"Oh, well - " A slight flush covered the blonde woman's cheeks. "I'm a freelance, but several publications have expressed an interest in the article -"

Summer realized abruptly that there was no point in continuing this conversation. "Then I'm afraid it would be better if we didn't waste each other's time, Ms Carmichael," she interrupted.

The look on the other woman's face made Summer aware that her bluntness had been misinterpreted as offensiveness.

"By the time you've written it and placed it, probably with a local paper," she explained, "the circus will have moved on. Such publicity will be of no benefit to us." She groaned inwardly, realizing that she had only made things worse.

A red spot now burned in each of the blond woman's cheeks. "But, you said on the phone..." Green eyes flashed with indignation.

Green eyes, thought Summer suddenly. Of course. The row of seats behind the mayor's party. Another headache was lurking behind her eyes. The sooner this was over, the better.

"I've changed my mind," she said, sounding more curt than she'd intended. "If you'll excuse me?" She stood up to indicate the interview was over.

Lips pressed in a grim line, the young woman snatched up her gloves and stalked off.

I could have handled that so much better, thought Summer regretfully as she watched the young woman stomp down the steps outside. She sighed, then switched off the light and locked the office door behind her.

As she walked down the steps herself, she glanced absently at the distant figure walking disconsolately towards the carpark. The rest of the paying audience had gone home, and a single pale green Fiesta remained. One of the carpark floodlights was out. Summer made a mental note to get it replaced, then noticed movement in the shadows. She stopped, her senses on alert. A mugger, or worse. And Alison Carmichael, her mind on other things, was heading straight for him.

The rush of adrenalin banished her tiredness and incipient headache instantly, and she broke into a run. "Look out," she called, even as she realized that running wasn't going to get her there in time and launched herself into a series of somersaults and flips.

The journalist had halted near her car and was looking back at her, mouth open in amazement. Summer growled as the figure in the shadows chose that moment to attack, and forced herself to move faster, feeling her muscles burn with the effort. The attacker - a man, by his build - had got an arm round the journalist's throat and was tugging her back into the shadows when Summer flipped over his head.

As she landed behind him, he glanced round, and the momentary distraction enabled the blond woman to break his grip round her throat. One punch with all Summer's weight behind it was enough to send him flying, and two kicks, one to the stomach, one to his unshaven jaw, rendered him out for the count.

Summer stooped over the man and checked his pulse. He was still breathing - she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. She straightened, and rubbed her bruised knuckles ruefully, then became aware that the journalist was standing beside her.

"He attacked me!" mumbled the blond, her voice shaky, her breathing uneven. "Oh my God, if you hadn't -" She began to cry.

For moment, Summer stood frozen, then she pulled the sobbing journalist into an awkward hug. There was a moment's startled resistance, then Alison sagged into her embrace.

"It's okay," said Summer. "I've got you." She rubbed a hand soothingly over the other woman's back, encouraging her to cry herself out, her own mind churning. My fault. All my fault. If I hadn't been here...For Summer had no doubt at all that the attacker was working for the man who had tried to sell her protection that morning.

As the sobs dwindled to sniffs, and the tension in the muscles beneath her hands eased, her thoughts turned to the state of her ringmaster uniform. It hadn't been designed for people to cry on.

"Do you still want to do that article on the circus, Ms Carmichael?" Summer was as surprised by her own words as the journalist appeared to be.

"But you said -" The journalist took a step back, and Summer released her.

Colour had returned to the pale cheeks, and bewilderment, coupled with hope, had replaced the fear in the green eyes.

Summer smiled, partly in relief, and shrugged. "I've changed my mind."

The journalist considered for a moment. "What if you change your mind again?" she asked at last.

A fair question, Summer admitted, since from the journalist's point of view, she'd changed her mind twice already. "I won't," she said firmly. "If you want the interviews you asked for, you can have them."

A moment longer, then a smile split the blond woman's features and she nodded eagerly. "Please."

"Tomorrow, then, 10am," said Summer. "I'll give you a guided tour."

"Great."

They stared at one another for a long moment, then Summer sighed and glanced down at the still unconscious attacker.

"In the meantime," she said, "I suppose I'd better see about calling the police."

***

"It was great, Mother. There were clowns, and acrobats, and trapeze artists, and a woman who balanced at the top of a ladder while catching cups and saucers on her head...Yes, that's what I said. Um, it looked like real china from where I was sitting."

Alison could tell her mother wasn't impressed by her enthusiastic description of the circus. Opera was more the older woman's 'thing' - so much more 'adult'. No doubt her mother's opinion of the circus would sink even lower, if that were possible, if she told her about the pickpocket and the attack in the carpark...

She sighed and changed the subject to her coming interviews, then wished she hadn't.

"You're not still intending to be a journalist, are you, dear?" Her mother's tone was disapproving. "My goodness! I thought that was just a fad."

A fad! thought Alison. In fact, the dream of being a reporter had been with her since she was a child, but it was only recently she had decided to do anything about it. Coming out - to herself and to other people - she realized suddenly, had been the catalyst. It had strengthened her determination to live her own life not let others live it for her.

"No, Mother," she said evenly, "it's not a fad."

"It's not as if you need the money, dear."

Alison sighed. It was true that the Life Assurance from her father's death had left them both more than comfortably well off. But she wanted the satisfaction of paying her own way for a change.

"Mother, we've been through this."

"Well, if you *must* occupy yourself, dear, why don't you do some voluntary work? It's so much more...respectable."

"Mother." Alison had reached the end of her patience, and some sign of it must have travelled down the phone line because her Mother went quiet.

"Well, dear. Perhaps you know best." The tone made it clear her mother thought exactly the opposite. "It's past my bedtime, yours too if you're sensible. So I'll say goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mother." Alison replaced the phone receiver and sighed.

The flat that was her pride and joy, her first taste of independence - she was twenty-seven, for heaven's sake; other people left home at eighteen - suddenly seemed drab and pokey. Perhaps it was the contrast with the Big Top and its colourful performers, not least among them the tall ringmaster.

Once more Alison heard the distant shout and turned to watch the ringmaster somersaulting towards her across the carpark. Once more she felt disbelief and bewilderment that the woman who had just dashed her hopes so rudely should be following her in such a spectacular way. Then came a jolt of terror as someone wrapped his arm around her throat. Followed by sheer relief, as Summer tackled the attacker and then held Alison close.

Alison swallowed over a suddenly dry throat, then laughed wryly at herself. What a strange evening it had been! And now here she was feeling gratitude, hero worship, and, if she were being honest, straightforward attraction for a woman who until this evening had been a complete stranger.

Even more ironic, being rescued by a circus owner would have made a *great* story, but Summer was concerned that a mugging might keep paying customers away. Since the policeman who took their statements didn't envisage any further involvement for either Summer or Alison (Alison, though severely shaken, hadn't actually been hurt, and the still groggy attacker had quickly realized it was in his own best interests to confess) Alison had agreed to keep the incident quiet.

Which was probably just as well, she thought sleepily, as the seesaw of raw emotions finally caught up with her. Because then, her mother wouldn't learn of the incident and come rushing over ready to sweep her daughter up and take her back to the claustrophobic home from which she had only just escaped.

Alison had feared the mugging would prey on her mind, but as she got herself ready for bed, she found to her relief and slight embarrassment that her head was full of the music of Strauss and images of clowns and acrobats and a tall, striking ringmaster with blue, blue eyes.

***

"It's going to be muddy, I'm afraid." Summer ushered the young journalist out of the admin office and down the metal steps.

"That's all right." Alison smiled back at her. "What's a little mud between friends?"

Summer raised an eyebrow but said nothing. They walked across the boggy field towards the Big Top.

"We call this the Back Yard." Summer ducked under the cordon that marked the area as off limits to the public, and began threading her way carefully between stakes and guy wires, generators and storage bins.

Alison hurried to keep up. "So," she said, holding out a small tape-recorder. "What made you decide to own your own circus, Ms Walsh?"

"If we're friends, you'd better call me Summer." The tape recorder, she noted absently, was voice-activated.

"Then you'd better call me Alison, or Ali."

Summer caught the faint hesitation. "Which would you prefer?"

"Alison, if you don't mind."

"Alison it is."

Summer held back the tent flap and waited for Alison to duck under it. "We call this the Back Door - it's the performers' entrance." She followed the journalist, her pupils adjusting quickly to the dim lighting of the backstage area.

"Hi, Boss." Egor came somersaulting over and stopped in front of them. "Who's the beautiful towny?"

The little clown's interested gaze was resting on Alison, who blushed. It suited her, thought Summer, suppressing a grin.

"That's what circus people call outsiders," she explained. Then to Egor, "This is Alison Carmichael. She's a local journalist, so be nice - we don't want any bad publicity."

"I thought any publicity was good publicity, Boss." Egor winked at her.

"Yeah, well you thought wrong."

Alison shot her a glance. "You don't have to worry," she said reassuringly. "I really loved the show last night."

"You did?" Summer felt her slight tension ease.

She guided Alison towards the maroon curtain separating backstage from the auditorium, then paused. "I should warn you before we get near the ring," she said, "don't, whatever you do, sit on the edge of it facing out."

Alison stared at her. "Why not?"

Summer shrugged. "It's bad luck."

The journalist leaned forward eagerly. "Oh! So you have your own set of superstitions, like theatre people do?"

"I suppose so. Peacock feathers are bad luck too. And whistling in the dressing room."

Alison's eyes danced and her tone was mock serious. "Okay. No whistling or peacock feathers, and no sitting on the ring's edge facing out. Got it."

Summer started to say something in defence of circus traditions then decided against it. She pulled back the curtain and they walked through.

The Dyakonovs were rehearsing their trapeze act high above the ring, and she stopped to allow Alison to watch. After a long moment, Alison tore her gaze away from the graceful flips and twirls, and Summer gestured towards a row of ringside seats. They covered the distance quickly and sat down.

"I noticed last night that most of the acts in your programme are foreign," said Alison. "Is that coincidence or policy? Or is it simply that Brits don't make good circus performers?"

"Hey! Are you saying I'm no good?" Summer smiled to remove the sting from her words. It was a good question, and she considered her answer. No need to mention that Uncle Tommy had made sure no British performer would work for her anyway, she decided.

"It's a question of cost, actually." Alison glanced at the sound level meter and moved the tape recorder closer to Summer's mouth then her gaze drifted upwards again. Summer smiled. She too felt the magnetic pull of the trapeze.

"When the USSR collapsed," she continued, "so did its circus funding. At their height, they had seventy permanent circuses, you know. That's about fifteen thousand performers."

Alison's startled gaze met hers. "Fifteen thousand?"

Summer nodded. "Which means that now the Russians are desperate for work and -" she spread her hands expressively "- very cheap."

"So *that's* why most of your acts are Russian?"

"Mmmm." Now it was Summer's turn to gaze up at the Dyakonov Troupe. Cheslav, she noted absently, was clasping Irisa's ankles in his brawny fists. "Though actually, the circus band is Dutch." Alison chuckled at the mention of the two musicians, and Summer glanced curiously at her. When no explanation was forthcoming, she let it go and continued. "The strong men are Portuguese. And Miss Clio, of course, is Greek. I take it you'd like to meet the company?"

"Please."

The journalist's obvious enthusiasm pleased Summer. Maybe it was because Alison was a freelance, she thought, and hadn't yet reached the embittered 'just going through the motions' stage.

A faint stomach rumble reached her ears, and she noticed Alison was blushing again.

"Haven't you had any breakfast?"

"Um, yes," admitted Alison. "But it was a couple of hours ago. I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee and a biscuit, if you have them."

Summer rose to her feet. "I'm sure we can rustle up something." She was amused by the look of gratitude that flashed across the blond woman's face.

"Follow me."

***

The trailer that Summer called the 'cook wagon' was hot and fuggy and smelled absolutely wonderful. Coffee and doughnuts, thought Alison, identifying the aromas. Her stomach grumbled more loudly and her mouth began to water.

"It's help yourself in here," instructed the tall woman, busying herself with heating water for two cups of instant coffee. "Just take what you fancy."

"Okay."

While Summer carried their coffees to an empty table, Alison inspected the cardboard box of goodies and chose a large sticky, sugarcoated doughnut. Then she joined Summer and sat down opposite her. She placed the tape recorder on the table between them, and gazed at their spartan surroundings.

"So, this is where you all eat?"

Summer took a sip of coffee than nodded. "We can connect the wagon up to the mains water and power supplies. Not all sites provide access though, so then we have to make do with Calor gas and bottled water."

"I expect you've got moving between sites down to a fine art?" While she waited for an answer, Alison picked up her doughnut and took a bite. Brilliant red jam squirted down her chin and across the table. Fortunately, it didn't reach the ringmaster.

"Oh!" Alison's cheeks felt hot with embarrassment, but Summer just chuckled and reached for a paper napkin.

"I'm always doing that," she said consolingly. "Here."

"Thanks." Alison took the napkin and wiped her chin with it. "Um." Her mind had gone blank and the confusion must have shown on her face.

Summer took pity on her. "To answer your question, yes, after you've been on the road for a while - and this circus has been touring for years now - you get to know the drill." She took another gulp of coffee. "Circus people are pretty tough. Everyone helps with the build-up and pull-down."

"But the circus can't always run smoothly," prompted Alison.

"No. We've had our share of accidents, and some of our vehicles are aging - they're always breaking down. Fortunately, Grigori is a top notch mechanic as well as a juggler. What else?" Summer looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, two years ago, a generator caught fire - we were lucky it didn't burn down the Big Top. And last year we had a blowdown - that's when a storm blows the Big Top down."

Alison would have whistled but remembered their earlier talk of superstition and thought better of it. "That must have set you back a bit."

"Yes. Luckily we got it back up double quick - only missed one matinee. We can't afford to miss many performances."

Alison finished off her doughnut and wiped her hands on the napkin. "You're that close to the line?"

For a moment she thought the other woman wasn't going to answer, then Summer tapped the tape recorder pointedly and said, "Off the record?"

"Oh, okay." Alison pressed the pause button.

"Things are pretty tight at the moment. If they don't get better soon ?" The ringmaster's gaze was suddenly bleak.

"Can't you put up ticket prices?"

"We're already as high as we can go without putting audiences off." Summer shrugged. "Trouble is, we've got so much to compete with these days - TV, video, cinema - football. People just aren't as keen as they used to be on circuses. Especially circuses without animals." She grimaced. "It's a no win situation. If we use animals - we get attacked by the animal rights protestors; if we don't use them - the audiences stay away."

Alison frowned. "That's not fair."

"No, it isn't." Summer sighed.

The journalist suddenly remembered the tape recorder and pointed at it. Summer nodded, and she resumed recording.

"So why do you do it?" asked Alison.

"Do what?"

"Own your own circus. Keep on touring."

"It's in the blood," said Summer simply. "And," she gave Alison a wry smile, "I don't know how to do anything else."

As if regretting her sudden candour, the ringmaster looked away. "Have you had enough?" She indicated the empty plate.

"Oh, yes. That was great, thanks."

"Good. Because we've got quite a few introductions to get through, not to mention photographs."

Alison stood up at once. "Point me at 'em," she said brightly, pleased when the remark earned her a laugh from Summer.

The dark woman led the way out of the cook wagon.

***

Summer managed to prise Ruud and Jan Dekker away from their instruments and get them to talk to Alison. At first wary, the brothers soon opened up under the journalist's genial questioning, revealing a sheepish passion for Country and Western music that was news to Summer. Tonio and Marcello were glad to take a break from rehearsing, and were soon posing and flexing their rippling muscles while a suitably awed Alison took photographs. And Egor and Maks abandoned their discussion - heated, as always - of ways to improve their act and were only too happy to educate Alison in the intricacies and history of clown makeup.

Summer found watching Alison work relaxing, and she was letting the good natured banter flow over her, when Pyotr came running up, breathless.

"It's Cheslav," he said, without preamble. "He's sprained his wrist."

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Alison had come over to see what the aerialist's gloomy expression and Summer's unguarded exclamation were about.

"One of the catchers has sprained his wrist," explained Summer.

"Catchers?"

"A trapeze artist who catches," she said absently. Pyotr was looking expectantly at her. "The routine's the same?"

He nodded. "We added a few frills, but the basic moves are unchanged."

"Okay. Give me five minutes."

Summer regarded a bewildered Alison. "You'll have to look after yourself for the next hour, I'm afraid. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Uh, no. But...um, Summer, what are you going to be doing?"

"Taking Cheslav's place."

Alison's eyes widened. "Up on the trapeze? But I thought you were the ringmaster."

"I have many skills," said Summer nonchalantly.