#her husband leaving & being like 'watch out for long lanking who lives out in the wilderness around here'

[fluentisonus]

a lot of folk songs have fucked up murders in them but I think long lankin/lamkin/lankyn (child 93) has got to be one of the creepiest

[babbushka]

Last Straw (7/12)

Newly married to your high school sweetheart Kylo Ren, the two of you move into Skywalker Ranch, a farm recently passed down after the death of Kylo’s grandfather. The place is charming, and the people seem friendly…but are they?

Content Warnings:  Violence, gore, blood mentions, mentions of cannibalism

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No, you decide ultimately, you have such a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, that you can’t allow them inside your home, inside your farm. You wonder if they jumped your fence, or if they broke the lock, because you were sure Kylo had locked the gate behind you when you returned from the store, you were sure of it.

They’re standing there, expectantly, eerily still. Their eyes are wide and cold, dead like sharks. Except for William’s, who’s are too bright, too sad. You can’t look at him for too long, otherwise your stomach will twist, twist and churn with sadness. His hair is lank and greasy, and it looks like he has some kind of stains on his clothing that you aren’t really sure what they are.

“I’m really very sorry, but I don’t feel right having you sleep in our barn as if you’re animals.” You say, trying to pass it off like you’re being caring, and not that you’re so anxious that you could throw up. “I’m going to call the operator and have them send over a tow truck, I’m sure someone must be awake and working somewhere.”

“What, call right now?” Armitage asks, and his voice is so clipped and sharp that you almost feel the razors of his teeth against your ears.

Kylo hears it too, and he takes a protective step towards the boy. Armitage is dressed a little more put-together than his twin, his hair kept cropped close and short, his clothes buttoned up all the way, everything, the collar, the cuffs. He looks meticulous, where his brother looks unkempt. In fact, both he and Brendol look far more taken care of than William, and you cannot help but feel like something awful is going to happen to this boy, that something awful already has.

“Why is that a problem?” Kylo doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. Either way, you have to grab his shoulder to prevent him from stalking further anymore.

You didn’t know if he would be able to get off the hook a second time.

“No, there’s – there’s no problem, it’s just that – ” William stammers out, eyes too wide and clear, hands fidgeting in the hem of his shirt.

“Just what?” Kylo challenges, but you squeeze his shoulder, an attempt to get him to stop, to just back down for two minutes.

“I’ll be right back, I’m just going to call the tow.” You announce loudly, before leaving Kylo’s side.

The phone is on the wall of the main hallway, an old-fashioned corded thing that if the circumstances were better, you might walk all around the living room with. But the circumstances being what they were, you waste no time punching in 9-1-1, holding your breath for the phone to ring.

“Sweetwater County P.D., what’s your emergency?” A woman picks up, and you let out a sigh of relief, lungs burning from having holding it in for so so so long.

“A strange man and his sons have shown up at our house, asking to sleep on our property. They claim their car is broken down, and I believe them, but I don’t want them here. Is there anyway someone could come down here? I’m frightened.” You rush, your eyes starting to well with panic.

“Ma’am what is your exact location?” The woman on the other line asks, and you’re quick to answer.

“The farmhouse at Skywalker Ranch, off i-Four.” You tell her, and you can hear her calling out officers to send. You and the police have a nasty track record, what with the whole thing with Kylo, but you’re grateful for literally anyone showing up, at this point.

“Does this family have ginger hair by any chance?” The operator asks, and your blood runs cold.

“Yes.” You whisper, clutching the phone in your now trembling hands. “Yes, all three of them.”

“You have to listen to me. Stay where you are, we have dispatched units on the way. These men are armed and dangerous – do not allow them into your home. I repeat they are armed and dangerous.” The woman says and you want to cry, want to scream, want to warn Kylo – but you know that’s stupid, so you just grit your teeth and suppress every urge in your body to punch something.

You don’t know if they’re listening, if they’re watching, from the front door. Your back is to them, so you don’t know. You don’t want to give anything away.

“Fuck, fuck! What do I do? What do we do?” You whisper frantically into the phone.

“Stay on the line with me ma’am, is there anyone else in the home?” She asks, and you nod, even though she can’t see.

“Yes, my husband, oh my god he’s out there talking with them right now!” You start to hyperventilate, just from the sheer absurdity, the sheer terror.

Armed and dangerous.

Armed and dangerous.

They looked like the sick kind of dangerous, the twisted kind.

“Please remain calm, he’ll be alright as long as he can stall, the police are on their way.” The woman assures you, but you spare a glance to the door, and see them growing more and more heated.

“How long? How long do we have to keep them occupied?” You demand, hands fully shaking now, terrified, holding your breath again.

“Five minutes tops, we know exactly where you are. You did the right thing to call us.” The woman says and you chew your lip, chew it, worry it enough that you can taste copper in your mouth.

“I can’t – I can’t stay on the line, it’s going to get suspicious, they’ll know something is wrong.” You explain.

“Ma’am it’s not wise for you to hang up until the police arrive.” The woman says quickly, and you frown, weren’t they supposed to remain calm themselves? Why does she sound like she’s got an edge to her voice?

“I know, I know but my husband is – if he’s there alone he’ll kill them, oh my god he’ll kill them if they try anything.” You realize, knowing exactly where the weapons he kept in the house are, knowing exactly where the axe, the rifle, the revolver were.

And you knew he knew exactly how to use them.

“Are you calling on a cellphone?” The operator asks.

“No, on a landline. I have one but the signal is shit out here, we don’t have a tower anywhere.” You explain, and you can hear her shuffling some things around, clicking on her keyboard.

“Call the station on your cell phone right now, and keep it in your pocket, then hang up this phone and get your husband away from those people you do not want to fuck with them.” She says, voice hard.

“Okay, okay, okay.” You don’t bother to ask any more questions, you fish out your cell phone from the pocket of your robe and with shaking fingers, tap in 9-1-1. When the ringing stops and someone has picked up, you ask, “Are you there?”

“I’m here, now go, keep the phone on. The police will be there any minute.” The woman says, and you do as you’re told.

When you re-join Kylo and Hux at the front door, it seems to be in the nick of time. Kylo’s hands are balled into fists, and his stance is planted, as if he’s ready to attack. Someone a long time ago had once called him a guard dog, an attack dog. They hadn’t been wrong.

Something screams in the distance, some animal, some poor creature with a high pitched gnashing and whine, a mangled, deranged scream.

“What is that?” You ask, but Kylo doesn’t reply, he doesn’t dare look away from Hux. “Where’s Brendol and William?”

The screaming stops.

“Is someone coming?” Brendol asks, emerging from the depths of night, stepping into the light on the porch, seemingly as if summoned. He looks ruffled, and you want to be sick.

“Great news, the operator was able to direct me to a tow company, they’re on their way with some spares.” You lie. It’s not a good lie, not a good lie at all, but how can it be when the gnashing and thrashing starts up again? Like some tortured thing just beyond in the shadows where you can’t see.

“We don’t know how we could ever repay you for your kindness.” Brendol says, although he’s tense, too tense. He doesn’t mean it.

“Oh please don’t worry, it’s no trouble at all, anything to help.” You say. You don’t mean it either.

“May we come inside your lovely home? At least until the tow arrives.” Brendol asks, teeth sharp when he smiles, gums too red, teeth pink. Why were they pink?

“No, I’m sorry, I’m afraid our house is under extreme renovations right now. It wouldn’t be safe, especially not for your boys. I wouldn’t want them getting hurt.” You say, because Kylo is apparently incapable of speech, too angry, doing everything in his power to restrain himself.

“You know it’s really very rude of you, to deny us like this.” Brendol explodes, face red, spit flying from when his temper snaps. “It’s just the barn!”

That is enough for Kylo, that is the last straw. He lunges and tackles the man to the ground, wrestles with him until he has Brendol flat on his back, and begins to pummel the shit out of his face with those hardened calloused knuckles of his.

“Do not!” He begins to scream, to spit at Brendol, “Shout at my fucking wife! Do you understand me?”

“Kylo, it’s alright.” You panic, you shout, you yell, you plead, “Kylo, please.”

Armed and dangerous.

Just then, the sirens and lights come into full effect.

A helicopter hovers over the farm, and you rip Kylo off of this man who bleeds old blood, tarnished blood, blood from his nose and face and you don’t know where else, that soaks and seeps into the wood of the porch.

“Sweetwater Police! Hands where I can see them!” There are all of a sudden too many lights in your face, too many.

“You called the fucking cops?!” Armitage shouts at you, incredulously.

“Hands where I can see them!” The cops say again, and there’s – fuck there’s ten of them, ten officers to wrangle a man and two teenagers.

But Brendol has no desire to comply, and instead of making things easy, he takes advantage of you being so far away from Kylo, and he races towards you, the bright glint of a silver knife shining, blinding you.

He has you pinned against the door, has a blade pressed to your throat, the sharp teeth of the knife slicing your skin, drawing blood, blood that Brendol leans in to lap up with his tongue, barbed like a cat’s.

“Get off of me!” You jerk your knee up, hard in the balls, again and again while his knife cuts deeper and deeper. The pain is completely eclipsed by your panic, completely consumed by terror.

“Papa get off it’s not worth it!” You hear a sobbing voice, a screaming voice, coming from just over there, just outside the ring of the porch-light. With the helicopter’s huge flood-light, now you can see, can see how poor William’s face is carved up, how his cheek is torn open, a gaping hole where you can see into his mouth even as his lips are closed. “Papa please – !”

“Kylo!” You beg, beg for your husband, and he is aided by the police is getting this man off of you.

They drag him away, wrestle him into handcuffs, and you throw yourself into Kylo’s arms.

“Come here, come here.” Kylo says, soothing, shaking, two seconds away from committing a murder himself. He turns to the cops and spits on the floor, “Get these sick fucks off our property.” He says, regarding the men.

“Oh you don’t know just how sick they are.” One of the cops says, in a way that has your eyes falling to William.

He’s been dragged up off the ground, blood gushing from his face.

“Papa please I don’t want to go to jail.” William sobs, snot and spit dripping from his nose and lips, “(Y/N), please, don’t let them take me, don’t let them – ”

You freeze.

“How do you know my name?” You ask, voice low.

“Huh?” He asks, hiccups, eyes so sad, so blue.

“How do you know my name?!” You want to crawl into Kylo’s skin, into his robe, want to be wrapped up and never let go, because how how how did he know your name?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” William doesn’t answer, doesn’t answer that, and you don’t know if that’s worse, worse than knowing.

“Don’t you say a fucking word, boy.” Brendol snarls from where they’re trying to shove him into a straight jacket, into the backseat of the cop car.

There’s so much, so many lights, sirens, cars, cops.

“We were going to kill you,” William wails, “Eat your heart. I told them not to, I told them I didn’t want to but they made me, they made me.” He cries and cries, and your stomach lurches.

“I’m going to kill you!” Brendol lunges suddenly, nearly toppling over the cops who are reaching for guns, reaching for something, you don’t know.

“Sedate him!” One of them shouts, and you realize it’s not a gun at all, but a needle, one that gets stuck right in the meat of Brendol’s thigh.

In only a few moments, the night goes from chaos to calm, with the beast knocked out.

You are still clinging to Kylo, who is clinging to you. His jaw is set, and his eyes are hard, but he is safe, and you are safe.

They load the boys into the back of a car. Armitage is silent the entire time. William can’t stop crying and shaking.

A paramedic comes over, attends to the wound on your neck, cleans it. Kylo refuses to let you out of his arms, but you are able to turn in his embrace to face the woman who tapes up gauze bandages against your throat.

“What happens now?” You ask her, not wanting to talk to the cops, “What’s going to happen to them?”

You really mean William, you’re not sure if she should be tending to you, when the kid is missing half a cheek, just a few feet away.  

“They’re all going to go away for a long time.” The paramedic says, voice soft. “SWPD’s been trying to catch these psychopaths for months, they’ve pulled this stunt three times so far and have been successful every time.” She says, and you find you don’t feel so sorry for them anymore.

A cop comes over as the cars are driven away, as the sirens grow more and more distant.

“We’re going to keep watch here all night, in case anything else happens, but for now, go inside. Get some sleep if you can.” He says, and you almost want to laugh at that, at the notion of a good night’s sleep, after what just happened, what you just saw. “We’re going to need you to fill out paperwork in the morning.”

You feel better knowing that they’ll be there all night, feel better knowing they’re locked away and being taken even farther.

Kylo wraps his arms tight around you once more, hugs your back against his chest, as you watch the helicopter follow the cop cars.

“Fuck, and I thought I was the scariest thing living here.” Kylo says finally, low in your ear.

“Could you imagine what might have happened? If we invited them to stay?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

As the wheat fields sway back and forth, back and forth in the wind, as the sirens now disappear, as the sounds of night replace the screaming, the squelching, the gnashing, he sighs.

“No.” Kylo says, “I honestly, really can’t.”

But you can find out.

Go back to the beginning and make new choices, see where the night will take you.

Will you survive? Or suffer a fate more gruesome than you could possibly imagine?

[harry-writings]

Pretty in Pink

- The one where Harry fakes date Kendall but is in love with Y/n

Masterlist linked in bio.

.

The red wine leaves a particular stain on Harry’s lips that he hadn’t noticed until Kendall pointed it out to him.

“It looks like you’re wearing lipstick” she laughs, “I didn’t know you were going to dress up this much for the party.”

They are currently sat at his mum’s kitchen island, drinking red wine while munching on some chips left out for the guests. The house is filled with familiar faces, friends and family all throughout London coming together for Anne’s birthday celebration.

They hosted one every year for as long as Harry could remember, a time of year where nearly every one of his family members, including his step family, would unite. It was their favorite time of year, believe it or not. Despite all the excitement for the holidays, Anne’s birthday celebration was certainly something special.

It was Kendall’s first time attending, considering the fact that Harry had only really talked to her whenever he was assigned to be with her for publicity. It wasn’t always ideal, however, he built a stable friendship with her, so he didn’t mind the extra company with him from time to time.

She was invited last minute, of course, since his management called last night to ask if there was any way for them to be seen together. With Harry’s new movie coming out and his solo album just released a couple weeks ago, it was almost a given for him to be rumored with a girlfriend. That’s how it’s worked all throughout his career.

He normally wouldn’t have minded, however, this was the worst possible date for him to be with Kendall.

Because it’s Anne’s birthday party, this means that it’ll be the first time in one year that he’ll be seeing Y/n. They have been best friends since they were five years old, basically growing up in the same house as they went through school together. But as time went on, and as they both went to their separate ways, it was hard to keep in touch with each other all the time.

She remained in the small towns of London while Harry was traveling world wide, where his name became known everywhere as Y/n’s was only known through people she attended school with. Of course, they still talked, considering they both admitted to having more than friendship feelings, but their lives were busy in their own ways, preventing them from being more than what they wanted to be.

For the past couple months, Harry planned that this would be the day he’d finally move forward with Y/n. Or, at least attempt to. With the loss of her over the past year, it made Harry realize just how much he couldn’t imagine a life without her. It had been so long—too long, and he couldn’t stand how long he’s lived without keeping in touch with her.

But now, everything he planned for the two of them is becoming impossible. He can’t begin to imagine how Y/n would feel knowing he brought Kendall to his mum’s birthday party after they both confessed their love for each other. In all honesty, he wouldn’t blame her for giving up on him. He keeps doing this to her, even if it’s unintentional.

He watches around the kitchen at the guests he hasn’t seen in quite a while. His leg bounces with impatience when each new person walking in to attend the party isn’t Y/n. It’s been nearly an hour and has never been so late to anything before.

And as horrible as it sounds, he almost wishes she doesn’t come, just so that she can avoid the heartbreak that will come when she reunites with Kendall again.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

Harry’s head whips around when he hears the voice he’s been deprived of for the past year. The first thing he notices are her lips, and the way they move around her words so softly. They’re slightly glazed with a lipgloss, painting her lips with a rosy shade of pink. They look so much fuller to him now, but he knows not a trace of them are artificial.  

His eyes only drift from the shape of her lips when her fingers reach to tuck loose pieces of hair behind her ear. It’s then he notices just how much shorter her hair has gotten. What was once so long and lank is now falling just above the shoulder, set in luscious curls he can only imagine twisting around his fingers.

His jaw goes slack when he sees the pale pink dress she’s wearing. It’s made from silk, the metallic fabric glowing with each step she takes. He gulps when he notices just how much the dress accentuates the curvature of her body and how much of her legs are put on display for him to see, and he can’t help but to wipe the sweat off his palms when he watches her greet his mother with a proper kiss on the cheek.

He notices that his eyes haven’t shut since he’s seen her, but he’s so completely intrigued by how much has changed in her. Something about her seems so much more real—so much more vibrant—and he can’t seem to stop himself from praising how time has done her so goddamn well.

“You never told me she was going to be here.“

His body jerks at Kendall’s sudden appearance, her body slowly occupying the seat next to his at the kitchen island. If it wasn’t for her, he swears he would have caught himself drooling.

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says with a shrug, “she’s been my best friend since we were five. She’s basically apart of this family, she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Y/n hasn’t missed a single one of Anne’s birthday celebrations since she’s known Harry. Their bond is irreplaceable—so irreplaceable, in fact, that Anne has been convinced Y/n is a miracle for their family. She was there for them through all the troubled times; helping them through their hardships and family instabilities.

When Anne and her husband first got divorced, Harry and Y/n were seven. Harry didn’t understand much of what was happening, all he knew was that his mum and dad weren’t going to love each other anymore. He was hurting, even when Gemma was there to try and keep him together. He started to believe everything between his parents was a lie.

She understood the whole separation process. Her mum left her at a young age, leaving her alone with her father. They were close, of course, but she always missed having a mother figure in her life. It made her upset to know she could only listen to one voice in the house, but as she grew older, she accepted it more.

By the time she met Harry, he kept bringing her over to his house as the years went on. Anne was the closest she had to mother, and their bond became unbreakable by the time Y/n was a teenager. Nearly seven years of Y/n being like another member of the family, Y/n started buying Anne Mother’s Day cards.

So when Y/n watched her second family fall apart, along with Anne’s heart, and she was determined to patch them back together again. Even at her young age, she’d pick flowers from her garden and give them to Anne everyday after school. Y/n said they represented her, and how she felt being a woman with such love and beauty could die all too quickly. Harry never understood what it meant, but Y/n did, which is why she never stopped until she heard Anne laughing again.

She also started to draw pictures and write her letters, reminding her of how loved she was by everyone. As much as Anne was heartbroken during the time, she took the letters everywhere she went and kept every flower alive for as long as she possibly could. Anne would always tell Harry “That girl came into our lives for a reason, my love. She’s a special one, our little miracle, never let her go. You hear me?”

Harry didn’t understand what it truly meant to let someone go, but he did his best to do anything but that. And now, as Harry sits on his mother’s kitchen island and seeing Y/n for the first time in a year, he feels he’s done just that.

“Guess not.” Kendall mutters, taking her last sip of the red wine left in her glass. “She’s just so strange, I guess. I can barely hold a conversation with her without her making an excuse to leave.”

Kendall and Y/n never really got along, it was extremely noticeable to everyone who held a conversation with the both of them. They just don’t see things in the same light. Y/n is very outgoing and lively; an extreme extrovert that seeks adventure—and Kendall can’t stand it. She thinks Y/n does it for attention, especially because she’s remained a small town girl while being surrounded by well-known celebrities. And even though it may seem like Y/n likes the attention, that’s not her purpose. She gives all her attention to others, never to herself, and it has always been something Harry loved the most.

And when it comes to Y/n, Kendall was that one thing that was constantly in her way of Harry. No matter how many times Harry and Y/n discussed how there was something between them, Kendall always found her way back to haunt her. She was her worst goddamn nightmare. She was perfect for Harry in the public eye, and nothing made Y/n feel worse than knowing she’ll never be her type of perfect, especially when it came to Harry.

But Kendall doesn’t know that. All she knows is that Y/n is extremely stand-offish with her, and she’ll never understand why.

“She’s not used to our lives. It’s extremely difficult for her to understand how we live, you know? She’s normal.”

Kendall scoffs, eyes rolling around the room because she hates that word. She feels so divided, like she’s in a categorization in society and everything about it makes her teeth clench.

“We’re normal, too, you know. I don’t understand why she feels so intimated and feels like she has something to prove.”

Harry’s jaw clenches slightly at the negative connotes Kendall has about Y/n’s life. Something about it makes his stomach twist the wrong way, and he can’t help the underlying growl in between his words.

“We’re not normal. Deep down, you and I both know that. You also don’t know Y/n, so stop making irrational assumptions about her.”

Kendall narrows her eyes at Harry, a gaze full of confusion and disbelief at the undeniable grumble in his tone. Any rational conversation they have about Y/n always end the same—with Harry quick to end the discussion and jump to her defense. It’s times like these Kendall never understood the true extent of Harry and Y/n’s relationship. They always claimed it was platonic but there has always been a sense of something stronger in them, like unaddressed or unchased feelings, or a past they shared that was kept between the two.

Either way, it annoyed the shit out of Kendall because they both were hiding something that she’ll never be able to get answered.

“Fine, whatever.” She sighs dramatically, scooting her chair back until she has room to stand properly. “Want some more wine? Getting some.”

Harry slides his empty wine glass so that it’s in front of her, muttering a small “yeah, thanks” before she’s on her way to the counter across the room, retrieving extra wine and mingling with some of Harry’s family.

Harry sighs while his head rests at the palm of his hand, eyes gazing directly to where Y/n is standing. His lips tug up lightly when he hears her laugh from the living room, his tongue running over his bottom lip ever so slightly as he watches her mouth lift and her eyes squint shut as she catches up with one of his uncles about his grand annual weekend fishing trip.

And as his eyes stay so transfixed on the woman in the other room, he can’t help but imagine seeing that type of perfection every day for the rest of his life.

“And everyone thinks Sweet Creature is about me.”

Harry’s head snaps to Gemma’s figure leaning over the edge of the island, her elbows hitched on the counter as a small smirk plays on her lips. She found it abnormally amusing how he didn’t even acknowledge her presence until she spoke, too invested in hawking over Y/n’s every move.

Harry grumbles, but the smile from Y/n’s laughter is permanent on his lips when he does so. Gemma even notices his cheeks brighten with pink, another hint of confirmation to the words she spoke.

“Shut up, Gem.“

She puts her arms up defensively, “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I’m just making an observation.”

Harry rolls his eyes as Gemma wraps her arm around his neck, hunching over so that her lips are close to his ear and eyes are directed toward Y/n again.

“She has gotten hotter, hasn’t she?”

She has no idea. All Harry can think about is how someone already so beautiful has grown to be so perfect. Everything about her makes Harry want to get down on his knees and worship every inch of her body. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from thinking how much of a wreck he wants to make out of her.

“I don’t know how she did it. You better get her while you still have the chance, I know many, many men who want a taste of her.”

No is the first thing Harry thinks when the words leave from Gemma’s mouth. As hypocritical and selfish as it is, knowing other men have shown an interest in her makes his skin crawl. And he can’t help but feel his throat tighten at the moment Y/n realizes he had brought Kendall to this party.

“Is she—“ he can’t even finish his sentence without his jaw tightening again, hindering the rest of his question from leaving his lips.

“Oh, quit your worrying, H. She’s single, I don’t think she’d ever date someone who isn’t you. Besides, I don’t think you can do much about it with Kendall here.”

Gemma lifts a finger to where Kendall is standing, still in the same spot as she talks to his aunt Leslie. His heart hurts knowing what Y/n will feel when she finds out. He knows that there is always a part of her that feels discouraged whenever there’s a new woman in his life. In between Harry and Y/n’s love for each other was a mix of false hopes and miscommunication, and it always fucked them up whenever anything else was put in their way.

Gemma pats his shoulder before making rounds to her family and friends again, leaving Harry slumped against the counter with not a drop of wine to numb his scrambling mind.

When Y/n finishes catching up with the rest of Harry’s family, she finds that her patience is wearing thin. It’s been a year since she’s seen the love of her life, and knowing that he’s somewhere near her is enough to get her heart racing.

When she sees him sitting alone at the kitchen island, wearing his infamous pink suit and staring down at his fingers, it’s as if her body starts to malfunction. Her legs stop moving and her lips part, eyes glistening with admiration as she sees him for the first time in so long.

He’s as beautiful as ever, his new haircut accentuating his facial structure. His lips seem so much more red, too, which are complimented greatly by that goddamn suit. Everything about him radiates, like he’s developed into a whole other person. She’ll never quite grasp the idea that she’s about to reunite with him; something about it makes her palms sweat.

“Hey, stranger.”

Harry lifts his head up to look at her in all her glory. His heart warms at her presence more than the wine did, and he can’t help but to take a breath of relief when he finally hears her voice again.

“Y/n.” He breathes out, his fingers instinctively reaching up to the ends of her cut hair.

He chokes out a laugh of admiration when he sees her this close to him. She is so much different—so much more perfect than he ever remembers her being and it takes his breath away.

His fingers twist her hair, wrapping them around the digits before letting the strands fall back in place again. He never saw her without her hair down to her waist, and now that he has, he never wants to see her hair past her shoulders again.

“It’s so beautiful” he whispers, “you look so beautiful like this, Y/n. I absolutely love it.”

She blushes, her chin tucking slightly into her neck as if trying to hide how much of a reaction he got out of her. No matter how many years she’s known him, she was never used to the way he spoke to her.

“It was spontaneous. Really wanted a change, and it looks like I’m not the only one.”

Her hands reach to his hair, which is so much shorter compared to the last time she saw him. She remembered she couldn’t keep her hands out of it last year, constantly finding ways to tangle her fingers at the ends. Harry found it hysterical, actually, and thought it was the cutest thing she’s ever done.

“It’s just so soft” she’d say, “it’s like a whole other world in there!”

But now her only option is to tangle her fingers at the roots, and as she does so, her mind drifts to all the other occasions she could have her hands in his hair again.

“It’s so much shorter. Look at that! I can barely tug on it anymore!” She laughs in amusement, her fingers slipping as she pulls too hard.

He smirks up at her, a giggle falling from his lips as he watches her utterly amused reaction. They begin to catch up with the part of their lives they both have missed. Harry talked about his album while Y/n started discussing her new journalism job.

Talking to Y/n is one of the only normal parts of him left, it always gave him a sense of grounding whenever he felt his career was taking off to heights he wasn’t ready for. She is one of the only sense of normality he has left in his life, and it’s another reason as to why he admires her so dearly. She brought out parts of him nobody else could reach, and it’s another reason why he feels so upset he’s barely talked to her.

“Y/n?” he asks hesitantly, reaching his hand over so that his fingertips graze her hand.

Her breath breaks when he touches her, the softness in his voice proving that what is about to be discussed is far more important than their previous conversation. She notices the stress lines in between his forehead and the parting of his wine stained lips when he begins to speak. 

“I’m so sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you. I know how it makes me look, especially after everything that happened between us. With the new album and everything, I’ve just been so busy with—“

“Kendall?”

Harry’s head jumps to where Y/n stares dumbfounded, Kendall holding two glasses of wine in one hand while the other is carrying a plate of chicken wings. She’s looking down at Y/n, too, her eyebrows lifted up in an intimidating manner. There’s a scowl present on her lips as she continues to tower over her.

Y/n feels tears building in her eyes as she takes in the situation at hand. She was so fucking dumb to think that Harry was going to come to Anne’s party alone, especially since his new album just released. This is Kendall’s prime time appearance, when Harry needs a familiar famous face beside him to advertise his solo career.

This isn’t anything new—this isn’t anything unfamiliar, but the pain feels like a fresh wound to her heart. Harry and Y/n are nearly 24, with having known each other and felt something for each other for years, she thought that if anything were going to happen, it was going to happen now. But everything between them has remained stagnant for so long that the last sliver of hope she had for their potential relationship has been completely taken away from her. By Kendall, again.

“W—Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know Harry had invited you.”

“Yeah,” Kendall nods, “he invited me last night.”

Last night.

Y/n’s lips purse together, nodding her head as her eyes drift around the kitchen. Anything to avoid Kendall’s eyes—anything to feel as unimportant as she does now.

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, a small hissing releasing from his tongue at how wrong it all sounds, considering absolutely nothing happened between Harry and Kendall the previous night besides being demanded that the two of them are to be seen together again.

“Right,” Y/n’s voice cracks, “well, I’m sorry to interrupt your time together. I’m going to go to Gemma’s room, got a phone call from my dad a while ago so I should go check up on him. I’ll see you guys around.”

She musters up a pathetic smile before practically running away from them. After everything they both told each other, after all the feelings they’ve had toward each other, how could Harry keep doing this to her? How could he keep being with Kendall when he says he loves Y/n?

She doesn’t even find the strength in her to hold in her tears before she approaches the steps, not daring to look back at them again. She never wants to see them in the same room again, it’ll be too much her heart can handle. 

“You’ve really got to be fucking kidding me, Kendall.” Harry growls.

His hands fist around the wine glass, his knuckles turning white and he’s absolutely shocked it hasn’t shattered into pieces in his hands from all the anger pulsing through his veins.

“Jesus, Harry, neither one of you can take a joke. Does she not understand that all of this is for the press? She keeps acting like we’re a couple.”

“Could you really blame her after that? ‘He invited me last night,’ you’re really getting a kick out of making her uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

He grumbles as he takes a long sip of his wine, hoping that the alcohol loosens his muscles enough to restrain himself from doing anything he regrets. He loves his mum too much to start an argument during her birthday party, and as much as Kendall’s shifting Harry’s mood, he still appreciates her as a friend to ruin anything.

“That wasn’t even my fault, you both dug into that way too deep. Last night does not mean while we were fucking. It’s a time of day.”

“It’s the way you said it.”

“Are you being serious, Harry?”

He slams his glass down on the island, grumbling under his breath while he stands up from his chair. No matter how much anger is in him now, the only thoughts swirling in his brain are wondering if Y/n’s okay. She would have never left the party to go into a secluded room, not even if her dad called her.

“You leave her the fuck alone, Kendall. I mean it.”

He storms away from her, desperate to find Y/n because God only knows what’s really happening in that bedroom. Y/n’s emotions and feelings are always positive, always so bright, and he refuses to be the reason they turn upside down. She doesn’t deserve all he keeps doing to her, she doesn’t deserve him.

When Harry nearly swings himself onto the first step, he can already hear the soft murmur of Y/n’s and Anne’s voice, which makes him stop from approaching them any more than he has already.

“Y/n? Y/n, darling?” Anne asks with worry when she sees Y/n climbing up the top step with tears in her eyes, soft cries falling from her throat as her hand attempts to silence them.

She reaches an arm out for her, tugging at the front of Y/n’s dress slightly to get her attention. She’s grateful it was Anne who found her this way instead of any other guest at the party, considering nobody besides her and Harry have seen her with a frown on her face.

“Y/n, baby, what’s going on with you?”

The lights are off in the hallway, with no guests permitted in the area, which gives Y/n the proper time to fully allow her tears to fall down her cheeks.

“I’m so s—sorry, Anne.” Y/n cries.

Anne’s hands rub her shoulders, reassuring her that there’s absolutely nothing for her to apologize for. It also lets her know that she’s willing to listen to her, no matter where or when—she’ll always be there.

“I’m almost 24, Anne, and I’ve put so much of my life on hold for him.”

She knows instantly who Y/n’s talking about. It wasn’t difficult to notice the undying connection between Y/n and her son, especially as the years went on. They have grown so strongly together, there has never been a doubt in Anne’s mind that Y/n is going to be the girl Harry ends up marrying. Everyone in the family called it a destiny waiting to happen, but it has been so long since anything has happened between them, and Anne can’t help but feel heartbroken to know Y/n’s carrying the wrong idea about him and Kendall.

“And I’ve sacrificed so m—much to continue waiting for him, but I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore. We’re nowhere near where we should be, especially when he keeps spending time with Kendall and I just—I just don’t know if I can—“

“Oh, my darling.” Anne sighs, cradling Y/n’s head against her shoulder as she rubs down her back.

She shushes her through her tears, rocking her slightly in an attempt to calm her from her cries. It’s extremely rare for Y/n to feel upset, so when she does so, Anne knows she deserves all the comfort and love she can get.

“I know you so well, and I know my son. I always knew you were a match made in heaven, my dear. I knew from the start you were more than just an ordinary girl. You’re so special, to everyone in our family, but especially to him. He may not have his head screwed on right most of the time, but if I can promise you anything with all my heart, it’s that he loves you. Please, no matter what, never forget that.”

Y/n nods against her shoulder, thanking her through her violent cries before Anne insists she takes some time to herself. And as much as Y/n wanted to refrain from going into Harry’s bedroom, it’ll be the only place that brings her a sense of comfort.

Harry already knows he’s in for a lecture the second he sees his mum coming down the stairs with bewildered eyes. She grips his shoulders, her face tight with frustration.

“Mum—“

“You go over to her and you be the man I taught you to be, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widen at her words, swallowing thickly at the thought of disappointing another person in his life.

“She loves you and you love her. Stop doing favors for other people and start thinking about you before you ruin both of your lives forever. You hear me?”

Harry nods feverishly, determined and more motivated than ever to fix all that he’s caused. Love comes first, always, and he needs to remember that before he breaks Y/n’s heart completely.

She’s it. She’s all that matters to him.

He barely responds to Anne before he’s racing to his old bedroom, completely clueless as to what he’s going to say, but willing to do anything to get her back.

“Y/n?” Harry calls through the door of his old bedroom. “Y/n, can I come in?” 

He knocks on the door lightly, just using the knuckles of his pointer and middle finger. He hears her feet pad over to the door, opening it to reveal her tear stained cheeks. Her hands are trembling against the knob, her breath broken with soft, gentle cries. Her eyes are widened with sadness, wet and red from tears she barely ever cries.

“Y/n.” He whimpers, tentatively reaching his shaking fingers up to her cheeks. He wipes away the tears from the bottoms of her eyes, sighing upsettingly as her eyes close at his touch. “Never seen you like this. Please talk to me.”

Her lips quiver as another sob rips through her, her hand reaching up to capture his between her fingers. Her saddened and wet eyes looking down at the intertwined hands now resting against her lap.

“I’m so tired, H.” She whimpers, “So tired.”

His lips press against her forehead, “I know, love. I know.”

She wraps her arms around him, her face burying in between his chest as he lets her tears soak in his undershirt.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I’d finally be alone with you after all this time. I missed being close to you, I wanted to be closer to you and I thought you felt the same about me and I didn’t understand, Harry, I didn’t get it and—“

“Hey, relax for me.” Harry mumbles, his lips grazing tenderly along her cheek.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers fisting the back of his suit tighter in her fists. She rests her chin on the top of his chest, tears still roaming down her face as she lets out an exasperated sigh. Her fingertips trace patterns on his back, her eyes fluttering closed as he pushes some of her hair off of her face, refraining them from sticking to her wet cheeks.

“I didn’t get it,” she whispers, “I was so confused, and when you didn’t answer my calls or texts I thought you didn’t find me important. And I was under no right to be upset about it, because you’re busy and you have priorities. But when I saw you today, I didn’t see you as the Harry I always have, I still can’t tell you what I saw but I wanted every part of you more than I ever have before. But when I saw Kendall I—“

Her cries and words die down when she feels Harry’s tender lips against hers. She’s taken aback at first, and before she has any time to really kiss him back, he’s already pulled away.

“Let me fix this.” He breathes out, “let show you that I only want you.”

His lips press against the side of her mouth, not allowing himself to kiss her the way he wants to until she lets him. They then begin to travel down her neck, along her jaw, around her mouth.

Y/n’s breath is stiff as he does so, embracing the feeling of his mouth against her skin. They’ve only ever kissed a handful of times, none of them being passionate or loving. They’ve shared pecks while saying goodbyes or after confessing their feelings, but none quite like this—none quite like the one anticipating to happen.

His breathing his hard when he continues to kiss along her skin, his fingers moving longly in her hair the more his mouth presses against her.

“Will you let me?” He whispers when his lips are ghosting over hers, “this okay?”

She nods feverishly, hitting the point of desperation when she feels his breath fan over the skin of her face. She’s been needing this for far too long now.

“Yes, please.”

His thumb runs over her bottom lip one, two, three times before he finally leans in. Their lips mush together passionately, only breaking apart to move their position before locking again. Their tongues meet in the middle, making the both of them moan at the unfamiliar spark coursing through their veins.

Harry walks toward his bed until Y/n’s knees hit the edge of it, making her back meet the mattress. Their lips haven’t detached once, not daring to break away from the feeling they’ve both been deprived of.

They’re both making out on Harry’s childhood bed, grinding onto each other half naked like two hormonal teenagers. Their clothes thrown across the room, lips swollen from all the suction and nibbling, and hair completely knotted from either of their fingertips, the party below them long forgotten.

“Wait, wait wait wait!” Y/n gasps, lifting herself off of his chest.

Harry’s chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to catch his breath as he looks up at Y/n in confusion. He watches as a smirk lifts from her lips as she peers down at his flushed face, giggling slightly at his complete fucked out appearance.

She notices that his lips remained stained from the red wine—a little faded—but still making her body weak at the sight of it.

“’s the matter?” He croaks.

His voice is thick—an entirely different level of raspy, and Y/n wonders how she’s lived so long without hearing him speak in that way. Between all the kissing, all the touching, all the moaning, his voice has a particular roughness to it that Y/n could feed off of if she had to.

“We shouldn’t do this, right? I mean, we’re about to fuck during your mum’s birthday party. Your entire family and Kendall are downstairs, anybody could walk in at any second, or hear us, and your mum could find that so disrespectful and—“

Her rambling is interrupted by his lips, meeting hers passionately between her words.

There is no way in hell he’s leaving this room tonight. Everything that’s been stagnant between them is finally moving in the right direction, and he can’t find it anywhere in him to walk away from it.

“You think I’m letting you go now?” He whispers, his thumb running along her bottom lip. “I have been waiting for this moment with you since high school, sweetheart.”

His lips reattach to her neck, sucking on spots he hasn’t already left marks on, soaking up every bit of the time he has with her before it’s over. This is the first time they’re going to make love, and he wants to feel and remember every bit of this moment.

“B—But your mum—“ She moans, her fingers nearly tangling at the ends of his hair as she hisses in pleasure from his tongue.

“Every single person downstairs knows about us. This—this happening right now, has been expected to happen since I first brought you home. I guarantee you, nothing will make her more happy than knowing her son and his future wife are finally acting on our feelings instead of pushing them to the side again.”

His words make Y/n blush like no other; her cheeks turning the shade of pink on her dress she wore previously. It’s then he notices just hot fucking pretty she is in pink, how every tint of the color compliments her in ways he can barely wrap his head around.

“Future wife, hm?” She smirks, tapping the pads of her fingers against his bare collarbones.

He kisses her again.

“Thought you knew that, love. Wouldn’t know a single soul I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” His fingers dig into her hips, “’s always been you.“

Y/n pushes Harry’s back against the mattress again, trailing her fingers down his torso. She giggles when his teeth clench at her touch, finding it almost irresistible to embrace the way he responds to her touch so easily.

“Trust me, I always knew.”

[but-the-library-of-alexandria]

30 Day Flash Fiction Challenge - Day 15

Half way bitches!!!!! I did it!!!!! 

I really liked this story - I have a vague idea of where I was going with this but the final ‘twist’ didn’t come to me until I was writing it haha

Day 15: a plague, a piece of chalk, viridian

Another callout, another victim. A big house this time, fancy, with servants and everything. A four-poster sickbed with velvet curtains drawn back to let hoards of carers and doctors access the patient. A far cry from the lonely hovels where Jack had been treating dying men alone with only their wife or husband as nurse.

The girl’s parents were not in. There had been a baby in the house, and they had taken it away as soon as the virus reached the village. Jack supposed they’d done the right thing, but subjectively it was hard not to be bitter when he was lead upstairs to the stricken young woman by the butler, to find her being watched over by her maids. Doctor Smyth was already there.

Jack trailed his fingers along the paisley duvet as he walked from her feet to her head. His fingers passed by her arm, where her last doctor had bled her. His eyes landed on her face; she was clammy, her brow furrowed over her closed eyes as if, even in her feverish sleep, she was concerned for her own well being. He realised he’d seen her ride by in the villages around here. She’d always said hello to passers by, including himself. She was beautiful. And so young.

He hoped she didn’t die.

“How is she, Smyth?” He asked, because it was the done thing. He knew exactly how she was. Not good. This was just the way a doctor started a conversation with another doctor at a sickbed.

“She’s been down for a day so far,” Smyth told Jack, not looking up from his watch as he took her pulse from her neck. “Progressing as usual, no different from any of the others.”

Jack turned to the butler. “Does the lady have a history of ill health?”

“No, sir,” the butler said. He was wringing his hat in his hands, and his wig looked ruffled. “She’s always been a beacon of vitality.”

“That bodes well,” Jack assured him.

“She’s the light of all our lives, Dr Ward,” the butler continued, “God forbid she should die.”

A tearful maid put an arm around his shoulder in silent solidarity. The other maid, and a footman, who were cleaning and fussing around the patient, looked back and nodded their own agreement. Jack looked again at the face of the woman. He thought he saw the love and kindness these people attributed to her reflected in her drawn features. Her brown hair was fanned out over her pillow, long and lank.

“We’ll do all we can,” Jack assured the butler. “We have with us the very latest compound for treating the virus. Hydrated chromium hydroxide. You may know it as viridian.”

“Isn’t that a paint pigment?”

“It is a chemical of many properties and uses,” Jack said, to avoid saying ‘yes’. In the hope of encouraging a more scientific image of the compound, he took a vial of it in solution out of his bag and showed the curious servants.

“What do you do with it, sir?” A maid with a strong Devonshire accent asked.

“It is best injected into the blood, at this stage. When she is awake, she can take it in a tonic.” If she wakes up, he thought.

On the bed, the patient murmured something in her sleep, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. Jack went back over to join his mentor.

“Can I see your notes?” He asked quietly. Dr Smyth gestured to his notebook, on the bedside table next to an unrolled tool kit. Her temperature and pulse were normal for this stage of the virus, alarming under any other circumstances. Silently, he took some damp towels from a maid and began replacing the ones on the patient’s head.

“How long can you stay, Doctor?” the butler asked Jack.

“We have many callouts every day,” Jack told him gravely. “Many people in far worse condition than this, not to mention circumstances.”

The servants looked aggrieved at this. Jack looked again at the gentle, distressed features of the lady.

“I will try to return as often as I can,” he promised.

The next day, after treating two more patients, Jack asked the carriage to circle back around to the grand house. Dr Smyth submitted to his will, knowing that pleasing the rich was the only way they could make enough of a living to treat the poor.

“Has she been able to take any food?” Jack asked Dr Smyth, hovering around uselessly while he took vitals.

“Not yet. You may try, if you like.”

“I have soup, still hot,” the maid offered.

“Do you have any cold?” Jack asked.

The maid curtseyed and went to get some, looking rather confused.

Dr Smyth went to another call, leaving Jack in charge. He’d done this enough times now that Jack was unbothered, if still a little nervous.

“May I know your names?” He asked the gathered servants.

“I’m Mary, sir,” the chief maid was the first to answer. “This here is June, and that’s our Mrs Moorton.”

“And I’m Julian Barnes, sir,” said the Butler. “The footman is James Baxter.”

“And our patient?”

“Do you not know, sir?” Exclaimed Mrs Moorton. “Don’t it say Miss Christiansen on your notes?”

Jack admitted with some embarrassment that he’d been thinking of her first name.

“It’s Cornelia,” June said fondly, tucking her bed sheets fondly. “And she won’t mind you knowing it from us.”   

Jack looked at her and repeated the name to himself, trying to match it to her face. It almost did. It would grow in time, no doubt.

The next day, Jack and Dr Smyth were summoned to the house before either could suggest going. Cornelia was beginning to come back around.

Her eyes were flickering open and closed by the time the doctors came into the room. She had enough sense to turn towards the door when it opened.

“Doctor,” she mumbled, and then turned to the other side.

“That’s what she’s been saying all morning,” Mary told them as they entered. “Lord! She always were such a rational creature. The moment she starts to get hold of her senses, the first thing she does is realise she’s sick and ask for a doctor.”

That was a reasonable explanation. But Jack secretly hoped she’d been asking after him.

Dr Smyth let Jack take her vitals. Her wrist felt warmer under his fingers as he took her pulse. After he had, Dr Smyth retook everything before writing them.

“Remarkable,” he said. “She’s doing multitudes better.”

“You think she will recover, then?” Mr Barnes, who did not seem to have stopped wringing his hat in his hands for three days, asked.

Jack looked at Dr Smyth for permission to give hope before saying, “it seems so.”

The servants converged in a group hug. Dr Smyth caught Jack’s eye, and gently drew him aside.

“Alright, son,” he said in a low voice, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but now it seems she’s recovering, there’s no harm done and you might as well know.”

“Tell me what?”

Dr Smyth took a deep breath before confessing. “There was chalk in the vial.”

“Chalk in the vial? What vial?”

“The viridian suspension. There was no viridian in it. The powder was a piece of chalk crushed up with a little green dye.”

“What!”

“Shh!” Dr Smyth looked pointedly at the servants, who had all turned to them curiously. The two doctors smiled reassuringly - in their line of work is was imperative that they both have excellent fake-reassuring smiles - and went to stand outside the room.

“What do you mean, there was no viridian?” Jack said.

“Keep your voice down! Nobody can know.”

“How did this happen?”

“Well, the virus turned out to be more widespread than I had first imagined,” Dr Smyth said. “We had so many patients and so little viridian in comparison, and I didn’t want to refuse anybody treatment, least of all a fine lady like her.”

“So you didn’t think to just tell people you had no viridian and treat them as best you could until more arrived?”

“I didn’t know how to tell people.”

“You’ve been injecting chalk water into people and telling them it will cure a potentially deadly virus!”

“And it did, didn’t it? They survived! It was fine! What do you think this means? Could chalk be a cure for the virus? Or perhaps, the theory of the placebo effect - ”

“Dr Smyth,” interrupted Jack, who had been thinking while Smyth was talking, “This green dye you put in the chalk.”

“Yes, yes, I had to make it look the part, but don’t worry, it wasn’t toxic - ”

“Could it have been,” Jack suggested, “viridian?”

Dr Smyth froze, silent and staring at him. His face slowly turned red.

“I’ll go and check on the patient,” Jack said, and left Dr Smyth to his revelation.

Mary greeted him with a hug as soon as he entered. “Oh, sir, Lord bless you!” She cried. “Our Cornelia is as good as new!”

Jack looked over at the bed. Cornelia’s eyes were open and steady, full of life and sense. She smiled softly at him, and that smile seemed to warm him all over like sunshine.

“Doctor,” she said again, and this time her voice was strong and soft. “Thank you. Might I know your name?”

[meduelesluegoexisto]

We Came Out Like Tigers LYRICS

An Introduction

“The man who is shut up in prison is so far from being bettered by the change, that he comes out more resolutely the foe of society than he was when he went in. Subjugation, on disgraceful terms, to humiliating work gives him antipathy to all kinds of labour. After suffering every sort of humiliation at the instance of those whose lives are lived in immunity from the peculiar conditions which bring man to crime... he learns to hate the section of society to which his humiliation belongs, and proves his hatred by new offences against it.”

Exerpt from In Russian and French Prisons, by Peter Kropotkin, 1887.

Sous Les Pavés La Plage

All these dreams of survival, of romance and little care, agelessness and lack of worry are slipping through my hands. They are chased and quickly and effortlessly overpowered by the horror of rotting in jails and jobs. These thoughts of friends love and summer have withdrawn that bit too far in your mind, you can't quite see it any more, only worsened by the occasional wisp of smell and sound and warmth, or buoyed along on the back of songs, or just before you awake. You could love her if you could remember who she was. She would be beautiful if you could just recall her face. Yet here you are slumped and sullen, angry and diminished. The abyss is taking you apart. Here you are slumped and sullen, angry and diminished. I don't want you to see me this angry, the abyss has taken me apart. And what am I supposed to do, what is left to feed the soul when you learn how dark men's minds, how consistently cruel his hands?

Remember Why You Are

I see your hands so full of cash, one thing I swear I'll never have, gleeful in all they covert. Yet our hardened hands, so resolute, are filled only with the hands of others. And as you grasp at the grains of youth, all Grey and Faust reminiscent, we have embraced mortality thus, escaping a desperate prison. These things we do aren't working, they feed your cancers. It's the chemicals that wash your thoughts, every time you drink to hurt them. It's the poisons in your chest, it's your lack of time with him. These things you do aren't working. It's hard and we are poor but we are young and we are good, and if you feel you're on your own, it's not because you're wrong, just few have the courage, to see this 'til its done, we are no longer satisfied by fun, we are harder now... We are no longer satisfied by fun, our eyes are keen and stern for all that's good, we are harder now for what's been done. I wish it could be night all the time, it's so romantic when the sun doesn't shine, and I don't feel guilty or lazy for being poor, and I want to pursue meaning more. But they say life is darkest just before the sun, and so thank god the morning comes. Is it right to sell your time 'til it's gone? Is all this more valuable than a song? Play on brothers, play on.

These Terrors Are Dismantled By Friendship's Light

I always fear for you in winter, do you travel? Do the roads treat you kind? Does the darkness play hell with your mind? I know it does mine. So keep up your poems and songs, this is where your madness belongs, out in the open, for how else can we hope to confront it? How will we dismantle these night terrors? Does the darkness play hell with your mind? How will we dismantle these night terrors? See how they are weakened by friendships light. So lets clasp hands and together promise not to be afraid. Truth always was the nemesis of adventure anyway. So lets catch these tears this precious anger, lets rail at governments and churches. There is nothing you can take, nothing from which profit is made! If you never have dreams, then you have nothing to hope to achieve, when the axe came into the forest the trees all said at least the handle is one of us. If we perish we perish together, victors are those unparted forever. Nothing will end this great union, worry not this is only bad weather. So keep up your poems and songs, this is where your madness belongs, so keep up your poems and songs, this is where you belong.

Inimical

This resevoir is heavy and volotile, desperate to relax it's banks and holdings. Giddy to collapse out eyes and tumble down face. Without this I am a speck of dust, without this I'm not brave, I am just genderless thoughts. And one by one the years roll on, the boundaries blur, no growth no decline. I am just genderless thoughts; I am just genderless thoughts Every spring is a reminder that you forgot what it is to be happy, every autumn you embark upon new mourning for the death of ease. The passing of your relaxed self, you concede smiles and lumber on brows furrowed. When you are the mallice behind the dark theres nothing left to be afraid of. Cynicism fades as the ligh fails, just once don't promise us hope.

Immutable

My face is numb now, the room is quiet. I watch dust hazily zig zag to the floor, only to be gusted upwards by the movement of a foot or a hand. Everything you fought for is gone. Everything you knew was important was ignored. You fought tooth and nail, sword and pen, good lord, not the schools, please, leave the forests, for fucks sake, not the hospitals. But no one rallied to you, no one took up the flag, too much stress, too little interest. The people were not united, and your government was viciously divisive. And the worst of it? That now the world looks different. It smells odd. The colours distort in front of your eyes and you snivel a laugh. You are a fool. You thought the world was filled with love and good intentions and it was not.

Take Pleasure In The Processes

I struggle with my own selfishness. My arrogant impulse to prioritise my loved ones over yours. I am grief stricken at the idea that I will die, when I should be glad I was ever given the chance. I struggle with peoples expectations of me. I do not want to fit the mould of a man but I am forced into that shape and people are quickly angry at me when I do not take on the form. Given the freedom I would out grow it and flourish, as much a sister as a brother, as much a wife as a husband and neither besides, I would not invite gods or statesmen into my bed...

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, maybe that forest won't get cut to the ground. I am sick of singing about cancer, but his body keeps fucking up, and I'm sick of fighting governments but they keep fucking us. I revile at your abhorrent religions, too long have you exploited our weaknesses. Too long have you censored the books, have you silenced science, condemned the curious. My heart aches for those that cannot find beauty in the blades of grass, in flustered clouds, in lovers breath, that they must invent gods and monsters. My heart breaks at the actions it inspires. Too long have we been respectful, too long have we allowed you to exist.

If You Were Frightened, It's Because It Was Frightening

Apathy is such an evil trait, to sacrifce others for comfort is not an accusation I could take. Do not let the plight of others be so trivial so as to forgo empathy and do nothing. I wonder if Voltaire would have been so quick in making his witty quip if he'd seen the gates of Aushwitz? When your government comes to burn the books, will you wish you'd read them first? Brace for a lifetime of discontent, Orwellian nightmares that never end. You will mourn the sincerity that greed undid. That moment, you beat us, was exactly where you lost. We took on, that hatred, and still came back as one. Don't be alone, don't dare be alone, rise together, be exhalted, take comfort in a godless eixistence. Stay upright stay strong.

I Sing Of Sorrow & Joy

Phonelines again. Tests again, scans again. We count up the odds, calculate survival rates and allocate ourselves as resources. We are brave and we are strong, we will beat this, we shout don't get mad get even! Fuck having cancer! FUCK HAVING CANCER! We are sad and we panic, we complain that it is not fair, we have dealt with all the horrors we were given, we have proved ourselves why us, why again? We sob it out, tears bounce of handsets and stop at tabletops and laps. We pace as we wait for information, we frighten ourselves reading, we try to find comfort in his good health, his young age, his strong mind. He is scared that he is alone but he is not. We implore him to test our mettle, to challenge our resolve. We will beat this together, we five strong minds!

Breathe In, Though You Barely Believe In It

What do you say to yourself when you are totally aware that you have no value? cradle on top here with nothing but horizon if the world were to end now I would be the last to know.

You are of that splendid magnificence that there is nothing most deserved of you and if there is it certainly isn’t me. Should you choose to stay my hand and forbid my flight know that this “I love you” will never have a past tense… you are glowing under this winter sun.

I ask that I might stay a while.

Tribulation

Death, 'tis a melancholy day To those who have no God, When the poor soul is forced away To seek her last abode.

In vain to heav'n she lifts her eyes, For guilt a heavy chain, Still drags her downward from the skies To darkness, fire and pain.

To Ruin A Fine Tenor Voice

It gets worse. We woke up one day and all we do is work. We all talk about how we hate this place but are we so naïve as to think things could be better? The grass is no longer green because we poisoned it all. There's no distance great enough to separate yourself from your inadequacies, You can never run fast enough to escape their line of sight. You have all the look of a skull but with none of the grinning charm, Lank hair, sharp ribs, stop what you are doing and sleep. Minds are lost, smiles are lost, confidence is lost, You are dishonest and lost, shuttered and struggling.

Concrete Blocks of Empathy

I hope the final blow of your hands against my teeth cause lacerations of sufficient irritation that I can splutter one last laugh. The only reason I don't turn tail and run, is because Spite will crash me against your shorelines, keep me ragged and close, Keep me ragged and close. The actions of the outer regions of love and hatred manifest themselves in remarkably similar ways. Where is the ceiling of your tolerance set? What level of cruelty are you prepared to accept? Did you mean what you said? Did you mean what you said? Your pacifism undermines the sincere devotion of love. I am here for revenge.

Careworn

I hesitate to commit this to words, for as they rise through my mouth they take root in my brain, and ever more real will ever remain. Ever since the hospital, the opiates and the ketamine, we're harder now in everything. Oh misery, accept we five. Death's false start, his failure our triumph, has left us ever waiting his certain early return. Ever tense for adjudicators whistle that will bring us to the ring again, casts a shadow over every day, that won't be lifted until he's taken away. Uncertainty once relieved, will be replaced with all the the relief a coffin can give, And not a thing can be done about it, and so are our lives; Unchanging.

We Have Not Reached Conclusion

I refuse for this to be conclusion, As I shrink inwards. As things ever worsen, as things ever worsen, Life will be my next defiance. Be it in jails or this rented house, Sooner a dour path than an ignorant one. I would exchange any semblance of youth for stronger hands, tougher fists. I will trade what charm I have for firmer resolve. Even when so much anger has coursed through these veins I do not doubt that they will be fit to pump joy. I need only knowledge enough to spell out freedom, I need only enough life blood to see out the struggle. I refuse for this to be conclusion. And a restless summers end wind reminds me of how handsome we will be in the frost, I will walk this frozen path of hatred until I reach the thaw.