#the image of her trying to make this underground bunker a nice place to life

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #268

[amelialincoln]

Electric Love pt2

sorry im working on an amelink fic but its hard cause i have little to motivate me with. soooo here's marecal

     They both awoke to the sound of an alarm blaring continuously over their heads. This happened on occasion and as terrifying as the situation was, the couple had almost gotten used to it. After the war the idea of democracy had been popular among the regions. With red and silver becoming equal, the solution had seemed obvious. But it would be wrong to say that the idea of everyone living in harmony was accepted by all. It was mostly the silvers that had an issue with it all, still craving the power they once had maintained. The small rebellion had formed about a year after the war, and raids had been happening throughout the palace almost every month since then. It was rare that anyone would come near their apartment but Cal had built an underground bunker just in case. The raids never resulted in much, other than terrifying those who lived there. Occasionally, they’d take a staff member or government official but eventually would set them free after their pleas went unanswered. 

Mare stumbled out of their bed, still half asleep. However, Cal tugged at her arm, wide awake. He’d already secured his bracelets and a dim flame lit up their bedroom. He couldn’t help but worry that since word had gotten around about Mare’s pregnancy, they may somehow be a target. To which Mare had responded, days earlier, that no silver in their right mind would come anywhere near the two of them, in fear for their lives.

“Feeling nauseous?” He asked as she gripped the stair railing and swayed softly.

“When am I not,” she grumbled, following him down into the blackness. Cal sighed with relief as he bolted the door and pulled the string to an overhead light. The concrete room contained a double bed, a cabinet full of snacks and a pathetic sink that sat in the corner, almost always dripping. Mare crawled into the mess of duvet and leaned back against the bed frame. She was usually unfazed by the break-ins and normally slept through the entire event, unlike Cal who usually spent the night watching the door and allowing flames to creep across his fingertips. He glanced over to find her hands pressed against the small bump that had formed on her midsection earlier that week. Her first trimester was exhausting her and Cal had never felt more helpless.

“You should rest,” he noted. “Practice starts at six tomorrow because of the holiday on Monday.” He knew that despite tonight’s events there was no way that Mare would miss even an hour of training.

“I would lie down but I’m trying really hard to not throw up,” she responded slowly. Mare wasn’t known as a ray of sunshine when functioning on little sleep. “I would appreciate it if you could get your child to give me a break, Tiberias.” She tried to sound bitter but he could hear the fragility in her voice.

“Do you want the plain crackers? Those usually help,” he suggested.

“Do we have any down here?” 

“No.” He expected her to yell at him but instead she leaned back in exhaustion. 

“Can you just come sit with me?” Cal glanced over at her apprehensively, not wanting to leave his position by the door. Mare rolled her eyes at his hesitation.“Cal, for fucksake it’s absolutely fine--” As if on cue the sound of their apartment door banging open echoed through the flat. Mare fell silent as the sound of moving furniture filled their ears. Someone was looking for them. Anxiety raged inside her and lightning sparked on her palms, growing brighter by the second.

“Mare, control it,” Cal hissed. Her ability was becoming more and more unpredictable as her pregnancy went on, to the point where they were in the midst of getting a necklace made out of silent stone for moments like these. Cal couldn’t help but wish they’d had it by now.

“I can’t,” her voice wavered. The light above them brightened immensely before popping and surrounding them in blackness. Light bulb glass reflected red as Cal’s flames dimly lit the room. Mare silently prayed that her purple sparks would not reappear. “Do you hear that?” She asked, as a familiar voice called out to them, calling their names over and over. “It’s Gisa!” She moved to the side of the bed

“No Mare, it’s not.” Cal’s eyes darkened, willing her to lie back down. 

“Cal, I think I would know my own sister--” 

“It’s a voice manipulator, it’s trying to convince us to come out.”

“How do you know--” She wanted nothing more than to answer the voice calling out to her. 

“Because I hear Maven,” Cal hissed, his eyes begging her to be quiet. Mare had never wanted to throw up more. She finally processed the idea of silvers rummaging through their apartment, playing tricks on their minds. Suddenly the situation was more nauseating than the smell of Cal’s green smoothies he’d been forcing her to drink lately. He noticed her gag and shot her a look of sympathy. Eventually the calling diminished and they heard less and less footsteps above, though neither of them wanted to go back upstairs. Eventually Mare fell asleep but Cal couldn’t bring himself to leave the door, waiting for the voice of his brother to return.

She awoke the next morning to find Cal missing from the bunker. A handwritten note was left on her pillow.  

Mare,

Taking the kids up the mountain today. Don’t try and follow us, we'll be back soon enough. Rest and please just be safe.

Love, Cal

Classic. She threw her head back in frustration. Despite the break-ins being an inconvenience, they always put Cal on edge. She was surprised that he’d decided to let her out of his sight, even if it meant her getting some extra hours of sleep. She walked lazily up the stairs to find their apartment torn to shreds. Furniture was pushed over and destroyed. Picture frames had fallen off walls and glass lay shattered on the floor. Although she hadn’t been too involved in the design of their place, she couldn’t help but feel awful that all of Cal’s hard work had gone to waste. She smoothed the crinkled photos that had fallen out of their frames. Most were of her and Cal, apart from some of Mare’s family and Cal had one photo of Coriane, which he cherished greatly. She couldn’t help but grin at the thought of racing up the mountain to meet the group, the idea didn’t seem too bad to her. Undoubtedly would piss off Cal, which was always fun. She didn’t bother having breakfast, through trial and error she’d learned that eating before noon would result in an hour spent in the bathroom. Eventually, after a while of trying to tidy up the apartment, she was dying of boredom. She tied her hair back into a messy braid and pulled on her training uniform before swifty leaving the apartment, locking it behind her.

“Hey!” She whipped around to find Evangeline morphing the garden fountain into a rather inappropriate image. “Cal cleared my schedule to sit around and wait for you to try and leave.” She narrowed her eyes, obviously upset by her change in plans.

“That’s dumb,” Mare shrugged, turning to leave.

“He also lied about where he took the kids today. If you go up that mountain you aren’t going to find them.” Mare stopped in her tracks, cursing. “Why do you want to go so bad anyways?” 

“Because what else am I supposed to do?” she huffed.

“Domestic life not treating you well?” Evangeline teased, Mare glanced up at her, realizing how much she had begun to miss everyone she’d gotten close with last year. She hadn’t seen Farely in what seemed like months.

“How’s Elane?” She changed the subject and Evangeline took the bait, never upset when speaking of her girlfriend.

“She comes to visit today,” her eyes lit up with excitement. “I’m going back with her in a week and then staying awhile. There isn’t much to do around here,” she admitted, Cal had mentioned that her ‘government’ role had been less riveting than she’d anticipated.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Mare couldn’t help but grin at the idea of Evangeline in a stuffy room talking about politics.

“He did seem shaken up this morning though. The raids were bad last night?” Mare could tell Evangeline was trying to keep her from leaving but at that point she didn’t care. There were twelve off campus training sites scattered over Montford and the group could be anywhere. She sat down on the edge of the fountain and tried to look as if she wasn’t bothered.

“They don’t usually search our apartment.”

“Ah,” Evangeline responded. “Probably something to do with the bun in the oven.” She gestured to the small bump that Mare had been desperately trying to hide with baggy clothing.

“I don’t know what they think they could possibly achieve by trying to harm either of us.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Yeah, it’s messed.” Evangeline bit her lip. “The group is expanding though. If you go downtown there’s signs up everywhere. The silvers aren’t happy.”

“You think after last year people would want a break from the violence.”

“I don’t know, would be nice to have a little fun.” The rings on her fingers were morphing into tiny daggers on her palms. Mare couldn’t help but laugh.

“You haven’t changed.”

“Have any of us, really?” Evangeline shrugged. “Come on, Barrow, I know you miss silver blood on your hands.”

“We crave the chaos now but the moment we’re back in it we’ll wish we savoured these moments.” She shook her head but couldn’t suppress the rush of euphoria that passed over her as she imagined what Evangeline was suggesting. 

“You think there will be another war?” Evangeline’s voice was hushed, as if someone was listening in on the pair’s conversation. Mare nodded grimly.

“Cal’s been seeing Julian almost every night. I can tell they’re hashing out the beginnings of some plan. He’s been downplaying the silver’s revolt. I don’t know why he’s treating me like I’m too weak to handle the truth.” 

“Probably doesn’t want to stress you out.” Evangeline brushed a piece of her frizzy blond behind her ear and smirked as she watched Mare gag at the idea of her condition was making her incompetent. “Just go,” she finally caved. “They’re at the training centre in Elm.” Evangeline chuckled as the lightning girl’s eyes lit up with delight. “Tell him I told you and I’ll give the silvers a key to your underground bunker,” she added darkly, trying to hide her amusement. 

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Judging from the time of day the group would probably be on their trek back by now. Mare decided to go anyways. The idea of getting a rise out of Cal was too appealing to pass up. He deserved it for treating her like she was useless. The dirt road was longer than she remembered or maybe she was just more out of shape than the last time she’d run it. She pushed herself faster at the thought. It took a lot for someone to sneak up on Mare. Cal failed miserably almost every day. Which is why, when she was pulled back suddenly, she froze in shock rather than fought back. Before she could react a knife was pressed to her neck and it drew a small amount of blood that began to pool under her chin. She felt the silent before it even started reaping her ability from her, tugging her strength away.

“Not so powerful now, sparks.” She could hear the enjoyment in the unfamiliar silver’s voice and wanted to spit at the nickname. The knife, however, permitted her from doing such.

“I’ve got guards watching me,” she forced out a lie. “Letting me go would be a smart move.” To her dismay the group of silvers only chuckled.

“Look Red Queen, you're the issue here. You’re the reason that reds think they can waltz into our cities and act like they aren’t the worthless vermin that they are. You may have deceived the prince but there’s no mistaking your true intentions.” Mare couldn’t begin to guess what they were talking about.

“He’s not your prince anymore.” Was all she could think of to say. Cal didn’t want anything to do with the crown anymore, or so she hoped.

“And that’s where you're wrong.” The new silver’s voice was calm and poised. “Tiberias Calore VII has been working to revise the new laws. The democratic system is flawed. It’s only a matter of time before it splits. Your boyfriend is working hard to fix the damage you caused.”

“That’s not true.” She could hear the falter in her own voice.

“So that leaves you as the problem. A red can never sit on a silver throne.” Mare could feel the knife digging deeper into her skin. 

“I don’t want your stupid throne.” She managed to kick her leg back, connecting with the soft area that she’d been aiming for. The man yelped in pain, allowing the knife to drop. Mare whirled around to find a larger group than she’d expected. As the sky began to darken she noticed a line of sweat was starting to form on the silent’s forehead.

“Get her in the vehicle,” the woman ordered, Mare could sense the weakness in her voice knowing she wouldn’t last for much longer. She could feel the static energy increasing in the air, begging to strike. The men came at her quickly. She dodged the first couple easily but more kept advancing. The silent held on to her dismay and eventually she was surrounded. It was the knife guy that hit her first, undoubtedly holding onto some sort of resentment. After that the rest was blurry until she doubled over in pain and blackness invaded her vision.

[stusbunker]

What Lingers Within: One

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written for: @thisismysecrethappyplace

Prompt: Amnesia

Word Count: 1615 (This was originally a drabble)

AMAZING BETA’ing by: @itmighthavebeenintentional​

Lovely aesthetic and beta’ing by: @thoughtslikeaminefield​

Summary: Reader witnesses the impossible and is thrust into the world of monsters. Unbeknownst to her, Dean has to face the consequences of old choices. Set in season eleven.

Warnings: Trauma as a witness to a show level violent case. Angst.

^*^*^

               All sound morphed into a dense absence, mere gentle rumbles around you as your thoughts spilled over the terror of the last two hours. It was over; you were safe. But that didn’t matter, because your body and mind were still processing, and the weight of the memories fought against your every rational belief. 

               Vampires were real. Stephenie Meyer was fucking right. Well, almost right; daylight barely affected them. The image of Chase, your co-worker, slumped beside the dumpster was peaceful compared to the sight of the monsters as they tore into the girl from the sandwich shop who had stepped out for a quick vape break.

               Somehow you dropped the trash and made it back inside. Sputtering it all out when Katelyn insisted you show her what you were talking about. The cops got called and that was when the real shit hit the fan. 

              They barked at you, patronizing and full of disbelief. Of course, you knew how it sounded, but the bodies told no lies. No one knew what to say to you and so they said nothing. 

              With the rest of the day’s work left for some untouchable future, you got yourself home in a fog. Suddenly trapped in a perpetual state of in-between, you crawled into bed, fully clothed and let the darkness claim you.

^*^*^

               “‘What seemed like a Halloween prank call quickly became a horrific afternoon on the Westside yesterday. Two victims found on the scene were drained of blood and covered in what could only be bite wounds. Police admit to increased drug activity in the area, but’---- yeah, they aren’t going to call it what it is. So, you wanna take it?” Sam called over his shoulder.

               “Vamps with a death wish? Hell yeah,” Dean agreed, leaning over to look at the laptop screen.

               They were on the road in less than an hour, the Impala rumbling east as Sam delved deeper. One name popped up in every report under witness, sinking his stomach. It could have been worse; it could have been in the victim box. Though he had sworn to never speak of her again, Dean needed to know what they were walking into.

               “You know maybe we should just pass on this one,” Sam offered awkwardly.

               Dean recoiled and gave Sam the side eye. “You find something else? I mean, they’re not usually this obvious, but these vamps are dropping bodies, Sam.”

               “Yeah, I know, it’s just--- look, I should’ve read more before we got on the road. But now that I have, I’m not sure this is the right case for--- you.” Sam was digging himself deeper the longer he talked.

               Dean’s eyebrows hitched. “You wanna try that again?”

               “It’s just, the only eye-witness is somebody we know, Dean,” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

               “So--- who is it?” Dean tore his eyes from the road completely.

               Sam pursed his lips and glared at his brother. It took Dean longer to piece together than Sam thought it would, but it had been four years. With everything that Dean had been through the past few years, it shouldn’t have surprised Sam.

               “You promised,” Dean swallowed the rest of the accusation.

               “I know. I didn’t---,” Sam was cut short.

               “Yeah? Well...” Dean trailed off. With a dejected sigh, he rubbed the back of his fingers over his three-day-old stubble. “At least it isn’t an Amara thing she got dragged into.”

               Sam paused over the silver lining, noting how the engine grumbled under Dean’s heavy boot.

^*^*^

               Waking to heavy knocks on your apartment door, you resurfaced. 

               The strain from the day before faded with groggy waking actions. As you scanned your room for the time, you realized you had slept straight through into the next day. You pointedly ignored your phone; work could wait. You straightened your shirt and stumbled down the short hallway, trying to guess who could be on the other side of the door. Looking through the peephole, you were at a loss. 

              Two guys in suits stood outside. Suddenly nervous you did something wrong, you called out. “Who is it?”

               “FBI, Ms. We have some follow up questions from the incident yesterday,” the one with long hair replied. His voice was soothing, so much more so than the police at the scene. 

               The horror flooded back into your mind and you put your weight onto the doorknob to steady yourself. Your eyes closed against the onslaught. You shook your head against the rush of warmth, and took a deep breath as you pulled the door open.

               The two agents bowed their heads slightly, IDs open and eyes almost apologetic as you put on your best listening face. The scruffy one lingered in the doorway when you gestured them inside. They seemed to have a silent conversation behind your back, and you tried not to read into it, playing with your bedhead as you decided to make a pot of coffee. 

All cops liked coffee, didn’t they?

               “Nice place,” Agent Colfax, the long-haired one, complimented.

               “Thanks, I’ve only been here a few months, but I like it,” you replied, leading them to the small table in the kitchen. 

                They seemed to dwarf your minimal furniture, filling a space that you generally ignored. You remained standing as they asked their questions. Not once did they belittle you or what you saw. Despite their bulk you felt at ease, free to answer honestly. They assured you they were trained to handle this type of assailant. They didn’t confirm or deny your assumptions.

               “I think that’s all our questions for now,” Agent Colfax looked to his partner. “Unless you have anything to add, Agent Berkman?”

               The scruffy one cleared his throat; it wasn’t until then you realized that he hadn’t spoken the entire time. “You said you moved here a few months ago? Any particular reason?”

               His voice was like crunching leaves, rich and satisfying in its resonance. Confused by the change in subject you looked to the ceiling for clarity. “Honestly? I had a pretty bad break up and I guess I needed someplace I could make my own.”

               He swallowed. “Sorry to hear that.” 

               He gave you a reassuring smile, but it fell flat. That was until his green eyes held on to yours, almost like he was searching for something. They were bright and attentive, nearly hypnotic. You felt a warmth spread over your cheeks and down your neck, but it wasn’t from embarrassment; it was welcome comfort after everything you had just re-lived. You felt intensely safe.

               “Right--- thank you for your time,” Agent Colfax interrupted, breaking through what could only be described as a staring match. 

                You blushed, pulling yourself out of the trance. You showed the agents out and decidedly locked and deadbolted the door.

^*^*^

               Dean was trying to hide the way his hands were shaking as he opened the driver’s side door. Sam was watching him with something between annoyance and pity, but Dean wasn’t up for the commentary. Seeing her again after so long was like having bricks stacked in his gut while every thought in his head evaporated.

               On the way to the medical examiner’s office, Sam broke the silence. “She seems good.”

               Dean glared.

               “Other than seeing people being killed by vampires, I mean,” Sam finished.

               “Because we just left her place, I’m giving you a pass, Sammy. But mention her again and I will break your fucking nose,” Dean hissed.

               “Whoa, hey! I’m just saying she’s safe in a quiet, normal life, Dean. Isn’t that what you wanted? When you had Cas...?” Sam pressed.

               Dean hit the steering wheel. “I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t this!” Dean’s eyes left the road and speared Sam to the spot.

“I wanted her out of this stuff, man. Not half-broken and alone in a new city crawling with vamps who don’t even play by the rules.”

               “So, we take care of it,” Sam eased off, head tilted and brow imploring. “She’ll be fine, Dean.”

               Dean dragged his hand down his lips. “Yeah, she better be.”

               They sat in silence the rest of the trip, rush hour slowing them down. By the time they scoped out the bodies it was dark. Working a perimeter from the crime scene slowly gave them the location of the nest, an abandoned subway station accessible through a crumbling sewer maintenance shaft. The vampires stood no chance against a revenge-fueled Dean Winchester. Sam agreed to leave the bodies, five in all, as an underground fire would cause an immediate investigation. Who knew when the skeletons would be discovered anyway.

               By the time they got back to their motel, it was too late to buy beer, which gave Dean the excuse to head out for a drink. After showering Dean suggested the hole-in-the-wall down the block. Sam reluctantly let his brother head out alone, claiming he was just going to call it a night. 

               Dean drove right past the bar and Sam watched him do it. They both knew where he was going, it was a practiced dance; build a wall but ignore the window.

               Dean sat in the Impala and stared at her apartment, he even laughed at himself for a spell. He watched the colors from her flat screen shine against the violet night, morphed by the floor length curtains. 

               She always liked a space to have a lot of natural light; she would’ve hated the bunker. That didn’t matter now. She was home safe. But being Dean, he needed to double check. 

               Flask in hand, Dean continued to pine for her the remainder of the night, lost in memories of a time when they were almost happy.

^*^*^

Tags: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​  @dontshootmespence​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @foxyjwls007​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008​ @princessofthefandomrealm​ @wingedcatninja​​

^*^*^

Read On: Chapter Two

[dyns33]

The little cupids

One shot. I had this idea a looooong time ago, because I looooove @cryptid-coalition Mother Langdon. So, today, while I had to write the next chapter of my series, of course I decided to wrote a Oneshot of this story instead ! 

           Life at the Sanctuary was perfect, lush, with a profusion of delicious food and the ability to satisfy all desires... except for the grays. Even if they had sold their soul and they could be happy to have escaped the Apocalypse, they remained at the bottom of the ladder, slaves, whose existence was of less value than those of the other inhabitants. they had to serve without question. There were still rules to protect them, established by the Antichrist himself, the master of the place, Michael Langdon. It was forbidden to kill the grays, because even though they were numerous, they were all necessary for the proper functioning of the Sanctuary. It was also forbidden to injure or rape them, as this would slow down their work rate, or even prevent them from working if they needed care or became pregnant. For the same reasons, romantic relationships were prohibited, even between two gray ones. In general, the issue of children was problematic, since it was necessary to repopulate the Earth in the image of Satan, but it was not necessary that the Sanctuary was overpopulated before it was possible to return to the surface. Pregnancies were therefore limited to one child per woman, if they wanted to. Few Satanists wanted to lose nine months with a parasite in the stomach, and then have to constantly have to take care of them. Especially since Michael Langdon had been very clea r: if the child was not cherished, pampered, worshiped by their parents, then they would regret it. It was therefore necessary to think before deciding to found a small family.

There was, however, one exception, a person who had given birth to twins, thus breaking the rule of the quota of authorized children and who moreover did not take care of them all the time. This person was none other than Michael Langdon himself. He had not needed anyone to get pregnant, being able to change his gender, impregnating himself with his own seed, and he gave birth to two adorable cherubs, which he loved more than anything in the world. However, as he was the master of the Sanctuary, he had a lot of work, which took a lot of his time, and it was reluctantly that he had to entrust his precious children to nurses, grays, who sometimes kept them for several days, until he can finally devote time to them or... that the two boys killed them, not respecting the rule concerning the protection of the grays.

           "My loves..." Michael sighed when he found the nurse bathing in a pool of blood. "You promised me to be nice and not to do anything stupid."

           "She was mean, Daddy ! She did not want to let us play video games."

           "That's right, Mommy ! It's her fault, not ours."

Sometimes, Michael regretted not having procreated naturally, with a woman, that his little devils would never have hurt since she would have been their mother and to whom they would have accepted to obey without any resistance, or at least just reacting like children who made a whim, not like miniature psychopaths. But could he blame them, since he had been like them ? He could also ask Miss Mead to look after them, but he needed her to lead the Sanctuary and make sure everything was perfect. All he could do was try to make them understand that they should not start again, while choosing a new nanny. Almost all the grays were scared by the boys, they knew they were going to be killed, but they could not say no to the master. This lasted until the birthday of the little antichrists, who were celebrating their fifth birthday.

The whole Sanctuary had been arranged for this occasion, the children circling the immense underground bunker to be greeted by all the inhabitants, who were to congratulate them for their extra year and offer them a present. When they arrived in the gray dormitories, which had all been against the wall to greet them, they began by asking for their presents, as usual, until one of them turned head toward a girl who stood at the back of the room, pulled his brother's sleeve to get his attention and both ran towards her, to everyone's surprise.

           "Who are you ?" they asked.

           "(Y / N), young masters."

           "What is your present ?"

           "A book, young masters. It was my favorite book before... I was able to bring it with me and today I offer it to you, hoping that you will love it as much as I did."

The twins said nothing, staring at the book she was holding out to them, while all the gray held their breath, praying that this gift would please them and that the poor (Y / N) would not suffer a terrible fate. After slowly taking the book, they returned to Michael, pulling on his pants.

           "Daddy, we want her !"

           "Yes, Mommy, please, give her to us !"

The request was unusual, since they had never chosen their nurses, and they had never seemed to care about such details. The gray man who was in charge of watching them restrained himself from sighing with relief, understanding that he was saved, when he had found a drawing of him with his head cut a few days earlier. Unable to deny his beloved sons, and hoping they would keep this girl alive because they had asked for her, Michael agreed.

(Y / N) was a discreet, hardworking gray who had not caught anyone's attention until now, either well or badly. She had always been very neutral, even when she had sold her soul to the devil against... nothing. The Satanist precepts had pleased her, she agreed with the fact that humans were selfish creatures that destroyed the Earth and so had to be destroyed, and by joining the Cooperative, she had only wanted to help, at her best, for this great day to come. Of course, as she was human herself, she was not perfect, she had many sins, mainly greed, envy, pride and greed. A little lust, sometimes, even if she found men, and some women, too stupid and disgusting to satisfy her. Several times she had wanted to touch herself thinking of Master Langdon, but she had restrained herself, going against the rules of Satanism, because she did not think herself worthy to think of him in such circumstances. For anger, she did not see the point of screaming at incompetents, who would not understand anything anyway. And it was out of the question to be lazy, (Y / N) was too proud for that. Her ego was flattered that the master's children had chosen her to be their nanny. Certainly, they were a little rowdy and pranksters, wanting to do what they wanted when they wanted to, but they were the heirs of the Antichrist after all, that seemed normal. She just had to find out how to take them.

The inhabitants of the Sanctuary as the grays were as delighted as disappointed that (Y / N) was still there after a month. A record. Everyone had made bets on when and how she was going to be killed by the two adorable monsters. But they loved her and she loved them too, playing with them whatever they wanted, making cakes for them, reading stories before they slept, and even kissing their foreheads before leaving the room. It was especially that which had shocked Michael when he had surprised her, leaning over the bed of his sons. (Y / N) panicked, thinking she made a mistake.

           "I'm not allowed to ?" she asked. "It's forbidden ? I can't touch them ? I did not know, master, I assure you, I..."

           "No. No... It's just that they do not like being touched normally. Well, when it's not me, and no nurse had ever dared to do that before."

           "Oh, I see. I'll ask them if they want me to stop."

Michael was the most troubled by the situation, not knowing what to think. Of course, he was happy that his sons were in good hands when he was busy. (Y / N) was really charming, the mother he would have liked to have, and she took care of the little cherubs with so much attention and love that one would think they were hers. You just had to see the three of them, sitting on the ground, doing a battle of tickling and kisses. With one hand, she fiddled the belly of one of them, who screamed and cried with laughter, and with the other hand, she held the other, laying pecks on his neck, before exchanging, to be fair. Michael liked to see his boys so joyfuls, but at the same time... they did not seem to miss him. Before, he was the only important person in their world, the only one who loved them, the only one who had their love back. Now, after three months with her, the twins did not seem so eager to see him. They no longer tried to sneak into his office to play under his chair while he was working. They did not cry when sleeping, demanding that he come and tuck them. They grew up, Michael knew it, they became independent and discovered new things. Before loving his Miss Mead, he had loved his grandmother. But, anyway, Michael was jealous of (Y / N). And he did not like that.

           "I'm... fired ?"

           "Not exactly. You do a great job and the boys love you. It's just that I've decided to take a vacation, so you do not have to be here because I'm going to take care of them. When I have to go back to work, I'll call you bac ... if the boys want you, of course. "

           "I understand. I wish you a great holiday with your sons, master."

This stratagem was intended to make his babies forget this intruder, so that they find themselves in family, with their bonds reinforced. According to him, after a few days, they would have already forgotten this girl, preferring the company of their parents. And it seemed to work, as the little boys jumped for joy when he told them he wanted to play with them and he could stay as long as he wanted. He was the master here after all, he did what he wanted. And the Sanctuary was not going to collapse because he had not cared for it for a few weeks. Everything went well when he had to leave for the Outposts and he had full confidence in Miss Mead to handle the problems. This first day of family meeting was magical, full of sweets, laughter, games, until bed time. It was then that Michael realized that his goal was not going to be so easy to reach.

           "Come on, it's time to close your eyes and dream." he said, closing the evening book and kissing them.

           "But... (Y / N) will not come to see us, Daddy ?"

           "Not tonigh."

           "Why not Daddy ?"

           "Why do you care ? I'm here.."

           "She does not love us anymore ?"

The sadness in the blue eyes of his sons broke Michael's heart, who could have gotten what he wanted by saying yes, but who would neither lie to them nor hurt them. He took the little ones in his arms so that they stop shaking.

           "(Y / N) has work to do, that's why she can not be here tonight."

           "Oh, like you, Daddy ?"

           "Yes, my loves."

           "If Mommy and Daddy loves us, then everything is fine."

The only thing that mattered was that his children did not cry and they fell asleep with a smile on their face, so that was probably why Michael only realized a few hours later what they had just said. They had only called him Daddy. And they had called... In denial, he tried to convince himself that it was the fatigue that had made them confused (Y / N) with their mother. But, every subsequent night, the twins claimed her.

           "Daddy, tell Mommy to come !"

           "Please Daddy!"

           "But I am your mother. And your father."

           "Yes, but she is too."

So his worst nightmare had come true. He had been replaced. Well, he was still their father, but a whole part of him, the one who had worn them for months, felt rejected, forgotten, because of a little gray. Michael did his best to hide his tears of rage as he made his way to the servants' dormitories. Without giving any explanation, grunting, he ordered (Y / N) to follow him to his office. Unlike him, she remained calm, composed, as if she knew that this moment was coming.

           "They call you 'Mommy'." he said in a breath, which was almost like a sob.

           "I know. I asked them to not do that, you are their mother."

           "I should kill you ! Tear your bowels, hang you in the middle of the main room, burn you alive !"

           "It's natural. Whatever you decide, I will not resist, you are my master, I am at your command. But promise me to think of the children before you make your decision. I do not think they will hate you if you kill me, they love you, they will always love you no matter what, more than anyone, because you are their father and mother, but even if it does not last long, I do not want my death to be a source of grief for them and a reason to blame you. I will leave if you want, I will go outside and you can tell them that it was my decision, so they will hate me and they will find comfort in your arms. But do not take off all their maternal faces when they need one, I beg you."

The proposal was tempting, the idea was ingenious and that would solve all his problems, but the only thing that Michael saw at that moment was how much (Y / N) was ready to do everything to protect the twins, but also to protect him, who risked losing them because of his jealousy, acting like a fool. He read in her heart that she doubted the children's affection for her, wondering every day if they would not get tired of her like an old toy, but she still loved them, more and more, every day. Slowly, he went around his desk to kneel in front of her, taking her hands. It was only then that she began to tremble.

           "You love my children."

           "I do." she whispered, tears in her eyes.

           "And I know you want me. I've seen your dreams and fantasies. You must be the only person in the Sanctuary who has the most smutty ideas about me, but never masturbate when you think about it."

           "I am nothing. I am not worthy of..."

           "You are the Mommy of my children. So you are not nothing. Tomorrow you will change status, you will not be a gray anymore and you will settle in my room. Does this suit you ?"

As an answer, (Y / N) sneered nervously, making the Antichrist grimace. He was not used to being made fun of, he does not like it, especially when he was being offered a place in his beloved family.

           "Sorry." she apologized, seeing him frown. "It's just that... They said you'd suggest that to me."

           "Ah. These boys are insightful, they must have felt that I was jealous."

           "No... They told me that on the first day. I do not think you or I have a say in this story."

Proving what she had just said, two little blond heads appeared through the doorway, with a small pout, meaning they were annoyed at having been unmasked and feared to be punished for it. Michael motioned them to approach. Heads down, hands in the back, the twins came to stand beside (Y / N).

           "So... you made your decision, without even consulting us ?" Michael asked.

           "Sorry Daddy."

           "Yes, sorry Daddy, do not send Mommy in the nuclear fallout."

How to say no to these two little monsters who looked at him with pleading puppy eyes ? They would have to learn one day that they could not always have what they wanted. Even though Michael thought about it now, he had everything he wanted when he was young, so...

           "Mommy will settle in with us. Satisfied ?"

           "YES !"

           "Then go back to bed !"

They obeyed, but not before (Y / N) gave them their evening kiss. Silence settled in the office, where the atmosphere became a bit awkward.

           "So..." said (Y / N). "And now ?"

           "It's late. We can go to my room to rest... or to fulfill some of these fantasies. I can produce milk without being pregnant, you know ? I can do anything."

           "Interesting... Just ... be careful. I surprised the boys whispering that they wanted a little brother or sister and I think that's their next goal."

Decidedly, after playing the little cupids, his two demons had not finished surprising him. A third would not change much.

[ask-fallout-mayhem]

PART 1 COMPILATION:

Introductions

[Below the cut is the first part of the encounters between @ask-fallout-emmet-brickowski and @ask-fallout-mayhem]

One (1) General Mayhem arrives at a Deathclaw farm, and quickly checks her pip-boy to make sure everything is on track.

Which it does seem to be! And what luck, there seems to be people already outside on the far, so in an intentionally intimidating she heads towards them in her bulky power armor.

-- “Uh, Rex,” Emmet tells the man who is working in the field next to him. “Do you know who that is?”

The man in question looks up to also see the masked figure approaching. He stands up with his gun ready and shouts to the mysterious figure. “Hey! Who are you and why are you here?”

--

Oh crabapples, Mayhem thoughts begin to flow through her heard rapidly, maybe intentionally intimidating was not the way to go here, these guys just seem to be some normal ranchers, okay just gotta introduce myself in a normal person way.

“Greetings, I am General Mayhem of the Systar System’s Management, there is no need to use your weapons right now as I mean you no harm, I am simply looking for an officer from New Reno I have business with, do you know if I can locate him here? “

Was that normal? I think that was normalish, a little intimidating, but they are pointing a gun at me, so it’s a reasonable amount of intimidating.

--

Rex lowers his weapon slightly but still keeps his eyes on Mayhem. “Emmet, go get Bad Cop.”

Emmet nods and runs down the path that leads to the house. As he does so, Rex’s deathclaws come over to see what is happening. “We may but, if I may ask, what kind of business do you have with him?”

--

Well this is going way better than the last recruitment mission, they almost seem trusting, there has to be a catch, annnnnnnd the catch is he has deathclaws.

Mayhem sweats a little under her helmet, but tries to not let her surprise at the death claws effect her voice.

“ I’m here to offer him a tour of the Systar System’s Management HQ, we’re moving forward with a self image improvement plan by showing our faculties to high rankingindividuals of different areas, and I was told he was very prominent figure in the security, so he would be a valuable asset if he were to tell others that the Management was a trustworthy organization. “

Her eyes keep glancing back from Rex to the Deathclaws, she really wanted to ask if she could pet one, but alas she has a mission to do. Maybe she could come visit at a later time, if these guys didn’t end up hating her.

--

“I see…” Rex says as his deathclaws stand next to him. Emmet and Bad Cop then turn up causing the deathclaws to move away slightly so they can stand next to Rex.

“So, where do you plan to take us?” Bad Cop asks as he loads his laser rifle.“We would also like to know who this Management is controlled by before we make any decisions.”

--

Okay more guns, I gotta give a sarcastic yay to that, he knows I’m wearing power armor though, right? That gun isn’t gonna do a whole lot of damage. Wait didn’t the report mention something about two cops, but I only needed to bring back one guy, so if I get in trouble I’ll blame Susan for writing up bad reports.

But these guys aren’t like the Master Builders or anything, so I think I can try to be a little more friendly with them.

“I take it you’re the security personal I’m looking for, so nice meet you, and as I was explaining to your, uh friend here, I was planning to take you to our HQ, it’s located in the Mojave Wasteland, not to far from the New Vegas Strip, just inside of your run of the mill underground bunker.

And the head of the management is our Great Leader Wa'nabi, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Usually at this point an individual would have made comment on how they don’t trust the Management, or how they’ve heard bad things about it, which leads Mayhem to ask,

“I take it none of you have heard about the the Management before?”

--

They all shook their heads no.

“We have lived out the general Mojave area for years and we have never heard of this Management before.” Bad Cop tells her before flipping up his sunglasses to allow Good Cop to take over. “Of course, we would be interested in going if we can learn some more about this Great Leader Wa’nabi and their goals.”

--

“You haven’t heard of it before..? “

She asks, a happy little surprise on her part, a lot of groups like to spread untrue rumors about the Management, because it’s scary and new, and has some sort of undead general, it was finally nice to have some people who weren’t assuming anything about it!

“That’s great! Not that it’s great that you haven’t heard anything about it, it’s great that you havent heard of some of the totally untrue rumors!

And I mean it was founded only 5 years ago, and only in the last 2 years have we been expanding our reach, so to speak, so it makes since you might not have heard about it before.

And as for the Great Leader Wa'nabi, I mean I guess Great Leader is an opinion, but lots of other people think she’s great so it’s a good opinion.”

And then Mayhem goes on to prattle on the memorized introduction story for the Management, almost bored as she tells it, simply because of the number of times she has recited it in the last five years.

“After some major battle she was left without a home or family, and traveled the wasteland trying to find her place, but only found destruction and pain, and that just broke her heart and she decided to make a place where everyone has a chance to live a peaceful life. So she founded the Systar System, a group of interconnected settlements that helped each other out, but she felt that wasn’t enough, and went on the make the the Systars System’s Management, a more unified version of her vision. And it’s great, we take in people who don’t have homes or places to go, give them a shelter, a job, and a whole new life.”

And with the long sob story out the way she clasps her two hands together with a loud thunk, and says,

“And that’s sort of our goal, to just help people out, I hope that answer is satisfactory to you.”

--

“They sound awesome G!” Emmet tells Good Cop. “I think you should go! I mean if you want to, but I personally would.”

Good Cop nods and goes to tell her his answer but is interrupted by Rex. “As great as the Systar System sounds, how can we be sure that this isn’t a ploy to brainwash him?”

--

Ah the age old question, one of the hardest to prove, almost as hard as ‘prove you’re not a synth’. Luckily both questions Mayhem spends up all night thinking about instead of sleeping. Because she doesn’t really sleep more than once a month. 

She thinks to herself that maybe she needs to put more thought into that ‘prove I’m not a synth’ question.

Right the question at hand, she places her hands on her hips and starts going through her list of reasons why the Systar System wouldn’t brainwash people.

“Cause that would be something bad guys would do, and we’re not the bad guys here, I can assure you.”

Which seemed true enough to her, she helped people all the time, and that made her a good guy, and a good guy wouldn’t brainwash someone.

“Not to mention brainwashing is almost technically impossible, unless you have some sort of computer chip hardwired into your brain, and even then you couldn’t 100% control the person only alter their memories and motivations, but the science just isn’t there yet, so he shouldn’t have to worry about brainwashing for the foreseeable future, unless he’s like a synth, it’s probably really easy to brainwash a synth, he’s not a synth right, Im pretty sure he’s not a synth, not that there’s anything wrong with synths if he was one.”

The second part of her constructed argument came from her time as a bio-engineer where she helped some of her lab mates develop brain modification units, but they had discovered that they couldn’t truly control the brain, but she didn’t spend a whole lot of time on that research, most of her time was spent splicing Deathclaw DNA.

“But if you’re really scared of the possible brainwashing, you two could accompany him as protection, to make sure no brainwashing takes place.”

The last comment wasn’t really to get them to feel better, she had just noticed that Emmet made the comment he wanted to go, and he seemed like a perfect for the Systar System, quiet, polite, sweet, innocent, so she wanted to give him an excuse to join along.

--

Rex huffs before holstering his weapon. “Alright, we will go with him. Just don’t try anything.”

He motions for his deathclaws to follow and opens the gate that separated the farm from the outside world. As he leaves, he calls to Emmet and Good Cop to follow him. Once he is far enough way, Emmet turns to Mayhem.

“So, how long will this take? Rex probably wants to get back to his farm as soon as possible.”

--

“It should take an hour to get there, if we take my helibird,” which she had parked not to far, “but uh Rex wasn’t planning on bringing the deathclaws was he? I don’t know if they can fit on the ship, fitting four people on it might already be pushing the limits of what it can handle.” She did take the bigger ship with her, as she thought she might be needing to take two police officers back to the base, but even still it wasn’t like this was the best air craft in the world, it can’t handle a pack of deathclaws, you’d need a whole airship for that. That would be cool though, have your own air ship, travel around, scare people with how cool you are.

--

“He usually doesn’t go anywhere without one at his side but let me see if he is willing to leave them behind.” Emmet tells her before shouting to Rex. “Hey Rex! Mayhem says that she won’t be able to take your deathclaws with! Can you leave them behind?”

Rex turns around and shouts back, “You know that I don’t go anywhere without one of them, Emmet!”

“But Rex, Mayhem says that she can’t bring them with if we want to go with Bad Cop!” After Emmet shouts to Rex, the man looks like he is about to bark back something but stops to throw his hands up in the air in defeat. He calls over his deathclaws and puts some collars on them before pointing them back to the farm.

As they leave, he shouts back, “Alright, they’re gone! Are we now ready to get this show on the road?”

[amymel86]

BUNKER - Chapter 2 of 4: ‘Day 3′

For the photo prompt day of the Jonsa Spring Challenge (making bread)

Read chapter 1 here

The dull echo of a boom shakes Jon out of his sleep. He hadn’t meant to close his eyes as he sprawled out on Mance’s old couch, but since there’s not too much to do when being holed up in this God-forsaken bunker for the past 3 days, then sleep seems to be an attractive option.

“You were snoring,” Sansa comments from where she sits cross-legged on the floor, trying to fit a piece into the puzzle she’s working on.

Jon swallows and sits up, wiping the tiny amount of drool from the side of his mouth. You’re a right ‘Prince Charming’ you, aren’t ya? “Sorry.”

“It didn’t bother me,” she shrugs before turning and flashing him a smile that he’s come to appreciate far too much for someone he’d only met a handful of days ago.

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Jon lets out a yawn before moving to sit on the floor next to her. He’s about to ask if he can help, turning his head to the side to look at the image she’s trying to re-create from the lid – it was a painting of a lone wolf, howling up at the moon.

“Don’t sit too close,” she warns, scooting away. Jon’s brow furrows as he shoots her a confused look. “I’ve worn these clothes for the past three days! I stink!”

He chuckled at that and wondered what the hell a pretty girl like Sansa was doing to end up where he lived on the outskirts of Mole’s Town – the arse-end of nowhere. “You used the shower this morning.”

She had. She’d used it right after he did. Her hair was tinged a dark copper in places where it was still damp. They were all surprised to find out just how prepared Mance had been with this bunker – even Jon, who’d worked for the man for the past five years was shocked at the sheer expanse of the place, how much food he had stored up and the facilities that were installed. So far, they’d seen a huge warehouse-sized room full of supplies and foodstuffs, there was a generator room which powered the electricity and air purifying system and waste shoot that Mance said led to an underground chamber where unrecyclable waste can be stored. They had heat, light, water and enough supplies to sustain the four of them for four years, according to his boss, although Jon hopes that calculation won’t need to be tested.

The ‘living quarters’ as Mance had deemed them, consisted of the lounge/kitchen, one bathroom and Mance’s bedroom. If you ignored the fact that there were no windows, the floor was concrete, and the walls were white painted bricks – then you’d be forgiven for thinking that these particular rooms were part of any ordinary house. The man had even thought to prepare a little cordoned off space in the store room for his chickens for fuck’s sake! Jon knew that Mance was what folks called a ‘survivalist’ – but this was taking it to a whole new level. It seems he’d been anticipating the end of the world for quite some time. What he hadn’t anticipated however, was that not only would he be saving himself, but other people too. There were two smaller rooms that could be used to sleep in but there were no beds and Jon could only liken them to what he thought being in a prison cell might feel like. Opting for comfort rather than privacy, Sansa had chosen to sleep on the couch and when Ramsey had declared that he’d hunker down in the adjacent armchair, Jon had decided to stay put and sleep on the floor in the sitting room too. Sansa had shot Jon what he supposes was a thankful look. He’s not sure that she’s all that comfortable with being alone with this Ramsey guy and he can’t say he blames her. He’s an odd one with an intense look in his eyes and a smile that unnerves Jon, but he can’t quite put his finger on why.

“Yeah, I used the shower, but my clothes still stink… If we’re down here for much longer, I’ll have to wash them,” Sansa groused, offering up a puzzle piece to a space in the picture she was trying to fill.

“Well if you stink, I stink,” Jon shrugged.

Sansa started to dramatically waft her hand in front of her cute wrinkled up nose. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Jon laughed and lifted his arm to sniff his armpit. “Don’t know what you’re talking about city-girl. I’m as fresh as a daisy!”

“I’m not sure what you think daisies smell like,” Sansa chuckled in return, “besides, I’m not a ‘city-girl’, I don’t live in the inner city, I live near the base and-“

“Wherever it is, it’s swankier than this rinky-dink town, that’s for sure.”

She did that smile at him then – the one where it looks as though the corners of her lips are losing their battle to stay impassive as her eyes expose the twinkle within. Jon couldn’t help but return it, and each time he did, he forced himself to remember that she’d mentioned something about a boyfriend before –‘Harry’ or some other name that fancy folks tend to have- not that a girl like her would even entertain the thought of maybe going on a date with a guy like Jon, but those looks she kept throwing his way made him hold on to his breath, just a tiny bit. And besides, flirting couldn’t hurt could it? If that’s even what this was? Jon’s not quite sure. Most of his world revolves around his job at Mance’s store and drinking with the boys in a dive of a bar that no self-respecting woman would step foot in -especially not one like Sansa- so he’s no time to even attempt to flirt with anyone anyways.

Except now, all they seem to have is time. Time to wait around to figure out if the world is ending above their heads or not. Mance has some large radio communications system that looks like it’s straight from the 80s sat in the corner of the room. He says it’s wired up to the telegraph pole out back, so he should be able to get a good signal but all he’s managed to latch onto so far is static. It stands unused at present, as Mance naps in his room – no doubt he’ll be out soon, twiddling dials as they’re all forced to listen to various frequencies of deafening crackles and whooshes.

“It certainly is a backwards place,” Ramsey comments in a sickeningly smooth voice, making Jon and Sansa jump where they sat together on the floor. Jon hadn’t even realised he was in the room with them. Last he remembered, the guy had gone to watch the chickens scratch about in their pen – an activity that Jon thought a bit odd at the time but had shrugged it off since they’re stuck down here with absolutely nothing to do. Ramsey is from Dreadfort after all – they’re all a bit peculiar ‘round that way anyway. Maybe watching a cluck of hens get bothered by Mance’s rooster is something of a novelty to the guy?

“I didn’t hear you come back,” Sansa breathed, her hand flying to her chest as if that would calm her nerves. Ramsey’s smile widened where he sat innocently at the dining table.

“I’m quiet,” was all he said in response as he continued to watch them.

Jon cleared his throat and offered Sansa a piece of the puzzle. “I think that bit goes there.” A rumble echoed from above, but after three days of listening to the noises, no-one makes any move to acknowledge it. They’re all hoping that the booms and crashes and the growling rumbles of the earth will end soon, and they can leave this God-forsaken bunker.

The door to Mance’s room swung open to reveal his bed-messed boss, still yawning from his nap. He stretched and smacked his lips together before entering the living room area.

“Must be nice to have a bed to sleep in,” Ramsey commented, earning him a warning look flashed from Mance.

“Funny that,” the older man said, leaning nonchalantly on a bookshelf, “because I was just thinkin’ that it must be nice to be in the right place at the right time so decent folk can save yer life,” he finished his jibe with a pointed look that Jon knew meant he expected Ramsey to shut the fuck up. Jon’s been on the receiving end of that look a time or two for his occasional bout of cheek so he’s rather familiar with it.

Ramsey’s sickly smile never fell from his face, he tilted his head, his icy blue stare fixed upon Mance save for a cursory flick to where Jon and Sansa sat on the floor. “I just thought it would be fairer if we worked on a rota,” he said, “I’m sure Sansa here would appreciate a night in a proper bed… and it’s a big double bed too” Ramsey finished by setting his gaze on Sansa beside him.

Jon felt rather than saw Sansa tense where she sat, making him narrow his eyes at the other man. He was making her feel uncomfortable and Jon did not like that one bit. “I’m fine on the couch,” she says, although it mostly comes out on a whisper before she clears her throat and offers his boss a small smile. “This is Mance’s bunker, and besides, he has a bad back, I’m…I’m absolutely fine where I am.”

Ramsey grins and sucks in a breath, opening his twisted mouth to start talking again – only Mance is faster and starts to boom over him in a loud, commanding voice. “Right!” he claps his hands together before rubbing his palms up and down, the noise of his dry, cracked skin sounding like raspy paper. “I’m gonna try an’ get a better signal. See if we can’t hear what’s going on up there.”

As if on cue, the earth rumbled making the shade on the lamp rattle and wobble. Mance settled into his wheeled computer chair as if oblivious as he pulled himself flush with the desk that housed his radio equipment. Jon stood, eyeing his boss twiddling with the dials. Any moment now the annoying static that buzzed in his ear like an irritating wasp would start up and Jon fancied himself to be anywhere but here right now. He glanced over at Ramsey who had his eyes fixed to Sansa still sat on the floor. That was annoying too.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he announced, waiting for a beat or two, hopeful that Sansa would join him.

“I’ll come with you,” she said, rising from her space on the floor and brushing her jeans down with her hands, “this puzzle can wait,” she smiled as she looked up to him.

Jon grinned, “only if you don’t mind following my stink.”

That earnt him a smirk and an eye roll, both of which he kind of liked.

“I would join you, but I don’t think my presence would be welcome amongst the two lovebirds,” Ramsey said with his cloying smile. Jon shot him his best ‘shut the fuck up’ expression whilst he held the door open for Sansa, Ramsey’s grin following her all the way out.

Sansa was quiet for a while as they walked side by side, occasionally their shoulders would brush or Jon would stop to let Sansa through a narrow piece of corridor first. They found themselves in the huge store room – there wasn’t anywhere else for them to go really, so it was no surprise.

“Thanks,” Sansa mumbled finally, stopping to run a finger over the rows and rows of tinned food on the shelving in front of her.

Jon raised his brows, “what for?”

“Suggesting to get out of that room,” she sighed, “Ramsey is-“ an insanely adorable expression came upon her face as she looked to be deliberating her next words.

“A creepy fucker?” He supplied, making her giggle some.

“Well I was going to try to be more diplomatic about it but… yeah… he is a creepy fucker,” her lips wrapped around the word in an alien fashion and her cheeks coloured beautifully at the sound of the curse in her own voice. It made Jon grin widely, as Sansa ducked her head and tucked some of that silky looking copper hair behind her ear. She glanced back up at him with those crystal blue eyes, catching him staring.

Jon cleared his throat and looked away, suddenly really interested in the ingredients of the tinned chilli on the shelf in front of him. “So… uh… “ he cursed himself internally. Jesus Snow, get a grip.

“I hope Mance finds someone on those radio waves,” she said, throwing him a lifeline in conversation.

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, rubbing at the back of his neck, “hopefully we can get out soon. Your family must be worried sick.” Sansa gave him a small smile in agreement and not for the first time Jon thought that it must be nice to have someone in your life who would worry about you.

It’s not that Jon thinks himself particularly unlucky in life, but with a mother who died in childbirth and a father that never came forward to claim him, he supposes his is not a typical kind of set up. Old Nan – the woman who ended up raising him, was kind enough, he’d never felt neglected or mistreated in any way but…well… Nan had passed away when he was 16 and now at the age of 26, he doesn’t feel any closer to obtaining that allusive ‘family’ that had always been missing from his life. Sansa had told him about all her siblings and her loving parents and he’s a little ashamed to say that his initial response was to envy her.

But then she’d burst into tears that first day down in the bunker – worrying about what might’ve happened to her loved-ones and Jon had been a little in awe at the ferocity of her concern. Never had he ever felt that way about someone, like a part of your heart was always with someone else and if they were to come to harm, you would too. He wanted that.

He’d held Sansa awkwardly that day, not quite sure where to put his hands or what to do at all with the sobbing girl burying her face in his chest as Mance made her a God-awful cup of coffee and Ramsey just sat there observing with his cold eyes. He remembers she was embarrassed after and couldn’t seem to stop apologising to him. He’s not sure why. She was upset. Hell – the whole world might be coming to an end above their heads, so it stands to reason she could bawl if she wanted. Fancy folks don’t like to show emotions, I guess.

Besides, they don’t fully know what’s going on up there. Sansa said all her family were back at Winterfell – that’s a good amount of miles from here – maybe whatever it is that’s happening is only localised? Not that it would matter anyway, what with them living so close to an army base, Sansa was sure that that’s where they’d be heading and Jon could think of no safer place to be honest – well, ‘cept for here maybe.

They wandered the aisles of metal shelving that Mance had set up in the massive warehouse-sized store room. In truth, Jon was pretty impressed – there was so much and Mance had managed to stock it down here for Gods knows how many years without folks knowing about it. Heck – just the sheer size of the place down here was worth cluckin’ over he supposes.

“Oh!” Sansa squeaked from a couple of aisles over. Jon wandered and weaved the shelves so he could meet up with her and see what’s peaked her interest. “Dried yeast!” she declared with a bright smile as she pointed to a medium sized sack.

Jon’s eyes flicked from the product on the shelf back to Sansa, “you’re… excited… about yeast?”

“Shut up!” she laughed, playfully scolding him by swatting his chest. Jon played along, rubbing where she’d thwacked him and making a pained face. It made him smile that for a brief second, she genuinely seemed concerned that he’d been hurt. Shaking her head at him, Sansa continued, “look, we’ve got bread flour, yeast, sugar,” she listed, pointing at the various sacks, “all we need is a little bit of salt and some warm water and we can make some bread!”

“And we want to do that because…?”

Sansa huffed and rolled her eyes, she opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a succession of banging, clanging noises that sounded nothing like the booms they had been used to. This was closer, sharper, not so devastating and yet somehow more worrying. “Come on,” he urged. Making bread could wait for now.

Sansa followed him back towards the ‘living quarters’. They’d reached them just in time for Mance’s head to appear around the door frame, looking this way and that. “That noise not you then?” he asked once he spotted them coming his way. Jon shook his head. “Hmm,” his boss grunted, turning to face the stairs that lead back up to the surface. The banging was louder now and Mance decided to go investigate. Jon and Sansa followed before Ramsey appeared and brought up the rear.

Thump! Thump! Thump! The noise beckoned them up the stairs until it was accompanied by someone shouting “Rayder! Let me in!” Thump! Thump! Thump! “After everything I’ve done for you! I never told anyone about this place! LET! Thump! ME! Thump! IN! Thump! RAYDERRRR!!”

Mance paused and looked round at them all following him up the steps.

“I know you’re in there!” the voice bellowed, the familiarity of it striking Jon suddenly.

“That’s Jorah,” Jon whispered, urging Mance to continue up the stairs and let the man in. Jorah was mostly a recluse. He owned a great deal of land on the outskirts of Mole’s Town and kept himself to himself. Being a keen hunter though, he was a semi-regular at Rayder’s store and Jon’s seen him prop up the bar on a lonely looking night or two as well. “How does he know about the bunker?”

“I might’ve got ‘is help in installin’ the generator years back,” Mance explained, climbing the steps and not bothering to look back. “Asked ‘im to forget he ever saw the place. Reckon he ignored that bit, mind.”

They reached the space at the top of the stairs where the big heavy duty sealed doors stood before them. There were two small panes of double-glazed glass where the face of Jorah Mormont was framed in one. He shielded his vision with his hands and leant against the little window to peer in at them. “Let him in,” Jon said, making a move to start working on the bolts.

“Hang on there, lad,” Mance halted him with an outstretched arm. Jon looked to his boss in confusion and then up to where Jorah was huffing the breath from his nose against the glass. “What you hidin’ with tha’ scarf, Mormont?” Mance called out to the man on the other side of the door. Jon hadn’t even noticed it, but sure enough, Jorah had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, right up to his nose.

“Just let me in Rayder,” he said, his tone a little threatening. Jon narrowed his eyes. Something wasn’t right.

“Let me see yer face and I might think on it.”

“Mance,” Jorah warned, tilting his head and keeping the blaze in his eyes trained on Jon’s boss. “You’ve got Snow and these others in there. Let me in. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“What’s going on out there?” Mance asked, cool as you like.

Jorah shook his head and glanced away, clearly irritated. “I don’t have time to-“

“We have time,” Mance’s lips pulled down at the corners as he indicated to Jon, Sansa and Ramsey, “tell us, friend, is it warfare? Are we under attack?”

“You don’t understand-“

“I understand that I have something you want. Salvation. A place to stay safe. And I also understand that this bunker is sealed and clean from any kind of harmful contamination… so I’ll ask again… Tell me, friend, what’s going on out there that you got ta wrap yer face up like that?” Mance finished his demands with raised brows.

Jon could see the rage roll in over Jorah’s expression like a summer storm. “JUST LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN!” he screamed, rattling and kicking at the door. Sansa moved behind Jon, he could feel her grip onto the back of his t-shirt as she peered over his shoulder to watch Mormont in his hissy fit.

In all the commotion, Jorah’s scarf fell to reveal the whole of his jaw as grey as ash and scaly like an alligator hide. He paused, realising they’d all spotted his affliction, eyes wide with worry. “This is nothing to do with what’s going on out here,” he pleaded.

Mance grunted and seemed to chew on the other man’s words. “That so?”

“RAYDER YOU FUCKER! LET ME IN OR SO HELP ME GOD I’LL-“

“You’ll what?” Mance asked calmly, “kick yer foot bloody tryin’ to break down this ‘ere door? I don’t think so Jorah.”

“Mance,” Jon said quietly, “we’ve got to let him in.”

“We don’t.”

“He can’t stay out there. Look at him! He’s ill!”

“Oh aye,” Mance finally turned to face him, “and who’s makin’ ‘im better? Last time I looked you weren’t one to own a fancy medical degree…unless I’m mistaken? Hmm, lad?”

Jon clenched his jaw, glaring back at the older man. He had a point, but the fact didn’t sit comfortably in Jon’s gut. He glanced to Jorah outside.

“Jon,” Mance said, getting his attention back, “we don’t know what kind of infection or whatever that is. And we don’t know how to treat it.” He turned back to look at the distressed man beyond the door.

“Rayder, please!” Jorah cried, his despair as clear as day.

“And my guess is,” Mance continued, ignoring the plea of the man outside, “that whatever’s out there that’s made ‘im this desperate to be in ‘ere would follow ‘im in if we open that door… No,” he shook his head with finality before walking past Jon and the others to go back down the steps, “we’re not lettin’ anythin’ contaminate my bunker!”

“Rayder!” Jorah yelled, “RAYDERRR!!” he slammed his head against the glass making Sansa yelp and her grip on Jon’s shirt intensify. Jon shifted, moving more squarely between her and the door. He’s not really sure why he’d done it, there was no way that Mormont was getting through that sealed steel, but he’d done it none-the-less.

“Let me in you heartless fuckers!” Jorah spat at the window pane, his saliva sliding down the glass.

Ramsey laughed, and folded his arms, adopting some sort of stance of authority as he watched the rabid man outside. “What was that?” he taunted cupping his ear, “you want to come in?”

“Fuck you!” Jorah screamed before he started to repeatedly crash his head against the little window. Soon, the glass was smeared and splattered with blood and saliva.

“Oh my God!” Sansa let out on a single sob, making Jon turn and grab her to him, hiding her face into his chest as if that would shield her from the awful scene.

Ramsey only chuckled menacingly, stepping closer to the door as he continued to goad Mormont.

“Come on,” Jon whispered, “lets go and make some bread.”

[hurt-care]

Shelter

This story was inspired by a prompt on Tumblr requesting a historic fic about a cold spreading through a home-front workplace during WWII. I ended up deciding to focus on just two young workers and specifically on air raid wardens, who were in charge of securing the streets during the blackouts in London when Britain was being bombed by the Nazis. I was also very inspired by this photo of a woman who was sick while in an air-raid shelter along with images of the shelters in the subway platforms. 

Shelter

By Dusty15 --

The ladies' boarding home where Miss Rowena Brier lived at 33A Easton Street was normally a rather cheerful and nice place to live. As with any place housing twelve young ladies, it was occasionally prone to waves of gossip and tearful arguments over young men and whispers of scandal, but most of the time it remained civil and sisterly. And with the war on, there was really no time for gossip. Every young woman in the house was employed by his Majesty's government in service to the Crown.

January in London was, as always, dismal and grey and frightfully cold. The boarding house echoed with the sounds of sniffles and the persistent coughs that came from months of damp and dust-filled air from the bombs and the winter drizzle that seemed to never end.

Though Rowena could be called to service in her job as an Air Raid warden, she'd miraculously been granted Sunday as her day off and it could not have come at a better time. That was because she ended up spending her Sunday in bed, taken ill with a stuffy head and chest.

“Can I bring you back anything?” her roommate, Tamara, asked as she applied her lipstick at the vanity in preparation for Sunday tea downstairs.

“A cup of tea and a biscuit would be swell,” Rowena replied gratefully. “The tea Mrs. Burnside makes always tastes better than the stuff we make up here with the hotplate.”

“Will do, love,” Tamara confirmed, shutting her compact with a 'snap!'.

“Take one of our teacups down, won't you?” Rowena asked. “The last thing she will allow is one of her good china cups disappearing upstairs.”

“Good thinking,” replied Tamara, picking up one of the mugs they kept on the sideboard in their room that served as a kitchenette of sorts. “I'll be back after tea. Do get some rest. Shall I shut out the light?”

“Please do,” Rowena said.

Tamara pressed the switch-button at the door, turning off the overhead light, and left the room. In her single bed, Rowena snuggled down under the covers and tried to rest with a hot water bottle between her feet and a handkerchief clutched in one hand.

Sleep, it seemed, simply would not come. Sitting up, Rowena reached out to turn on the bedside lamp and swung her legs out from under the quilt, finding her slippers with her toes.

With her housecoat on and her cosmetics bag in hand, she went down the hallway to the communal washroom shared with several other rooms on the floor. She was relieved to find it empty, for once. The rest of the house was either at tea or at work. She paused in front of the mirror, examining her pink-tinted nose and chapped lips. She was due to work the next day and finding someone to take her shift would be difficult. Instead, she'd have to muddle through and make the best of it.

Digging in her cosmetics bag, she searched for her small tube of eucalypted Vaseline and dispensed a small ribbon on her fingertip. Gingerly, she spread it around the edges of her chapped nose and upper lip. It burned slightly, but she could feel the vapours beginning to loosen her congestion a little and so she inhaled as best she could through her nostrils.

One pocket of congestion shifted and cleared, sending the pungent scent of the eucalyptus straight to her sensitive airway. Rowena's breath hitched suddenly and she shielded her nose with her handkerchief.

Ngh'tschoo!

With a miserable sniffle, she cleared her nose and gave it a wipe. At this rate, she'd need to launder her handkerchiefs or borrow a few from Tamara to take to work.

From her bag, she took her cold creme and went about her routine of smoothing it into her cheeks and under her eyes. Then, filling a water glass, she took some medicine and returned to her room to try to sleep once more.

It was not long before Tamara returned and she sat at the end of Rowena's bedside while Rowena drank the hot cup of tea. They chatted idly about the gossip of the boarding house and boys and work and the war until Rowena began to feel her eyes drooping with the heavy pull of sleep.

“I need to get some rest,” she told Tamara. “I'm due in tomorrow and I can't miss my shift. We've been so short-staffed and everyone's been taken ill lately.”

“At least you don't start until late in the day,” Tamara replied. “I'm due at the factory early. I'll try not to wake you in the morning.”

--

Rowena slept straight through the night, waking to only a little stuffiness and a slight tickle to her throat. Tamara was lone gone to her job at the factory and Rowena spent a leisurely afternoon in her room, drinking tea and listening to the wireless while she worked on a pair of socks she'd been knitting.

After a light supper, she gathered her coat, gas mask, and helmet and headed out for the walk to the nearby Underground station where she'd meet up with her patrol partner for the evening.

As an air raid warden, her job required a patrol of the local neighbourhood, watching for any leaks of light or forgotten lamps burning in the windows of homes in her area. Should the raid sirens sound, she would turn her attention to relocating any persons in the street to the nearest shelters before taking up shelter herself. When all was clear, she'd be the first out of the bunker to check for any damage and to report any fires to the local fire brigade.

The streets were damp and dim as she began her walk. A spare handkerchief was tucked into her coat pocket for inevitable future use along with a small tin of lozenges. Hugging her arms against herself, she trudged onward, eyes scanning the block for any traces of light.

Waiting at the Underground was the welcome sight of William Pierce, looking smart in a wool overcoat and scarf.

“Good evening, Miss Brier,” he greeted her.

Rowena grinned and returned the greeting. Will Pierce was a son of the neighbourhood, someone everyone seemed to have known since he was a boy. Though Rowena had only moved to the area a few years prior, Will had spent his whole life in these eight city blocks where they patrolled and his knowledge of the buildings and streets made him an excellent warden.

The war had enlisted every able man in the country but unfortunately, a bout with polio had left Will with a pronounced limp that disqualified him from service. Instead, he'd taken up this patrol job and it suited him immensely.

“Shall we, then?” he asked, slinging his gas mask over his shoulder and putting his helmet over his thick chestnut-brown hair.

Rowena followed, carefully scanning her side of the street as they walked. They chatted casually, exchanging pleasantries with the few pedestrians they encountered on their patrol as they headed home from work in the dark winter evening. Will loped along at her side with his uneven gait, cheerfully waving to folks and chattering away about a letter his family had received from his brother from the French front.

The unpleasant sting of her cold had returned to Rowena's nose and she began to sniffle softly, trying to keep it to a minimum. Somewhere along their fourth patrol block, she paused and quickly removed the gloves from her hands, searching her pocket for her handkerchief.

Her fingers closed around it just in time and she raised it to her nose, pitching forward slightly with a soft sneeze.

Eh-TSCHII!

Will paused and turned, waiting for her to catch up.

“Bless you!” he said as she reached his side, still tending to her nose with the small cloth. “Not catching ill, I hope?”

“Recovering, actually,” Rowena said, pinching her nose one final time before tucking her handkerchief away. “I was in bed all day Sunday. I was thankful to have the evening off.”

“Lucky you,” he replied. “I could hear our neighbour, poor Mrs. Carson, up half of last night. It seems like there's an awful lot of cold and flu going around.”

“It's this awful damp,” she said, keeping pace as they walked. “I don't think I've felt properly warm in weeks.”

“We have the unfortunate pleasure of living in England, I must inform you,” William teased. “You may never feel warmth again.”

She laughed and gave him a gentle push.

“Don't say that!” she said. “Spring will come soon enough.”

“I hear Hitler is trying to thieve that away too,” William replied. He pointed up at a window where a sliver of light shone. “If we want to see spring again, we ought to have them put out that light.”

Rowena knocked on the door and after much shouting and knocking, a bleary-eyed man answered, apologetic. He'd fallen asleep with the lamp burning and hadn't drawn the curtains. With the error corrected, Rowena and Will continued their patrol.

With an hour left to go in their shift, Rowena was starting to feel herself fade. She toyed with the handkerchief in her pocket, keeping it ready within reach as her breath became more laboured.

“I'm sorry, I need to stop for a moment,” she finally confessed to Will. “Excuse me.”

She withdrew the cloth and turned away to blow her nose a few times to clear it. As she did so, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Will asked.

She smiled wanly.

“You're very sweet,” she said, feeling herself blush. “Yes, I'm quite alright. Just tired and cold. Mostly it's the cold.”

“Here,” he said, unwinding his scarf from his neck. He draped it around her shoulders. It was warm where it had been tucked against his skin. He knotted it tight against her throat.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “I should have brought my own.”

“It's colder than I expected too,” he confessed, checking his watch. “We only have an hour to go. I can do it alone if you want to get inside. We're just around the corner from your flat.”

Rowena opened her mouth to protest but was stopped in her tracks by an impending sneeze that quickly had her cupping her hands over her face.

Eh-TGShhnt!

“I think that answers things,” Will said.

“Oh, I shouldn't,” she insisted, dabbing at her nose.

“It's only an hour and a few blocks. I'll be fine. Go.”

He walked her down the street and around the corner to the boarding house, insisting again that she leave him and go to bed.

Relenting, Rowena reached up to remove his scarf.

“Keep it for now,” he said. “You can return it later. Get inside and warm.”

With a cheery wave, he headed down the dark street and Rowena scaled the front steps to the boarding house door. With trembling hands, she unlocked it and went inside, eager for the warmth of her little shared room.

“Who's scarf is that?” Tamara asked, looking up from the book she was reading in bed when Rowena entered the room. “You look frozen straight through.”

“I am,” Rowena said, sniffling. “And it belongs to Will Pierce.”

“Ooh, the handsome gimp,” Tamara giggled.

“That's not very kind. He's quite nimble for someone with a limp.”

“Nimble and handsome.”

“Anyway, it's his and he lent it to me. I'll return it on our next shift together. I need a hot shower and my bed or this cold is going to come back with a vengeance,” Rowena replied.

--

A few days later, Rowena was back to her full health but the icy damp grip of winter still had a hold on London. She was scheduled to patrol alongside another young woman named Catherine Watson, but she wore Will's scarf just in case they came across him during their rounds.

At ten o'clock, as they passed Fletcher Street, the sharp trill of the air raid siren rang out. Rowena felt her heart leap into her throat as people began to spill out of their homes, rushing to the nearby Underground entrance.

“Quickly and orderly, please!” she shouted, snapping into Warden mode. “Bring your masks and emergency packs!”

She separated from Catherine, taking up her post on the corner, ushering families down the steps into the cavernous subway station. The siren was nearly deafening, but she continued to shout commands over it, helping to organize a group to carry a baby carriage down the steep steps and making sure young children were holding the hand of an adult as the crowd grew larger.

As quickly as the people came, the rush slowed again and Rowena guided the last stragglers downstairs as the roar of airplanes began to rush overhead. People were settling into neat rows along the platform, huddling together with family and neighbours. Someone began to pass around tins of biscuits to calm crying children and several families laid out blankets to make cots for little ones to sleep.

Rowena lowered herself onto the tracks and began to walk the length of the station with a torch shining to light her way. Several hanging lanterns lit the platforms but the station was still eerily dark. She checked with the familiar faces of her patrol route, ensuring that each person had their gas mask and passing out spares to those who had been out in the streets without them when the sirens sounded.

After about an hour, the station had settled into a quiet murmur as many people stretched out on the platform to try to sleep despite the frequent sirens and loud explosions outside, not to mention the damp and cold interior of the subway. A few spare blankets were rationed out to the young, elderly, and ill, but many people who didn't bring emergency kits were simply huddled under their coats.

Rowena quietly walked further down the tunnel, moving her torch slowly, keeping an eye out for Catherine so that she could check in with a report. As she rounded a corner in the track, she saw a person with an air warden helmet leaning against the side of the track but it wasn't Catherine; it was Will Pierce.

She hurried forward, happy to see a friendly face in the dark.

“Will!” she said, reaching his side. “I'm glad to see you; I have your scarf!”

She reached to pull it out from under the collar of her coat.

“No, keep it,” he said. “It's damp down here.”

His voice was softer than normal and a little hoarse.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I think you may have passed along your cold,” he admitted, smiling at her sheepishly as he looked up from under the brim of his hat. With his face now in the light, she could see dark shadows under his eyes and a flush to his cheeks.

Before Rowena could say anything, there was a loud explosion outside that shook the walls of the station and set the hanging pendant lights of the subway platform swinging. From down further in the tunnel, there was a frightened cry and the sound of something falling.

“Come on,” Will said, starting off down the tunnel. Rowena followed, quickly passing him as she hurried towards the noise.

In the dim light further down the tunnel around a bend, she saw a woman crouched with two young children. A small patch of concrete and plaster had given way and fallen nearby.

“Are you alright?” Rowena asked, shining her torch at them.

“Yes,” the woman replied. “Just frightened. It missed us.”

“Come back down to the platform where it's more secure,” Rowena instructed. “I know it's crowded, but it's safer.”

She turned as the woman and her family gathered their things. Will was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, she headed back around the corner, hurrying when she heard the sound of coughs.

Will was bent over, leaning against the subway wall, coughing with an unpleasant rattling sound.

She pulled his scarf from around her neck and circled it around his, tucking it against his chest. The coughs were slowing now but he was breathing heavily, snuffling and wheezing for air.

“Did you bring your kit?” she asked, looking around for the backpack they each usually carried that held an emergency blanket and rations.

“I gave it to someone else,” he said. “They had kids.”

“Okay,” she replied, trying to think of what to do. “Come with me.”

She took his arm, steadying him as he limped down the track at her side, breath rattling noisily in his lungs as he struggled along. They made it back to an area where she'd stowed some spare emergency supplies.

“Can you get back up to the platform?” she asked.

He nodded and swung his bad leg up, straining to pull himself level with the platform. When he finally rolled up over the edge, he was panting and coughing from the effort. Rowena swung herself up and sat at his side.

“Shhh,” she said, bending him forward over his knees so he sat with his legs danging over the side of the tracks. “Slow breaths.”

She rubbed a circle on his back, trying to help him regain his breath. Then, his back shuddered and suddenly expanded outward with a gasping inhalation. He pitched forward, sneezing harshly.

Hurh-TSGHGHH! Nhh-GHSHHT!

“Bless you!” she said. “Sit here and I'll be right back.”

Hurrying down the platform, zig-zagging among the hundreds of people reclining on the floor, she found a supply box and unlocked it, digging through the contents for her pack and some spare supplies.

“What are you looking for?” a voice asked. Catherine was walking from the opposite direction, torch in hand.

“Oh good,” Rowena exclaimed. “I wasn't sure where you'd gone to. Will Pierce was on patrol down at the other end but he's awfully sick and I'm trying to find a blanket and mask.”

“There's spare masks in a box in there,” Catherine confirmed. “I'll get a blanket.”

Rowena finally located the box of flu masks under a stack of gas masks and tugged one from the package. Catherine returned with two blue wool blankets.

“Ta, Catherine,” Rowena replied, taking the supplies. “We're just down by the pillar over there. I'll try to get him settled and then go back to rounds but I'm not sure how long I'll be.”

“I think we're mostly settled in for the night, baring any major incidents,” said Catherine. “So take your time.”

Rowena returned to find William occupied with a rumpled handkerchief held to his nose.

“I found some things,” she said. “This first.”

She spread one of the wool blankets open and draped it over his shoulders.

“And this,” she added, holding out the flu mask. “No more spreading it around. I should have known better myself, but down here it's mandatory.”

“Right,” Will said wearily, taking the mask with the hand not occupied by the handkerchief. He gave his nose a final blow and set the cloth aside. Moving slowly, he took off his helmet and went about the motions of securing the mask over his face.

Without the hat on, Will's thick brown hair was visibly plastered against his brow with sweat and Rowena got her first clear view of his face. His normally bright green eyes were glassy and drooping from lack of sleep.

“Let's get you settled in,” she said, spreading the second blanket on the ground.

“Settled in?”

“Yes, settled in,” she repeated. “You're certainly in no state for anything else.”

“I appreciate the concern, but it's just a cold. You went on patrol yourself with one.”

“But I was recovering and you are definitely not.”

“Still,” Will said, struggling to his feet and letting the blanket drop from his shoulders. “There's plenty to do and I've survived worse.”

He bent over to fold up the blankets and took them in his arms.

“I'll go see if I can find some people who need these more.”

“William...” Rowena said, exasperated.

“You can come with me if you like,” he said, looking back at her. From the crinkle around his eyes, she could tell he was smiling behind the crisp white flu mask.

With a sigh, she hurried off behind him, catching up easily with his uneven gait.

They walked the platform in a mutual quiet, interrupted only by William's occasional sniffles and coughs. He paused to offer one of his blankets to a shivering teenager who'd given up her own coat to a younger sibling and they both stopped to talk to an older couple who needed some water for taking medications. The second blanket went to a pregnant mother sitting with a sleeping toddler on her lap.

Their patrol continued down the tunnel towards the end of the platform. William was starting to lag a little behind and by the time they reached the terminal wall, he was trailing by several paces.

“Other side?” Rowena asked, sitting down on the platform edge so she could climb down onto the tracks.

“Just a moment,” William requested, digging in his pocket. He pulled out his handkerchief and awkwardly pushed his flu mask up to access his nose. He wiped around his drippy nostrils and across his top lip, cleaning up residual congestion. The raw, angry red skin of his nose glowed more fiercely with each wipe and Rowena cringed sympathetically.

“Are you certain you don't want a break?” she asked.

“No, I'll manage,” William confirmed, tucking the handkerchief away and readjusting his mask. With an unsteady movement, he joined Rowena at the platform's edge and dropped down to the tracks, nearly losing his footing as his bad leg took the weight of the jump. Rowena caught his arm, steadying him, and he gave her a grateful nod. They helped each other up and over the edge on the opposite side and continued their rounds.

“How about an evening tea service?” William asked with a glance at his wristwatch as they reached a nearby tunnel that branched off to another connecting station. Several supply carts were waiting with large tea carafes and sleeves of paper cups.

“I think that's a splendid idea,” Rowena agreed. “It's damp down here. I think it would be appreciated.”

“I'll see if I can round up some water,” William offered, lifting one of the large silver carafes and starting off with it in the direction of a water connection. Rowena went about setting up the cart with cups and a few boxes of biscuits.

She heard William's return before she saw him. The sound of coughing echoed off the subway tiles along the tunnel and into the station. She rounded the corner to find him struggling along with the full carafe.

“I've got it,” she said, taking hold of one side.

He shook his head, continuing to move forward, but he could not talk without interruption from his increasingly urgent coughs.

“I'll take it,” a civilian man offered, coming forward to help.

“It goes just there on the cart,” Rowena indicated, pointing towards the supply carriage. The man took the carafe and moved off while Rowena took hold of William's shoulder.

He pulled at his flu mask, tugging it off his face and shielding his coughs with his tented hands instead.

“You sound dreadful,” Rowena sympathized.

“Nothing a cup of tea won't fix,” William rasped between coughs. “Just got myself a bit overexerted with the carafe there.”

“Tea fixes many things, but I don't think it fixes that,” Rowena replied. “I can manage the service. Go find a spot to rest.”

“I'm fine,” William insisted, once again. He tugged his mask back up and clapped his hands together cheerfully. “Where do we start?”

“I'll just set the water to brew. Do you want to go find Catherine and ring the bell? I expect we'll get quite a line.”

She filled a mesh strainer with tea leaves and set it to brew in the large silver pot while William set off to alert the shelter residents to the tea service. A few moments later, a small bell chimed and a line of weary civilians began to form.

William came back with Catherine and another two tins of biscuit rations. Together, the three took turns passing out cups and plates to the assembled crowded and ushering people along the line for tea and a snack.

As they passed out the drinks, another explosion went off outside. Several people jumped, but everyone remained calm except for the nervous cries of a few children. With the offer of a biscuit, however, most of them were quieted quickly.

Sometime on what felt like her hundredth cup passed over, Rowena noticed that William was no longer in his spot by the biscuits. She glanced over her shoulder towards the tunnel, craning her neck over the crowd of people sipping their tea and chattering together

William's thick brown hair was just visible over the crowd for a moment before it disappeared from sight.

“Are you okay here alone?” Rowena asked Catherine.

“Yes,” Catherine replied, handing over more paper cups to an eager family. “Stay as long as you need and try to see if he'll rest. He sounds horrid.”

“I know,” Rowena said with a sigh. “I've been trying.”

She pushed her way through the crowd, stopping to get a blanket from the emergency stores. She came down the passage to a small bend in the tunnel where William was tucked against the wall, caught in the throws of a sneezing fit.

His head was bobbing with each stifled outburst as he kept his nose pinched through his mask. He caught her watching and shook his head like a horse tossing off flies before snapping forward once more.

Ngh-GHT! T'gXHT! Ng'GHT! 'GHT!

“Don't keep them in,” Rowena said, digging a fresh handkerchief from out of her pack and gently guiding it into Will's hand. “You'll burst your ears.”

William shoved his mask down and clamped the clean cloth over his nose, but the sneezes seemed to temporarily cease. But not, evidently, the irritation. He groaned audibly and pressed the cloth harder, wriggling the offending organ and pinching at his nostrils.

“Christ,” he murmured, eyes half closed and mouth open in a state of constant anticipation.

Suddenly, he was back in action again, head snapping forward and eyes clenched shut.

Eh-GHSHHHT!

“Bless you!” Rowena exclaimed. “You're going to lie down before you fall over. Here, I have a blanket.”

Heh-SGHTT!

Will sneezed again and followed it with a wet nose blow.

“I think I'll just sit up against the wall,” he said wearily from behind the handkerchief, sitting down on the ground. “Easier to breathe.”

Rowena hesitated, thinking about Catherine's offer for her to stay as long as necessary.

“That won't get you any proper rest,” she said. “I'll keep you upright.”

She spread a blanket on the ground, sat down at the end, and patted her lap.

Slowly, William stretched out, settling his head tentatively on her thigh.

“That's better,” she said cheerfully, trying to boost his spirits. “Now try to get some sleep. By the looks of you, you need it.”

“I didn't sleep well last evening,” he admitted.

She had half a mind to chide him for coming to work ill but seeing as she'd done basically the same thing, she kept her mouth shut. In her lap, William closed his eyes and lay still for only a moment before she felt him shift.

He reached up, cupping his nose with his hands.

Hehh-TSGHTT!

His head lifted briefly from her leg with the force of the sneeze before falling back down. He reached for his handkerchief and covered his nose with it before the second sneeze.

Hurh-GSHHTTT!

“Bless you,” Rowena said sympathetically.

“That's why I didn't get much sleep,” he grumbled, tugging the mask back over his nose and keeping the handkerchief balled up in his hand.

Outside, there was another explosion and the lights flickered in the station.

“I suspect it may be another night of little sleep,” she said, reaching down and idly stroking his hair away from his forehead. He felt worryingly warm to her touch.

“I hope not,” Will said. His face flexed as he yawned widely behind the mask. “If I'm being honest, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Then don't try to,” Rowena replied. “Enough chatter. Get some sleep.”

He let himself relax in her lap, soon going heavy and limp with sleep. The roar of airplanes and the whir of sirens kept sounding overhead, but Will slept on.

After a half-hour, Rowena's leg began to feel numb. Carefully, she eased Will's head to the ground and went off in search of Catherine.

She was quickly occupied with the task of putting away the finished tea service. All the while, Will lay sleeping a short distance away.

When she was digging in her pack for a small square of chocolate to help allay the fears of a little crying child, she heard William begin to cough.

Handing over the sweetie to the child's mother, she gathered her things and hurried over to find him half-sitting and wrestling to get the flu mask from his face.

Hurh-TSCGHHH!

He sneezed with a miserably congested sound directly into the mask and continued to paw at his face, trying to get the cotton ties undone from around the back of his head.

“Here, let me,” Rowena offered, carefully untying the mask. Will clamped his handkerchief over his nose as soon as it was uncovered and wiped it aggressively.

He blew his nose several times, shyly turning away from Rowena's view as he did so. Each honk was more and more futile, unable to clear any congestion and only serving to make him more red-faced and sweaty. It was clear from the flush of his cheeks that the fever still held its grip.

Rowena checked the dial of her watch; it was nearly one in the morning now.

Will sat with his head held in one hand, breathing raggedly.

“How can I help?” Rowena asked softly.

“Water?” he replied in a gravelly voice. She went to retrieve her canteen and brought it back to him, unscrewing the lid and handing it over.

He drank thirstily, gulping water down his parched and aching throat. When he finished, he leaned half-reclined against a pillar and closed his eyes.

Rowena reached out and gently pressed a hand to his brow. The fever was definitely still there.

“I know,” Will said, leaning into her touch ever-so slightly. “Not good.”

“I'll get a compress,” she said.

“No,” he murmured, words slurred by sleepiness and congestion. “'m cold.”

“I'll make sure it isn't too cold,” she assured him.

“Stay,” he pleaded, eyes drooping closed.

There was no denying that request. She guided his head back down into her lap and tucked the blankets over him.

Gently, she stroked his hair back from his warm brow and combed her fingers through his thick hair. He drifted back to sleep; the weight of him was heavy on her legs but she shifted slightly to adjust the burden and tucked the blankets closer around him.

Sometime around 5am, after her own period of fitful sleep, a siren signaled the all-clear. William stirred, groaning as he strugged to sit up. Rowena, stiff from a night of leaning against the cold subway tiles, helped him with her own groan of discomfort.

“Feeling any better?” she asked.

William didn't answer. He was distractedly searching for his handkerchief in his pocket and he found it in time to catch two messy-sounding sneezes.

Hrhh-TSGHHHH! Ngh-GHSHTTT!

“I guess not,” Rowena concluded sympathetically.

“No,” William admitted, sounding more congested and hoarse than before.

“The all-clear is out. I need to go do a sweep.”

“I'll come,” William said. “I could do with getting out of the damp.”

“It's five in the morning in England,” Rowena said exhasteratedly. “It'll be just as damp up there. Stay where it's warmer and you'll get out with the rest of the lot. It shouldn't be long.”

He reached for his helmet.

“It'll be longer if you're short-staffed and my flat is on the route. You can hand me off to my mum and be finished with my whinging.”

Rowena felt herself smile.

“Your whinging? I don't think I've ever seen a more cheerful ill person before, if I'm being honest.”

They gathered their packs, stopping to let William blow his nose a few times, and headed up the station steps to the outside.

The early morning light was dim, barely illuminating the empty streets. All the lamps were out, of course, thanks to the manditory blackouts. This was the part Rowena hated the most; the utter silence after an air-raid.

At the far end of the street, a building was crumbled and smoking. Several other wardens were already at the scene, combing the debris for unexploded bombs and any victims. They waved Rowena and William onward.

William's family flat wasn't far from the station, but he was visibly weaker and his limp was more apparent when he was fatigued. The sound of his breath rattled as he trudged along at Rowena's side.

“You need to stop,” she said finally, as they reached the corner of his block. He was nearly gasping for breath, unable to breathe through his nose and fighting the congestion in his lungs for each inhalation. William sank down to sit on some nearby steps and put his arms on his knees, bending forward to cough deeply. Rowena put a hand on his back, rubbing it comfortingly.

Ngh-TSGHXHT!

He shuddered with a congested, thick sneeze. He'd abandoned the flu mask at the station and was armed with his handkerchief alone now. He wiped his nose and sighed with a rattling breath. Without the mask on, the angry red tint of his nostrils and his chapped lips made him look more pitiful than before.

“I bet your own bed and a hot water bottle will be the best comfort you can imagine,” Rowena remarked.

Will smiled a little.

“I should think so,” he said. “But you've been a stellar nurse, Ro. Really.”

She felt herself blush.

“I don't mean to be forward,” he said, pausing between words to clear his throat. “But when I'm well again, I hope you'll let me take you to dinner and the cinema. To thank you.”

“Oh,” Rowena heard herself say. “Maybe.”

They fell silent, sitting on the steps in the early morning dewy air.

“Stupid, daft girl...” Rowena thought to herself. “Maybe?! Of course you'd like that.”

She mustered up her courage and leaned over, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I mean,” she said. “I'd like that very much.”

Will smiled and his fevered cheeks flushed redder still.

“Good,” he said. “I would like that t-tehh...tsh-GHGSHTT!”

He was interupted by yet another sneeze.

“Bless you!” Rowena exclaimed. “Let's get you home and out of this damp air.”

“I think that'd a good idea,” said Will, voice muffled by the handkerchief now clamped to his nose. He gave a sharp, ineffective blow and balled up the cloth in his fist. He stood unsteadily and gripped the railing for support. Rowena curled an arm around his waist and together they walked the final block to his family flat.

“Here we are,” he said, stopping in front of a brick rowhouse. He stood, twisting his handkerchief in his hands, shyly unsure of how to properly thank her.

“I hope you feel better soon,” she said. “Don't hurry back to work. Ring my place when you're well again and we'll go to that picture.”

“I will,” he said. He tentitively reached out a hand and took hers, giving it a squeeze. “I'd kiss you, but I don't want to make you ill again.”

She blushed and squeezed his hand back.

“You can save that for the cinema too,” she replied.

He grinned and let her hand go, turning to make his way slowly up the stairs into the house.

“Be safe,” he said as he turned back to wave from the doorway.

“Be well, she replied, turning and heading back down the block. He watched her go.

Inside, he was greeted by his mother and sister, both recently returned from the shelter in the back garden. One look at him and his mother sent him straight up to his bedroom where he was set up with a spoonful of cough syrup and a hot water bottle and a fresh cup of hot tea.

As he settled in to the single bed, he closed his eyes and imagined himself back in her arms, settled comfortably in her lap.

Three days later, he'd ring her and hear the giggles of the other girls at her boarding house when he asked to speak with her. A year later, when they marry in a quiet ceremony at the city courthouse, still in the middle of a war, he presses an embroidered handkerchief with the date of the air-raid on it into her palm as a wedding gift and she laughs merrily at the sentiment.

[hunkiedorieblog]

Last year my new year’s resolution was to read more. My whole life I have been a passionate reader but I am very shy about sharing what I read with others. Many people in my life read memoirs and self-improvement books, I wish I had an interest in those so I could participate in their many conversations about recent reads. But, my interests always lie in the more young adult sci-fi and fantasy types of books. I was always teased growing up about what a weird taste in books I had, which has made me very self-conscious. Despite this, I have decided to try and ignore my reservations and share my reading list from the past year in case someone may share my interests. This year my biggest focus was on reading for pleasure while mixing in some of the classics since my highschool seemed to skip right over those, I also am starting to mix in some self-improvement books here and there although those still struggle to keep my attention. My suggestion for anyone who struggles to find the time to read is to get an Audible subscription. I was so successful with my reading goals this year because I would buy my books at Half Priced Books and buy the audiobooks on Audible. This way I could listen to my books on my way to and from work or at the gym but still read the paper version on lunch breaks or at home in the evenings.

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The Lost World: A Novel (Jurassic Park)

by Michael Crichton

It is now six years since the secret disaster at Jurassic Park, six years since the extraordinary dream of science and imagination came to a crashing end—the dinosaurs destroyed, the park dismantled, and the island indefinitely closed to the public.

I read Jurassic Park in 2018 and was shocked at how different the characters in the book were from the ones I fell in love with in Steven Spielberg’s movie. This book is exciting and terrifying. Be careful you don’t read this before a camping trip, this book made me a little jumpy on my morning walks through the woods for a while after reading.

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What’s So Amazing About Grace?

by Philip Yancey

We speak of grace often. But do we understand it? More importantly, do we truly believe in it . . . and do our lives proclaim it as powerfully as our words? In What’s So Amazing About Grace? Award-winning author Philip Yancey explores grace at street level. If grace is God’s love for the undeserving, he asks, then what does it look like in action? And if Christians are its sole dispensers, then how are we doing at lavishing grace on a cruel and pain-filled world?

This was a required reading for my religious studies class at school this year. This wouldn’t normally have been a book I would choose to read on a whim but all in all I did enjoy it. If you belong to some sort of bible study or religious support group this book may be a good option to introduce some material to fuel new discussion topics.

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 Wuthering Heights

by Emily Brontë

Lockwood, the new tenant of Thrushcross Grange, situated on the bleak Yorkshire moors, is forced to seek shelter one night at Wuthering Heights, the home of his landlord. There he discovers the history of the tempestuous events that took place years before. What unfolds is the tale of the intense love between the gypsy foundling Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw. Catherine, forced to choose between passionate, tortured Heathcliff and gentle, well-bred Edgar Linton, surrendered to the expectations of her class. As Heathcliff’s bitterness and vengeance at his betrayal is visited upon the next generation, their innocent heirs must struggle to escape the legacy of the past.

I think it is safe to say that this was my least favorite read of the entire year. I can understand why this book is considered a classic as the writing itself was beautifully done but I consistently found myself wanting to bang my head against a wall out of frustration with these characters. Everyone was so miserable, whining and moaning about how terrible their lives were while acting so cruel to one another taking out their frustrations on anyone close to them without ever really attempting to solve their problems or improve their situation. I was relieved when the book was finally finished and although I can say that I am glad to have read this book as I know it has had a significant impact on modern literature, I would never ever want to read this book or revisit these depressing characters again.

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Artemis Fowl: Artemis Fowl, Book 1

by Eoin Colfer

Twelve-year-old Artemis is a millionaire, a genius-and above all, a criminal mastermind. But Artemis doesn’t know what he’s taken on when he kidnaps a fairy, Captain Holly Short of the LEPrecon Unit. These aren’t the fairies of the bedtime stories-they’re dangerous!

This was one of my favorite books growing up. The combination of science, technology, and magic instantly had me hooked.  When I found out that these books were being turned into a movie I took the opportunity to revisit one of my childhood favorites.

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The Arctic Incident: Artemis Fowl, Book 2

by Eoin Colfer

Artemis Fowl is at boarding school in Iceland when he receives an urgent video email from Russia. It’s a plea from his father, who has been kidnapped by the Russian mafia. As Artemis rushes to his rescue, he is stopped by Captain Holly Short. This time, instead of battling the fairies, he’s going to have to join forces with them if he wants to save one of the few people he loves.

After revisiting Artemis Fowl, Book 1 I discovered that this memorable book from my childhood was actually part of a series. I spent the next couple of months reading a number of books from the series and still have a few more to go. Artemis’s sassy intellect, Butler’s fierce devotion, Holly’s ambition, and Mulch’s cleverness make for a killer cast that will lead you on exciting adventures.

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The Eternity Code: Artemis Fowl, Book 3

by Eoin Colfer

Artemis Fowl has created the most powerful new supercomputer known to man–using stolen technology from an elite race of underground fairies. When the computer falls into the hands of an IT billionaire with a mob connection, Artemis is in deep trouble. Only one fairy can help now. If only he wasn’t the fairies’ public enemy number one. . .

These books are such fun quick reads they are a great book to recommend to a young reader and still enjoy yourself. One of my friends reads the same book as her husband’s daughter and keeps up even when they aren’t together to provide a fun shared experience. I keep meaning to mention this series to her for them to read once they are through the Harry Potter Books.

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The Opal Deception: Artemis Fowl, Book 4

by Eoin Colfer

Artemis Fowl’s memories of the fairy race have been wiped, and his one fairy ally, Captain Holly Short, is on the run. He needs his memory back–and fast–because a power-crazed pixie is out for revenge, scheming to overthrow the Lower Elements Police. With Holly gone, Artemis is depending on a flatulent dwarf. Things are about to explode. . .

The introduction of Opal Koboi as a recurring antagonist in the Artemis Fowl series has created an exciting challenge that pushes Artemis’s wits to new limits and sparks new life into the series.

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The Lost Colony: Artemis Fowl, Book 5

by Eoin Colfer

Until recently, Artemis Fowl was the only human to have discovered that magical beings do indeed exist. But now a second juvenile genius wants to capture a demon for scientific study. Only an ancient time spell separates the demons from humankind–and Artemis must prevent it from unraveling. If he fails, the bloodthirsty tribe will relaunch their quest to wipe humans from the planet.

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The Time Paradox: Artemis Fowl, Book 6

by Eoin Colfer

Just when Artemis Fowl decided to forego the criminal activity of the magical kind, his mother became gravely ill.

The only way he can save her is by traveling back in time to steal the cure from the clutches of the devious mastermind . . . Artemis Fowl.

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The Atlantis Complex: Artemis Fowl, Book 7

by Eoin Colfer

Dabbling in fairy magic has led Artemis Fowl to develop the Atlantis Complex (aka multiple-personality disorder). And now, with the subterranean city of Atlantis under attack from vicious robots, he is too nice to be of use to anyone.

Can Holly get devious Artemis back before they strike?

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A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine’s Peculiar Children, Book 4)

by Ranson Riggs

Having defeated the monstrous threat that nearly destroyed the peculiar world, Jacob Portman is back where his story began, in Florida. Except now Miss Peregrine, Emma, and their peculiar friends are with him and doing their best to blend in. But carefree days of beach visits and normalling lessons are soon interrupted by a discovery—a subterranean bunker that belonged to Jacob’s grandfather, Abe.

Clues to Abe’s double-life as a peculiar operative start to emerge, secrets long hidden in plain sight. And Jacob begins to learn about the dangerous legacy he has inherited—truths that were part of him long before he walked into Miss Peregrine’s time loop.

Now, the stakes are higher than ever as Jacob and his friends are thrust into the untamed landscape of American peculiardom—a world with few ymbrynes, or rules—that none of them understand. New wonders, and dangers, await in this brilliant next chapter for Miss Peregrine’s peculiar children. Their story is again illustrated by haunting vintage photographs, now with the striking addition of full-color images interspersed throughout for this all-new, multi-era American adventure.

This is the fourth book in a series I have been reading for the past few years. I love the use of old photographs scattered throughout the book that serve as Ransom Riggs’s inspiration for his characters. If you have seen Tim Burton’s film version of book 1, please forget everything you saw and pick up the book, these stories are a million times better than the film adaptation.

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Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Ray Bradbury

For those who still dream and remember, for those yet to experience the hypnotic power of its dark poetry, step inside. The show is about to begin. Cooger & Dark’s Pandemonium Shadow Show has come to Green Town, Illinois, to destroy every life touched by its strange and sinister mystery. The carnival rolls in sometime after midnight, ushering in Halloween a week early. A calliope’s shrill siren song beckons to all with a seductive promise of dreams and youth regained. Two boys will discover the secret of its smoke, mazes, and mirrors; two friends who will soon know all too well the heavy cost of wishes…and the stuff of nightmares.

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Mother Knows Best: A Tale of the Old Witch (Villains Book 5)

by Serena Valentino

The tale of the legendary golden flower is widely known. The story has been told many times and in many ways. But always the flower is coveted by an old witch to keep herself young and beautiful. And always the flower is used to save a dying queen, who then gives birth to a princess with magical hair. Not willing to lose the flower, the old witch steals the princess and locks her away in a high tower, raising her as her own. But the princess always finds out who she truly is and manages to defeat the old witch.

And yet this is only half the story. So what of the old witch, Mother Gothel? Where does she come from? And how does she come across the magical golden flower? Here is one account that recounts a version of the story that has remained untold for centuries . . . until now. It is a tale of mothers and daughters, of youth and dark magic. It is a tale of the old witch.

I discovered Serena Valentino’s books a few years ago and have had tons of fun reading her depictions of our favorite Disney villain’s backstories. In this book, Mother Gothel joins the ranks of Ursala, The Beast and The Evil Queen to help us realize that our villans once had the same hope and kindness we find in many of their famous counterparts. A fun detail to all of Serena’s books in this series is the cover art. You will find one version of the villain’s face on the book jacket, remove it and you will find a different version of their face underneath.

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Mortal Engines: Mortal Engines, Book 1

by Philip Reeve

London is hunting again. Emerging from its hiding place in the hills, the great Traction City is chasing a terrified little town across the wastelands. Soon London will feed.

In the attack, Tom Natsworthy is flung from the speeding city with a murderous scar-faced girl. They must run for their lives through the wreckage — and face a terrifying new weapon that threatens the future of the world.

Ever since I heard Peter Jackson was doing a movie based on this book my curiosity was piqued and this book has sat on my wish list for a while. This year I finally decided to tackle this title. I have to be honest and say I was a little bored with the book. It did have several shining moments and I would be willing to read other books in the series but I felt as though some scenes and characters lacked the development and attention they deserved.

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The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

by Douglas Adams

Seconds before Earth is demolished to make way for a galactic freeway, Arthur Dent is plucked off the planet by his friend Ford Prefect, a researcher for the revised edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy who, for the last fifteen years, has been posing as an out-of-work actor.

I’m not sure why but the 2005 film version starring Martin Freeman is one of my favorite movies. This was another book that had been sitting on my wishlist for a while. Although it was a fun read I think a prefer the movie’s storyline a little bit more. I was excited to learn that this book is part of a series, I am eager to read on in 2020.

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A Study in Scarlet Women: The Lady Sherlock, Book 1

by Sherry Thomas

With her inquisitive mind, Charlotte Holmes has never felt comfortable with the demureness expected of the fairer sex in upper-class society. But even she never thought that she would become a social pariah, an outcast fending for herself on the mean streets of London.

When the city is struck by a trio of unexpected deaths and suspicion falls on her sister and her father, Charlotte is desperate to find the true culprits and clear the family name. She’ll have help from friends new and old—a kind-hearted widow, a police inspector, and a man who has long loved her.

But in the end, it will be up to Charlotte, under the assumed name Sherlock Holmes, to challenge society’s expectations and match wits against an unseen mastermind.

This book was recommended to me by my roommate Emiley (Mighty Miley). This was a fun new spin on a classic character. This series has turned the traditionally male characters Sherlock and Watson into strong females working on the fringes of society in secret.

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A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court

by Mark Twain

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court is an 1889 novel by American humorist and writer Mark Twain. The book was originally titled A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Some early editions are titled A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur. In the book, a Yankee engineer from Connecticut named Hank Morgan receives a severe blow to the head and is somehow transported in time and space to England during the reign of King Arthur. After some initial confusion and his capture by one of Arthur’s knights, Hank realizes that he is actually in the past, and he uses his knowledge to make people believe that he is a powerful magician. He attempts to modernize the past in order to make people’s lives better, but in the end, he is unable to prevent the death of Arthur and an interdict against him by the Catholic Church of the time, which grows fearful of his power. Twain wrote the book as a burlesque of Romantic notions of chivalry after being inspired by a dream in which he was a knight himself, severely inconvenienced by the weight and cumbersome nature of his armor. It is a satire of feudalism and monarchy that also celebrates homespun ingenuity and democratic values while questioning the ideals of capitalism and outcomes of the Industrial Revolution. It is among several works by Twain and his contemporaries that mark the transition from the Gilded Age to the Progressive Era of socioeconomic discourse.

When I mentioned to my grandmother that I wanted to read more classic titles she was thrilled with the idea and gave me quite an extensive list. This book was among the titles she gave me. Unfortunately, I really struggled to get into the story. I expected a lot more excitement and adventure but I was left feeling like I was reading more of a guidebook to modernizing medieval  Europe. It was nice to have my hand at a work of Mark Twain, but to be honest, I could take or leave this book.

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The Graveyard Book

by Neil Gaiman

Nobody Owens, known as Bod, is a normal boy. He would be completely normal if he didn’t live in a graveyard, being raised by ghosts, with a guardian who belongs to neither the world of the living nor the dead. There are adventures in the graveyard for a boy—an ancient Indigo Man, a gateway to the abandoned city of ghouls, the strange and terrible Sleer. But if Bod leaves the graveyard, he will be in danger from the man Jack—who has already killed Bod’s family.

Neil Gaiman has long been one of my favorite authors. He is responsible for books like American Gods, Stardust, and Coraline. This book is easily my favorite title belonging to this author and is probably tied with the Gretta Helsing books as my favorite read this year. Graveyard book is a retelling of a classic. Gaiman’s retelling of the Jungle Book swaps jungle animals for graveyard ghosts and ghouls twisted with secret societies and a smattering of other supernatural forces.

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The Witches of New York

by Ami McKay

New York in the spring of 1880 is a place alive with wonder and curiosity. Determined to learn the truth about the world, its residents enthusiastically engage in both scientific experimentation and spiritualist pursuits. Séances are the entertainment of choice in exclusive social circles, and many enterprising women—some possessed of true intuitive powers, and some gifted with the art of performance—find work as mediums.

Enter Adelaide Thom and Eleanor St. Clair. At their humble teashop, Tea and Sympathy, they provide a place for whispered confessions, secret cures, and spiritual assignations for a select society of ladies, who speak the right words and ask the right questions. But the profile of Tea and Sympathy is about to change with the fortuitous arrival of Beatrice Dunn.

When seventeen-year-old Beatrice leaves the safety of her village to answer an ad that reads “Respectable Lady Seeks Dependable Shop Girl. Those averse to magic need not apply,” she has little inclination of what the job will demand of her. Beatrice doesn’t know it yet, but she is no ordinary small-town girl; she has great spiritual gifts—ones that will serve as her greatest asset and also place her in grave danger. Under the tutelage of Adelaide and Eleanor, Beatrice comes to harness many of her powers, but not even they can prepare her for the evils lurking in the darkest corners of the city or the courage it will take to face them.

This title popped up on my Audible recommended reading list. An easy read that left me wanting more. I felt as though this book touched on some very exciting opportunities for plot development but didn’t quite follow through. However, as I was putting together this list I discovered that this book is actually part of a series, which I have no doubt will dive into the storylines I felt was breezed through in book one.

Buy The Witches of New York on Amazon

Interview with the Vampire

by Anne Rice

Here are the confessions of a vampire. Hypnotic, shocking, and chillingly erotic, this is a novel of mesmerizing beauty and astonishing force—a story of danger and flight, of love and loss, of suspense and resolution, and of the extraordinary power of the senses. It is a novel only Anne Rice could write.

Another book turned into a movie. I vaguely remember the movie starring Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise that follows the same basic vampire m.o. Brooding vampire struggling with the march of time and dismayed by all the death and pain he has caused. Enter a vampire who has taken to the life of death and desire like a fish to water who tries to convince their depressed counterpart that they need to find joy in their situation. This book follows that same basic concept but went on way way too long. I felt that the same story could have been told in half the time and we all could have moved on to something more exciting. Again, this was a book I thought I should read because it had set the tone for many vampire stories to follow, but in the end, the book had about as much life to it as one of Lestat’s drained corpses.

Buy Interview with the Vampire on Amazon

Strange Practice (A Dr. Greta Helsing Novel, Book 1)

by Vivan Shaw

Greta Helsing inherited her family’s highly specialized and highly peculiar medical practice. In her consulting rooms, Dr. Helsing treats the undead for a host of ills – vocal strain in banshees, arthritis in barrow-wights, and entropy in mummies. Although she barely makes ends meet, this is just the quiet, supernatural-adjacent life Greta’s been groomed for since childhood.

Until a sect of murderous monks emerges, killing human and undead Londoners alike. As terror takes hold of the city, Greta must use her unusual skills to stop the cult if she hopes to save her practice and her life.

This is another title that has been sitting on my wish list for a while and I could kick myself for not reading it sooner. I could not put this book down and was thrilled to learn that there were two more published books in the series. The Dr. Greta Helsing series was easily my favorite reads this year.

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Dreadful Company (A Dr. Greta Helsing Novel, Book 2)

by Vivian Shaw

When Greta Helsing, doctor to the undead, is unexpectedly called to Paris to present at a medical conference, she expects nothing more exciting than professional discourse on zombie reconstructive surgery and skin disease in bogeymen — and hopefully at least one uneventful night at the Opera.

Unfortunately for Greta, Paris happens to be infested with a coven of vampires — and not the civilized kind. If she hopes to survive, Greta must navigate the darkest corners of the City of Lights, the maze of ancient catacombs and mine-tunnels underneath the streets, where there is more to find than simply dead men’s bones.

This was the second book in the Greta Helsing series and I was just as thrilled with book two as I was with book one. This page-turner had me launching myself into book three.

Buy Dreadful Company on Amazon

Grave Importance (A Dr. Greta Helsing Novel, Book 3)

by Vivian Shaw

Oasis Natrun: a private, exclusive, highly secret luxury health spa for mummies, high in the hills above Marseille, equipped with the very latest in therapeutic innovations both magical and medical. To Dr. Greta Helsing, London’s de facto mummy specialist, it sounds like paradise. But when Greta is invited to spend four months there as the interim clinical director, it isn’t long before she finds herself faced with a medical mystery that will take all her diagnostic skill to solve.

A peculiar complaint is spreading among her mummy patients, one she’s never seen before. With help from her friends and colleagues — including Dr. Faust (yes, that Dr. Faust), a sleepy scribe-god, witches, demons, a British Museum curator, and the inimitable vampyre Sir Francis Varney — Greta must put a stop to this mysterious illness before anybody else crumbles to irreparable dust…

…and before the fabric of reality itself can undergo any more structural damage.

Book three in the Greta Helsing series did not dissapoint. This story was exciting and wrapped many of these characters in a perfect way where I could say a satisfied goodbye while picturing their futures without the need for more from the author, although I would happily welcome another addition to the series.

Buy Grave Importance on Amazon

Hocus Pocus and the All-New Sequel

by Disney Press, A. W. Jantha

Hocus Pocus is beloved by Halloween enthusiasts all over the world. Diving once more into the world of witches, this New York Times bestselling two-part young adult novel, released on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the 1993 film, marks a new era of Hocus Pocus. Fans will be spellbound by a fresh retelling of the original film, followed by the all-new sequel that continues the story with the next generation of Salem teens.

Shortly after moving from California to Salem, Massachusetts, Max Dennison finds himself in hot water when he accidentally releases a coven of witches, the Sanderson sisters, from the afterlife. Max, his sister, and his new friends (human and otherwise) must find a way to stop the witches from carrying out their evil plan and remaining on earth to torment Salem for all eternity.

Twenty-five years later, Max and Allison’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Poppy, finds herself face-to-face with the Sanderson sisters in all their sinister glory. When Halloween celebrations don’t quite go as planned, it’s a race against time as Poppy and her friends fight to save her family and all of Salem from the witches’ latest vile scheme.

I dare you not to visualize Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker, or Kathy Najimy storming through the story as you revisit one of your favorite Halloween stories. I heard each of their voices perfectly as I tore my way through this book and made my way through an all-new Sanderson adventure.

Buy Hocus Pocus and the All-New Sequel on Amazon

Doctor Sleep

by Stephen King

Years ago, the haunting of the Overlook Hotel nearly broke young Dan Torrance’s sanity, as his paranormal gift known as “the shining” opened a door straight into hell. And even though Dan is all grown up, the ghosts of the Overlook—and his father’s legacy of alcoholism and violence—kept him drifting aimlessly for most of his life. Now, Dan has finally found some order in the chaos by working in a local hospice, earning the nickname “Doctor Sleep” by secretly using his special abilities to comfort the dying and prepare them for the afterlife. But when he unexpectedly meets twelve-year-old Abra Stone—who possesses an even more powerful manifestation of the shining—the two find their lives in sudden jeopardy at the hands of the ageless and murderous nomadic tribe known as the True Knot, reigniting Dan’s own demons and summoning him to battle for this young girl’s soul and survival…

The sequel to The Shining is just as chilling as you would expect from a Stephen King novel. The book was turned into a movie in 2019 starring Ewan McGregor, I have yet to see it but I hope the screen version can do the book justice.

Buy Doctor Sleep on Amazon

The House with a Clock in its Walls

by John Bellairs

When Lewis Barnavelt, an orphan. comes to stay with his uncle Jonathan, he expects to meet an ordinary person. But he is wrong. Uncle Jonathan and his next-door neighbor, Mrs. Zimmermann, are both magicians! Lewis is thrilled. At first, watching magic is enough. Then Lewis experiments with magic himself and unknowingly resurrects the former owner of the house: a woman named Selenna Izard. It seems that Selenna and her husband built a timepiece into the walls–a clock that could obliterate humankind. And only the Barnavelts can stop it!

A very cute story but another case where I felt the film create much more magic than the book. A fun Halloween read with characters you would hope to visit again and again.

Buy The House with a Clock in Its Walls on Amazon

A Discovery of Witches: A Novel (All Souls Trilogy, Book 1)

by Deborah Harkness

Deborah Harkness’s sparkling debut, A Discovery of Witches, has brought her into the spotlight and galvanized fans around the world. In this tale of passion and obsession, Diana Bishop, a young scholar and a descendant of witches, discovers a long-lost and enchanted alchemical manuscript, Ashmole 782, deep in Oxford’s Bodleian Library. Its reappearance summons a fantastical underworld, which she navigates with her leading man, vampire geneticist Matthew Clairmont.

Harkness has created a universe to rival those of Anne Rice, Diana Gabaldon, and Elizabeth Kostova, and she adds a scholar’s depth to this riveting tale of magic and suspense. The story continues in book two, Shadow of Night, and concludes with The Book of Life.

I remember my mom reading this book years ago and being intrigued by a story that brought vampires and witches together in a forbidden romance. This was long before the Twilight Saga sparked the vampire craze in the media. This first book in the All Souls Trilogy is a grown-up version of Twilight that incorporates time travel and witchcraft into the overprotective vampire boyfriend story we have all become familiar with. In 2018 this story was brought to life on screen in the television series Discover of Witches. In this case although the show was great and inspired me to read the books, the books were so much better. The imagery in the books was wonderfully done and I missed little but beloved details like the ghosts at Dianna’s house.

Buy A Discovery of Witches on Amazon

Shadow of Night: A Novel (All Souls Trilogy, Book 2)

by Deborah Harkness

J. K. Rowling, Stephenie Meyer, Anne Rice—only a few writers capture the imagination the way that Deborah Harkness has with her New York Times–bestselling All Souls trilogy. A Discovery of Witches introduces reluctant witch Diana Bishop, vampire geneticist Matthew Clairmont, and the battle for a lost, enchanted manuscript known as Ashmole 782.

Picking up from A Discovery of Witches’ cliffhanger ending, Shadow of Night takes Diana and Matthew on a trip through time to Elizabethan London, where they are plunged into a world of spies, magic, and a coterie of Matthew’s old friends, the School of Night. As the search for Ashmole 782 deepens and Diana seeks out a witch to tutor her in magic, the net of Matthew’s past tightens around them, and they embark on a very different—and vastly more dangerous—journey.

The follow up to Discovery of Witches this second book in the All Souls Trilogy picks up right where the story left off and takes you on an exciting journey through Elizabethan England to continue Dianna’s development as a witch and her mission to find the book of life.

Buy Shadow of Night on Amazon

The Book of Life: A Novel (All Souls Trilogy, Book 3)

by Deborah Harkness

After traveling through time in Shadow of Night, the second book in Deborah Harkness’s enchanting series, historian and witch Diana Bishop and vampire scientist Matthew Clairmont return to the present to face new crises and old enemies. At Matthew’s ancestral home at Sept-Tours, they reunite with the cast of characters from A Discovery of Witches—with one significant exception. But the real threat to their future has yet to be revealed, and when it is, the search for Ashmole 782 and its missing pages takes on even more urgency. In the trilogy’s final volume, Harkness deepens her themes of power and passion, family and caring, past deeds and their present consequences. In ancestral homes and university laboratories, using ancient knowledge and modern science, from the hills of the Auvergne to the palaces of Venice and beyond, the couple, at last, learn what the witches discovered so many centuries ago.

With more than one million copies sold in the United States and appearing in thirty-eight foreign editions, A Discovery of Witches and Shadow of Night have landed on all of the major bestseller lists and garnered rave reviews from countless publications. Eagerly awaited by Harkness’s legion of fans, The Book of Life brings this superbly written series to a deeply satisfying close.

The final book in the All Souls Trilogy brought a wonderful close to the story but still left me wanting more. I am curious to see what the future has in store for fans of the world Harkness has created.

Buy The Book of Life on Amazon

Time’s Convert

by Deborah Harkness

On the battlefields of the American Revolution, Matthew de Clermont meets Marcus MacNeil, a young surgeon from Massachusetts, during a moment of political awakening when it seems that the world is on the brink of a brighter future. When Matthew offers him a chance at immortality and a new life free from the restraints of his puritanical upbringing, Marcus seizes the opportunity to become a vampire. But his transformation is not an easy one and the ancient traditions and responsibilities of the de Clermont family clash with Marcus’s deeply held beliefs in liberty, equality, and brotherhood.

Fast-forward to contemporary Paris, where Phoebe Taylor–the young employee at Sotheby’s whom Marcus has fallen for–is about to embark on her own journey to immortality. Though the modernized version of the process at first seems uncomplicated, the couple discovers that the challenges facing a human who wishes to be a vampire are no less formidable than they were in the eighteenth century. The shadows that Marcus believed he’d escaped centuries ago may return to haunt them both–forever.

A passionate love story and a fascinating exploration of the power of tradition and the possibilities not just for change but for revolution, Time’s Convert channels the supernatural world-building and slow-burning romance that made the All Souls Trilogy instant bestsellers to illuminate a new and vital moment in history, and a love affair that will bridge centuries.

This book was a fun way to revisit the All Souls Trilogy characters. In this book, readers are given the opportunity to dive into the backstory of a supporting character, Marcus, and experience what life would be like for someone who was made a vampire in the not too distant past.

Buy Time’s Convert on Amazon

Who: The Method for Hiring

by Geoff Smart & Randy Street

In this instant New York Times Bestseller, Geoff Smart and Randy Street provide a simple, practical, and effective solution to what The Economist calls “the single biggest problem in business today”: unsuccessful hiring. The average hiring mistake costs a company $1.5 million or more a year and countless wasted hours. This statistic becomes even more startling when you consider that the typical hiring success rate of managers is only 50 percent.

The silver lining is that “who” problems are easily preventable. Based on more than 1,300 hours of interviews with more than 20 billionaires and 300 CEOs, Who presents Smart and Street’s A Method for Hiring. Refined through the largest research study of its kind ever undertaken, the A Method stresses fundamental elements that anyone can implement–and it has a 90 percent success rate.

Whether you’re a member of a board of directors looking for a new CEO, the owner of a small business searching for the right people to make your company grow, or a parent in need of a new babysitter, it’s all about Who. 

As someone new to the world of HR one of my biggest challenges over the past year was learning how to hire new talent effectively for the company I work for. This book was recommended to me by the company I work for’s Director of Operations. This book was a big help to me as I began to revise our current hiring process.

Buy Who: The Method for Hiring on Amazon

Little Women

by Louisa May Alcott

Grown-up Meg, tomboyish Jo, timid Beth, and precocious Amy. The four March sisters couldn’t be more different. But with their father away at war, and their mother working to support the family, they have to rely on one another. Whether they’re putting on a play, forming a secret society, or celebrating Christmas, there’s one thing they can’t help wondering: Will Father return home safely?

This easily made my top five reads of the year. I was so moved by the family’s love for one another and for their friends and neighbors. The kindness and strength shown by the characters in this book made for a perfect Christmas season read that I can foresee me revisiting year after year.

Buy Little Women on Amazon

  I have so enjoyed getting back into a reading routine, and I really look forward to continuing on in 2020.

  My Top 5 Reads of 2019

The Graveyard Book (Neil Gaiman)

Strange Practice (Vivian Shaw)

Dreadful Company (Vivian Shaw)

Grave Importance (Vivian Shaw)

Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)

  My Top 5 Reads of 2018

The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O (Neil Stephenson & Nicole Galland)

Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

Jurassic Park (Michael Crichton)

Circe (Madeline Miller)

Good Omens (Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman)

What I Read in 2019 Last year my new year's resolution was to read more. My whole life I have been a passionate reader but I am very shy about sharing what I read with others.

[tragicbooks]

Trump-proof your playlist with 11 resistance-ready protest songs.

<br>

Historically, music has played a vital role in American war and resistance movements.

During the Revolutionary War, "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and other popular dance songs were sung by both the British soldiers and the American rebels to keep spirits afloat in trying times. This continued throughout history, with songs like the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" and "God Bless America" motivating troops and civilians during the Civil War and World War I.

But war is never straightforward, and when American involvement in Vietnam escalated, patriotic songs like "The Battle of the Green Berets" were soon outnumbered by protest and anti-war music like Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind," Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son," and Martha Reeves and the Vandellas' "I Should Be Proud."

Folk singers Joan Baez and Bob Dylan perform during a civil rights rally in Washington, D.C., in 1963. Photo by Rowland Scherman/National Archive/Newsmakers.

Nearly in tandem, the civil rights movement had protest and resistance music of its own. Generations of artists and performers, inspired by marches, demonstrations, and tragedies during the fight for civil rights, created some of the country's most enduring musical contributions — songs like James Brown's "Say it Loud — I'm Black and I'm Proud" and Gil Scott-Heron's spoken-word piece "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised."

James Brown performs at the Olympia hall in Paris. Photo by AFP/Getty Images.

But protest and resistance music didn't end in the 1960s. Now more than ever, we need songs to keep us moving forward.

We need songs that make people want to stand up, speak out, and fight back.

We're facing an unprecedented American political landscape, and there are inexperienced, unpredictable people in charge. It's important to pay attention and speak up against bigotry, ignorance, and policies that affect the most vulnerable.

This is the soundtrack to the resistance. Turn it up. Share it. Let them hear us coming.

Demonstrators protest President Donald Trump's executive order which imposes a freeze on admitting refugees into the United States and a ban on travel from seven Muslim-majority countries at the international terminal at O'Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

1. Andra Day, "Rise Up"

Warm up with this beautiful, haunting ballad by songstress Andra Day. It may not get your heart racing, but it will get your mind prepared to face a new and uncertain challenge.

Lyric for your protest sign: "All we need, all we need is hope/And for that we have each other"

2. Pharrell Williams, "Runnin'"

If you haven't seen "Hidden Figures," stop what you're doing and go. I'll wait.

OH MY GOODNESS WASN'T IT SO GOOD?! This true story was brought to life on screen with powerhouse performances and a soundtrack of contemporary soul music. This particular song from Pharrell Williams would be at home on black radio in 1963 or 2017, which is a sobering reminder that even though we made it to space, there's still a long way to go.

Lyric for your protest sign: "I don't want no free ride/I'm just sick and tired of runnin'"

3. Isley Brothers, "Fight the Power, Pts. 1 & 2"

A pretty much perfect song about standing up against the powers that be. Ever wonder what you would've done during the civil rights movement? Turn on these songs, go outside, and find out.

Lyric for your protest sign: "When I rolled with the punches/I got knocked on the ground/With all this bullshit going down"

4. K'naan feat. Snow tha Product, Riz MC, and Residente, "Immigrants (We Get the Job Done)"

There are a lot of songs on the "Hamilton" original Broadway cast recording and the subsequent "Hamilton Mixtape" remix and compilation album, but few possess the energy and passion of "Immigrants (We Get the Job Done)."

As President Trump looks to restrict the number of refugees entering America, it's important to remind people of troubling and dangerous circumstances many immigrants and refugees flee in the first place and the difficult journeys they face once they're in America, whether or not they're documented.

Lyric for your protest sign: "It’s America's ghost writers, the credit's only borrowed."

5. Dixie Chicks, "Not Ready to Make Nice"

This song was about the Dixie Chicks' political saga with country radio and outraged fans. (Doesn't that feel downright quaint these days?) It holds up as a pop-country song about refusing to find common ground with ignorance and bigotry. I think of this song every time someone suggests I "give President Trump a chance." Candidate Trump said some awful things about people like the people I love and the people who make this country a great place to live. President Trump seems to be following through on his potentially devastating campaign promises. Forgive and forget? Not when lives and livelihoods are at stake.

Lyric for your protest sign: "I'm still mad as hell and I don't have time to go 'round and 'round and 'round."

6. Kendrick Lamar,  "Alright"

You could hear this song break out at Black Lives Matter demonstrations and marches across the country. This powerful anthem struck a chord at just the right time, a three-and-a-half minute tonic against fear, anguish, and systemic oppression. As Desire Thompson wrote in Vibe, "While listening to it on repeat, I was reminded of the lesson that pain isn’t permanent and getting through the tough times are what make us all stronger."

Lyric for your protest sign: "We gon' be alright"

7. Solange, "F.U.B.U."

We don't deserve two talented, powerful Knowles sisters. But it's younger sister Solange's new album that's been in heavy rotation during this winter of discontent. It's empowering and ethereal, with lyrics covering so many issues on the minds of black women. "F.U.B.U." is an acronym for "for us by us," and this song is just that. Sorry not sorry white folks, this one isn't for you.

Lyric for your protest sign: "All my niggas let the whole world know/Play this song and sing it on your terms/For us, this shit is for us/Don't try to come for us"

8. Marvin Gaye, "Mercy, Mercy, Me (the Ecology)"

Like "Inner City Blues" and "What's Going On?" "Mercy, Mercy Me" is a grim reminder of how little has changed in the last 45 years. That's not a cue to get despondent. That's a cue to get bold. It's a cue to keep pushing, keep tapping into fresh ideas and new approaches, especially when it comes to the environment. As the saying goes, "There is no Planet B." Let's do this.

Lyric for your protest sign: "What about this overcrowded land/How much more abuse from man can she stand?"

9. The "Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt" theme

It's a 30-second theme song for a show about a woman starting her life over after 15 years in an underground bunker. What's more resistance-ready than that?

Lyric for your protest sign: "'Cause females are strong as hell!"

10. The Pointer Sisters, "Yes We Can Can"

Long before Obama used it to galvanize millions of believers, Allen Tousissant's song of a similar name galvanized people on the dance floor and in the streets. Performed by the Pointer Sisters, the socially conscious funk song reached #11 on the Billboard Hot 100, but the timeless classic remains relevant nearly 44 years later.

Lyric for your protest sign: "We got to make this land a better land than the world in which we live/And we got to help each man be a better man with the kindness that we give"

11. Elton John, "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting"

I was going to pick "Philadelphia Freedom" for its soaring horns and unintentional bicentennial spirit, but this song felt better for Nazi-punching. Now, I'm not condoning violence, but what you and your fists do to fight fascists is your business.

Lyric for your protest sign: "Saturday night's alright for fighting, get a little action in."

This playlist is just the beginning.

There are countless songs, new and old, that belong on this list. When it comes to music that inspires you to do good and get involved, there are no wrong answers. Pick it out, turn it up, and let's get moving.

Thousands of people gather at City Hall in San Francisco to protest President Trump and to show support for women's rights. Photo by Josh Edelson/AFP/Getty Images.

<br>

[socialviralnews]

Trump-proof your playlist with 11 resistance-ready protest songs.

<br>

Historically, music has played a vital role in American war and resistance movements.

During the Revolutionary War, "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and other popular dance songs were sung by both the British soldiers and the American rebels to keep spirits afloat in trying times. This continued throughout history, with songs like the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" and "God Bless America" motivating troops and civilians during the Civil War and World War I.

But war is never straightforward, and when American involvement in Vietnam escalated, patriotic songs like "The Battle of the Green Berets" were soon outnumbered by protest and anti-war music like Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind," Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son," and Martha Reeves and the Vandellas' "I Should Be Proud."

Folk singers Joan Baez and Bob Dylan perform during a civil rights rally in Washington, D.C., in 1963. Photo by Rowland Scherman/National Archive/Newsmakers.

Nearly in tandem, the civil rights movement had protest and resistance music of its own. Generations of artists and performers, inspired by marches, demonstrations, and tragedies during the fight for civil rights, created some of the country's most enduring musical contributions — songs like James Brown's "Say it Loud — I'm Black and I'm Proud" and Gil Scott-Heron's spoken-word piece "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised."

James Brown performs at the Olympia hall in Paris. Photo by AFP/Getty Images.

But protest and resistance music didn't end in the 1960s. Now more than ever, we need songs to keep us moving forward.

We need songs that make people want to stand up, speak out, and fight back.

We're facing an unprecedented American political landscape, and there are inexperienced, unpredictable people in charge. It's important to pay attention and speak up against bigotry, ignorance, and policies that affect the most vulnerable.

This is the soundtrack to the resistance. Turn it up. Share it. Let them hear us coming.

Demonstrators protest President Donald Trump's executive order which imposes a freeze on admitting refugees into the United States and a ban on travel from seven Muslim-majority countries at the international terminal at O'Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

1. Andra Day, "Rise Up"

Warm up with this beautiful, haunting ballad by songstress Andra Day. It may not get your heart racing, but it will get your mind prepared to face a new and uncertain challenge.

Lyric for your protest sign: "All we need, all we need is hope/And for that we have each other"

2. Pharrell Williams, "Runnin'"

If you haven't seen "Hidden Figures," stop what you're doing and go. I'll wait.

OH MY GOODNESS WASN'T IT SO GOOD?! This true story was brought to life on screen with powerhouse performances and a soundtrack of contemporary soul music. This particular song from Pharrell Williams would be at home on black radio in 1963 or 2017, which is a sobering reminder that even though we made it to space, there's still a long way to go.

Lyric for your protest sign: "I don't want no free ride/I'm just sick and tired of runnin'"

3. Isley Brothers, "Fight the Power, Pts. 1 & 2"

A pretty much perfect song about standing up against the powers that be. Ever wonder what you would've done during the civil rights movement? Turn on these songs, go outside, and find out.

Lyric for your protest sign: "When I rolled with the punches/I got knocked on the ground/With all this bullshit going down"

4. K'naan feat. Snow tha Product, Riz MC, and Residente, "Immigrants (We Get the Job Done)"

There are a lot of songs on the "Hamilton" original Broadway cast recording and the subsequent "Hamilton Mixtape" remix and compilation album, but few possess the energy and passion of "Immigrants (We Get the Job Done)."

As President Trump looks to restrict the number of refugees entering America, it's important to remind people of troubling and dangerous circumstances many immigrants and refugees flee in the first place and the difficult journeys they face once they're in America, whether or not they're documented.

Lyric for your protest sign: "It’s America's ghost writers, the credit's only borrowed."

5. Dixie Chicks, "Not Ready to Make Nice"

This song was about the Dixie Chicks' political saga with country radio and outraged fans. (Doesn't that feel downright quaint these days?) It holds up as a pop-country song about refusing to find common ground with ignorance and bigotry. I think of this song every time someone suggests I "give President Trump a chance." Candidate Trump said some awful things about people like the people I love and the people who make this country a great place to live. President Trump seems to be following through on his potentially devastating campaign promises. Forgive and forget? Not when lives and livelihoods are at stake.

Lyric for your protest sign: "I'm still mad as hell and I don't have time to go 'round and 'round and 'round."

6. Kendrick Lamar,  "Alright"

You could hear this song break out at Black Lives Matter demonstrations and marches across the country. This powerful anthem struck a chord at just the right time, a three-and-a-half minute tonic against fear, anguish, and systemic oppression. As Desire Thompson wrote in Vibe, "While listening to it on repeat, I was reminded of the lesson that pain isn’t permanent and getting through the tough times are what make us all stronger."

Lyric for your protest sign: "We gon' be alright"

7. Solange, "F.U.B.U."

We don't deserve two talented, powerful Knowles sisters. But it's younger sister Solange's new album that's been in heavy rotation during this winter of discontent. It's empowering and ethereal, with lyrics covering so many issues on the minds of black women. "F.U.B.U." is an acronym for "for us by us," and this song is just that. Sorry not sorry white folks, this one isn't for you.

Lyric for your protest sign: "All my niggas let the whole world know/Play this song and sing it on your terms/For us, this shit is for us/Don't try to come for us"

8. Marvin Gaye, "Mercy, Mercy, Me (the Ecology)"

Like "Inner City Blues" and "What's Going On?" "Mercy, Mercy Me" is a grim reminder of how little has changed in the last 45 years. That's not a cue to get despondent. That's a cue to get bold. It's a cue to keep pushing, keep tapping into fresh ideas and new approaches, especially when it comes to the environment. As the saying goes, "There is no Planet B." Let's do this.

Lyric for your protest sign: "What about this overcrowded land/How much more abuse from man can she stand?"

9. The "Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt" theme

It's a 30-second theme song for a show about a woman starting her life over after 15 years in an underground bunker. What's more resistance-ready than that?

Lyric for your protest sign: "'Cause females are strong as hell!"

10. The Pointer Sisters, "Yes We Can Can"

Long before Obama used it to galvanize millions of believers, Allen Tousissant's song of a similar name galvanized people on the dance floor and in the streets. Performed by the Pointer Sisters, the socially conscious funk song reached #11 on the Billboard Hot 100, but the timeless classic remains relevant nearly 44 years later.

Lyric for your protest sign: "We got to make this land a better land than the world in which we live/And we got to help each man be a better man with the kindness that we give"

11. Elton John, "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting"

I was going to pick "Philadelphia Freedom" for its soaring horns and unintentional bicentennial spirit, but this song felt better for Nazi-punching. Now, I'm not condoning violence, but what you and your fists do to fight fascists is your business.

Lyric for your protest sign: "Saturday night's alright for fighting, get a little action in."

This playlist is just the beginning.

There are countless songs, new and old, that belong on this list. When it comes to music that inspires you to do good and get involved, there are no wrong answers. Pick it out, turn it up, and let's get moving.

Thousands of people gather at City Hall in San Francisco to protest President Trump and to show support for women's rights. Photo by Josh Edelson/AFP/Getty Images.

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