#this is turning into a wider war where people will be killed and starved and Imperialists will win

[lewishamiltonstuff]

Biden would risk a wider regional war than stop Israel from committing genocide.

[frost-queen]

Touch on touch (Reader x Cal Kestis)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine

You frantically panicked feeling a hand on your back. It made you jump out of your skin, taking a leap forwards to get away. Turning around, you were panting. – “Hey it’s just me.” – Cal said holding both his hands up. You untensed knowing it was him. BD bleeped loud on his back. – “You are right.” – he told the droid. – “I’m sorry I should’ve given you a warning before touching.” – Cal told you.

You shakily shook your head. – “No… it’s fine… it’s just… something I need to get familiar with.” – you responded rubbing your hands nervously together. Cal nodded lowering his hands. He knew all too well of your journey. How touch starved you were after being in solitude for so long.

Dropped onto a forgotten planet because there was a war going on. Inquisitors raiding every planet. Your parents thought it was best to hide you on a planet not existing on the maps. Cal remembered it clear how you first shared your story after finding you.

He was on the planet to lay low from the empire for a while. What he didn’t expect was to find someone, a girl on this abandoned planet. He was for sure surprised. At first you were very wary. Keeping your distance. Only the droid was allowed to come close after a while. Cal respected your boundaries, trying to gain your trust from afar.

He kept a close eye, knowing BD was near you. It took him nearly a week to just get a few inches closer to you. By the end of the next week he achieved to sit by you. Then it took him a lot more trust and patience to be where he was now with you. Trusting him enough you shared your story. Of how your parents dropped you here with the promise to return and collect you.

You waited patiently for years. If it wasn’t for Cal dropping by, you’d still be waiting. Waiting for people that were never going to come. You did not know if they were killed or had simply forgotten about you. To be honest you couldn’t care. They abandoned you.

Cal looked briefly over his shoulder to BD. BD bleeped loud. – “May I approach?” – Cal said humorously. You laughed loud. – “Since you asked so nicely.” – you replied. Cal smirked approaching you calmly. He held his hand up, quirking his eyebrow up. You smiled slowly moving your hand up as well. Your palms touched making him smile wider. He moved his fingers down, holding your hand.

He gestured if he could come closer. Hesitant for a second, you yielded and nodded. Cal stepped closer to you. Tips of your shoes touching. He brought your entangled hand closer to his lips, leaving a sweet kiss there. It tickled making you wave your hand at the ticklish feeling. – “Now do it here.” – you said pointing at your arm. – “As my lady pleases.” – he said not minding at all. If it was up to him, he’d be kissing you non-stop all around.

He kissed your arm, giving you that same tickling sensation. – “Anywhere else Y/n?” – he asked raising his eyebrow flirty. You thought for a moment, tapping your neck gently. You didn’t have to say that twice. Cal placed his hand behind your neck, forcing you to lean your head back to give him more area to kiss. His lips kissed you so teasingly it almost made you weak on your knees.

He kissed you there trice as you chuckled enjoyable. He knew you liked it, you just needed to get more used to it. The beard that he had grown out, brushing against your smooth skin. You cleared your throat tapping your chin. Cal looked up, tilting your head more back by your chin. – “And here I thought you weren’t so keen on my touch.” – he chuckled out with a flicker of pining in his eyes.

“I have my moments.” – you answered, tapping your chin again. BD hopped off his back, letting you have some room. Cal slowly kissed your chin, his touch making you grasp onto him. Cal pulled your chin down, his lips coming in line with yours. – “My turn to choose.” – he breathed out, staring at your lips. – “Go on.” – you whispered.

Cal smirked, knowing there was something else he needed to do first. He moved his hands under your shirt against your back. Slowly letting his  hands rub your back. Your back arched as you groaned with delight. He knew it was your weak spot. So desperate for his touch all of the sudden you grabbed him, forcing your lips onto his. He kissed you like there was no one around. Well there was no one around…

When you returned to the Mantis, BD was joined by Cere. – “I was wondering what you were doing for the little one to seek out my company.” – Cere teased, giving him a head rub. – “Nothing like you think.” – Cal answered humorously. Cere hummed not believing much of it. You came sitting down. Cal coming to sit beside you.

He moved his hand between your back and the sofa, forcing you to lean a bit forwards. He let his hand slide under your shirt once more. Rubbing your back in a calming way. He felt how it untensed you. BD hopped onto the table in front of you. BD started bleeping loud moving around while giving sight to his words.

You laughed loud at what he was telling you. Cal smiled, looking over at you. Impulsively he gave your shoulder a kiss. – “I love you Y/n.” – he whispered, making Cere pretend she didn’t hear that. You turned to him. – “I love you too Cal Kestis.” – you responded.

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[damn-stark]

Ch.21 Heartache

Chapter 21 of Different light

A/N- let me know what you thought :)

Warning- Angst, some fluff, some swearing, cliffhanger of sorts.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

Your entire body freezes at the edge of the borrowed bed, and your eyes remain stuck on Harry for a long moment as your mind remembers what happened the night prior.

For whatever reason he didn’t seem upset at the sight of you. Harry seemed relieved to see you wake up under the same roof as him. For whatever reason. And as much joy as your heart began to feel upon seeing him, as much as you wanted to hug him and kiss him, you remained stuck to your spot. Instead panic and worry began to plague your mind.

You pull your eyes away from Harry and shake your head. “I can’t be here. My family will be looking for me.” You whisper in a panicked voice. “They’ll be worried and find all of you. I can’t be here.”

You swallow thickly and stand up, the commotion that you made waking up the twins, and Hermione. It took them a few minutes to focus on what was going on due to the grogginess they were under, but once they noticed the tension, and the stress you were under they became worried and seemed to fully wake up.

“You can’t leave just yet,” Fred tried to assure you.

You shake your head and walk back to the end table, trying to search for a wand hidden in your sleeve, but as you tuck your hand inside your sleeve and search for the wooden wand with your fingers, there's nothing that stands out. Harry notices what you tried to do and answers the question that looms in your head. “They took it. But you don’t have to worry, y/n, no ones going to hurt you.”

“No,” you mutter as you lift your gaze and meet his. “You don’t understand, if they find me, they’ll hurt everyone here. They’ll hurt you.” You say while you inch towards the window inside the room just a feet away. “I can’t be the cause of that. So please let me go, I promise I won’t say anything.”

“Y/N, listen,” Hermione chimes in as she and the three boys watch you stop beside the window, knowing your intention before you could even reach the window and letting you try to accomplish it.

And once you reach the side of the window and turn your body to face the window, you throw open the curtains and open said window to turn into black smoke to escape. But once you reach your hand out the window, your palms hit some invisible wall. “What the,” you whisper through gritted teeth before you pull your hands back to hit the invisible wall again.

“It’s for your protection, and ours,” Hermione answered, her comment making you stop your attempts to break it and stay with your hands pressed against the invisible wall. Hermione walked up behind you and gently grabbed your shoulder. “We didn’t want to do it, but well, some people in the order don’t trust you.”

“Yeah,” you nod in comprehension whilst you slowly drop your hands to your side and tear your eyes from the sweet morning sky outside the window. “I understand, but I still can’t be here, please understand that.”

“They won’t find you here,” you hear George speak up to try and assure you as well. “They put up hundreds of cloaking, and protection spells.”

“Yes,” Fred continued for his brother. “You won’t be safer anywhere else but here. We promise. They won’t find you unless you leave the protective bubble around the property.”

A deep exhale leaves your lips, and your shoulders drop a bit as some weight is lifted from them. It still didn’t mean you were relaxed, or completely relieved, but there was room enough for you to breathe fresh air and not suffocate under the fear and stress that Voldemort caused. There was a tiny bit of space where you could enjoy seeing the morning sky and bask in the warmth from the sun rays that gently peeked inside the window.

“You all swear that it’s fine?” You ask as you turn to face them all, noticing in that moment, the bandage around George's head and the patch on his ear. “I don’t want to put anyone at risk.”

Harry nods and steps towards you. “You helped Fred, you saved him from getting hurt. You might still be a Death-Eater, but you’re a good person.”

Your lips twitch, but you can’t make yourself smile seeing that George is hurt, it makes your heart sink and your lips fall to a small frown. He seemed to notice and quickly assured you. “It wasn’t you, so don’t go blaming yourself now.”

His words travel through your ears, but you have a hard time registering them in your head. You knew you didn’t directly hurt him, that you didn’t directly hurt anyone else affected by last night's attack but the people fully responsible were part of the same order as you. You were out there too. So in some ways you hurt them too.

Which reminded you. You did actually hurt someone—killed someone. Shit.

Now your head began to pound, and your stomach churned and made you nauseous. The one thing you didn’t want to do, happened, and it was someone from your order too. As bad as they were, they were still human.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks beside you as she tightens her hold around your shoulder.

You snap from your stupor and look over to her and nod. “Yeah, I’m just sore now.” You offer her a faint smile and she returns it before she suddenly pulls you in for a tight embrace that leaves you surprised for a few seconds. “Oh.” You mouth as you stand stiff for a couple seconds more before Fred and George join the hug. After that you pick up your hands and try your best to wrap them around the three of them. You continue to close your eyes as you feel your heart flutter with happiness. It was such a small moment, but you relished in it even if Harry failed to join.

But you understood why he wouldn't. Before the others could question him or pull him in, a knock sounds on the door and then seconds later an older woman with the same bright red hair as Fred and George walks in with a plate of breakfast in hand; Molly Weasley.

“Oh you’re awake,” she directs to you as she sets the plate down on the desk beside the window. “Good. Here’s some warm breakfast, you must be starving.”

You all pull away from the hug and you watch her take some distance away from you once the plate is set down. You frown at that but don’t let them see. “Thank you,” you smile, “I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome.” Her eyes turn to the other three and she points out the door. “Breakfast is on the table, let’s go before it gets cold. Let the girl have some space.”

None of them argue and leave the room with Harry lagging behind before he stopped by the door after everyone had disappeared down the hall. “I’ll be back,” he assures you and you respond with a single nod as his eyes linger on you for a second before he walks out and closes the door after him, leaving you completely alone in the room. You walk towards the desk and pick the plate off the surface, admiring the plate and feeling your mouth water at all the warm and delicious food on it. Deciding not to let it go cold you sit back down on the edge of the bed and begin to eat the food with a child-like smile on your face that is quick to fade away as you hear the happy commotion downstairs.

There was a bit of laughter, high risen voices that gave no indication that anyone was arguing, or angry. There was no one they feared to keep the breakfast table quiet and uncomfortable, there were no unwanted visitors who overstay their welcome to make the meal awkward. From the muffled sounds you could hear from where you sat, they all sounded like they were enjoying each other’s company, they were being the family they were even with what threatened them. Hearing that made you miss your family even if it was just a day without them….or really you missed the dynamic you had before the war began. Sure your father could be seen as cold, but he was a caring father in his own way.

You’ve only now realized that as you sat in the room alone, watching the gold tall wheat that surrounded the home. But then again, was he even your real father? He’s never treated you differently so it was hard to figure out if you really wanted to find out. Yes you were in the middle of an investigation, but did you really want to find out the truth?

Yes…No—you set the plate down on your lap and run your hands down your face to then let out a deep sigh. “By Merlin's beard this all makes my head hurt.” You cup your face and close your eyes to stay in the darkness for a moment before the door begins to slowly creak open. You open your eyes and look up from your hands to see Harry poking his head inside. “May I come in?”

You set your hands around your plate and nod. “You basically are in,” you scoff in a lighthearted manner, “so yes please do come in.”

Said boy pushes the door open wider, and steps inside to then close the door behind him before he walks further in and stops in front of the window. He stood quiet for a couple moments after, his eyes averting yours as you stayed sitting on the bed with your half eaten food on your plate. Perhaps he was waiting for you to finish, or he just couldn’t find a way to speak up, but you broke the tension first. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” You smirk and set your plate down on the end table. “Breakfast is important for a growing man such as yourself, you know?

Harry scoffs and a faint smile tugs on his lips. “Really?” He played along, “I didn’t know, thank you.” He looks up and leans back to press his back on the window sill as he meets your gaze. “I ate some, I couldn't come up here if I didn’t. Did you enjoy breakfast? I mean I know it’s nothing you’re used to.” He snickers.

You grin and shrug. “Yeah, it’s not freshly made breakfast from Paris, or my private island, but it will suffice. I’ll definitely tell my personal chef about my meal.”

Harry’s smile turns to a toothy grin before he begins to laugh, having you join him seconds later. It’s such a brief moment, but it’s sweet and it’s one you knew you’d look back at once you returned home. And once the laughter died down, and your smiles turned faint, you stood up and joined him in front of the window, unlike him however, you faced fields outside. You admired how quiet it was out here in this secluded place in the middle of nowhere, how peaceful it seemed with no neighbors for miles, and how beautiful it looked as the sun blazed in the sky and over the field, making them shine a brighter gold. It was lovely, truly, but it didn’t keep the gloomy and dreadful thoughts and topics away.

“Harry,” you whisper as your smile falls to a frown. “I’m sorry.” You rest your arms down on the window sill as you lean forward and hesitate to continue, instead you watch the sunbeams dance on your fingers as you move them very carefully. “About,” you pause and sigh out deeply, from the corner of your eye watching him turn his body to face the window and shift his eyes to look at you. “…what happened to Dumbledore. I know how much he meant to you, and I’m sorry that Voldemort killed him.” You lift your head and slightly turn to meet his intense gleaming blue eyes.

“It was Snape,” Harry corrected you with a hint of anger lacing in his voice. “Not Voldemort, not you, not Draco, Snape. He killed Dumbledore.”

Your eyes roam his face and your lips part, but nothing comes out but silence. Your heart sinks and the sadness within you grows deeper. You want to argue against Harry. You want to defend Snape because he only did it because of your own failure to complete the mission, but you knew that Snape was a traitor in Harry’s eyes. You’d be angry too.

“Still,” you breathe out whilst you drop your gaze to Ron taking things outside his house. “I’m sorry. Not only about that but that I lied. I didn’t tell you the whole truth of my intentions and I’m sorry.”

Harry nods in comprension and follows your line of vision, watching Ron struggle to take barrels out. “I understand why you didn’t…I mean I was angry at first,” he admits, making you snap your eyes back to him. “…But I came to understand why you wouldn’t say anything. You couldn’t,” Harry pauses and slowly lifts his eyes to again meet yours, sharing a pity you saw clearly in his eyes. “I heard what Draco and you said on that tower, I understand why you wouldn't say a word. Voldemort would’ve hurt you if you did. Which is why I can’t be angry at you.” Harry reaches for your arm and pulls your sleeve to see the brand on your arm. “You didn’t want that burden. But you have no choice. I…understand a thing or two of burdens.”

His words sting like a hot dagger to your heart. They hurt to hear. But they also made you feel a spark of happiness. You weren’t alone in your burden, you knew that, but hearing that Harry didn’t hate you like you thought he did made your heart jump with a bit of joy—“thank you,” you whispered with a crack in your voice. “For understanding.” You grab his hand that was on yours before you rest your head on his shoulder and bask in the silence that blanketed over the both of you.

In the silence Harry slightly shifts his head to press a kiss on the side of your head, before he presses his forehead against yours and releases a soft relieved breath of air as he feels your hand caress his cheek after you lifted your hand to cup his cheek. He finds solace in your touch and in the comfortable silence, taking this time to burn this moment in his memory, not knowing if a shared moment like this could be your last. He didn’t want it to be, but he couldn’t be hopeful about what he wanted.

And after a while of nothing but silence, he spoke up about it. “You don’t have to go. You can stay now that we have you here.”

“Harry,” you exhale deeply, shutting your eyes for a painful moment. “You know I can’t stay, I have to go back to my family. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did stay.”

Harry pulls away and even if it upset him, he understood. “I just needed to ask once. Which reminds me,” his lips twitch and he steps back to lean back on the desk as he shoves his hand into his sweater pocket. “I need to show you something.” He pulls his fist out of his pocket and grabs your hand from your side to place a small locket on your palm.

When you look at the gem and design of the necklace your eyes widen and your whole body stiffens, your gaze flickers from the locket to Harry in disbelief at what he placed down on your hand. “Is this the Slytherins locket? The horcrux Voldemort is looking for?” You pick the locker in between your thumb and pointer finger and lift it to examine it better, noticing that something looked off. “Wait,” your eyebrows furrow and your eyes narrow. “This—”

“It’s a fake,” Harry finished for you as he went to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I noticed. Dumbledore and I went through all that struggle to find a fake locket that I can’t even open.”

You pull your eyes from the locket and look at him with a baffled expression. “What do you mean?” You inquire.

“I can’t open it.” Harry repeats himself. “I hear something inside, but I can’t open it to see what it is.”

“Hmm.” You move your thumb to the small latch on the side to try and see if maybe you could do something, and as you press your thumb on the side something sharp pokes the pad of your thumb that takes a drop of blood and turns the gem green before the locket opens. “Harry!” You run to sit by his side and hand him the opened locket that contained a folded piece of paper.

“How did you do it?” Harry mused with an impressed look on his face.

You lift your thumb and began sucking the stinging area as little drops of blood kept coming out of the wound that thing made. “I don’t know,” you shrug, “it stabbed my thumb and once it took out some blood the gem turned green and it opened.”

“It happened to me a few times when I tried, but I never got it to open.” Harry meets your gaze, but he doesn’t add anything else, you were both equally as confused and equally as clueless when it came to as to why or how? Instead he continued to pull out the paper and unfold it, revealing instead a short note. “It says, ‘To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more. R.A.B.’.”

“R.A.B? who’s that?” You ask yourself outloud.

Harry shrugs and sets the note down on your lap, “don't know. But whoever they are, they have the real Horcrux. Which means it was all a waste.” Harry stands up and let’s out a frustrated sigh as goes back to stand by the window.

“I don’t think so. I mean you found this right? In the place where the actual locket was supposed to be,” you try and assure him as you watch him. “Which means that Voldemort doesn’t know where the locket is, or where it will be.”

Harry looks at you over his shoulder and nods stiffly before the corner of his lips tug to a slight smirk. “You’re right. I can still try to find it before he can.”

“Exactly.” You grin proudly.

“But,” Harry inputs, “I still need to find out who R.A.B is.” He then turns slowly to face you. “Could you maybe try and look for an answer? If you return home?”

You nod without hesitation. “I’ll see what I can find when I do go back home. And if I do I’ll send it with Dobby, I promise.”

*LAST NIGHT*

“Bellatrix! Bellatrix!” Narcissa shouts echoed down the hall as she stormed down to the drawing room where her sister had arrived alone. “Where is she? Where is my daughter?!”

Bellatrix scoffs and shrugs. “We weren’t glued to the hip. I don’t know, it was dark and chaotic.”

Narcissa looked at her sister in disbelief and took a minute to process the words that had come out of her sister. She didn’t want to believe something had happened to you, she couldn’t. “I told you to keep an eye on her.”

“She’s an adult,” Bellatrix argued, “and she’s a good witch, even I have to admit that because the Dark Lord does. The girl probably just ran off.”

Narcissa shook her head and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she grew more upset. She knew that after a heavy night like this, you wouldn't run off; you were a good girl, you would return to the comfort of your home, you wouldn't just take a stroll. That’s why she couldn’t accept what was said—“no she wouldn't.” Her heart then clenched as she thought of the worst possibility. “What if she’s hurt? Why didn’t you double back to make sure?”

“I’m not her babysitter,” Bellatrix retorted. “Besides, why are you so worried? She isn’t your daughter.”

“She is,” Narcissa protested with anger. “Just because she isn’t my biological daughter does it mean that I love her any less. I cared and raised her for sixteen years. She is my daughter Bellatrix. She’s also still part of the Black family, just like you and I.”

Bellatrix is unimpressed by her sister's speech, she doesn’t argue because she knew Narcissa would simply bite back every time with something more clever. So instead she just rolled her eyes and assured her. “She’ll show up if she was smart enough to survive a simple attack.” Bellatrix giggles before she walks past Narcissa and leaves the room and her sister alone. And that’s when it really set on Narcissa that you could’ve died, she didn’t want to accept that reality, but it could be true and it terrified her. Yes, you might not be her actual daughter but she loved you like one since she saw you for the first time.

That’s why she couldn’t fathom losing you. It’d be like losing a part of herself.

Tears slipped past her eyes and she couldn’t hold them back. She looked up at the family portrait just above the fireplace and your face was lightened by the orange hue of the dancing flames; unlike Draco, herself and Lucius, there was a faint smug smirk tugged on the corner of your lips, and your eyes even if they were painted on, showed the happiness you had once felt. All their eyes showed it. Now they were replaced by sadness and terror. At least yours and Draco’s were.

“Narcissa.” Her husband's voice suddenly echoed in her ears, snapping her from her train of thought.

She pulled her eyes from the portrait and met Lucius' tired gaze. “Have you found something?”

He shakes his head and drops his eyes. “No. But Draco and I are going out to try and search for her.”

Narcissa exhales deeply and a faint hopeful smile tugs on her lips. “Alright, good.” She walks up to Lucius and grabs his hands in hers. “Find her.”

Lucius nods and his gaze twists with determination. “We will. I promise our daughter will return to us alive and well.

——

“Is there anything you could give us?” The Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt repeated the question across the table you were sitting at.

You grab onto your wrist and glance at the black brand on your arm, study the snake coming out the skull's mouth and simply shake your head. “I don’t have anything valuable.” They had been interrogating you since noon and now the sun was beginning to go down and dinner smelled from the kitchen. ���I mean I can’t give you anything even if I do want to help.” You bite the inside of your cheek and briefly flicker your eyes up to the few members who remained seated around the wooden table in the brightly lit living room.

“Anything will help, anything you’ve heard in a meeting. A location maybe.”

You sigh and glance at Harry for any sort of comfort he could provide. He notices and from under the table he grabs your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, making you look back at the aurors and other ministry workers. “My house.” You reveal, “Voldemort and the rest of the Death-Eaters meet at my house, the Dark Lord says it’s an honor, but I know it’s bullshit and he’s just punishing my father for what happened in the past.”

“Only at the Malfoy Manor?” Shacklebolt questions as he looks up from his paper. “Are there more meeting places?”

You shake your head. “No. Just there.” You look away again, averting everyone’s gaze in hopes they’d stop pressing you for information you couldn’t give. But they were insistent, they needed more.

Remus Lupin, a man you’ve heard of from Harry and the Dark Lord leans forward in his chair and talks in a gentle manner, in a way that was comforting and not demanding and aggressive like the others who seemed to hate you for being here. “Is there more? I know you said you couldn’t say a lot, but the smallest piece of information will help.”

You could tell them about the coup to take over the Ministry of Magic that Voldemort was planning, but it was a risk. If they manage to stop it in time then Voldemort will find out that someone passed information of it, he’d most likely find out it was you and then punish your family, and you. You couldn’t run that risk. So you shake your head and tell them your reasons behind it instead of bluntly denying their requests. “If I say anything and Voldemort were to find out then he’d punish my family and me. He’d hurt us, or worse.” You swallow thickly and tighten your hold around Harry’s hand. “I can’t run that risk.”

“And we promise that your family will not run any repercussions.” A member that you didn’t know said, albeit you didn’t believe him.

“No.” You deadpan. “I told you already that I cannot give you any information.” You narrow your gaze on the man and turn your lips to a frown.

“Then why did you save the Weasley boy?” Shacklebolt asked. “You could’ve let him get hurt by the Death Eater but you got out of your way to save him in the thought that it was Harry. There will be repercussions there. I’m sure the Death-Eater didn’t hide the truth.”

Your eyes shift to him and you answer honestly with a hint of disgust and bitterness in your tone. “He’s dead, so I don’t expect anything to come out from a pile of ashes.”

The drawing room goes silent and the tension that had balanced over the table grows thicker. They all look at you with questioning and hesitant looks and stay quiet for a moment, letting you add an answer to his question. “Plus Fred is my friend, I couldn’t let him get hurt. No matter what side he was on.”

“Malfoy?” A member scoffs, “are we sure Lucius raised her? She acts more like her—”

“Please,” Hermione cuts the man off. “Shut it.”

More like her? What did he mean?—you let your eyes linger on the man with the square face and bad stubble and crave for more, but then a piece of information you could give pops in your head, making you look back to Shacklebolt. “There's actually something I can share, something you might have your suspicions on.” You fix yourself on your chair and clear your throat. “Ollivander. Some Death-Eaters took him last year, he’s been imprisoned in my house for Voldemort’s personal wand needs. He’s the one that told Voldemort that he couldn’t kill Harry using his wand, he could only hurt him because the wands share the same core. They’re in some ways, twins.” Harry focuses on you and his eyes widen slightly with surprise. “But that’s all I can say. So please don’t ask me to say more.”

The expression Harry had was shared amongst the other members of the order before a woman with brightly colored hair spoke up. “The girls been at it all day. It’s best we let her rest.” She looks at you and offers you a sweet smile. “Thank you, we appreciate all the information you gave us.”

You mirror her smile and stand up with the rest of your friends to filter out of the room, leaving the older members inside to discuss further.

When you walked down the hall that would lead to the stairs, you couldn’t help but notice how brightly lit everything was, the frames on the walls were lopsided and in the pictures everyone was smiling wide. As you passed the dining room you noticed that it matched the disorganized and mismatched theme the living room had; for example different pieces of furniture were different colors, none too dull or bland. All of the colors and mismatched patterns didn’t make the room glum, honestly it had a positive energy that didn’t let you stay upset for too long. You could stay here, it would be lovely and in a lot of ways comforting, but you did miss the organized house you lived in.

“What a lovely house you have here, boys,” you direct to Fred and George as you take in every inch of the hall you were walking through. “It’s colorful.”

“Sorry it’s nothing to your liking, Malfoy,” Ron remarked, making you scoff but smile.

“It’s not what I’m used to, but I truly like it.” Your eyes fall on the couple outside seeming to be in deep debate about something they were pointing to outside. “What are they doing?”

Hermione follows your line of vision before her eyes look up the stairs you began to climb. “They’re planning their wedding.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, feeling your smile fall to a straight line and your mind begin to question their timing to have such an important event. There was a war going on and they were having a wedding?—“Why?” You ask the group out loud. “Why now?”

“You wouldn't plan a wedding now?” Ginny questioned you as she looked at you over her shoulder.

“No.” You answer bluntly. “We’re at war. I don’t think I’d be in the mood to have such an important day.”

“I think that’s why they’re having it,” Hermione answered, “to have a bit of happiness in such dark times. No one knows what’s going to happen. Why not share such an important day and spread a bit of positivity?”

You nod and take in her words for a moment as they walk you back to the room you were staying in with Hermione and Ginny. And even if it didn’t sit right with you, Hermione was right, they didn’t know what’s going to happen a month, a year or week from now, at least if something bad happened they had happy memories to loom back on. They couldn’t let this darkness overwhelm and take over them. You had to make happy moments, no matter how small they could be.

Hmm.

“Before you go inside the room Malfoy,” George interjects as he, Fred and Harry block the door. “We want to share something. A proposal of sorts.”

You shoot the three boys a questioning look and roll out your answer slowly. “Okay, what is it?”

The three of them share a quick look before Fred is the one that shares what they had anxiously been sitting on for the majority of the meeting. “The order, our family and Harry have been discussing and well,” he pauses and sighs out deeply. “We want to offer you refuge here. It might be a bit crowded, but we will make it work.”

“What do you mean?” You ask in disbelief.

“Well,” Harry steps forward. “We want you to stay here. Join us and leave the Death-Eaters and Voldemort.”

“After what you did,” George continued, making your eyes shift to him. “The order, our parents—our mother mainly, want to offer you a place here. You don’t have to go back to that hellish place. You can stay here. With us. Fight alongside us.”

Harry meets your gaze and finally asks, “what do you say?”

.

.

.

.

A/N- what do you guys think? Should she stay? Or go back home?

Tagged- @peter-laufeyson @swiftlymoniquesblog @spideyyypeter @gsvshsjsbs @accio-prozac @cherriesanwine @kokomaesadie @april-14-blog @prettypinkpeachh @pest-ill-ence @ilovespideyyy @m3ssytrash @hogwarts-babe @yodaboo @rafeyybabyy @itsoakaa @nonamesgame @weird-pale-blonde-person @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lunanargles17 @narcissism-iskey

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Banished (Part 35)

*Not My Gif*

~Banished Master List~

Summary: When the 100 was sent to the ground, Y/N Y/L/N was one of them. Having been locked up for almost 8 years, how will she react to surviving on Earth? Especially when she gets banished…

Post Date: 2-16-20

Paring: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

~Master List~

~The 100 Master~

*Based on episode 3x06 of the 100, Bitter Harvest*

It’s been over a week since Octavia and Clarke left Arkadia. Clarke went to Polis, back to Lexa to convince her not to go to war and Octavia had been your outside man, keeping her eyes on everything outside the wall and reporting back through a radio. You hadn’t spoken to Bellamy since that day he tried to turn you, only glances across the room. He’s tried to talk to you, heading your way in rooms to apologize but you left the room before he could.

You just dodged Bellamy in the mess hall, heading down the main hall before running into Kane.

“Octavia radioed, there’s news.” He said as you looked over your shoulder, hearing footsteps behind you before shaking your head.

“Not here. Too many ears.” Kane led you to his room as you followed, no longer hearing someone follow you. Kane and you sat on the bed facing each other. “What’d she find out?”

“They’re still taking samples at the river bank. She doesn’t know what they’re doing but they’re armed and willing to kill a kid to cover it up.” Your eyes went wide, covering your mouth with your hand.

“They’d kill a kid?” You couldn’t imagine Bellamy being okay with this. But then again he did just Murder 300 grounders who promised your protection. Kane put his hand on your knee, knowing your thoughts.

“There’s another meeting today in the chancellors office. We need to know what’s happening in that room.”

“So what? We spy on them?” You asked him. You both slouched against the wall, trying to come up with something before Kane sat up, looking at you expectedly.

“We spy on them.”

You hoped he’d say more but he didn’t, only standing up and looking around his room. “Repeating what I said isn’t making anything clearer.” You told him as he pushed aside a stack of paper before find a metal disc.

Raising a brow at him, he explained. “We plant a bug in the office and listen in on the meeting.”

You guffawed at him, taking the piece into your hands. “We’d know all their plans.”

“Just one problem.” He frowned, crossing his arms in front of his chest and tapping his lip. “How are we going to get it in place?”

You looked down at the disc. You needed someone who was on your side. Someone who was quick witted, knew how to get in and out of places. You met Kane’s eyes with a smirk, clutching the bug in your hand. “I think I know someone who can help.”

You left Kane’s room, walking around the ark and trying to not to raise suspicion before stopping outside, seeing Miller and Harper talking. They smiled at you when you approached, Harper wider than Miller’s as you looked towards him. “Can I borrow you?” You asked. He looked taken back but nodded, saying bye to Harper and following you back to Kane’s place.

Kane was pacing in the room when you entered, stepping aside to show Miller. He looked confused, licking his bottom lip and scoping around the room. “What’s going on?” He closed door, eying you who sat onto the bed.

You held out the disc, watching Miller raise as brow at you. Kane and you told him the plan and after a few minutes Miller was fully informed, deciding if it was something he could do. “And if this doesn’t work?”

“It’ll work.” You assured him as he shook his head.

“And if it doesn’t?” He needed more than just your assurance if he was actually going to break into the chancellors office.

“You’re a thief Miller. You’re telling me you can’t plant a bug?”

“You’re forgetting the part where I got arrested.”

“Easy.”You smirked as you tossed him the tech. “Just don’t get caught.”

“Will you two knock it off?” Kane rolled his eyes as he checked the bug making sure it worked before the three of you headed out, stopping to set up a room to listen in.

As you got closer to the office you hung back, not wanting to seem weird while walking with the men. You rested against the wall, keeping an eye out as Kane put the code in the door.

“Good afternoon, Chancellor Pike.” Someone said down the hall as you warning Kane, nodding towards the hallway. Kane slipped Miller the bug and let him in the room. He started down the hallway as normal, you following with him when you run into Pike and Bellamy. You only spared Bellamy one glance as Kane and Pike began talking.

“We need to talk about these things Jaha’s been giving out.” Kane said as you kept quiet, hoping Miller would hurry.

“That’s Abby’s department. I have more pressing concerns.” Pike said, pushing past you and Kane. You felt your heart race faster as you turned around, getting them to stop.

“Like the imprisoned grounders?” You spoke out of turn as Pike turned around, narrowing his eyes at you. Bellamy was concerned, stepping closer to the conversation and keeping his eyes on you.

“Interned.” Pike said. “For their safety as well as ours.”

“Imprisoned.” You repeated yourself, standing your ground. Pike didn’t expect to be having with conversation with you of all people. Kane put a hand on your shoulder, pulling you behind him.

“They wanted help. If we won’t give it to them, then we should at least let them go.” He suggested. Bellamy spoke up, calling them a liability and saying they would reveal their defenses to their people.

You scoffed, coming out from your spot and finally acknowledging Bellamy. “We’re talking about Lincoln here.” You reminded him, disgusted in the way he’s disregarding your friend. Lincoln saved your lives, how could he just talk like that. Bellamy’s eyes softened as he looked at you, suddenly feeling his stomach twist.

Miller drew your attention away from the group, coming down the hall behind Pike and Bellamy. He nodded to you as he passed, indicating he was successful as you sighed, feeling a little better in this moment. Bellamy, who hadn’t stopped watching you, caught the moment, furrowing his brow. You and Miller never got along before, so this exchange here unnerved him.

He knew something was up.

He was so focused on you that when Pike and Kane walked away he wasn’t aware, only snapping out of his thoughts when he met your eyes. “I didn’t know you and Miller were so close.” Your stomach flopped as Bellamy nodded behind you.

“Why do you care Bellamy?” You asked, hoping to divert the conversation.

It seemed to work as Bellamy took a second to answer, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m just saying be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You watched Bellamy leave, following after Pike as you took a deep breath before following Kane into a new room with a table in it.

“Are you okay?” He asked as you entered the room, closing the door softly behind you. You knew you should’ve told them Bellamy was on to you all but instead you just nodded, watching Kane get set up. “Y/N, can you grab the radio and get Octavia on?”

You reached for his bag, pulling out the radio and turning it on. “Hey floorgirl, got your ears on?” You smirked into the device when you heard Octavia chuckle from the other side.

“Hey Y/N, good to hear your voice.” She said as Kane got your attention, telling you they were starting.

“We bugged the chancellors office, O. Pike’s having a meeting.” You sat on the couch next to Miller, holding down the button for Octavia as Pike introduced Monty and Monroe to the group, making you bite your lip.

Pike went on, telling them all about planting agricultural and fields. Until Monty pointed out a flaw in their plans.

A village in sector four, people who weren’t threats at all.

“We need that land.” Pike told them. “Arkadia will be starving in a year.”

Hannah told him about the child they found, saying the grounders lost their army and wouldn’t resist but Monty just shook his head. “They’ll resist. They’re grounders.”

“Even if they don’t, the commanders message was clear. But that doesn’t mean we can start taking-“

Pike cut him off. “What would you prefer, die fighting for your home or starve to death? Will you do what needs to be done for your people to survive or what?” Bellamy didn’t need to think before knowing he’d do whatever he needs to protect Octavia and you.

“What needs to be done.” He assured Pike who just nodded at him, wanting to believe Bellamy knew where his head was at.

The meeting ended and you all stayed silent, processing what you just heard. You could hear Octavia running through the walkie-talkie when you cleared your throat, running a hand over your face.

“So whats the plan?” Miller asked, hoping someone came up with something.

“I need my horse!” Octavia shouted over the radio.

“Miller? You got the horse?” Kane asked as Miller nodded, leaving you two in the room. Kane moved to sit next to you, putting an arm on your back and his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, whats going on?”

“What if we’re too late?” You whispered, clasping your hands together and leaning into your bouncing knee. Kane sighed, looking at the empty wall in front of you both. He honestly didn’t know what to do if it was too late. He was blind to the village with no way to make sure Octavia got them out.

“We’ll figure it out Y/N.” He promised you. You smiled at him, reaching up to grab his hand.

Kane felt normal with you here now, as if your past was just that and you could move on.

Miller came back in, telling you he was setting out as you stood up, pushing yourself away from Kane.

He didn’t object as he stood up himself, both of you following Miller out of the room and going your separate ways.

You spent most of the day worrying yourself, wishing you had gone with Miller to give Octavia her horse. You watched from afar as Bellamy and Pike took a group out, headed towards the village. Bellamy and Kane were talking before hand but not for long and the moment Bellamy walked away he saw you across the room. But unlike all the other times, he didn’t start to come over, instead telling everyone to get a move on it.

You couldn’t help but admit it hurt a little as you left the room, hearing the sound of the rover die out meaning Bellamy left.

Off to go destroy a village.

You must of look pretty distraught as you sat in the mess hall, sipping on a bottle of beer because the seat across from you was taken. You looked up, seeing Jaha’s face before he slid the chip he showed you last week on the table. You looked at it, not saying a word as you took another gulp of your drink.

When Jaha matched your silence you groaned, slamming your fist down on the table. “I’m not taking that.” You told him, pushing the chip back at him.

“Tell me Y/N. If you could erase all the pain you’ve experienced in your lifetime, would you not?” His voice was unwavering as he spoke, making you sit back in discomfort.

“Of course I would.” He gave you a smile, one that didn’t show happiness but opportunity. He pushed the chip past the middle of the table, looking at you dead in the eyes.

“Then take this. Let it take your pain away.” You narrowed your eyes at the white chip. “Pain makes you human. Without the pain, what would I be?” You leaned onto the table, your hands inches away from the chip. Jaha reached forward, putting his hand atop yours.

“Happy.” He said simply before getting up and leaving. You sat there, staring at the supposed ‘happy chip’ that Jaha left you.

There was no way some little chip could wipe the years of damage and pain brought onto you. You picked it up, running your thumb over the infinity symbol.

“No pain.” You whispered, twirling it in your fingers. You felt someone’s eyes on you but you didn’t see anyone stand out after a quick sweep around the room. You looked down at the chip again. “What a load of crap.” You mumbled, shoving it in your pocket.

You spent the rest of the afternoon there, trying to distract yourself from everything happening outside the gate. You mind travelled back to the chip in your pocket through out the day. There was no way it did as Jaha said, there was no way it would ‘erase your pain’.

Miller walked into the Mess Hall frantically, looking around before his eyes fell onto you. He quickly went over, taking the seat next to you as he leaned onto the table. You knew something was wrong by the way he kept moving his eyes around the room. “Miller what happened?” You lowered your voice, keeping the conversation between the two of you.

“They’re back. And they’re missing people.” You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“W-who?” You didn’t know if the words actually made their way out of your mouth or if you just mouthed it. You tried to repeat yourself but you couldn’t, clearing your throat and taking another drink.

“Monroe and Lacroix.” He told you and you hated the fact you could breathe again. It wasn’t Bellamy. He was still alive.

“Ok. Let’s go.” Miller and you stood up when your hand found the chip once again. You closed your eyes, giving it one last squeeze before following after Miller.

Later that night, Bellamy knocked on the door to the Chancellors office, coming inside to see Pike at work. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” He asked as Pike nodded, leaning onto the table next to him.

“How you holding up?” Bellamy sighed, breathing out heavily and saying he’s been better. Pike nodded, understanding. “We need to talk about your sister. Two people died today because of her and the soil’s poisoned from the ash.”

“The grounders did that. Octavia tried to warn us.” Bellamy argued for his sister, trying to get Pike to let up on her.

“After she warned them. Bellamy you know as well as I do that someone is giving her information in the camp.” Bellamy didn’t say anything, hoping he wasn’t going where Bellamy thought he was headed. Pike looked at the board containing all his plans. “Kane and Y/N.” He announced bringing Bellamy’s fears to life. “We need to find proof.”

“Yes sir.” Bellamy agreed before Pike dismissed him. Bellamy left the room, taking a moment to think over his actions. Biting his lip he let his head fall, making his way down the hall. He looked over his shoulder as he approached his destination.

“Just a minute!” He heard after he knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence, Bellamy thinking of retreating before the door opened into your room. “Bellamy?”

“We need to talk.” He sounded serious as you hesitated but ultimately stepped aside, letting Bellamy into the room. You checked the hallway, seeing no one before closing the door.

A/N: I know it’s kind of late but oh well! Tell me whatcha think! Not really proud of this chapter, I don’t know really. Guess they can’t all be good. 🤷‍♀️ What do you guys think is gonna happen next?

*Reblogging with Banished*

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @just4muggles @saturn-aka-six @nathaliabakes @whyamihere-bro @colored-confetti @wiseeggspickleslime @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust @independentgirl @wellhellotherelovey @hollymac79 @delicately-important-trash @emcchi @rauwz @herondalescecilys

Bellamy: @jodiereedus22 @nyxxxwtp @danielabetancourth

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16 | part 17 | part 18

Note: I’ll be on vacation Thurs—Mon so updates will be on pause till I get back (sorry lmao!)

He is a little irritated, deep in his belly, at being so weak as to need tending, but he lets the warmth of their care offset that frustration. It’s easier today, when everything is bright and warm with happiness.

Then Wen Ning stiffens, twists, and his hand closes around an arrow a hands’ width from Wei Wuxian’s skull. “Wei Wuxian!” calls a tiny figure on the cliff’s edge. He squints, trying to decide if he recognizes them or if they’re some errant cultivator who thinks they can take down the Yiling laozu on their own. The sunlight glints off gold robes and he can just pick out the vermillion dot between their brows. How gracious, he thinks. Jin sect sending a welcoming party when I’m already on my way to them. “Wei Wuxian, remove your curse at once!” “Do I know you?” Wei Wuxian calls back, bracing his hands on his hips.

He has only ever cursed one person, and this Jin disciple certainly doesn’t look like Wen Chao. Even then, forcing Wen Chao to tear strips from his own legs and eat them was more of the blowback than an actual curse, a return on the sentence Wen Chao gave him when he dropped him into the Burial Mounds.

“You! How dare you!” The outrage is familiar, niggling something at the back of his mind. “I know it was you who cursed me,” the man shouts. “Who else would lower themselves to such nasty tricks?” “Who else indeed,” Wei Wuxian mutters, but it’s tired. Mostly he doesn’t care what people say about him, but his patience is thin and strained when it comes to this. What has he done that’s so wrong, after all? He has tried to repay his debts, to protect his family, to live justly. What part of that is so malignant, so repulsive in the eyes of the world? “Is this not your work?” the Jin disciple demands, tugging open his hanfu. “Release me at once!” Even from this distance, the speckling of gory holes across his chest is distinctive. Wei Wuxian recoils, horrified.  The hundred holes curse is particularly gruesome, cruel in both its agony and its appearance. “Why would I curse you?” he yells. “I don’t even know you!” He can pick out the sneer on the disciple’s face, curling his lips in disdain. “Since you are incapable of honor and won’t release me,” the disciple spits. “I will have to kill you!” Amusement creeps up Wei Wuxian’s throat, cold and edged. If they want to kill him, they ought not to have wasted time with such theatrics.

“Kill me? Can you?” He glances toward the archers lining the cliff, eyebrows arched in doubt. “Can they?” They should know better than to think him defenseless by now. Resentment is everywhere; he carries it in his bones.   There’s a small snap beside him, the sound of Wen Ning’s suppression necklace breaking. Resentment rises in a rush, a geyser-roar that echoes in his marrow.   A volley of arrows pierces the sky. Wen Ning throws himself forward, grabbing hold of a boulder wider than he is tall and slamming it down as a shield in front of Wei Wuxian before flinging himself up the cliff. Wei Wuxian tucks close behind his new shelter and waits. Wen Ning had been the one to suggest he go as Wei Wuxian’s companion, and he had gently refused to be put off by protests. It had seemed too risky to let him come among the people who’d had him killed, but now, Wei Wuxian is reluctantly grateful for his presence. There will be a mess, but at least they’ll walk out of it alive. He can feel the anger, the bitterness, crawling up the ladder of his ribs. The injuries the Jin get are deserved, are less than what they’ve earned. How dare they set a trap for him with his nephew as the bait? How petty and despicable. Today was meant to be for celebration, meant to be a bright-glow day of family and joy. Now, they’ve gotten their dirty-gold hands all over it, twisted and reshaped it into another mess that will be pinned to his name. Fine. Let it be. He’s tired of staying politely in his cage, of constraining himself to fit within their mean tolerance. They opened the gate. They carried the stick. “Wei Wuxian, this is the price of your arrogance!”

He turns to see the leader standing there at his side and, oh, he does remember him. Vaguely. Some cousin of Jin Zixuan — the loud-mouthed brat who was in charge of the Wen prison camp that used to be here. “Let’s see your capability now,” the cousin spits, raising his sword. He lunges, throws himself into a flurry of offense. It might be impressive against someone else, someone unused to defending theirself with a flute. But Chenqing is not just a stick of bamboo, and Wei Wuxian is no one else. Lan Zhan insisted on training together during the war, dragging Wei Wuxian out to clearings and small yards in their camps until they were both soaked in sweat. Bichen could not scar Chenqing; this rat-faced junior is little more than a gnat. He skirts out of range of a strike and feels something shift, slip loose from his robes. He reaches, instinctively, for his chest, but the box that should be there is held in the cousin’s unworthy hand. “Give it back,” he demands. This cousin has no right to touch the gift, is undeserving of even knowing it exists. He turns the box in one hand, lips curling in a sneer. “Is this the gift you think worthy of Jin Rulan?” he asks, derisive. “Did you really think we’d let you attend his celebrations? You, the Yiling laozu, at the Chief Cultivator’s own tower?” His hands are shaking, the edges of his vision hazy. The invitation was signed from Jiang Cheng. His brother wouldn’t betray him, not like this, not with family on the line. But— But if the rest of the Jin sect knew of the invitation, knew the quickest path between Yiling and Koi Tower is through this pass— It would be the perfect opportunity for revenge. They might have even encouraged Jiang Cheng to send the invitation, knowing it a better lure than anything signed by a Jin hand. His nails bite into the pad of his thumb as his hand tightens around Chenqing. He can feel the shift, the black-sand blood rising in his veins. If they want a trap then let them have his teeth and claws. He lifts Chenqing to his lips. “Stop! Both of you!” Jin Zixuan’s golden robes are strangely ruddy, as if viewed through bloodied waters. Wei Wuxian is aware, distantly, that some part of him is trembling; his heart is too loud against the bone of his ribs and sluggish. “Zixuan, what are you doing here?” the cousin demands. His voice is too loud, screeching. It would take so little to silence him. A single note, a flick of his fingers. Resentment could curl around his neck, throttle him. A single spirit could bite out his larynx with jagged red teeth. He deserves it. It’s only fair. He attacked with the intent to kill. Isn’t it right, isn’t it only equal exchange, that Wei Wuxian give answer? Did he not ask a question seeking a reply? He can’t kill Zixuan. It takes some effort to remember this. Shijie would be sad. It might be better for her, in the long run, to be free of him but — but she would be sad. He can’t hurt her. His shaking hand closes tighter around Chenqing’s burning surface. He can’t hurt him. Trash — indelible stain — dirty waters —  There’s a crack, the scraping sound of nails against wood. The box bursts, splinters. Rage rushes through him, a river undammed. “Wei Wuxian! That’s enough!” Chenqing shudders with the impact of the sword against her side, and she echoes with his anger, a cave-ring of resentment rippling between them. She hums, high and keening and hungry. “Stop Wen Ning and we can talk,” Jin Zixuan says, as if there is any room for words here. “Don’t make the situation worse. There is still space for common ground.” Common ground? Common ground? Are they not the ones here with blades unsheathed to cut his own neck? How reasonable it must seem to them to ask him to prepare the parched earth between them with his own blood. Of course he must be the one to stop. He is the one broken and snarling and rabid, after all, the wild creature they never should have brought in off the streets. It doesn’t matter how many men he killed for them, how much of himself was carved out in their service. “The moment I stop him, he will be pierced by your arrows and die,” he snarls. “I should stop? What about you?” “Don’t be unreasonable!” Jin Zixuan snaps, facing him fully. “This is a misunderstanding. If you both follow me to Carp Tower, you can stand and give a full account.” He speaks so reasonably, so sensibly. Of course he would believe anyone at Carp Tower would listen to a full account. Of course he trusts in the pulleys and levers hidden behind their golden façade. What cause has he ever had to doubt when his family’s corruption has carried him from cradle to throne? “Jin Zixuan, let me ask you,” Wei Wuxian says. “When you invited me, can you really say you knew nothing of their plan to kill me?” He fumbles through a protest, affronted by the audacity of a claim against him. The Jin sit so high in their tower, so removed from mundane things like blame. They’ve removed the bodies from the prison camp, but this is an old pass and the rocks have not always been so steady. The dead are everywhere, if you know where to look. Wei Wuxian has shared their company as close as lovers and brothers and old friends; they rise up to greet him, eager with relief. Revenge is the sweetest song. There’s a wet crunch: flesh, tendon, bone. The gasp and choke of a punctured lung. Something flickers in his periphery, a figure wound in qi and resentment together with a saber’s edge. The lines of the world are blurred, hazy with the red of spirits hungry for new flesh. They’ve waited so long for their answer, for their peace. They have starved in the desolation of unquiet rest.

“Wei Wuxian! Jin Zixuan!” He’s heard the voice before, rough and hard with command. It’s faint compared to the hisses and screams of his companions. All the world seems shifted on end, a bottle balanced on a precarious edge. Red floods the pass, writhing, crackling, snarling. There are familiar fingers hooking around his spine, slipping into the spaces between his ribs, running lovingly up his throat. There’s a scream, a wet howl of pain. Wei Wuxian, they sigh, whisper, sing. He knows this multitude, has been scoured by this choir. Wei Wuxian, do you remember? He made a promise once, a long time ago. He said he would be their speaker, give breath to their petitions. Blood breaks across his lips, gasps out of his shredded lungs. He promised the world would not forget them; they promised he would have revenge. The world shudders, shivers. It takes more than blood to make an oath like that. He stumbles; his knees shake. A sacrifice isn’t worth anything if it isn’t full-hearted. There’s a dark figure blurred before him, gold laid out in their arms. Shijie must have looked so beautiful at her wedding; he wonders if she’ll forgive him for cutting it short. His legs give out and the dark rises up to meet him. Wei Wuxian — don’t you want revenge?

[brokenjardaantech]

a road not taken

Fandom: star trek (2009)

pairing: nero/ayel

summary:

Leya returns from his most recent trial dazed and overwhelmed. It is Ŏ’ŗên's job to comfort his bondmate.

other tags: griefing/mourning, hurt/comfort

ao3 link

Ŏ’ŗên knows something is wrong as soon as his bondmate reappears sitting on the edge of their shared bed. Not because of the silence - that he is used to since the fateful day when his other half miraculously survived the unsurvivable; not because of the frailness - that he is also used to since the day they first met; nor because of the change of the colour of his soulmate’s eyes - that he expects after another trial from beings he is too four-dimensional and mortal to comprehend. But the impenetrable wall he runs into when he taps into their bond - that is something they have not had between them since the day he nearly lost Leya, the price of blocking themselves from each other’s mind too high for them to even try again. Not having access to their bond doesn’t mean that he can’t deduce his bondmate’s emotions from other tells, however, and he knows that right now, the love of his life is overwhelmed with them and therefore is not ready to talk about them yet, so he does what he has learnt from decades of experience that sends his message clearly without resorting to words: press his chest against Leya’s back, wrap his arms around his (painfully thin, boney, narrow) shoulders, and press a kiss with his lips on the pointed tip of his ear. 

I’m here for you.

Leya turns his head so that they can exchange a proper kiss with their lips and their fingers. I know. But I’m not ready yet.

One more brush of two fingers against two fingers. A firm squeeze on his waist. I’ll be there whenever you’re ready.

His bondmate pulls away from their embrace and walks away, his skin as pale as the oversized white sleep robe he is wearing, presumably back to the room where his nest is, his own space where he can forget the outside world and rest and think properly. He will be out after a few hours usually.

Usually.

Ŏ’ŗên realises he must take the initiative when the situation doesn’t get better after days of waiting for his bondmate to open up. Whenever the wall between their joined minds wobble, strong waves of sadness washes over the bond, and it is obvious starting from the second day that Leya is not okay at all. Still, he lets him be for a few more days, taking care of their children, tending to the farm, checking on the situation in the rest of the galaxy, while his bondmate hopefully recovers and processes whatever he saw during the trial. On the sixth day he breaches the silence, unwilling to see his other half dwell on his sorrows for any longer: it is not healthy for all of them. 

‘Wheaty?’

He finds him on the deck at the back of the house overlooking seemingly-endless hills of different kinds of fruit and blue wheat, the setting sun ruining the world in a fiery hue that he cannot help but find nostalgic; it reminds him of the days in their academy years where they spent their free time sitting in the grass at the waterfront as their eyes were fixed on the glistening sea. They didn’t realise that they were in love back then; they do now. 

There is no response from his bondmate and neither does he expect one, although Leya does clutch the large stuffed toy Ŏ’ŗên gifted him all those years ago closer towards his chest and does not protest when Ŏ’ŗên scooped him up so that he can sit on his lap instead. A kiss on the tip of his ear, a nuzzle against his neck where his scent is the strongest, a firm squeeze around his waist. He deflates.

‘Did you pass?’ is the first question asked. Always start from the simplest, most mundane things.

‘Pending,’ is Leya’s response, a low murmur that would have been lost to the breeze brushing their skin had both of them not been Vulcanoids. ‘I try not to think about it too much.’

‘How?’

‘I broke a rule.’

‘What rule?’

‘Non-interference.’

‘What were you supposed to do?’

‘I -’ his voice wobbles. ‘We were supposed to observe our counterparts in three different parallel universes and report back.’

‘Which three did you choose?’

‘The first one was easy enough. I checked on us in the mirror universe.’

‘How are they?’

‘Doing well. They have secured victory over the Empire with the help of my cousin’s counterpart. Their child will grow up in peace.’

‘That’s good to hear. How about the second one?’

His bondmate doesn’t answer immediately and instead wiggles in his lap until he is completely plastered against him with the stuffed toy squished between their chests. ‘The ones my cousin killed. The ones who started all this. The ones who never got to go home.’

He tightens his arms around him. Among all the choices he could make… ‘What about them?’

‘You and your sister were not related in any means and were bondmates. You were going to have a child until a supernova destroyed ch’Rihan. I was your second-in-command on a mining vessel. We were captured by the Klingons not long after we came into this timeline and spent two and a half decades on a penal colony. We escaped in the end but… you know how it went.’

And he does. Starfleet used their newest starship to defeat the terrorist who committed genocide on the Vulcan people, the Captain, the hero behind the Narada’s neutralisation too humble to want their name announced to the general public - at least, that is the official story that is taught in both the Federation and the Republic. In reality, though… ‘Was it what you expected to see?’

‘My cousin did not lie to me, if that is what you are asking.’ He buries his face in the crook of his neck. ‘It did not make it any easier. Do you wish to know?’

‘Please.’

‘That version of us never bonded properly, but the link is there. My cousin killed me first right in front of your eyes and exploited the pain it caused the other you, made you beg for the mercy of death. They… They were happy - overjoyed, even - to help.’

‘Do you think it’s a good thing?’

A shake of his head. ‘Killing our counterparts is the only way to save the galaxy from endless war. My cousin might have done the right thing then, but it was also one of their major steps towards…’ his grip on his shirt tightens, ‘whatever they are right now. Call me a coward or soft-hearted if you wish to, but I do think my cousin was being needlessly cruel. They had the choice of eliminating the threat and moving on or continuing to dwell on it; they chose the latter, they chose to bring even more pain and suffering to the galaxy.’ A deep breath. ‘They became the very thing they had sworn to destroy.’

They let themselves drift for a while. His bondmate has allowed the wall to crumble on its own some time during their talk, and they both bask in the bond between them, Leya drifting between his usual sensitive senses and a light doze, Ŏ’ŗên witnessing the first hint of stars in the sky as the sun descends further and further down the horizon and hearing the faint rustle of their children turning in their sleep from within the house. He will have to wake them up soon, he thinks, but for now his focus is solely on his bondmate.

A sharp pain from the other side of the bond jolts him from his thoughts, the emotion both familiar and distant - familiar because it is not something one can let go of easily, distant because he has not experienced it for a long time. The pain of mourning. Leya is trembling in his arms and the shoulder he is leaning on is wet. 

He is crying.

Ŏ’ŗên pushes a wave meant to comfort through their bond hoping to at least calm his bondmate down, but all it does this time is make the sadness return in even stronger waves, and he would have shed a few tears had he had human ancestry like Leya. He receives flashes of images and bursts of sensations, all of them too blurry and short for him to distinguish anything of use; he has to ease himself from his bondmate’s mind to preserve his sanity.

‘I’m sorry,’ Leya says as he leans away and furiously rubs his knuckles against his face in an attempt to wipe his tears off. Ŏ’ŗên brushes his hands away and does it for him, his fingers brushing against his bondmate’s qui’lari to initiate a shallow meld and dragging him away from whatever vision that is plaguing him. ‘I screwed it all up - I lost control of myself -’

Ŏ’ŗên shushes him. ‘What did you do?’

‘I -’ an exhale. ‘The last timeline I visited. It was the closest to the one we’re living in,’ Ŏ’ŗên can feel him clinging onto their bond, grounding Leya against whatever he is reminded of. His eyes are wide. ‘Until I died.’

With so many brushes with death, Ŏ’ŗên isn’t surprised that his bondmate’s counterpart in a parallel universe wasn’t as lucky. ‘What happened?’

Leya shivers from a non-existent cold as Ŏ’ŗên feels age-old memories resurface from the depths of his bondmates mind, one of snow-capped, looming mountains and wind strong enough to rattle entire houses: whatever he encountered during his trial, it made Leya think of his childhood. ‘In that universe,’ he swallows, ‘my cousin never came to take me away. I died cold and starving never to have left the valley.’

Ŏ’ŗên senses that there is some more going on, therefore he merely rubs his bondmate’s thigh through the thin fabric of his sleeping robe. 

‘Our counterparts in that universe… They were like us. T’hy’la. Two halves of the same soul. The other you never got to meet me, but he knew that something was missing. There was a giant gap in his mind where the other me should be, and it only grew wider with each passing year.

‘No one believed him when he told the others that there was a void in his mind, that the void was causing him endless pain and confusion. He spent years searching for whatever he could to lessen the pain knowing that he probably would never be able to uproot the ache - writing, serving the Republic, lovers whom he had thought were the shape of the missing pieces - but he got… disappointed, I suppose, and eventually he seemed to have given up. That was when he finally found someone who would perform a mind meld with him, and it was also after this meld that he was told that he had a bondmate, one who had died long before they met. He learnt that the wound would never heal; he would have to live the rest of his life always yearning for someone who no longer exists.’

Ŏ’ŗên holds him closer. ‘What a terrible thing to learn about.’

Leya wipes his eyes. ‘It was a relief for him, though,’ he places his hand on Ŏ’ŗên’s on his thigh, their fingers hooking together in a chaste kiss automatically and not letting go. ‘I guess… That was what made him accept the truth. As much as a closure he was allowed to have. He mourned the other me even though they never met each other, spent his days thinking of “what-if”s and drowning himself in imaginary scenarios where he could be happy with a bondmate with their katra so intertwined that others have difficulties distinguishing the two from each other, let himself feel the loss properly without anyone telling him that his pain wasn’t real. I watched him become a happier man.’ A deep breath. A shudder. ‘Then I watched him make preparations.’

‘What preparations?’

‘To…’ his grip on Ŏ’ŗên’s hand is almost painful. Leya’s side of the bond twists in turmoil. ‘To join the other me. At least, that was what he was thinking of when he wrote his final letter to his family and friends. I - I watched him inject himself with a hypospray and lie down in his bed for sleep just like any other day. He looked so relieved even though he’s so lonely that I - I -’ He heaves. The first sob breaks out from his throat, a high-pitched sound followed by a cascade of tears that goes straight into Ŏ’ŗên’s hears like a dagger, and his hands get slapped away when he tries to help. ‘I couldn’t, Ŏ’ŗên, I couldn’t let him go like this. No one deserves to die alone. I knew it was against the rules, but I - I made myself known.’ A particularly furious wipe, ‘Stepped into that universe with a corporeal form and went through the door to where the other you was. He - he thought I was his bondmate, here to take him away to where they could live together happily ever after.’ His voice breaks, and Ŏ’ŗên gently pats his back as Leya coughs and chokes on his own tears. ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’

Is that why his love is feeling so conflicted? That he broke a rule to comfort a dying man? ‘Never, my love, you know it,’ Ŏ’ŗên promises.

Leya calms down by a slight bit after that and a deep breath. But this time, instead of talking, he intertwines their fingers together on both hands and brings their foreheads together, initiating a meld that, to Ŏ’ŗên, feels as real as any other reality, the background of a setting sun disappearing alongside the endless rows of crops, the contrast between the chill of the evening and his bondmate’s body heat gone and replaced by the feeling of being in a strangely familiar body, and he knows that Leya is sharing his memories with him, that he is experiencing what is before his eyes right now in the way his soulmate did. His vision is blurry with tears - something he, as a full Vulcanoid, would never do in real life, but he can still distinguish the vague, faded outline of scattered pieces of furniture marking that only one person lives in there and they rarely, if at all, bring guests to their home. His legs, tired from pushing his newfound powers to their limits and awkwardly thin and knobbly like puberty never quite left him, creaks with each step forward towards the thick curtains framing a bed too narrow for two. There is an empty hypospray on the bedside table. He feels himself lift his hand and part the curtain, and, in a flow of plain fabric, he is no longer Leya, no longer experiencing the memory as Leya himself, and instead is standing with his back against the wall next to the bedside table, watching his bondmate stand very still and quiet and stare at the figure on the bed, a stray tear escaping the socket of his eye and dripping onto equally plain sheets. 

Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s eyes catch the figure watching over him. His lips tremble as if he wants to speak, but in the end only a small, choked sound rises from his throat. ‘Love?’ he breathes.

Leya slowly sits down on the bed and holds Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s hand, his insignificant weight barely making a dip in the mattress. ‘I’m here,’ he says, and he presses a kiss on the back of Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s (oh so bony and thin) hand, tears straining translucent skin wet and leaving tracks on his face. Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s lips twitch. ‘I’m here to take you away. We’ll be together.’

‘I -’ Other-Ŏ’ŗên swallows. ‘You must think lowly of me, wasting my life -’

Leya places a finger on Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s lips to silence him. ‘I do not wish to see you in pain,’ his voice trembles slightly. He intertwines his and Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s fingers together, an intimate gesture only reserved for the closest of lovers, but Ŏ’ŗên finds himself feeling… nothing at all, really, apart from his heart aching and threatening to burst at the same time from the scene before him and his affection towards his bondmate. ‘Sleep now, love,’ he hears his bondmate say to his counterpart before pressing a kiss with his lips onto Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s brow, and he knows that Leya is copying him then: this is how Ŏ’ŗên puts him to sleep when he has trouble doing so by himself. ‘I will be here when you wake up,’ he breathes into Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s skin. ‘Sleep well.’

A small smile appears on Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s face as his eyes slip shut. A few more shallow breaths. 

Stillness comes right after.

Leya pulls his hand away from Other-Ŏ’ŗên’s slack fingers and slowly turns his overflowing eyes towards his actual bondmate, and the memory dissolves into a fog quickly blown away to bring both of them back to the deck, the hills of crops, the setting sun. It is at this moment that Ŏ’ŗên realises that he is holding his bondmate’s hands uncomfortably tight in his grip, so he lets go and cups Leya’s cheeks instead, his thumb wiping his tears away. ‘My Wheaty,’ he says, finally understanding what happened. So this is why the pain feels so familiar. ‘No one deserves to die alone. In the last moments of my counterpart’s life, you gave him hope, gave him peace. He died knowing that he was loved and his t’hy’la will be with him forever.’

‘But Ŏ’ŗên, what if there is no other side?’ Leya’s hands fly to his face. ‘Elements, what if the other side is not what I promised him to be? What will the other you become? What if -’ his chest heaves - ‘What if the other me isn’t there when I promised that he will never be alone again? I would have given a man hope and - and shattered it! All because I couldn’t control myself!’

He is trembling and breathing heavily by the last word, angry tears rolling down his already-puffy eyes, and Ŏ’ŗên knows that he has to do something to remedy what can spiral off into an uncontrollable outburst. Sliding his arms underneath his bondmate’s thighs, he hoists him up without any warning, Leya wrapping his knobbly limbs around his torso instinctively and holding on for dear life with his face buried in Ŏ’ŗên’s shoulder, and he takes them both indoors back into their shared bedroom and throws his bondmate onto the pile of blankets and pillows which absorbs all the impact and makes Leya sink into it instead of letting him bounce. Before he can react, Ŏ’ŗên slams himself on top of his bondmate with his arms at Leya’s eye level so that he is the only thing Leya can see, smell, feel. A long, deep breath, and Leya places his hand on Ŏ’ŗên’s chest to signify that he is ready, rolling them over so that he is lying half on top of Ŏ’ŗên with his head on his chest. 

Ŏ’ŗên kisses the top of his bondmate’s head. ‘My counterpart died in peace. You did what you could to relieve his pain and gave him peace when he was near his end, and that’s…’ he trails off.

‘All that matters,’ Leya finishes for him, and his voice breaks as his face scrunches up. He buries his face in the crook of Ŏ’ŗên’s neck, tears staining skin wet and soaking fabric, but Ŏ’ŗên can sense from their bond that his bondmate is feeling much better now, the sharp pain fading into a dull throbbing that will likely continue for some time before Leya finds himself distracted by other matters - that is how he dealt with grief before, and Ŏ’ŗên doubts that it will change this time.

He had no one, Leya’s voice suddenly echoes in his mind. He had cut off his family a long time ago. They couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to help with his pain, and he loved them so much that he couldn’t bear to let them know he gave up his life for a long-dead person he had never met. He will be remembered by the void he created in his family and friends’ life, not for who he really was.

But we do, Ŏ’ŗên replies. We remember him.

But what if I forget? It is inevitable given my position between this universe and the extra-dimensional world. One day I will process knowledge too much for my brain to handle, and I will be forced to discard some of it. Memories of our children. Of your counterpart. Of us growing up together. Of you. I might forget them one day and…

You won’t.

But -

You are mortal, Wheaty, Leya, my love, Ŏ’ŗên gives his shoulders a squeeze. ‘There will be a finite end for you and me. I promise.’

It is an empty one, he knows. He is not the one who can jump across universes unscathed. He is not the one who can live in between dimensions. He is not the one alive only because he is bounded to a higher dimension. Elements, he doesn’t even believe in an afterlife in the sense that there is a new world for him to explore and live in after he leaves this world, but he knows, from what Leya told him many times before, that every single person, every single act, every single change - all of them leave a unique imprint in the universe waiting for the right person to discover and learn from. Maybe this is enough to leave a mark in the unending river of spacetime. Maybe they will tell their children about it, someday, when they grow up and start to develop their own powers. Maybe they will join their counterparts afterwards, who knows? It’s not like he can look into the future.

Thank you.

Oops. Didn’t mean for you to hear that.

In any case.

Kaiidth.

And look at what it made me into.

What, the most wonderful bondmate a Rihannsu can ask for?

Leya thumps his fist lightly on Ŏ’ŗên’s shoulder. You are insufferable.

I love you.

Leya sighs as fondness bleeds through the bond. And I you.

Their minds suddenly become much busier and conscious. Their children are awake.

Dinner? Ŏ’ŗên asks everyone.

The cascade of sleepy yes’s brings a smile to his face.

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

i wrote this mostly to kick myself to finally spitting out this ficverse, so if anyone is interested in more of it please do let me know. i’ll write more.

[yandere-deredere]

monster boyfriend: beelzebub

a/n: for whumptober 2019: shaky hands and monstertober 2019: demon warning: mentions of religious themes and occult, implied unhealthy relationships, implied touch starvation pairing: beelzebub the demon x gender neutral! reader word count: 2113 summary: Who knew someone could get so lonely that they’d be desperate enough to summon a friend?

“Now, darling, why are you so… nervous?” 

You took a step back, your foot unsteady as it settled against the creaking of the floorboards. Your eyes frantically flickered here and there, trying to find a way to escape or, perhaps, for an object to use.

There was nothing.

In this empty attic filled with only dust and stray boxes, you couldn’t find an exit or a weapon. The only way out was the trap door with the ladder but that was behind it and you wouldn’t be able to duck and maneuver yourself over there.

No, you were trapped and it was all your fault.

You had thought so foolishly that you could play with the books you had found in this musty attic. They were all dumb occult things with hard covers carved with occult symbols, pages lined with gold and paper heavy and expensive. 

You had doubted, at first. Blasphemy and demons weren’t the kinds of things your family members were interested in so you couldn’t help but wonder where these books had come from. Maybe the previous owner of the house? It was a mystery for sure.

You thought nothing of it and read, filling your head with what you had thought were fictional stories or the ravings of a mad lunatic. The books were all about summonings and different demons, about their different hierarchies and their different legends, what they did in the mortal realm, what they were known for. 

It was interesting if not mildly gory. It was the kind of horror that you couldn’t help but continue reading even though you were scared shitless; the kind of horror that made you stay up at night, wondering if the shapes you were making out in the dark were really just your imagination.

Soon, the books held you in a sort of trance. Your curiosity had peaked and, suddenly, your thoughts of ‘Surely, these couldn’t be legit?’ turned into ‘But… what if it was?’. 

Though the thought of them being real would’ve been absolutely macabre, you still couldn’t help but wonder. You had researched certain things in the books and found allusions of them in the Bible as well as other holy texts and history books about the church.

Certainly, if the book was pure fiction, the author was well-read or, at least, researched the topics thoroughly.

Eventually, you found yourself lonely.

You had never been close to your family, not really, so it wasn’t a surprise that you kept drifting away from them. You had always been an introvert and shy so your ideal day was just locked up in your room. It was easy to drift away from people when you rarely saw them outside of maybe dinner and lunch.

There weren’t any friends in the picture, either. You had never been very good with socializing so, other than classmates that you barely spoke to when unprompted, the only human contact you really had were on screens, in TV shows and movies.

You had always been a fan of fantasy and, after Supernatural and god-knows-what other demon/angel shows, the thought of summoning a friend met with your endless curiosity for the books. If they were real, undoubtedly, you could summon one.

Summon a demon.

It should’ve hit you how dumb that was. Selling your soul for a friend was just about the most desperate thing in the world and were you desperate? Were you that lonely? Did you really crave the touch of another thing so much that you’d be willing to do a stupid (probably hokey) ritual? 

The answer was, obviously, yes.

Still, despite your desperation, you still strongly believed that the books were just a fabrication of someone’s imagination, just an exaggeration of religion and what little information it gave on demons and Hell. There was just no way the books were about something real.

So, you went straight to the top. You thought ‘Might as well since it wasn’t even going to work’. You couldn’t summon the leader of Hell itself, of course, so you went one step lower: Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies himself. 

It was surprisingly easy to collect the materials because the book was just so vague. Just blood, never about where it's from. Just a sacrifice, never about if it was alive or not. Just candles, a room, symbols to be painted and carved. 

It was too easy.

“What? Didn’t you… want to see me?” It continued to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts and making your eyes snap away from your surroundings and to the being in front of you.

As it spoke, its mouth forming the words, its lips lush and its teeth sharp, you couldn’t help but notice that its voice was velvet and smooth too. You were smart enough not to fall for things like that, though. You knew all too well that the thing in front of you was made to be perfect.

Well, perfect in a sense. No matter how much it tried to make itself beautiful, to lull you into a sense of false security, there was still something so off about it.

The demon looked like any other man, its build stocky but obviously muscular. Its body was naked, smeared here and there with blood but you couldn’t focus on that out of fear. Either way, it was a normal, very male, body. Its arms ended in normal unclawed fingers, its hair mussed to look effortless but still handsome. Its smile almost seemed genuine, too.

It didn’t matter. There was something about its eyes, something so cold, so lifeless and dead despite the brilliant blue hue. Its smile, though disguised as genuine, was sharp, almost predatory, like a wolf trying to convince a rabbit not to run.

In this scenario, you were, unfortunately, the rabbit.

It stepped closer “You don’t have to tell me what you want. I know what you want and I’ll give it to you, free of charge.”

You shook your head, taking another shaky step back. There was no way it’d give you what you wanted for free. After all, the book had warned you. Demons never did anything for free. No matter what it was, no matter how little the request, they always took something as payment.

“Okay, you’re right, sweet thing, there is something I want in exchange.” It grinned wider, taking another step closer “Trust me, though, it aligns with what you want so, really it’s not payment at all.”

You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you continued to stare, frantic at the thought that it was reading your mind. You hadn’t said anything since it had crawled out of the bloody portal you had painted onto the floor so the fact that it had just countered a thought in your head made you scared. 

The demon chuckled, its laugh rumbling and deep and almost sinful the way it sent a tingle down your spine “Don’t be scared, darling. The mind-reading thing is just a side effect of the summoning. We’re tied together now, you and me.”

You took another step back and he took two steps forward “You can block your thoughts, don’t worry. I’ll teach you how or those silly little books will tell you.”

You didn’t like how it implied that it would be staying.

“Of course I’d be staying. You’ve summoned me and I’m here to make your…” It chuckled again though, this time, it felt more like it was in on a joke you weren’t a part of “...wish come true.”

You shook your head, trying your hardest to force words out of your throat, except, your mind jumbled and you couldn’t get anything out. 

You didn’t want to say anything just in case it was the wrong thing to say. One misconstrued word could lead to a decapitated head or your soul sucked right out of you. It was a demon, something from Hell, with supernatural powers that would put fictional demons to shame.

As a result, you didn’t think it’d have any qualms with torturing you if you had happened to offend it. As one of the Princes of Hell, it had surely seen its fair share of slaughter and carnage. You had even read that it would often incite wars and bring men to murder.

If it could do that without even a shred of pity or sympathy, if it could see blood shed and families torn apart and men killed for nothing, it could surely crush you under the heel of its foot without hesitation.

So, you struggled, throat constricting so tightly that nothing could come out. You wanted to tell him to leave, that you hadn’t thought your actions through, that you didn’t want to be fooled by a demon because you were so vulnerable. Yet, the words wouldn’t leave your mouth.

You tried harder, mouth stuttering, words stumbling over your lips into something incomprehensible. Your eyes watered as you continued to struggle.

You were scared of him. Of course, you were. 

It could kill you, end your life, yes, that was true. That wasn’t what you were scared of, though.  Dying wasn’t something you feared and, instead, you welcomed it. There were things worse than death, after all, and, now that you’ve summoned him, you knew of them, have read them from those cursed books. 

An eternity in Hell, tortured by your worst nightmares, would scare anyone.

And, maybe, that wasn’t the only thing you were scared of. Maybe the reason you were so scared of other people, of reaching out and befriending and building relationships, was also the same reason you were scared of it. 

A rough hand pressed against your skin, fingers encircling your upper arm. Your struggle died abruptly and your vision cleared to see that it had taken several steps towards you and that it stood there, only one step away.

The coldness in its eyes gave way to something indecipherable.

“Darling, I won’t hurt you.” The demon’s voice was still smooth, still velveteen, but the seductive tone in it was replaced with something soft and comforting “I promise, I swear, I won’t.”

You knew a promise from a demon was something of an unbreakable vow so you nodded to show you believed It.

It let go of your arm and, suddenly, you craved its touch like some sort of starving man. It had been so long since you had felt a hand so calloused but soft and a touch so strange but gentle. 

Instead of completely pulling away, though, it took another step forward and its chest pressed against yours, its skin pressing against the cloth of your t-shirt. It reached down and took your hands.

You hadn’t even noticed that your hands had been shaking. Now, as it held them so loosely in its own, you noticed every tremble of your fingertips and every quake of your palm.

It held your hands tighter, fingers interlocking with yours. It pressed itself closer, the pressure of its chest against yours heavier. It felt warm, almost inhumanly so, but you leaned in anyway, your skin yearning for more touch, more contact, more warmth.

It let go of your hand, wrapping its arm around your waist to pull you closer. It leaned forward, allowing you to curl up against it, face pressed into its neck. You wrapped an arm around its neck to pull it even closer. There was a soft rumble as if you were cuddling with a giant cat instead of a murderous demon.

“I told you, I can make your wishes come true.” The demon whispered temptations against your ear, its breath just as inhumanly warm as its body “I can make the loneliness go away.”

You bit back a whimper, knowing that your desperation would make any price feel like a bargain and it continued, its arm tightening even more “All I want in return is you; all of you, every single part of you, dedicated to me.”

“Say it. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Your grip on its hand tightened and your arm around its neck pulled it closer. You mumbled the words as if shy and scared which, really, you were “B-Be-Beelzebub… I-I’m yours.” 

“And stop referring to me in your head like I’m an inanimate object. Anything else will do but I’m not an it or a thing.” It-- He-- They chuckled and you could feel the vibrations of it against your chest “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

Your nod sealed the deal and you burrowed yourself deeper into its arms. The searing pain on your back confirmed it: you were branded as theirs and you would be for god-knows-how long. 

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Dead of Night|| Morgan & Matty

There it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ?”

Morgan seldom left the house with a clear destination in mind, but often she found herself wading through the overgrown grass and mossy angels of the town cemeteries. She liked Eluria best of all, tracing the footpath she’d walked with Deirdre and weaving around the ghosts that ambled through the shadows. They did not speak to her, nor she to them. Morgan imagined they remembered her visit mere weeks ago and understood there was nothing to say. She walked past all the places they had wandered together, off the gravel path, where the weeds were less tended and the stillness was marked with tiny sounds of life crawling on. Sometimes Morgan would continue walking, tireless, but other times she would release her hold on her balance and let the ground catch her as she collapsed. She was getting better at falling just so that the moment of impact burst through the haze around her and made her want to gasp, to breathe. As she hit the ground, Morgan stared up at the sightless stone eyes around her. She lost herself staring into the granite, picking out the quartz from the feldspar from the micah in its makeup, searching for a place inside her for this knowledge to still belong to. Maybe her own decay, maybe her own stillness. She stayed there as the light started to fade and time slipped away from her mind, slurped up in the quiet of death. Even when a strange new sound rippled through the cemetery, Morgan lay in place, dead eyes open. 

It had been a long fuckin’ week. A long, hungry week. One of many. And they only ever ended in the same place, these days: some creepy, crawly cemetery, ideally the sort where the bodies didn’t always get, you know, a proper burial. Places people were put to disappear. White Crest had, frankly, more than its likely share of that sort of shit, thankfully. Cold at the edges, sallow with aching, awful thirst, Matty had drifted through the graveyard for a while, like another bit of old newspaper caught in the breeze. He could smell it. Somewhere. Fresh, too. Maybe even still warm. His stomach snarled at the thought. 

Or, had snarled. Time got slippery, when he was this starved, when he was feeding, when he was full of blood. Rocking back on his heels, Matty licked his lips, slow, woozy, fingers curling back from the throat he’d chewed open, hidden away in one of the older, lonelier corners of Eluria. They were almost warm. Dead an hour, maybe. His lucky day. Plenty of dinner left in this poor bastard. With a push forward, Matty’s knees hit the dirt, and his hands worked into the gaping hole he’d made. The collarbone snapped forward, horribly - and he had to stop, the sound too damn much to handle. God, he hated this part. In general. All of it. Had to get into the chest, though… with a hard swallow, he kept going, that awful strength rolling back, now that he’d had something to eat. The thinking, too. That came back. Clarity.

Enough to realize that he wasn’t alone. Two ribs in, Matty caught something besides blood on the air. Finally. His head snapped up, and there - there she was. Lady with grass-stained, goosebump-less legs, standing there, staring down into the shallow, abandoned grave he’d found. At the mess he’d made. “Uh -” his throat bobbed, working hard through the aging blood he’d been lapping out. Uh, what? He blinked, squinted. Quiet. Real quiet. Too quiet. No - no heartbeat. Dead lady. He skittered backward, eyes wide. “All yours, man,” Matty cringed, not about to fight another vampire over shit. Not on your unlife, fuck. 

It was the sound of flesh tearing that had drawn Morgan up to her feet. She lingered, wondering if she should run back home and hide, but the sound was--what was it? The novelty of being able to identify the sound from her own death, from her first feeding. Maybe it reminded her of how the meat had fit inside her like nothing else. Maybe she just felt better next to death. So Morgan walked, following the sound and stopped, curious, when she saw where it was coming from. “Uh…hi.” The flesh was new and red and dripping. Morgan’s mouth watered to see the gash where the clavicles had been burst free, the skin dangling down the wound. “Nnnhhh…” She groaned for it. And the vampire--Morgan had only seen Miriam and spawn before, but there was no denying the size of his teeth, stained and peeking over the end of his lips. He skittered back at the sight of her. Morgan tensed her muscles. “You don’t have to,” she stammered, uncertain of the protocol. Was there some species turf war over bodies? She shuffled forwards, unable to look away from the glimpses of muscle, from the thin, tender flesh that went up the skull. Morgan descended on the body and tore a fresh piece away, groaning with relief. It coated her, comforted her in her cotton haze and wet her throat as good as water used to. She drew her head up enough to search for the vampire again. “Hey, you um...you didn’t kill this guy, did you?”

Oh. Oh. Not a vampire. Nope. Going for the meat. Zombie. Matty turned aside, quick, wiping at his blood-slimy cheeks - doing his best not to watch, or listen too closely. Not that she was any worse than he was. Nothing personal. Just - he’d never been great with all the gore of this. This undead shit. That moan, though. Fuck, he knew that. The feeling. Being so starved you didn’t know anything else. He swallowed, forcefully, as the zombie looked his way. Bloody-mouthed, a bit of raw, human meat in her hands. “Hi,” Matty echoed, with a weak, sharp smile. Loosening. Just a bit. More for show than out of anything like real relief. If he didn’t have to fuck off, well. Okay. Okay. Wasn’t a vampire. That - that did help. But zombies would, obviously, totally chow down on anything with flesh attached. So. He kept his distance, not wanting to get between the lady and her meal. Shaking his head, bloody hands up, not looking especially innocent. Even if he sounded it, earnestly so. “Fuck, no. No. Promise. I - I’m just out here trying to, you know, avoid that kinda thing.” Cautious - and still hungry - he came a bit closer, boots sinking in the damp earth. “You too, huh? That’s cool. We’re cool. I, ah… don’t mind sharing, or anything, if you don’t…” 

Morgan felt like she’d been thrown into someone else’s party without knowing the rules. They were both blood splattered and awkward. Did creatures like them share bodies often? Was this a common courtesy thing?  She took another bite, tearing the wound open wider to get a better bite, and gave the vampire another look. “Were, um...were you done or--?” No. She knew that expression. He was afraid of her. She wiped her mouth on her arm to think of something to say. ‘I don’t bite’ was too awful to be funny, not with raw muscle stuck to the corner of her lip. “I’m full, I just...it’s like when there’s three slices of cake on the table. You just gotta…” She shrugged, frowning. Have one. Despite the imagery, she had the ghost feeling of a skin crawl over it. This thing would have made her sick before. This was something to look away from. “I can try to break off a limb if it makes you feel safer. Um...sharing. Or you can break off a drumstick for me. Best part of a chicken, right?” Her hands rummaged in the body as she talked, wrestling more meat away and bringing it up to her mouth. She scooted away, to give the vampire some encouragement but there was only so far her body felt like being away from it. “So...you got a name, or am I gonna keep calling you Hungry Guy in my head?”

Was he finished? “I mean, there’s… dude’s still got some blood in him, right…” Matty winced, hovering nervously. Cake. Sure. Like cake. He sorta laughed, picturing that. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.” Safer. Why did that feel so - weird? Uncomfortable, in a way that wriggled and nibbled. A zombie, asking a vampire what to do so he felt safer. When she looked… well, not scared, no. Not exactly what he was used to, though, when it came to zombies. He’d met a few. Super strong, super badass, generally. (Usually dickheads about it, too.) Or, you know. Super gnarly, super rotten. This woman, she seemed - kinda out of it, just. Dealing. Not enjoying things. 

Relatable. 

He shrugged, and perched a little closer. Pushed that smile a bit closer to something real. “Honestly - who the fuck’s ever safe, around here? This town, man...” Like it was no big deal, like… like he hadn’t meant it. The fear, that is. He got ahold of one of those legs, then, and - guts flopping, in a truly nasty way - snapped, twisted, tugged. Took some work. And a flinch, as the bone cracked. But there it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ? Totally confidential, and shit. Cross my heart.” Matty brought his palmful of blood up, and gulped it down. “What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard, you know?” 

So his name was matty Matty. Matty was joking with her like they were sharing a pizza or extra rice from a big takeout order in some kind of communal break room. Teasing. Commiserating. Just strangers being friendly. Morgan took the leg and scooted further away, picking back the skin and fat clumsily and gnawing off the muscle tissue. If she kept her eyes up at the stars and less on the mess of flesh before her, she could imagine a giant turkey leg that would’ve made eyes melt at the Ren Faire. But the revulsion was dull and bitter, a feeling over not being able to get anything out of actual takeout. She should feel worse than this, she thought. It was a human body, that thing that supernaturals were measured in proximity to. It’s fine, they don’t eat humans. But there wasn’t any psychosis hiding around the fibula. No sense of humor. No disappointment. He had been a person before, this graveyard guy she was sharing with Marty. But people did things, felt things, wanted things. Death took the person out of you. Morgan understood that too well. “I’m Morgan,” she said. “Is that a real thing? What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard? Or are you just like—” ‘Nice vampire’ suddenly seemed offensive, a betrayal, however easy it might be. “A nice kinda guy?” She smirked and gestured at him to get a glob of blood that had fallen into his hair.

The grass around them rustled. Morgan flinched and turned. No one coming, but there was movement. She looked over at Matty, the question penned large over her open face. Did you hear something? Tentatively she went back to the leg, peeling off more skin like a sticky wrapper. She was up to her nose in it when two tiny critter hands leapt out from the shadow and tried to pull it out of her grasp. 

Alright, offering accepted. No fingers lost in the process, so. This could be going worse. Much worse. Morgan. Now everybody had a name, and dinner, and… a mess, between them. Matty winced, catching what she was pointing at. Clot, in his curls. Gnarly. Fussing that out, he flicked it into the dirt with a grimace and tossed his hair, huffing at a few stray ones that tumbled back, wildly, into his face. “Try to be?” Nice. Yeah, he tried. “I don’t know. Seems like a good rule? Do unto others, right? With, uh, some exceptions, obviously, when it comes to...” he waved, vaguely, sheepishly, at the corpse between them. Enough said. Some exceptions when it came to staying fed. With a sniff, and a scrub at his bloody chin, Matty went back to poking around in that ragged thigh. Couldn’t waste a drop, after all. Not that there was much to be had, now that this poor motherfucker had been lying out a while.

Long enough to draw the rest of the scavengers. Rats? They’d twitched together, the zombie and the vampire. Matty’s eyes tracked through the gloom, squinting between the gravestones around them. Hard to smell anything much, besides dinner, and turned earth, and death. There was a breeze, rolling through the morning glory and dandelions; probably nothing. Probably. But he kept watching the dark, lapping a last bit of thick, settled blood from his palm. 

Not nothing. The claws lashed out of the weeds, out of the dark, into the meat Morgan was working on. “Shit -” Matty yelped, mostly, before a couple sharp-boned somethings crashed and tore across his shoulders, pouncing him into the clay and the corpse. 

Morgan had never seen anything like these critters. Their eyes were glazed like misty marbles and their too-wide mouths, large enough to stretch over half their face were stuffed with too many sharp, serrated teeth. Morgan let go of the leg with a scream and scrambled back. “What the hell, what the hell…” She cried. The critter swiped at her leg drawing a deep gash with claws that did not belong on anything so small and strange. “Matty!” She looked to the vampire for help but it was no good. Two had found their way on him, ready to dig in. Morgan reached for one and pulled-- right. No monster strength after feeding. Morgan staggered up and yanked again with both hands. She could feel another one on her leg gnawing (probably more like tearing) at her ankle, but she couldn’t leave Matty in a lurch like this. Not without trying first. The critter came up with a piercing shriek. Morgan dropped it onto the body and tugged on Matty’s shirtsleeve. “Any idea what these things are?” She tried to shake the one off her ankle but beared down harder and to her bewilderment, it was almost hurting. “We should run, right? Running good?”

Sliding in a fuckin’ nasty combination of John Doe’s busted open chest and the blood-soaked earth, Matty tumbled and rolled. About all he could do, with two of those - two alghoul, talons digging, twisting, in the worn-jean of his jacket, and through. Flailing up, he managed, barely, to hold the one off from snatching at his eyes. (One of their favorite fuckin’ snacks, he’d noticed. After way too many run-ins.) The other - was gone, real suddenly. 

Morgan. To the goddamn rescue. 

A wild thrash, vampire-loaded, and that alghoul went from snarling in his face to howling through the air. Matty came up gasping, just in time to jerk away from another wicked-sharp swing. And a few bottle-glass blue, mindlessly hungry stares. And those fangs, Jesus. “Fuck, yeah, yeah - run!” With a frantic kick, Matty punted the little shit who’d got ahold of Morgan’s leg. It ripped loose, warbling awfully. Taking some skin. Tasting bile, and resting blood, he pushed Morgan ahead, out of the half-assed grave they’d been crouching in. “Fuckin’ alghouls, man! Just want the leftovers. Go!”

Morgan didn’t wait for her skin to grow back to start running. She began to sprint, legs wobbling under her lopsided weight as she went. “What-ghouls? What does that even mean?” She turned over her shoulder to see if he was still behind her. The alghouls had descended on the body completely, tearing and spitting with a hunger that made her nauseous with familiarity. She had been like that on the first night, when she barely had enough consciousness to rub together to make a thought, when her hunger wasn’t just in the pit of her dead stomach but in her head, in her muscles. It was the core of her, and the sound, what little of it she could stand to remember, was a lot like that. She kept running until they cleared the cemetery and called over her shoulder again, slowing to a jog. “You run into those things a lot? The--all-ghouls? Are you okay?”

Eluria wasn’t one of Matty’s regular haunts, so to speak. But when it came to terrain to scramble over, a cemetery was a cemetery. Around gravestones and across the paths, they booked it hard, as the undead crow flew. Morgan was shouting; had questions. “Alghouls!” Matty hollered back, skidding down a wet-grassed rise. “I dunno, they just - they eat dead shit, they’re fuckin’ gnarly, that’s it!” Like the both of them, sort of. Finally, the dark iron of the fence loomed ahead. Matty was up and over the spikes like a coked-out squirrel. Brushing at the crusted blood and mud on his hands, his arms, he circled around, pacing. Shook up like a can of soda. And - bleeding. Slowly, darkly, from where those claws had punched through the denim, under his collarbone, and down his ribs, and… his back, somewhere. “Ah, fuck…” At least they’d missed that still-healing mark left by the asanbosam; didn’t feel deep, either. Still hurt. “Yeah, yeah.” Matty tossed his head, getting all that hair out of his face. “They’re like… rats. Big, shitty rats. All over the place, in town. They, uh, they aren’t big on lights, but, you start… flashing shit around, after hours, in a graveyard… chances are, you’re gonna get trouble.” The kind with stakes. And machetes. “Best thing to do’s just fuckin’ haul. You fight them, they’ll all jump in. Then you’re fucked.” He poked at one of the holes in his jacket, huffing at the damage done. Too bad. Glancing at - and away from - that torn up leg, Matty gave Morgan a nod. “How’s the ankle? You heal up pretty good, right?” Most zombies seemed to. And she’d just ate, so. Should be fine, yeah? They should both be fine.  

Morgan didn’t leap so much as topple and fall, rolling in a mess of limbs, over the fence. She hit the ground with a thumb she only half felt. Gnarly. Dead shit. Like them. Well that was a real boost to the self-image. How many degrees of separation were there between her and those things exactly? Did she even want to know? Morgan got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Yeah that light thing sounds like a great way to get hunters up your ass. Ugh, stars, hunters are a real thing now, and not just the odd bitchy one,” she groaned. She checked her ankle. Good as new. “Y-yeah, I’m...I’m fine,” Morgan said. She didn’t feel all that fine, but there was no harm done and she could still make it back home in time. “Are you? Do vampires, like, regrow things too? Or is that just a brain gang thing?” She shifted uncomfortably, looking over her shoulder just in case more were coming. 

Stars? A little, like, outdated, maybe. But, so was he. Matty sighed, with plenty of agreement and a decent amount of aching, really starting to feel those gouges now that things weren’t all helter-skelter. “Yeah, load of fuckin’ psychos. And they’re everywhere, man. You been to the Night Market? They keep eyes on that. Watch out.” Fuck, zombies really did clean up quick. Been a while since he saw that, up close. Kinda grody. Then again, there he was, trying to rub a dead man’s blood off his cheeks. So. “Cool, cool…” Shit, he had to start keeping, like, a bag, or something. A scavenging safety kit. Was too hungry to plan much, when he’d left. His circling swayed, as Morgan got into… that kinda shit. Their kinda shit. 

“Uh - sort of?” Matty pulled a sickly sorta face, at the thought. And another one, as his fangs crunched away. “It’s… messier, more involved, like… real surgery, just. Less blood. Then, a lot of blood. To, you know. Make the magic happen.” Magic, sure. That was a word for it. With a couple jaw-cracks, one, two, Matty shrugged off towards the ragged, distant, dim-lit edges of the Bend. “We should probably fuck off. Not because of them.” He cleared up, catching that glance Morgan threw back the way they’d come. “They’ll stay put, where the food is. But, uh. Never know who else might show up...” Really, he’d only seen the overseer once. An experience Matty would rather never, ever repeat. Dude was terrifying.  

“Oh, yikes. That sounds...not great,” Morgan said apologetically. And neither did Matty’s implication that the hypothetical hunters they had to be careful of might get a lot more literal if they stayed near the graveyard. She nodded and started off in the direction of home. She stopped her slow walk and turned towards Matty again. “Are you gonna be okay?” She asked. “You’ve got like...a home, right? And people?”

“Mm. Mhm. It’s not.” Not great at all. But. She better get used to it, if she was sticking around town. Matty took another wipe at his face, hoping it was more or less unobjectionable. So far as bloodstains went. As for anything else, well. Wasn’t much he’d ever been able to do about that. He’d come to a stop, putting some pressure on the worst of the claw-stabs, when Morgan spoke up through the thickness of another misty after-midnight. A home. People. Right. Even zombies had that, huh? “Totally. Yeah.” Matty threw her a smile, or most of one, anyway. With a sharp, quick clearing of his too-tight throat, he tossed a wave in, too. For good measure. “You, uh. You take care, Morgan. See you around.” 

Morgan stayed to watch him, half swaying on her dead feet in the night air. That didn’t sound very convincing and she had—maybe not a whole feeling but a thought for Matty: the deserved better; that being this way was almost another curse in itself; that they needed more than this to make anything come out fair for them. Then again, maybe they weren’t allowed to have ‘fair’ anymore, maybe the universe was done with all of them, the whole undead mess of them. But what else was there to do? How else were they supposed to cope? Morgan looked at him sorrowfully as he left and worked her way back homeward. She didn’t know what to put in that hole where her balance had been, and she felt all the worse knowing that others like her had felt that ache for longer, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Only that there had to be something.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 25

Farewell to Old Friends

Warnings: swearing, blood, murder

Word count: ~10,200

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The afternoon after your return sees you helping Pearson put his stew out. His meals have been lacking in ingredients since the donation box was destroyed. No one knows who did it or is fessing up to it. Dutch didn’t really seem to care when Grimshaw told him, another worrying sign. Micah has stuck suspiciously close to Dutch’s tent nearly the entire time you’ve seen him. The one time he did wander away was to torment Jack, but John surprisingly came to the boy’s defense. 

You sigh heavily after setting out the stew, wishing to get away from here already. You had more nightmares last night of being trapped in a cage and your leg burned painfully. The pain had been intense enough to wake you early in the morning and you cuddled into Arthur’s arms as he slept. 

You look over to him now and see him wandering over to his tent, Reverend Swanson sitting on a crate nearby. Swanson has really cleaned himself up since arriving at Beaver Hollow, having not taken any of his supply of morphine. In fact, Sadie mentioned to you she had seen him dumping it into the river. His hair is swept back and his mustache trimmed, his eyes clear instead of bloodshot. At least this place seems to be pointing one person in the right direction. 

Arthur picks up a conversation with the reverend as you spoon up two plates of stew. Just as you’re about to head over to Arthur, Dutch walks over to him and says something you can’t hear. Arthur nods and they go into Arthur’s tent, sitting down. You head over and hear Dutch say, “We’re gonna get a boat, get on a river and go north. Then Tahiti, the Fiji Islands, or this new place, New Guinea. Dancing girls, freedom. But first we have to make a whole lot of smoke, a whole lot of commotion and then we disappear.” 

“We really need more commotion?” Arthur says as you hand him a plate and sit down next to him. 

Dutch pauses, throwing you a sharp look and then continues. “One score, and a hell of a lot of noise, Arthur.” 

“We ain’t so good at doing scores anymore, Dutch.” Arthur sets his plate down without eating. You can’t say you blame him, you’ve hardly had an appetite either. You set your plate down as well. 

“You feeling alright, Arthur?” Dutch asks him.

“Of course.” Arthur grabs your hand on the cot, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Dutch. 

Just as Dutch opens his mouth to say something, Charles joins the conversation. “Pardon me for interrupting.” The three of you look at him and see he’s followed by Eagle Flies, son of the Wapiti chief. He’s flanked by Javier and Karen, holding their rifles. He wears a simple, tanned hide shirt and pants, a rifle strapped to his back. The three of you stand up as they approach. 

“Dutch, this is Eagle Flies,” Arthur says, shaking his hand. “His father is a great chief. Charles and I, we erm…” 

“Pretended to be mercenaries,” Eagle Flies finishes for Arthur, looking directly at Dutch. “Did me a great favor.” 

Dutch waves off Javier and Karen, then shakes Eagle Flies’s hand and introduces himself.

“How’s your father?” Arthur asks.

Eagle Flies looks at Arthur, his strong jaw set. “Father has confused wisdom with weakness. His people, my people, we’ve suffered too much, been lied to too much. Now they’ve taken our horses.” 

“Who has?” Dutch says. 

Charles steps forward. “The infantry division posted at Fort Wallace.” 

“Colonel Favours is a liar and a murderer,” Eagle Flies says angrily. “His people won’t stop until we’re all dead. Without horses, we cannot hunt, without hunting, we will starve. This is another act of war. Your men helped me before and I have money.” He pulls out a bundle of bills, holding it to Dutch.

Dutch looks at the money and then back to Eagle Flies, his face unreadable. “Put your money away, son. What do you think, Charles?”

“You know I told your father I will not fight over some horses,” Charles says to Eagle Flies. 

Dutch pauses and tilts his head, his eyes gleaming. “But I made no such promise.” 

Arthur lifts his hand as though to stop Dutch, who ignores him and walks towards the horses, followed by an intrigued Eagle Flies. Charles turns to Arthur with a worried expression. 

“Arthur, we must go with them. Try to stop things getting out of hand.”

Arthur nods and starts following Dutch, who has already mounted up, with you and Charles in tow. 

“We can get them more horses,” you say. “A fight shouldn’t be necessary.” 

Arthur looks at you. “I know.” 

“I understand Eagle Flies is angry, but I don’t see how this will help anything,” Charles says.

“Especially not with Dutch whipping him into a frenzy. We got enough folks coming after us without adding the army to the list.”

He and Charles mount up and you’re just about to hop into Rannoch’s saddle when Arthur calls your attention.

“Darlin’, stay here please. I have a feelin’ they want as few people involved as possible.” 

“I helped before, Arthur,” you retort. 

“I know, but do this for me. Please?” 

You sigh and set your foot back down. “Fine. But you owe me for this.” 

He smiles at you. “And I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

You begin walking away slowly as Dutch continues ruffling Eagle Flies’s feathers. “You’re going to let these bastards walk all over you? No, you’re not! This is all that’s wrong with the world.” 

“The horses are on a boat near Van Horn. I have a man waiting for us there with some canoes,” Eagle Flies says, cantering down the path, followed by Dutch, Arthur and Charles. You watch them until they’ve long disappeared. 

You turn away, going back to the tent to clean up the uneaten plates of stew. The clearing falls silent again now that Dutch has left. The silence is near unsettling, unnatural and you look around. Everyone seems to be miserable and isolated. Your eyes draw to the cavern and as you stare, it seems to grow wider, the air cooling in a sudden breeze. It threatens to swallow you, forcing you to run over to Rannoch and mount up. Grimshaw hollers at you but you ignore her and speed down the trail away from the horrible clearing. 

Once you’re down past Butcher’s Creek, you stop Rannoch and lean down to rest your head on his neck, patting him as you catch your breath. He snorts softly. You feel incredibly weak, like you have no ability to survive in the clearing without Arthur’s presence. 

“What is wrong with me?” you angrily ask to no one. You think back on when you survived alone after murdering your family; before you met Arthur. It had been so easy to be independent, to not need anyone, but now you can’t seem to do it. Shame rips through you and you force yourself to lean up.

Looking to the west, you see the sun setting beyond the craggly hills. You figure you need to hunt so you can eat before sleeping, but as you stand next to the Elysian Pool, you recall the sickly animals around it. The lake’s green and brown water draws your eyes, reflecting the sickly appearance of the animals. Here would not be a wise place to hunt, so you head west. 

The trail takes you up into a lush green mountainous region, with smooth gray mounds flowing from the thick grass. Despite the late hour, you decide to try hunting. Just as you’re reaching down to grab your bow, a voice calls out from behind a large boulder. 

“Stop right there!” It’s followed by three men coming out from behind the boulder, rifles pointed at you. Your face grows cold as you notice their appearances: ripped pants or overalls, wild tangled hair, scratched faces and thin limbs. Murfrees. 

“This here’s a robbery, little girl,” one of the men says through brown teeth. He gestures for you to get off your horse with his rifle. Your mind begins to race until you recall what Arthur taught you about what to do when you’re the one being robbed instead of doing the robbing. You comply with the man, dismounting, although you never take your eyes off him. He shoos Rannoch away and approaches you, his rifle aimed. 

“Now don’t do nothin’ and we’ll make this nice and quick,” he says. He stops at an arm’s length from you and you’re prepared for him to search your coat, looking for money or trinkets. Your arm twitches slightly as you prepare to quickly whip out your revolver. When the man is within arm’s reach, his mouth widens in a slimy smile. 

“We was plannin’ to kill you all along!” he hollers and his finger pulls the trigger. Instinctively, you lean to the opposite side of where his rifle’s pointing so he fires into the air and you whip out your gun, shoving it into his ribs and firing. He falls with a loud grunt after splattering you in blood and his companions stop laughing, firing at you. A bullet grazes your upper arm, but you don’t feel the pain of it. You quickly take aim and fire at them both. You hit one in the eye and the other in the chest. The headshot victim falls immediately, but the other clutches his bleeding chest and tries to run, but after a few feet, he collapses, gasping. 

You lower your revolver, breathing heavily. You look down and see you’re soaked in the Murfree’s blood. As the foulness of this sinks in, your arm begins to burn painfully. After holstering your gun, you put a hand on the wound and begin walking towards Rannoch. You whistle for him and he runs over, whinnying. After reaching into his saddle bag, you pull out your tent, setting it up so you can take your shirt off and inspect the wound. Once you do, you see it’s just a shallow cut, but it’s bleeding quite a bit. You take some whiskey and pour it over the wound, making yourself hiss. Once that’s done, you bandage it up, tying it tightly. 

You reach into your satchel to see what food you have and all you find is a can of peaches and a wedge of cheese. You debate on hunting, but after the attack, you’re exhausted and your arm still burns. You’ll be lucky to hold a bow still for even a few seconds like this, so you quickly eat the cheese and peaches. Afterwards, you lie down in your bedroll, still feeling shaky. 

As you begin settling down in your bedroll, images of your past experiences with the Murfrees begin playing. You see the cage they kept you in, another cage with a mutilated corpse, the horrible shrine, a man barely lit by lantern light dragging a screaming man. A Murfree pointing a rifle to Rain’s head. The pain of this memory slams you in the chest and you sit up, planting your head to your knees and rocking back and forth. 

Suddenly you hear footsteps outside your tent. You quickly, pull out your sawed off from your off-hand holster. Another Murfree must have noticed the bodies and seen your tent close by. You wish you had pitched it further away from the scene, but you hadn’t been thinking logically. The footsteps get closer to the front of the tent and you point your gun, your finger on the hammer. The flaps twitch and you pull it down. Arthur’s face suddenly peaks in.

“Jesus, Arthur!” you hiss, quickly lowering the gun. “Give me a heart attack!” 

“What the hell you doin’ out here?” he says, coming into the tent. “I see them bastards got your arm.” 

You look down at your exposed arm, the bandage clumsy and slightly bloody. “Yeah. I couldn’t be in that clearing anymore.” Your voice cracks, making you feel ashamed of yourself for having lost it a moment ago. 

He sighs and sits down next to you, pulling you into his chest. “I know, sweetheart. I ain’t even had nothin’ bad happen to me there and I hate it.”

Now that you’re settled into him, you realize how cold you were. You shiver as his heat soaks into you; his hand slides up and down your back, trying to warm you up. After a few moments, the shivering stops. He kisses your head and pats your back. 

“You had anything to eat?” he says quietly. 

“Sort of. Just some cheese and peaches,” you say, trying to sound stronger and braver than you feel. 

“Hmm, that don’t make a very satisfyin’ meal. Come on, I’ll cook ya somethin’.” 

You slide your shirt back on and follow him out of the tent to sit around the fire. As Arthur places two hunks of venison onto the grill to cook, sprinkling some thyme and sage onto them, you wonder how he found you. You hadn’t told anyone where you were going, so you ask him.

“Ah, after we got the horses back to Eagle Flies, I had to do a job for Strauss.”

“Strauss?” you demand. He hadn’t asked Arthur for anything for several weeks. 

“Yes. He, uh, wanted me to do more debt collectin’.” 

“Arthur. I thought we both decided you were done.” 

“I know, I know. I asked him to get one of the other fellers to do it, but he said none of ‘em would, and he don’t want Micah to do it no more. Worried he’d kill another debtor. Anyways, I said yes and one of the debtors was out this way. Now, before you get mad, I’m gonna tell ya that I didn’t take the money from the man.” 

“Why not? That’s the point of collecting them, isn’t it?” you say, trying to hide the sourness from your voice. 

“I was gonna, but feller was a deserter of the army. Turns out he deserted ‘cause he married an Indian woman and she was real pregnant. Probably due any day. Well, the army ambushed us and set his wagon on fire. All he had left was some jewelry but I let him keep it. Needs somethin’ to feed his wife and child with.” 

“Okay. Well, I guess that ain’t so bad then. Strauss didn’t ask for anymore, did he?” 

Arthur rubs his neck uncertainly. “One more. A feller named Arthur Londonderry. Miner. I’m hopin’ he ain’t in another bad rut, but based on the people crazy enough to take Strauss’s terms, odds are he is.”

He pauses for a moment to flip the meat over. 

“Honestly, darlin’,” he continues, “I’m gettin’ tired of Strauss’s jobs. I’m sick of beatin’ and terrifyin’ the desperate people who take money from him. The coal miners, pregnant maids, people who can’t find work.”

“So then don’t do it, Arthur. Don’t go after this last man and tell Strauss to do it himself.” 

“Maybe. I might just absolve the debt anyways, at least tell the man so. Strauss needs to find another means of gettin’ money for the gang. Robbin’ people proper is more kind, I think.” 

You slide over to sit next to him and wrap your hands around his arm, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I agree, Arthur. But that doesn’t explain how you found me?” 

He smiles. “Well, I was on my way back from that thing after I met a one-legged veteran. Think you’d like him. Anyways, I was comin’ across the path when I spotted those dead Murfress. Saw Rannoch sittin’ by your tent, so knew it was you.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” you say, rubbing his arm. You hope he doesn’t notice the desperation in your voice. 

He chuckles and then sighs, pulling his arm from your grip so he can pull the meat off the grill. As you both eat it along with some beans and bread rolls, Arthur asks if you’re okay. You look at him briefly and he’s looking at you the same way he did when he first met you and tied you to a tree, asking why you killed your family. The same feeling of needing to hide pulses throughout your body, making you look away. 

“I’m fine,” you lie.

He sighs and puts down his tin of beans. “You ain’t gotta hide things from me, darlin’. Thought that was the point of us getting married?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just… hate being vulnerable.” 

“Darlin’, I want ya to know that I’m here for ya, always will be. I ain’t gonna blame you for hidin’ what you’re thinkin’ from everyone else, I understand, but I wish ya would open up to me.” 

You look back up at him, his blue eyes seem to be glowing in the firelight. He’s right, of course, but even the idea of being open to someone so they can see who you truly are is an alien concept. Finally you nod. 

“I want to, Arthur. I just… I don’t know how.” 

He sighs and scoots closer to you, putting an arm behind you.

“Well, maybe I can help ya. Tell me what you feel. Even if it’s somethin’ you don’t understand.” 

You sigh and stare into the fire, thinking how to translate what you’re feeling into words. 

“I guess I… I’m scared, Arthur. Not just of these damn Murfrees or what might happen to us; the gang. Scared because before I met you, I could go for days without any contact with people and I was okay with it. When I was with my parents or my ex-husband, I craved that isolation. Now I can’t go more than a day without seeing you. And don’t even get me started on that clearing and how I can’t stand to be there.” Your eyes are pulled up to the stars as a tear runs down your cheek, afraid he might laugh. 

Arthur sighs again and his hand slides over your shoulder. “Does it make you think you’re weak?” 

Without looking away from the stars, you nod. He asks you why. “Because I was brought up to believe that if you need other people, you’re weak. Only the strong can stand alone.” 

“Sweetheart, that ain’t how it works. It don’t make you weak to ask for help or to need people. Hell, I’d be completely lost if I didn’t have you anymore. Do you think I’m weak for feelin’ that?” 

You look at him finally and shake your head. “You’re the strongest person I know, but you don’t need anybody.” 

“Well, you’re wrong there. I’ve depended on the gang for twenty years, depended on Dutch and Hosea. But more than them, I need you, darlin’. I know I can trust ya with anything, that you’ll always be by my side no matter how things are.” 

He suddenly smiles at you. “To be honest, when I first started havin’ real strong feelings for ya, it scared me, too. And not just because I thought you might do what Mary did or what happened to Eliza and Isaac would happen to you, but because I had never felt that for anyone in my life. It felt weird to need someone that much. So I understand, sweetheart. But I want ya to know that I ain’t ever gonna think of you as weak or pathetic. Ya always have my back. What I think of you is that you’re thoughtful, kind, selfless. What ya are is the person I love most.” 

You hadn’t become aware of doing it, but you’re leaning into him and your hand is on his chest. You feel yourself blush at his words and it makes you smile. Resting your head on his chest, you kiss the part of it that’s slightly exposed beneath his blue shirt. 

“Big chest for a big heart,” you say with a small chuckle, running your hand up his firm body. 

He chuckles as well, his hand on your shoulder rubs gently. “Now you’re talkin’ nonsense.” 

“No, I’m bein’ serious. Never knew such a big, strong man could be so sweet and soft, but I like it. I love you.” 

His lips brush your forehead and you can feel he’s smiling. He whispers gently that he wants to go into the tent and settle down for the night, so you both get up and go inside. Arthur lies down next to you on his side, his back to you. Smiling, you roll over and press yourself to his back, draping your arm over his side to rest on his stomach. His hand grabs yours and squeezes, a soft rumble goes through his back as you lay your head against it and drift off. 

The next day, Arthur takes you back to camp, despite your protests. He says he has to do a job that Micah set for him with Bill in order to get dynamite. 

“Micah’s gettin’ too big for his britches,” Arthur says as he leads you down the trail towards Beaver Hollow. “He’s startin’ to act like he’s the boss.” 

Once you’re back in camp, you get down to helping a rather intoxicated Pearson cook dinner. You push him down to sit to avoid him vomiting into the pot and go to chopping vegetables and meat. As Arthur approaches Bill, Grimshaw stops him to tell him he’s received a letter. He goes to get it and is reading it as he walks over to you.

“Who’s it from?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately. “Penelope Braithewaite.” 

“Huh?” you say. “Why she writing to you? We haven’t had anything to do with her family since that mess with Jack.” 

“I know. She’s askin’ for my help in gettin’ her and Beau out of Rhodes. Sounds like they’re in a mess. You wanna come? Imagine they’d like you, and they’re good people, despite their families.” 

“Sure,” you say, leaning on the table. “Come get me when your job with Bill is over and we can go.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smile. He leans down to kiss you briefly and then Bill calls him.

“Morgan! You gonna smooch your future missus all day or we gonna get this done?” 

“A’right, a’right, I’m comin’.” He throws you a wink and heads off with Bill. 

For the next hour, you continue cooking for Pearson, even adding a few extra seasonings, trying to give the gang an excuse to be in a better mood. However, with the lack of donations coming in, the ingredients you have to work with are slim with little variety. Luckily, with all the hunting you and Arthur have been doing, there’s plenty of meat.

After what Arthur said to you last night, you feel a little better about being in the clearing. Although it’s still ugly and the cavern still sits on the edge like a permanent reminder to how bad things are, it no longer threatens to swallow you. Despite being vulnerable with Arthur, you feel stronger. 

Micah saunters over as you cook, coughing a little. “Ah, the future Mrs. Morgan ready to prove how useless she’ll be as a wife.” 

“Fuck off, Micah,” you say, not even looking up. 

“Now that ain’t no way to talk to me, girl. I’m workin’ my ass off with Dutch to get us out of here, somewhere better, and you can’t even offer a nice word.” 

“And what about you, Micah?” you snarl. “You ain’t ever offered a nice comment to no one except Dutch. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you offered to wash his feet if you felt it would benefit you in any way.”

“Keep talkin’ that way,” he says, leaning on the table and putting his face inches from you. “And you’ll wake up with Morgan’s head in your bed.” 

Without thinking, you take the knife in your hand and slam the tip into the table, centimeters away from his thumb. “Give me a reason, Micah, and I’ll cut off more than just your finger.” 

He smiles, taking his hands off the table. “Always liked that fight in ya.” He walks away. 

You finish cooking as quick as you can, not wanting to give Micah another chance to antagonize you. Finally, you heave the pot with its pitiful stew over the fire and call everyone over to eat. 

Not long after you set out the stew, Bill and Arthur return. Arthur quickly reports in to Dutch, telling him the dynamite is safely stashed somewhere. Dutch nods approvingly as he smokes a cigar. 

Arthur comes over to you, looking somewhat irritated. 

“What is it?” you ask, finishing packing up a few provisions into your satchel in your tent. “Ah, nothin’. Pinkertons are all over Van Horn and Annesburg now. Result of us killin’ Cornwall.” 

“Great. So much for them easing off of us without Cornwall filling their pockets.” 

“Exactly. Anyways, you ready to go?” 

You nod and quickly mount Rannoch, riding out of camp without even bothering to eat. On the way, you tell Arthur about what happened with Micah.

“Like I said,” he says, “he’s gettin’ too big for his britches. Now how about you don’t give him a reason to come after you? Man’s unstable enough.” 

You both ride on south as the sun sets. Arthur decides to stop and camp for the night on the border of New Hanover and Lemoyne. In the morning, you wake to find him sitting up, a strange expression on his face. 

“What is it?” you say groggily. 

“Nothin’,” he replies, pulling you into his lap.

“Arthur,” you shake yourself awake. “Now don’t you start hidin’ things from me.” 

He smiles, rubbing your arm but being careful to avoid your cut.

“I just… had more of them dreams last night.” 

“What dreams?”

“Of a big ol’ buck. Just drinking from a lake. I wish I could figure out what it means.” 

You sigh into his chest. “I don’t know, honey. But what do the dreams make you feel?” 

He pauses for a moment, his eyes far away. “Well, they make me feel like… like we’re gonna be okay. Like things are gonna get better somehow. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.” 

“Sounds like they might be a good thing, Arthur. Who knows? Maybe it’s your spirit animal.” 

“Don’t joke, darlin’. Come on, let’s go help these kids.” 

You chuckle and crawl out of his lap. After a quick breakfast, Arthur leads you down the trails towards Braithewaite manor, or what’s left of it. The mansion is nothing but a blackened husk with a few broken pillars still standing. The two of you sneak past it, heading to the edge of the lake where small cabins line it. 

“She said she’d be by the boat house,” Arthur explains, dismounting Artemis next to it. You follow him around the building and find a rather pretty young woman sitting on a bench, dressed in a smart, blue dress with a top hat sat on her blonde locks. She looks up at the sound  of your approaching feet. When she recognizes Arthur, she shoots up to her feet.

“Oh you came!” She shakes his hand and then reaches down for a small bag. 

“I came,” Arthur says. 

“Thank you you lovely man! Ah, may I ask who your companion is?” 

“My apologies.” Arthur puts his hand on your shoulder and Penelope offers to shake your hand. You take it, smiling and tipping your hat to her. “Penelope Braithewaite, this is Y/F/N. She is my future wife.” 

“Oh that’s wonderful, Mr. Morgan! I’m so happy for ya both! I myself am hoping to become an engaged woman, but that all depends on today’s success.” She releases your hand and then peaks around the corner of the boat house back to the other cabins, as though worried someone is watching. “Now come on, we ain’t got a minute to lose.” She turns back to Arthur, looking worried. “They killed her! They killed Ms. Calhoon! All she wanted was a better life for women and they killed her, those pigs.” 

“Who killed her?” Arthur asks. 

“I don’t know! My cousins probably or… or Beau’s. They’re monsters! Can you please take me to the train station? Beau will be waitin’.”

“Why couldn’t he come rescue you?”

“If they saw me and him together they’d lynch him and send me to a nunnery. Or maybe they’d lynch both us, I don’t know, they do like hangin’ folk.” She peaks around the corner again

“Where you headed?” you ask.

“Up to boston.”

“Good,” Arthur says. “They’ll like you up there.” 

Arthur begins walking towards the horses and you and Penelope follow him. Arthur offers Artemis’s back to her and she hops up nimbly, despite the dress. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed. Arthur kicks Artemis into a canter and you follow, skirting around the cold, black remains of the mansion. 

“So Beau’s just waiting at the station?” Arthur says to Penelope. “In the hope you’ll show up? Or I’ll show up to help you show up?”

“He goes there every day he can, makes up some excuse or other. I said he would see me there one day soon, and today he will, God willing.” 

“Well, if he’s there, that’s true love alright.”

As the horses run, Penelope explains that she hasn’t seen Beau since the rally. You recall back in Clemens Point Karen and Mary-Beth discussing a women’s suffrage march. She continues to say how awful things have been since the house burned down and the Gray’s were murdered in town. By the way she talks, you realize that she has no clue Arthur was involved in both those things. The yellow train station comes to view just as Penelope says, “Something good must come from this awful, awful feud.”

Arthur stops Artemis and Penelope slides off. She looks up towards the doors of the station. You follow where her eyes go and spot a young man with thick, dirty blond locks, reading a newspaper. 

“There he is! It’s him!” Penelope says excitedly. She turns to you and Arthur. “Will you ride on the train with us a little, just to the first stop?”

“Fine,” Arthur grumbles. You can tell he’s still worried about the gang. You are, too. There’s a lot of work to be done still. You take his hand in yours.

Penelope runs towards the young man. When he sees her, his face cracks into a wide smile and he opens his arms, to which she jumps into.

“You came! At last, you came!” He says, letting her go.

“Oh, Beau, my best of men, of course I came!”

“I’m hardly a man at all, but I love you Penelope Braithewaite.” Beau grabs her hand.

“Beau, Arthur and his fiance are gonna join us. I think we need the support.” She asks Arthur to buy the tickets, explaining they can’t risk being seen. He nods, still seeming slightly irritated. You pat his arm as the four of you go into the station. Arthur stops to buy the tickets and you accompany Beau and Penelope outside to wait near the tracks. 

“I’m very sorry,” Beau says to you, offering a hand. Penelope’s are wrapped around his other arm. You shake it. “I’m afraid I ain’t properly introduced myself. Beau Gray.” 

“Yes, I came to that conclusion. Y/N.” 

He lets your hand go. “Your good Arthur has helped Penelope and I quite a bit. Why, I ain’t too sure where we’d be without his help.” 

You’re just about to say something when you notice two men, one fat and short and the other tall and skinny, looking angrily at Beau. 

“Hey, boy!” the fat one says, approaching Beau. “What you doin’ here, and with a Braithewaite no less!” He and the skinny one grab him as Penelope shrieks for them to let him go. You go to the fat one and start trying to yank him off. You’re just about to pull out your revolver when Arthur barges through the door. He pulls Penelope off and tells her to get on the train. He yells at you to follow her onto the train, which you do as he begins punching the skinny one. 

“Who are those fellers?” you ask Penelope as you stand near a couple rows of seats. 

“Those are Beau’s horrible cousins. I’d say more about them, but with how my own family is, I ain’t got much room to talk.” 

You both peak outside just as Arthur knocks out the skinny one. The fat one throws Beau down and goes to beat up Arthur. Beau dashes on board and stands next to Penelope as Arthur starts fighting the fat man. 

“I was worried my cousins might find me here,” he says a bit breathlessly. 

“Well, at least Arthur’s here to cover you,” you say, still watching as your future husband slams the fat man’s head against the wall, knocking him out. Arthur quickly runs on board, massaging his bruised knuckles. 

“That is quite a family you got there, son,” Arthur says to Beau, coming to a stop next to you.

“I know, charming to the last. Then again, my uncle used to keep his own half-brother as a slave, so what do you expect? Good manners?” Beau and Penelope sit down, Arthur slides into a seat next to the window and you sit next to him. He drapes his arm across the back of the seat behind you so he can talk to the others. 

“My uncle used to say things were better the way they were when you could rape and kill with impunity and he didn’t have to work a day in his life,” Penelope says. 

“Both our families,” Beau agrees. “There’s good people in this county but our families bullied them and drove most of em off. All over this silly feud.” 

Arthur starts leaning his back against the wall, looking as though he’s ready to take a nap. You smile at him and that’s when you see a large troupe of men on horses following the train. Penelope and Beau see them as well. 

“Oh my Lord,” Beau says quietly. 

Penelope gasps. “Oh I think it’s my second cousin!”

Arthur leans up and looks outside. He pushes you off the seat so he can stand up. “What is it with all these goddamn cousins?” he says. 

You pull out your revolver and sawed off. “Come on, Arthur. We can take ‘em.” 

“I think they found out about the jewels,” Penelope explains, her hands clasping her bag. Arthur sighs and tells them to keep their heads down as you both run to the next car, which happens to be a flatbed, laden with crates and barrels. You and Arthur hunch down beneath some of the crates and open fire on the Braithewaites chasing the train. 

Arthur shoots two of them in the head and then hunches down to reload. As he does, you hear him grumble. “She must have all the jewels in the state with all these cousins! She robbed her own family blind!”

“Good for her, I guess,” you say, killing another rider. 

For the next few moments, you and Arthur take down several more riders. Just as the last one falls, the train begins to slow. 

“What the hell?” Arthur says. He holsters his pistols and you follow him back into the car where the other two wait. 

“Are we being robbed?” a woman in the back says. You and Arthur ignore her, going to Beau and Penelope. Just as you reach them, a man, dressed like the engineer, dashes past the window on foot. The others see him too. 

“I think that’s the driver!” Beau says. 

“Hold on, I’ll go check,” Arthur says and he runs up to the front of the train. You stay with Penelope and Beau just in case anymore of Penelope’s cousins show up. You take a seat just as the train begins moving again, but Arthur doesn’t return.

“Quite charming families ya both got,” you say, resting your back against the wall. “Bein’ in your place, I probably would’ve robbed them, too.” 

Penelope offers you a small smile. “Well, what about your family, miss Y/N?” 

“Ah, they’re all dead. Been dead more than a year now.”

“I don’t know whether to apologize or not, ma’am,” Beau says. 

“I wouldn’t apologize if I were you,” you say, giving him a sly smile. “They’re dead by my hand. My previous husband, too.”

“I take it they didn’t see things the way you did?” Penelope asks. 

“Nah. They were, well, I guess a bit like yours. Felt that loyalty was something to be freely given through nothing more than a similarity in surnames but did nothing to earn it. My father, the bastard, paid a man to marry me and that man beat me almost everyday and raped me near as often. I ain’t never known a proper family life.” 

“Well, Mr. Arthur seems like a good man,” Penelope says. “Told me he never really had a family before neither. Maybe ya can both teach each other what it’s like to have one.” 

“Well I certainly hope so. I still don’t know why he decided he wanted to keep me around for the rest of his life, but I’m grateful he did.”

The train heads on further west, rolling over the broad river on a bridge called Bard’s Crossing. It travels further into West Elizabeth and then curves north, approaching Riggs Station slowly. It stops near the station and Arthur comes back into the car. Beau, Penelope and you stand up.

“Mr. Arthur, why have we stopped?” Beau asks. 

“It’s best you go it alone from here. Take a stage,” Arthur explains. He gestures for them to head off the train and then takes your hand. 

“I didn’t know you could drive a train,” you say.

“Neither did I, but if I’m honest, it was kind of fun and I didn’t kill any of us. Well, I killed some of their relatives, but they would have killed all of us.” The four of you get off the train and Beau turns to Arthur.

“You are a gentleman, sir!”

“No, I ain’t.”

“Yes you are. Here, I ain’t got much money, but,” Penelope reached into her bag and pulls out a gold bracelet covered in blue jewels, “these sapphires are worth a lot of money. Old family heirloom.”

Arthur huffs and picks up the bracelet, holding it up to the light. “That Braithewaite treasure. I couldn’t take it.”

He hands the bracelet back to Penelope, who drops it into her bag. 

“Now,” Arthur continues, “let’s get you off to Boston before any more of your relatives show up.”

Arthur guides them over to a stage sitting on the path, the driver sleeping in the top seat. He drops your hand and climbs onto the stage, waking the driver.  “Hey, this couple is heading north, to the Boston line. They got money, they’ll pay you on arrival.”

As Beau opens the door for Penelope to climb in, Arthur asks the driver, “You carry protection on a journey like this?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a stage driver if I didn’t. Goes everywhere I do.” He suddenly cries out in protest as Arthur reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out his pistol. 

“Miss Braithewaite is gonna hold onto this until arrival.” 

The driver sighs in irritation, waving his hands as he turns to the front. Arthur climbs down and hands the pistol to Penelope. “On account of the treasure on your person.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she says as she climbs into the coach, the pistol tucked into her bag. 

“You’re a fine man, sir,” Beau says and climbs in after her. Arthur closes the door and waves to them as the stage drives off. Penelope sticks her head out and yells, “Congratulations on your engagement!” You wave back to her with a smile as Arthur takes your hand again.  

“A’right, darlin’,” he says quietly once the stage has disappeared. “We need to go to Saint Denis.” 

“Why?” you ask. You haven’t been down there since the attempted bank robbery. 

“Dutch and Sadie wanna meet us there, keep sayin’ there’s somethin’ we need to see to. Don’t know what, Dutch wasn’t really talkin’ much.” 

“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” 

He smiles at you and then mounts up on Artemis, you following on Rannoch. He takes you to Valentine, where you both hop onto another train and go down to the city. When you step off, you look around, disgusted. You thought this city was foul before, but now it’s repellant, tainted. Arthur grabs your hand and guides you over to where the horses are being unloaded from a train car. 

After mounting up, you go to the old tavern where you and Arthur had met Sadie before going on the hot air balloon ride. As soon as you walk in, you can hear Dutch talking.

“Looking like a lady won’t help us if you’re not going to act like one,” Dutch says gruffly. 

“I’m fine,” Sadie snaps. They’re both leaning on the bar, not drinking. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Dutch turns at the sound of the door opening and spots you both. “There you are.” He puts his cigar out in an ashtray. 

“Here we are,” Arthur says, his hand folded around yours. 

“Today is a great day, Mr. Morgan,” Sadie says, glaring at her untouched bottle of beer. “Today they’re hangin’ Colm O’Driscoll.” 

Arthur says. “I guess that’s why we’re here in this godforsaken city. But there’s one problem.” 

“And what is that, Arthur?” Dutch asks grumpily as he leads the three of you to the back of the saloon. 

“That boy’s been on the gallows more than most,” Arthur says. “I won’t count nothin’ until his neck’s broke.” 

“Well, nor would I,” Dutch reaches behind the door of a small room and pulls out a large sack. He grabs you and Sadie and shoves you both into the room. 

“What the hell are we doing in here?” you say as Sadie reaches into another large bag. 

“We can’t go to his hangin’ lookin’ like ourselves,” she says, pulling out a yellow dress. She reaches inside and grabs a red one, throwing it to you. “We gotta go disguised.” 

You sigh but decide not to argue. Although the last thing on your list to worry about is the O’Driscolls, seeing Colm hung is something you’re not going to miss. You toss the corset and petticoat into the corner, always having hated wearing them, and slip into the red dress. Sadie smooths down the waist of her yellow dress and then reaches into the sack again, pulling out broad sun hats, throwing you the red one. After making sure you look decent, you and Sadie leave the room. 

Arthur and Dutch inspect you quickly, nodding their approval before heading into the room themselves to change. A few moments later, they come back out, wearing the thick wool uniforms of policemen. 

“So first you were a deputy of Rhodes,” you say, brushing his shoulder lightly, “and now you’re a lawman?” 

“Shut up,” he says, although he’s smiling. He looks at the tall, bowled hat in his gloved hands. “This is ridiculous.” 

“Come on, Arthur,” Dutch says, heading to the back door with Sadie. You and Arthur follow him out to the back alleyway as Arthur puts on his hat. You fall in behind Sadie, Arthur tailing the group as Dutch leads the way. 

“We need to keep our weapons holstered,” he says as heads down the winding alley, “our disguises on and our wits about us.”

“Mrs. Adler, Ms. Y/L/N,” Arthur says, “might I say, being fancy women of Saint Denis suits you both.” 

“I’d dress up like the Queen of Sheba if it meant seeing that son of a bitch swing,” Sadie growls. 

“Colm hung me up,” Arthur says, “nearly butchered me, that don’t mean I’m comfortable in this woolen coat.” 

“You made it outta that predicament, as I remember Mr. Morgan. My husband weren’t so lucky.” 

“You lost your husband,” Dutch says gravely. “I lost my darling Annabelle. Y/N nearly lost her future husband. That poor boy, Kieran. We’ve all lost something because of Colm. That is why we will shepherd him into eternity.”

You smooth down your skirt nervously, unconvinced that you look okay. “I just want this over with. These bastards have been a thorn in our sides for too long.” 

“Now keep those fingers off those triggers ‘cause we’ll need cool heads and calm dispositions to see this done,” Dutch says as the main street comes into view. 

“Practice what you preach, brother,” Arthur growls. 

“What are you talking about, Arthur?” Dutch spits. 

“Are you going to keep your cool? Really? When you seem to lose it, oh so often now.” 

You find Arthur’s comments strange. While he’s been questioning Dutch’s motives since returning from Guarma, he’s only voiced his worries to you in private. To see him calling Dutch out openly now is odd, especially when in the past you’d heard Arthur say he’d happily die for the gang, always the most loyal man to Dutch’s commands. You wonder what happened to finally cause their relationship to snap like this. 

“This doubting and questioning of yours,” Dutch says. “I miss the old Arthur. The one who had no woman on his arm, but a rifle and unwavering loyalty before.” 

You feel the sting of Dutch’s comment. You understand now what Arthur meant that he might try to attack you. You recall the look on his face when Arthur announced your engagement, the smoldering glare hidden beneath a fake smile. It makes you nervous to think of it now when Dutch has been so easy to rile up lately. 

“Hey, don’t blame this on Y/N,” Arthur snarls. “It’s your recent actions that have been makin’ me question, she ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” 

“Whatever you say, Arthur.” 

“Can we get back to makin’ sure Colm swings?” Sadie barks as the group heads on down the street as casual as possible. “We all got a job to do, and we’re all in rough agreement about how we’re doing it.” 

“Exactly,” you agree, trying to sound more confident than you feel. 

Dutch grumbles something as the group heads on towards a stone square where the gallows sit. A crowd has gathered beneath it, waiting expectantly. Three men stand on the gallows, one of them with his hands bound behind his back and a cloth over his head. It must be Colm. 

“Don’t the public just love an execution,” Dutch says quietly as you approach the square. He stops by the entrance, his back facing a brick column. You and Sadie stop near him and Arthur stands by the other column, looking into it. Dutch folds his hands in front of him, pulling his disguise together perfectly. 

“Now, you see those three assholes?” he says, gesturing with a nod of his chin to three men standing inside the square, playfully punching each other as though this were a carnival and not a public hanging. “They’re Colm’s boys. What a surprise. I’m glad we’re here.” 

You and the others study them for a few seconds. One of the men points up to a building across the street, focusing on the roof and says something to his companions. Dutch follows where he points, his jaw set. “What are they pointing at?” 

“I don’t know,” Arthur says. “We should follow ‘em, try and find out.” 

As if on queue, one of the men walks out of the square right between Arthur and Dutch. They lower their heads, scratching their faces, but the man seems oblivious to them as he walks down the street on the left. 

Dutch takes a step forward and commands you both to stay put. Arthur looks at you and Sadie, his eyes gentle. “Don’t do nothin’,” he says and follows Dutch. They disappear down the street as you and Sadie stand by the columns. 

“I been waitin’ for this day a long time,” Sadie growls under her breath.

“Like Dutch said,” you say as you watch the two remaining O’Driscolls. “We’ve all lost something to these assholes. They nearly robbed me, tried to hold me for ransom, too. Only Arthur was the faster shot.” 

“You and Arthur got lucky,” she snaps, watching them as well. “Arthur got out while my husband was shot in the head. Not only that, they only robbed you while they did worse to me.” 

“This ain’t a competition over who got the worse end of the stick, Sadie. These bastards need to be taken down. Remember what this is about: preventing them from doing what they did to us to more people in the future. No more widows and orphans because of Colm O’Driscoll.” 

“There won’t be. Not after today. Even if these morons fail to hang him, I’ll kill him myself.” 

“I don’t think anyone would stop you, neither.” 

The sheriff of the city police suddenly steps up onto the gallows and raises his hand, calling for silence from the muttering crowd. “Fair citizens of Saint Denis. For as long as any of us can remember, it is justice that separates us from barbary. Yet justice itself can, at times, be barbaric. For sometimes a man is so savage, the only way to deal with him justly is through savagery. Colm O’Driscoll is one such man.” 

The cloth draped over the man’s head is whipped off, revealing Colm’s sweaty face. You’ve never seen him this close, but he’s an oily, foul man with a clever grin. Two officers march him onto the main gallows just in front of the noose just as Dutch rejoins your side. Arthur is nowhere in sight. You look at the building where the O’Driscolls had been pointing and see a familiar figure in an officer’s suit standing on the roof, a long rifle in his hand. If you hadn’t noticed where the O’Driscolls had been pointing, you would never know Arthur was there. 

The sheriff continues on speaking to the crowd, listing out Colm’s crimes as the officers place the noose around his neck. “Today,” the sheriff calls out, “justice catches up with him.” 

Colm sneers at the crowd, looking confident. “As well you may,” he says in a voice as oily and stringy as his hair. “I been a bad man.” 

One of the officers quickly ties a cloth around his face, stuffing it into his mouth, preventing him from speaking. 

“This is not a court where you shall be tried,” the sheriff continues. “This is a place where your sentence is to be carried out.” 

The O’Driscoll whom Dutch and Sadie followed rejoins his companions. Dutch, Sadie and you follow him. Luckily they stand in the back of the crowd. You grab one of them by the throat, whipping out your sawed off and pointing it at his head just as Sadie and Dutch grab the other two, doing the same. The man in your grasp grunts and you hiss in his ear, “Don’t you damn move.” 

“Colm O’Driscoll,” the sheriff says. “You are to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.” 

Colm is the only man to notice the situation with his men. His eyes widen nervously and he looks at a point high above your head to where he must see Arthur. His face pales as the sheriff continues speaking. Even from the distance between you and him, you can see he’s beginning to panic, coming to the realization that this is truly the end for him. 

“Gentlemen,” the sheriff says, “are we ready?” The two men nod as Colm stares ahead, terrified. “Colm O’Driscoll, may God, in his infinite wisdom, have mercy upon your soul.” The sheriff beckons to a man standing next to the lever as the crowd calls out approvingly. The man pulls the lever and the floor drops beneath Colm’s feet. He falls and jerks to a stop, his body squirming only for a few seconds before dangling still, his neck broken. 

Sadie hisses beside you into the ear of the man she threatens, “Now you know what it feels like to watch someone you love die.” She pauses and stares at Colm’s body. Anger seems to flow from her like waves as she screams out, “You ruined my life!” 

Without warning, her knife slices across the man’s throat. She pulls out her pistol and shoots first your prisoner in the head and then Dutch’s. People in the square scream and bolt, running from the sound as Sadie shoots towards the gallows at the alarmed policemen. Dutch grabs her, hollering and dragging her towards the wall forming the square. You follow, tossing the sawed off into your left hand and whipping out your revolver with the other. 

From around the corner of the square, more O’Driscolls appear, shooting towards the three of you.

“Morgan!” Dutch yells as you take cover behind a tree. “If you can hear us, take a shot!” 

A loud shot rings out in response, a stream of blood shooting out from the temple of an O’Driscoll running right for you. A huge fight breaks out between you, the O’Driscolls and the police. Dutch keeps a firm grip on Sadie’s arm as she fires upon the O’Driscolls, you shoot into the crowd as well until you realize it would be better to let the others take each other out, allowing you to pick off the stragglers. You holler this to Dutch and he nods in your direction, hunching down behind the cart. 

The air is filled with the sounds of guns firing, more men fall as Arthur continues firing upon the O’Driscolls. As more of them die and the police head off towards the survivors, you, Dutch and Sadie move up closer to the street. As you approach the edge of the square, a cart rolls up with an O’Driscoll manning a gatling gun. Just as he begins to fire, his body is thrown forward as Arthur’s bullet plunges into his back. 

As the gatling gun falls silent, the few remaining O’Driscolls scurry off into the city, pursued by the last few officers left standing. 

“The cart,” Dutch says. “Move. Now!”

You and Sadie run over to it, hopping in and Dutch takes the reins. “Well, we got him. Let’s get out of here.” He waves to Arthur, beckoning for him to get lost. You look back and see Arthur returning the wave before disappearing as the cart begins to move. 

Dutch drives back to Beaver Hollow, throwing off the officer’s coat and hat. You take the large, feathered hat from your head and toss it into a muddy puddle as the cart leaves the city behind. 

“Ah, I have been wanting to see this day for many years,” Dutch says, whipping the horses to go faster. 

“That bastard got what he deserved,” Sadie growls beside him. 

“At least now he won’t be a problem,” you sigh heavily.

The rest of the ride is quiet and uneventful. Still, when Beaver Hollow comes into view, your heart sinks. Dutch pulls the cart to a stop and hops out, retreating to his tent where Micah dutifully awaits him. Sadie leaves, tugging at her sleeves, leaving you to unhitch the horses. 

Just as you’re removing the bridle from the last of the two horses, Arthur pulls up on Artemis with Rannoch in tow. He hitches them up and walks over to you. 

“Glad that’s dealt with,” he says quietly. You nod in agreement, throwing the bridle to the ground. 

Tilly walks over. “How you both get on?” 

“Well, we saw the bastard hang okay,” Arthur says, “but it ain’t gonna save us, I guess. It’s at least one less thing to worry about.” 

Tilly nods and then she stares at him hard. It’s only now you see she has what looks like an envelope in her hand. “A letter came for you,” she says to Arthur, handing it to him. “I know it’s from that Mary. She ain’t worth it, Arthur.” 

Your heart drops at the name. Arthur’s face has become oddly blank as he takes the letter. With everything going on, you’ve forgotten all about her. Not only that, you thought that the one time you met her and slapped her in the face, the message that Arthur was yours had become clear. Arthur thanks Tilly and she walks away. 

“Arthur,” you say, your voice cracking. 

“I know, darlin’.” He finally looks at you. “Listen, I want ya to read this with me. I want ya to know that no matter what it says, my place is with you.” 

He offers you his hand, which you take, and guides you to the tent. After sitting on the cot, he rips open the envelope and tips it so the letter and something small falls out. He catches the object and holds it up. It’s a gold ring with a small, purple stone set into it. Along with the letter is a photograph of a young Mary standing in front of a young Arthur. You study his portrait’s face. He lacked a beard or any stubble and his hair was slicked back. Even then, he was handsome.

Arthur places the ring on the cot and folds open the letter, reading it aloud. The letter says she is happy for him for finally finding someone who makes him happy, although you’re sure she’s full of crap. She then reprimands him for possibly being involved in a bloody shoot out involving the city trolley in Saint Denis. She writes that when she had been with him, life seemed bliss but she regretted seeing him in the first place all those weeks ago. She had the audacity to write: “There’s a good man within you, Arthur, but he’s wrestling with a giant. And the giant wins, time and time again. You’ve broken my heart again. For that, you must let me go. I enclose a ring you gave me many years ago when we were both young, not because I don’t like it, but because I care for you too much. I hope by returning it to you I can finally be free and that it brings your fiance happiness. Good bye.” 

By the time Arthur is finished reading the letter, his hands are shaking. You can’t blame him. How dare she say those things, acting like you’re Arthur’s second option? He puts the letter down and picks up the ring and the photo. 

“Goddamn it, Mary,” Arthur growls. “She just had to have the last word.” 

“She writes as though she expects us to be married for a year before one of us gets killed or runs off,” you mutter angrily. 

“That’s probably what she wants, darlin’. Then she can go back to usin’ me the way she did before.” He grabs your hand and squeezes it, leaning his shoulder into you, as though knowing you’re comparing yourself to her again. “That ain’t gonna happen, sweetheart. I’d choose you any day over her. Never once have you made me feel bad about my life or tried to make me change. And the fact that we’ve been engaged this long and you’re still around surprises me.” He laughs lightly, making you smile. “Point is, Mary’s tryin’ to plant doubt in my head, or maybe both our heads. Don’t let her.” 

He squeezes your hand again and then looks down at the ring in his hand, fumbling it between his fingers. 

“It wasn’t your mother’s, was it?” you asked, your eyes flickering over to the flower in a glass jar on the table. You know that was his mother’s favorite species, which is why he’s kept it so long. 

“No, darlin’. When… when I was 19, Mary had a real big fight with her daddy. Don’t remember what for, but her way of gettin’ back at him was to ask me to marry her. I agreed, of course. I went and bought this ring a few days later.” 

Hosea had told you this story shortly before Arthur asked you to marry him, but you let him tell it. 

“We set the date only a few weeks after we decided to get married and, well, a day or two before the wedding I got a letter from her sayin’ she couldn’t break her daddy’s heart like that, marryin’ a criminal. Few months later, I found out she was married to someone else.” 

“Arthur,” you say, clutching his hand. “She was never good enough for you.” 

He looks at you, his hand folding the ring as if he’s trying to crush it. “I got lucky with you, darlin’, but I don’t deserve ya.” 

“Oh, shush,” you say, putting a hand on his cheek and kissing him gently. When you pull away, he smiles and then flings the ring behind him; it flies towards the river and out of sight.

[talyn-the-warlock]

(Little idea I had based on the Chronicon! Let's assume it's mostly true for a moment, shall we?)

MCLXXVII, Forthcoming

Two years and seven months after City-fall...

Talyn was grateful they were moving again. 

The system was on fire. Cabal in Loyalist colors were all over the Sol's celestial bodies and their satellites. They must have consolidated the core worlds by now, Legionaries in shining gold gunning down anyone who stood in refusal of the Emperor’s delighted nihilism. Even without the might of their fleet, the universe’s fate had been sealed. Decided in the end by a single Guardian. The Hero of the Red War, the...Shadow of Earth, was power-mad. They had been fully seduced by the offerings of the opulent Emperor of the Cabal. Shiny trinkets and bits and baubles and wine had been more than the home they had done so much to protect. Regardless, their fury was still undeniable- and they were on a rampage. Ikora Rey had almost destroyed Mars in her blaze of glory, and Zavala had accepted his end in bitterness. Without leadership, with a foe from within, the City had been reduced to ashes in days. Earth was lost. Nowhere seemed safe, but Talyn and the fifty souls in her command had an option they were willing to gamble on. She had been certain if they stayed away from the carcass of the Reef, a freighter of their size would be able to slip by unnoticed in the asteroid fields between her dead home and the Jovians. She was wrong. Calus had sent his hunting parties far wider than she had anticipated. No matter her cunning or her care, they had found her. It embittered her to no end. 

She knew the hounds had her scent. There was no way the Shadow of Earth hadn’t given his new minions every single Tower override frequency, Dead Orbit’s included. Part of Talyn relished the idea of a fight after all this flight. Her Light still burned as bright as the setting sun, but she was alone in it. With only one Lightbearer aboard and limited ammunition for their meager forward cannons, the Fermi Paradox wouldn’t have lasted a picosecond against a heavily-armed Cabal carrier. If it was only her life to lose, she’d have tried. But fifty precious souls with only one death apiece hadn’t the teeth she did. Running and hiding was all she could do to keep them, now. The only way they could evade the Loyalist’s advanced sensor grids was to set down in a hollow asteroid and kill all power except the bare minimum needed for life support. The last ninety-five hours had been a hell of nervous waiting. They were no more than prey. Barely-cycled air hung stiff and thin in the frieghter’s cabins, each breath only just enough to fill the lungs. Slow suffocation had married in misery with tight rationing. Any hope of scavenging the Awoken’s ruins or harassing Fallen skiffs had been dashed by the Cabal’s harsh sensor sweeps. The ship was only stocked with enough food for a week, if each crewman ate one slim meal a day. Each of them had lost a frightening amount of weight, faces growing gaunt and constantly plastered with anxiety. None more than Talyn herself. She refused to partake in any of the freeze-dried delicacies aboard. If hunger took her men, they were a life snuffed forever. If it came for her...she still had her Ghost. Talyn had decided she would starve a hundred times before a single one of her people did. She continued to commit to it, even as the Cabal gave up and warped away to harass other, fatter prizes. 

The clawing pain in her stomach shot through each of her thoughts as she tried to stay awake. Fatigue was a beast the Light had no hope of pushing back. With zero caloric intake and barely a wink of sleep, Talyn was approaching her limit. Even as the engines coughed back to life and her ship limped the long black in search of opportunity, she struggled to maintain her grasp on conscious. Perhaps she was grateful she couldn’t see herself, for she looked just as she felt. Her hair had grown long, unbrushed and knotted behind her head in more of a tangle than a bun. The starlight eyes that used to be bright and full of wonder now barely stayed open, ringed in dark circles. Her fieldweave’s blue had faded, the armor dented and scratched from a hundred thousand final blows she had suffered. Even the cloak laid over her shoulder had grown to fray at the edges. Talyn had grown to rub it between her fingers as a ritualistic comfort, which did nothing to help its state. It was the least of her troubles. So long as she could see the sigil emblazoned on it, she was satisfied. The Broken Nomad had given her this last gift, after all. Her end had sent Talyn away to drift the old paths. Her best friend’s sacrifice was all she had in her knapsack. Perhaps it wasn’t just this piece of herself Soren had given, but the title as well. Talyn certainly felt the namesake. Perhaps she could ask the original Broken Nomad If she was worthy, when she saw her again in her dreams. 

A voice cut the tense quiet just as restless sleep threatened to overtake her. “Captain, we’ve got a vessel on sensors!” 

Talyn snapped herself back to awareness, rubbing one of her eyes with the back of her glove. Where was she? Settled in her captain’s chair, raised just slightly above a dozen or so bridge crew. A bulbous viewscreen showed the night before her, plastering the entire far wall with the light of stars they hadn’t the fuel or food to travel to. It was one of her officers who had spoken, a woman with mousy hair and a dark complexion. She had thrown Talyn a look of anticipation over her shoulder. What do I do now?, it said. These people still looked up to their only Guardian. They trusted her, took her orders, followed her guidance. No matter what state she was in, Talyn would die her last before she dissuaded these people of the last of their hope. She had to speak, even if her voice was cracked and edged. “On screen.” 

The view of the stars before them zoomed in, dialing closer to a vague shape nestled in the Milky Way. As it came into clearer view, Talyn recognized it as a ship. Not just any ship. This was a vessel she knew all too well. One she had ransacked on behalf of a spy order long-dead. One she had visited for game after game of Taken-hunting and Dredgen-slaying. The cylindrical shape and fins on the front making it look like a polyp were all-too familiar. The absence of its peculiar cargo was not. It floated still, hanging suspended in the vacuum like a fly stuck in molasses. Without the Haul, the thing looked so small. A tin can, kicked along dusty sidewalks like a piece of forgotten trash. She sought confirmation for what she already knew. “Is that…?” 

“The Derelict,” the mousy woman assured in a grimace. “Looks like she’s stalled out, we’ve got zero engine readings.” 

Her curiosity piqued. Was he gone? Had he abandoned his little mobile home? It looked next to new, not a ding or scrape in sight. Talyn needed answers for the questions it raised. “Structural integrity?” 

“Hundred percent,” her helmsman piped up in a gruff Exo crackle. “I’m not reading any damage, but...her fuel line ain’t running. She’s running on empty, ma’am.” 

The thought made her smile. It was petty, but the idea of Eli being stranded and out of luck like she was filled her with awful delight. His plan to outrun the end had been for nothing, after all. He’d run out of steam, unable to persist forever in the ways he always postured he would. She hoped he was hungry. 

Just as she was about to inquire further, her comms officer spoke up. “Ma’am, we’re...getting a hailing frequency,” the butch Awoken said. “I'm...pretty sure it's him. Should I put it on screen?” 

Talyn had been so numb since she’d lost everything. Trying only to keep strong for her crew, she’d refused to feel anything but grim determination to see another day. It changed in an instant. Something struck a match inside her, and ignited a pile of long-collected kindling. It turned from a spark to a holocaust of barely contained rage in seconds. He wanted to talk, did he? Why? To make platitudes at her, lay smooth words across a dagger-tongue before running it through her chest? To call her “sister” again and again, even though they shared no kinship? He would act as a snake when at such a disadvantage, plucking her fragile heartstrings like a harp. He would lie, just like he lied to Orin. He would make excuses and play to her sympathies. Talyn could already hear him tell her that he was right. Eli would say that they were all drifters now, and in the end he foresaw they were one in the same. If only he knew this Talyn wasn’t the same woman he’d tried to play all those lost years ago. This one was wiser. Stronger. Angrier. More, this Talyn knew precisely why the City hadn’t been able to stand against the onslaught of Calus and his betrayer Shadow. Any great empire falls when it fractures. Eli hadn’t cared in an iota what lines he was drawing in the sand when he enticed prospective Dredgens with shiny toys. He didn’t give a damn how it had all fallen apart when nobody was there to keep the disillusioned from dropping everything and running. It was all his fault. His selfish hubris had brittled the unity they’d used to slay Crota, and Oryx, and Ghaul. Now he was alone again, and he was a fool to believe he’d find quarter with someone he had stolen everything from. Her eyes grew dark, hands gripping the sides of her chair white-knuckle. Her crew were waiting for orders, and she gave them in a shaking hush. 

“Reject the hail,” Talyn shuddered. “And divert all power to weapons.”

The Exo tapped his console quickly, and a pair of cannons went live and locked on with an alarm flourish. He almost sounded sad. “...say the word, ma’am.” 

She only hesitated as long as it took to try and remember the Broken Nomad’s face. When she couldn’t find it, the words were effortless. 

“Open fire.” 

[robot-unicorn-attack]

CHAPTER 01 - WIDOWMAKER

(written by @now-on-elissastillstands)

...CHAPTER 01

She has a headache already.

Len takes a slow sip of her tonic water, glaring out at the room over the rim of her glass as her mouth flooded with bitterness. All the drinks look the same in the strobing lights. Every bartender in the City knows her order by now; she slips them extra cash before the events to keep them from telling her special to the paparazzi--Widowmaker's a woman who should be able to drink every soul in the bar under the table, but Len hates alcohol. The last time she got drunk was when she was seventeen. She spent the night crying into Sol's lap. Drinking makes her two things: pathetic, and sentimental. She has time for neither.

She doesn't glance up when someone taps her on the shoulder. "What do you want, Ardua?" she asks in a bored voice, swirling her drink around in her tumbler. The bubbles catch on the light like little stars, winking in and out of the night.

Ardua is the sorry bastard who got assigned as her publicist--her handler, more like--for the event. She's a good woman, as far as LAZER watchdogs go. Born on Hughes, studied hard in school to get as far away from there as she could. Has a wife who works on metal purification and children she's putting through school on Evangelin. It's a pity then, that her job involves corralling Len from race to race, making sure that she stays on script. Len doesn't envy her.

"You should go mingle," Ardua says into her ear. "You know all of these people."

Naturally--because she's the child of a spy, licensed to kill. It's almost a miracle, the kind of bull LAZER plasters onto its racers. Len tips the rest of the drink into her mouth, barely suppressing her grimace at the taste. She chose it for a reason; it doesn't let her get too comfortable. "Let me guess--you have their information for me?"

There's a beeping sound by her ear. Ardua leans down and whispers, "Just transferred it all onto your screen. It'll erase itself in a minute and a half, so read fast."

Len rolls her eyes as she double-taps at the switch on her watch's clasp, pulling up a holoscreen to hover over her palm. The room is filled with minor politicians and Estrellan elite who invested in the races--none of them important enough so she'd have to worry about them wondering about the identity of her fictional parents, or seeing her face on an anti-Estrellan sedition watchlist, either. They all fall in the zone of people who think that they're just important enough to commit fraud, to disenfranchise the people they represent, to dabble in corporate corruption and extortion. Scum of the worlds. Unimportant, uninteresting scum.

She pauses at the final politician bio, a middle-aged City councilor. Three divorces, accused multiple times of taking bribes from mining lobbies but never charged, currently considering retirement and dating a woman a fraction of his age. So predictably unpleasant that it makes Len's jaw twitch. She pulls up the details of his council record. 

Cedric Abraxas. Voted against sending aid to Ser'hld IX, three times before the moon was finally destroyed.

"Well? Have you found someone you feel comfortable terrorizing, Widow?" Ardua asks.

Len's holoscreen glitches as the data erases itself. She glances back at her handler. Ardua is on her third cocktail, smiling soppily down at her personal screen while she thinks no one watches. She and her wife are so besotted that it sometimes makes Len feel sorry for them.

Len casts her eyes around the room until she sees a knot of revelers in sequins and glitters, all surrounding a man in a dour suit. She bares her teeth in a grin. "I think so."

-----

"Councilor Abraxas. I don't think we've met."

The man breaks off mid-boast when Len slinks into his circle of followers. There is no denying that she is proud of the way she looks. She disrupts space--the angles of her are too sharp, her gait too bold to be compartmentalized with the shine and sparkle of elite Estrellan fashion. She stands out like a starved wolf among preening sheep, and when she smiles, it is a wolf's smile, and her grin grows wider when she feels the people around her shift uneasily.

Abraxas stares at her for a moment, face red. Kings never like it when the entertainment upstages them in their own court. 

"Here, ladies and gentlemen," the councilor says, gesturing with unease, "is one of the stars of the race! Widowmaker! You're--" he glances around nervously, "--early."

He didn't know she was coming. She settles her hip against a corner of the bar and signals for the bartender. "One of the usual, Kay," she says, not taking her eyes off of the councilor. It always makes them uneasy. 

As it should.

No one talks until Len gets her drink and takes a long pull from it. "I heard," she says, "that you plan on voting for rezoning in the Barzan provinces."

The councilor splutters. "Come now, Widowmaker, no shop talk while we're all having fun--"

"But I'm not here as a racer, councilor." She sets her drink aside on the bar. "I'm here to talk to you about your Barzan vote. You do realize that there's a civil war happening there, don't you?"

Abraxas grows pale. He turns to his group, "Excuse us for a moment, ladies and gentlemen, we just need to--we'll be over here for a--" he cranes his head around until he sees an empty table, and gestures her towards it, "--Widow, if you would be so kind--"

She follows him serenely to the table and sits down across from him. Abraxas leans across and hisses, "Where the hell did you find out about the Barzan revolution? That's classified, it hasn't even hit the papers here, where did you--"

"I have my sources," Len says placidly. She takes another sip of her drink. "And my sources are very invested in knowing what you've been doing in Barzan, Councilor."

She smiles her wolf's smile at him again, and he grows paler. She knows he's thinking of what LAZER's said about her. She knows he's wondering what she knows.

Sometimes, it's good to be a racer.

"You should start talking," Len commands gently, and he does.

-----

She sees Sol flirting with Flower in a little nook in the corner of the room after she leaves Abraxas. It makes her stomach tighten, but she ignores it. Len doesn't trust Flower half as far as she could throw her--she clearly knows what she's doing to win over the masses, and she clearly likes it, too--but Sol's a big girl now. She can handle herself. And if a RISE upstart takes advantage of her--

--that's her own fault, not Len's. 

Len slips out of the Neon Demon through a staff exit and climbs her way down one of the fire escapes. The city below her is lit with iridescent violets and yellows, like stained glass backlit with sunlight. She dangles her feet over the railing and stares into the incandescent sea below her.

Footsteps clang on the metal stairs behind her. "Fancy seeing you here, stranger," a deep voice says.

"You're late," Len says without looking back.

A tall woman with long dreadlocks drops down to sit next to her. "You look beat."

Len doesn't deign to debate that. "Go to hell, TJ," she says instead, without heat. She lowers her voice. "I got Abraxas' travel schedule; just sent it to you in the channel. The code's the one we always use. He'll be in LW central for the Torrid Gorges race, and then he's travelling through the neutral zone in a shuttle to the Barzan provinces. He's staying there for a month--he says to negotiate a peace, but he's funding weapons sales in the area, he practically confessed as much to me."

TJ whistles. "Busy little man, isn't he."

Len nods, scrubbing her hands over her eyes. "He might be a little antsy from here on out; he thinks a TEF bigwig is after him. The area from Torrid Gorges to the NZ is one of the most dangerous areas in Fed space. You have the West Pass and the Belt. And Barzan--you know what Barzan's like right now. It's practically begging for an accident." She lifts her head to stare at TJ. "You think we can pull it off?"

"If we can't six him in Barzan, we've lost our touch. You gave us the lead on Vesuile last month; if we could take down an Icer on Ice World proper, we can take a city slicker on our own turf." TJ claps her on the shoulder. "You're our torch, Len. We'll keep you in the loop, but--hopefully you'll see it on the news before then."

TJ works as a holoscreen repair tech by day and a coordinator for their faction in her free time. She was the one who convinced Len that sticking to LAZER and finding ways to fight as a racer would be better than spending a decade and a half in prison for theft of government property. She is one of the few people Len can count as a friend.

When they were both seventeen and desperate, TJ swore that she would die in a raid on Estrella, and Len loves her too much to stop her when the time comes.

"Who's gonna replace him?" Len sighs, rubbing the tightness she can feel in her neck. "Jen Xaner? Gutierrez?"

"I'm hoping Gutierrez. Her record's good."

"Starry hell, TJ, none of them actually care about the provinces. The most they care about is getting sponsorships." 

"That's still better than nothing."

"You're too optimistic for a raider."

"Racing's doing a number on your head." TJ nudges her shoulder. "What race is next? You're headed back home--Torrid Gorges, right?"

If she was younger, angrier, she would still be bitter at the mention of home. Now all she does is nod. "I'd better win. Get some home pride going. The celebrations'll distract from Abraxas."

They stare at the shining towers on silence. When Len first saw the City, she thought for a moment that heaven was real. No human hands could have made something this bright and beautiful. But human hands were the instrument by which the City was built. Human hands and human deaths, all for this spectacle of consumption. 

This is why the Federation needs to be stopped.

"I need to get back before they miss me," Len says, levering herself to her feet. "Ardua's probably done vid-chatting her wife now and wondering where in the void I am."

"You like this one." TJ grins at her.

Len scowls. "As much as I can like any prison guard." Her face softens. "I'll see you next month. Safe roads and kind stars, TJ."

"Safe roads, Len. Don't let them drag you down."

When she steps back into the Neon Demon, the noise washes over her like a breaking wave. All of the sponsors are still milling about, cocktail glasses in hand. She sees other racers she half-knows--Lani, drinking up a boisterous storm at the bar. The main Twilight racer--if they can't be assed to call her anything other than Widow, she certainly isn't going to remember their names--glittering as she holds court with a smiling Flower, stars only know what those two are up to.

Sol. Drink in her hand, eyes glinting in delight as she tears to whatever poor wretch who decided to approach her on the dais. Her followers are either fools or masochists.

Len signals for another drink. She needs something to keep her hands busy.

"I was wondering where you'd ran off to," a voice coos in her ear.

Len glares down at the gold nails on her shoulder. "Weren't you just talking to one of your adoring fans?"

"Yes, but then I saw you."

Len turns around to stare at Sol. Her eyes gleam on the club's lights like small suns. They're beautiful--she's always beautiful, it's part of her image, she has to be--but there are days when Len half-misses the young Sol's eyes, dark and hard.

Pathetic and sentimental, that thought. Sol's fans were all fools and masochists, and damn it all, Len might be both.

Len lifts her glass to her mouth. "And as you can see, I'm busy."

"Drinking your special, huh, Leni?" Sol takes the glad from her hand and takes a tiny sip. Her grimace is comical. "It never gets any less vile. Would it kill you to order ginger ale?"

"No one asked you to come over here and drink it, Nyx," Len says levelly, with only the slightest emphasis on Sol's racing name. She doesn't want to deal with Sol right now. Not with her loudness. Not with her strange kindness.

Sol's face twists. "Well, if that's how we're playing it, I don't have time for you either." She pauses, then adds. "Widow."

"Precisely. You can go back to your adoring fans. Or to that Sky Worlder you like so much; I saw the two of you getting close back there."

Sol's gold eyes widen. "Oh. Oh--I see," she says with a grin. She has the audacity to wink. "You don't have to worry, Leni, I'll always have time for you--"

"Believe it or not, I have more important things to worry about than you," Len says flatly.

It's not a lie. She's a terrible liar. Avenging her family--her moon, her people--would always be more important to her than anyone or anything in the races. And if she's ever discovered as an informant, if they ever find out she's involved in planning politicians' deaths and plotting against the central government--

--Sol doesn't deserve to get caught in that. 

But Len sees open hurt in Sol's face a split second before her usual smirk takes over. She flicks Len off with a flourish and laughs, calling, "Get fucked, Widow!" over her shoulder as she strides back to the dais. Len stares after her, and all she can see is the girl who held her when she was drunk and crying for the first time she could remember. 

Len's been scared of drinking ever since. The tonic water had been Sol's idea.

She looks around the room. The party is still going strong. There are plenty of lower politicians she recognizes, from Ardua's bios and from her own work. Len stares at the back of the bar as she takes tiny sips from her drink. She smooths out her jacket and makes her face blank, bored.

When she turns around and walks through the crowd, they part for her like they would for a knife. There's Widowmaker, she hears them say above the heavy beat of the music. They always think that the bass will cover them up, but she's had a lifetime of listening. I've never seen her at one of these events.

Once, the whispers would have whipped her into a fury. Now, all she does is bare one edge of her wolf's smile. The voices grow louder.

I hear she's using antimatter in Voidmaker. Isn't tech against Federation statutes?

You think someone like that cares about Federation statutes? I hear she's about to get pulled from racing for a long-term mission in the Lava provinces

Hideous places, aren't they?

I wouldn't want to go near them. 

I hear she killed a man today.

Someone gasps. Oh, really? I heard that too.

Taglist: @ayzrules @bebemoon @jay-swagsby @filthysoulls @shiftyprincess @kzombi3 @now-on-elissastillstands @interluxetumbra

[facethroughthemirror]

No Ready Cure

Chapter One

Characters: General Doyle, Locus,  Dr. Grey Relationships: One-Sided Doyle/Locus

Lovesickness in two drastically different senses of the word. One of them is hopelessly in love, and that love is slowly killing them. The other, unfortunately, can only stand by and watch the object of their own affections choke to death on flower petals not meant for them. Or can they?

Please read tags for warnings!

For day four of @rvbrarepairweek, and crossposted on ao3!

[ I know I missed Day Three I’m working on a bonus that will be up in the next two to three hours ]

"Hey, uh, has your general always had that cough?"

Agent Washington is very perceptive, she’s noticed. And of course he would have noticed the general’s persistent cough. General Doyle tries to cover it, or at least stifle it, but it’s quite obvious that he’s trying not to cough. And he always has an excuse at the ready: a dry mouth or throat, dust, simply running out of air from talking. But some of his excuses make such little sense, it truly baffles her that anyone could possibly believe them.

It occurs to her that Agent Washington is still talking, so she continues to listen. "--nds really bad, there could be mold or something causing it. If it’s mold, we have to find the source--"

"Oh, it’s not mold! Or dust! Or any other outside irritant!" she chirps, pushing some of his hair out of the way to check how the site of his most recent procedure is healing. She nods, noting the progress, and releases his hair to scribble on her note-taking datapad. “And the altitude of the outpost isn’t high enough to cause trouble for someone wearing armor with built-in life support systems -- though even if it was , he’d be acclimated by now!”

"... okay, well, is it like… is he sick?"

"It isn’t allergies, asthma, bronchitis, congestive heart failure, coronary artery disease, drug overdose, emphysema, influenza , kidney disease, pertussis, pneumonia, pneumo thorax , pulmonary edema , neurogenic or otherwise, sepsis, or tuberculosis!" Emily’s grip tightens on her notepad, and she forces the corners of her mouth up into a wider grin behind her helmet. More than a few years ago, her face would have started hurting by now. Not anymore, though, actually, her face hurts more when she’s not smiling anymore. " But ! As his condition is not immediately life-threatening, and will never be contagious, and he is my superior officer, I can’t exactly compel him to allow me to treat it! I think he's a little intimidated by the recovery period, but it’s not like my medical wing is very bus y up here!"

"... oh. Hey uh... do you like... maybe want me to talk to him? Maybe try to convince him to let you help with… whatever it is?"

"You can if you’d like , but there’s simply no convincing him, I’m afraid! I’ve tried." She swears she can feel her notepad about to crack in her hands. "Now, is there anything else, Agent Washington?"

"... uh, no, I guess that’s it."

"Then you’re free to leave now!"

He hops up from the chair and snatches up his helmet from her desk, putting it back onto his head as he rushes out. Once the door closes behind him, she drops her notepad a little too carelessly onto the desktop, and sits down a little too hard in her chair.

It seems like only yesterday that the general had stumbled into her office, finally, to see her about his coughing, though it had been a couple of years now. She’d asked her standard questions, of course, going through her standard mental checklist as she gathered supplies to start taking vitals and doing a thorough check of the symptoms. A cough is the body’s response to an irritant in the throat, airways, or lungs, she’d told him. It’s the body forcing out the irritant by pushing air out of the lungs. It can happen without an actual irritant, it happens with dry throats sometimes too. Her first instinct had been to conclusively rule out pleural effusion first, in order to make sure General Doyle’s lungs weren’t just filling with fluid. However, the cause of his coughing had become apparent as soon as he’d taken off his helmet.

She’d only seen the illness during medical school, when during the time they’d spent on it and several other pulmonary illnesses, but there was no question as to what it was as she watched a collection of spit-shiny flower petals fluttered and tumbled to the ground, shaken out of his helmet.

There’s a number of names for it, but the most accepted name for it is "hanahaki disease," or, medically, "hanahaki-type pneumafytotrophy." As opposed to mycelium-type pneumafytotrophy, which she’s always found to be a misnomer, "pneuma mykitatrophy" would be more correct, considering how words work, the fact that fungi aren’t plants, and the fact that mycelium is a specific part of the fungus rather than a category of fungus. She’s been dying to lobby for a name-change on that front, considering mycelium and fungus proper aren’t the same and technically the name should be accurate. There could be "fungal-type pneuma mykitatrophy" and "mycelium-type pneuma mykitatrophy," but the civil war has sort of prevented her from pursuing anything official in terms of experimentation or publishing.

First referenced on Earth, hanahaki disease is attributed to a region called "Japan," she believes, similar to takotsubo cardiomyopathy, which had been identified in that region over five hundred and sixty years ago, in 1990. It’s been seen in other cultures, though, particularly close to the region of origin. No one is, apparently, entirely sure when the concept originated, and it was, allegedly, thought to be a fictional illness at first, but it had been discovered to be all too real. No one is entirely certain what causes it, but the most commonly-accepted theory is that it's a rare genetic mutation, possibly hereditary, that is usually entirely harmless. However, the going theory is that prolonged exposure to the hormones and other neurotransmitters produced by the anxiety of unexpressed emotion, in this case unrequited love, trigger the mutation to activate, and produce plant-like growths inside of the lungs. Incredibly plant-like, as a matter of fact, as they include functioning roots, and petals! Those roots usually grow into, and eventually, through, the lung tissue, and the growths cause so many complications!

"Well, the good news is that this condition is very treatable!"

"‘Treatable?’ Not curable?"

"Well, the possibility of regrowth exists, of course, but it’s not common! Unfortunately, if the affections aren’t returned, or if the growths aren’t removed, the disease will eventually become fatal!"

"And there’s no adverse side effects to the surgery?"

"Well, unfortunately, there is one noteworthy side effect. Your brain will no longer register that person in the same way: you will lose all ability to feel romantically attracted to them."

She’d explained his condition to him, in no uncertain terms, had even taken a few chest scans in order to verify the diagnosis. The growths can become starved and die if the body stops producing the substances that feed them, usually through the return of the feelings that originally caused them, removing some of the neurotransmitters from the cocktail. But the sadly more common treatment is surgery to remove the growths. It was actually a very easy fix. Honestly, treating fluid in the lungs would be far more difficult. But he had declined the easier of the two fixes.

That was fine, she supposed, he was well within his rights. That wasn’t what bothered her the most about the situation. What hurt, and made her angry all at the same time, that of all people, he was risking his life for…

"Doctor."

She looks up from where she’s been holding her head in her hands, eyes locking on the hulking, black-armored form of the Federal Army’s resident mercenary. She springs her false smile back into place, even though he can’t see it, and straightens up, though she owes him no such courtesy and they both know that.

"What can I do for you , Locus?"

"I’ve received word from the general. He has made it to Armonia safely."

"Oh, excellent! You know, I’m sure he would have called me himself, though! You really didn’t need to come all the way down here!"

"I thought you would like to know.”

“Mm. Well, I appreciate it all the same! Thank you very much.”

“I will be leaving soon to join him."

"Have a safe trip, then, Locus! … you can go now!"

Locus just turns on his heel and stalks out, as silently as ever. Like a particularly irritable housecat, as the general would say… sort of. He’d never call Locus irritable, but they’re all thinking it. She knows they are.

As soon as the door shuts behind the mercenary, Emily’s poor, abused notepad whips across the room, finally cracking and shattering against the door, dropping to the ground in a hopeless pile of pieces. She merely stares in the direction of the door with her hand still partially raised from the throw, some acidic emotion that she can’t immediately identify burning at the back of her throat.

It isn’t fair . General Doyle is the only person in the world who’s ever been so nice to her. He makes her feel warm inside, like glitter is exploding inside of her. No other person has ever made her feel that way before. He’s so nice to her, he cares about her, and she cares about him! He’s so very important to her, and she doesn’t want to see him get hurt, especially not like this.

They’ve been friends for years . She’d met him back when the brigadier had first called her into his office after Doyle had gotten a splinter and fainted upon trying to pull it out. She’d pulled the splinter out for him, gotten him back upright in his chair, and even made him a cup of peppermint tea to get him back to himself and settle his stomach. She’d come back to check on him later in the day, they’d gotten dinner, chatted. He started calling her directly whenever he felt sick from then on, started asking her to get meals whenever he thought she might not have eaten for awhile. They were looking out for each other.

Years . It’s been literal years. Years of kind words and medical priority, even before his promotion to general. Years of late night quarters- and office-calls, of anxiety attacks and stress rashes and stress-induced vomiting. Of insomnia and tea at three o’clock in the morning when he wandered down to her office for anything, anything at all, to help him sleep. Monitoring blood pressure and racing heartbeats and reassuring him that he isn’t dying and he’ll be just fine in just a few moments and would he please try to take some deep breaths before he starves himself of oxygen again and passes out?

Why does it have to be Locus ? Locus has no feelings! He doesn’t talk to anyone! He clearly doesn’t care about General Doyle! He’s not worth choking to death over! She can’t let her friend do that to himself! Her friend is suffering for someone who doesn’t even notice, and that makes her so indescribably furious. The person she cares about more than anyone else is poisoning himself on such toxic emotion and it breaks her heart to see him do so without even understanding that he’s hurting himself so badly. He can’t see it, but she can.

Some days, she just wants to--

Her arm finally drops, wrist smacking against the edge of her desk on the way down with a crack that would be terrifying if it hadn’t just been the sound her armor’s impact against the well-worked surface. No. She’s a doctor. She can’t do that. And if she did, what would General Doyle think of her then? He’d hate her. He would hate her, and she can’t take that chance. And she’s sure that he would know her handiwork, or she’d be so unable to keep a secret from him that she’d blurt out what she’d done. What’s more, he’d be so upset that Locus was gone. Locus, the menace, makes him feel safe and she can’t take that away from him without being immediately able to step in and take his place.

… it’s alright. It’s alright, she’ll… just keep treating him. She’ll just keep doing her best to keep him comfortable. Maybe he’ll come to his senses and see that Locus isn’t right for him, doesn’t love him, and he’ll let her remove those filthy parasites once and for all! Then his feelings for Locus would be gone! The problem would be solved!

[hgfstreamchats]

Bird Box

Today Starscreamapillar Greetings. thebestdecepticonleader ((Hi thenightetc Hello! Me Good evening, everyone! Starscreamapillar A terrible prelude to the box of birds? Me Oh yes! ThebesAce Hello! what is this Me Something educational. Starscreamapillar It reminds me of the culture of the Nemesis. Me Ah, those were the days.

ThebesAce This took a turn somewhere Me It takes a turn every 40 seconds or so. Starscreamapillar And every turn is deeper down. Me Just like the Nemesis! Starscreamapillar Just like the Nemesis. thenightetc Does that frog have titties Starscreamapillar Flatworms, apparently. Me That's the least wrong thing with it. ThebesAce At least they didn't go for the really horrible parasites Starscreamapillar She isn't wrong... Me She really isn't. Starscreamapillar I also feel the intense need to be wormed immediately. thenightetc Wormed, or dewormed? (Sorry.) Starscreamapillar English is a broken language, and you are aware of that. thenightetc Oh, well, as long as they're not inflammable. Starscreamapillar She is very bad at this. There is no talking allowed, how can they tell her about hearing something? thebestdecepticonleader This seems like a situation for abuse thenightetc Yeah. I read this interesting theory about how this movie is really about mass hysteria thenightetc How'd they set up the guides in the first place? thebestdecepticonleader There's too many people for the insanity of two Starscreamapillar It is also impossible to row with intent without a visual guide. The water will skew the course. thenightetc ...Yikes Starscreamapillar That is terrible. ThebesAce Yarrgh

thebestdecepticonleader Baby Starscreamapillar Technically, with pregnancy, if you wait long enough it will go away. thenightetc This has gotta be so uncomfortable for the doctor here thebestdecepticonleader ((yeah 18 years and 9 months Me How is this any of the doctor's business? ThebesAce This doctor is cruising for a malpractice suit thenightetc Does she... already know them? Me "No judgements here, you terrible person." thebestdecepticonleader Don't adopt, you will regret it thenightetc Oh my god thebestdecepticonleader I had to send my child away to keep them safe from the war. I wish I didn't have to Me "This happened because you didn't love your fetus enough." ~The doctor. Starscreamapillar Aaah. thebestdecepticonleader Take the steering wheel thenightetc Shiiiit. Me Well, on the plus side, that should take care of that baby that's giving you so much trouble!

thenightetc It looks like she's already very pregnant... that'd hardly be any easier thebestdecepticonleader Why is everyone in a panic, surely she can't be the only one who didn't see it? Starscreamapillar So, that one saw a siren of their mother? But the first one saw a horror? thebestdecepticonleader Maybe they are seeing ghosts thenightetc Isn't it kind of dangerous for him to be looking out the window like that? thebestdecepticonleader SO they look like how they died? You know, some died of something that doesn't show up and others are covered in blood? Starscreamapillar They are really fixating on the horses. thebestdecepticonleader ((Australia is clear woohoo thenightetc ((It's afraid of the drop-bears! thebestdecepticonleader ((even dropbears are scared of dropbears thenightetc And turn off the tv, come on. Starscreamapillar But whatever it is, cannot be captured by cameras apparently. Or they would have a faster, wider spread. thenightetc Okay, point. He's saying this based on, like, nothing. thebestdecepticonleader Are we sure that it's by sight and not a variety of things thenightetc Oh, no! Lobsters! How terrible! thebestdecepticonleader Like sound, smell, sight Starscreamapillar Her womb is full of sea serpents. thebestdecepticonleader Maybe she's carrying a horse That's why they're fixating on them thenightetc They kind of ACT like it was something they saw, but they're not really... in a condition to explain much. thebestdecepticonleader We've seen two people who seems to have seen something, that doesn't mean it can't spread by other means as well The woman at the window in the hospital could easily have heard it on the phone Starscreamapillar Well, we did see that the blindfolds in the beginning seem to work. So, it is likely visual. thenightetc Ominous. thebestdecepticonleader They could be getting lucky too thenightetc Wait, their blindfolds are off now? thebestdecepticonleader Maybe people have an immunity Starscreamapillar They are under a blanket. thenightetc Oh. I didn't notice Me There's no way in pit they've navigated for six hours without looking. That's not how rivers work, that's not how anything works. thenightetc I'm guessing we're going to see a LOT of not how anything works. thebestdecepticonleader They probably just periodically have to push off the bank Starscreamapillar Three days of bodies lying in the sun. Where are the scavengers? thebestdecepticonleader Maybe animals aren't immune Me The sensible character dies. Calling it. Starscreamapillar Of course. They all do, because they are not with her, and those mystery children on the water. thebestdecepticonleader I hope the baby survives Starscreamapillar Well, we will see if these things do record fatally. thenightetc the BLINDS are OPEN thebestdecepticonleader they don't want to survive as badly as they think they do Starscreamapillar It is the second floor. Surely the horrors are not that tall. Surely. Me Hover horrors. thebestdecepticonleader ((where are all the blind people who survived? Starscreamapillar They were eaten. thenightetc Awww, boo hoo. Ew. Me Ugh. thebestdecepticonleader really? in a situation like this? really? thenightetc If horror movies have taught me anything, it's that fucking ATTRACTS monsters. thenightetc Oh no thebestdecepticonleader oh dear Starscreamapillar Unfortunate. thenightetc I guess video isn't safe. Me Well, rest in peace, I Really Think This Is Gonna Work. thenightetc Shouldn't it be EVERYWHERE, then? Poor guy. Starscreamapillar Well... Now they will not starve as quickly. thebestdecepticonleader I wonder if you leave them somewhere where they cannot hurt themselves, like straight jackets in padded cells, if they would get over this eventually thenightetc Either a good idea or an extremely terrible one. Me Just sleep it off. thebestdecepticonleader Well... we don't know how long the effects last. They might be terminal, they might go away after a few hours. thenightetc lady, take a hint thebestdecepticonleader No one's survived more than... maybe a minute as far as we have seen But if you could stop them, could you stop them thenightetc Right. It would probably be worth TRYING. But if it doesn't wear off then it's probably a horrible thing to subject someone to Starscreamapillar Humans are fragile. They can stop breathing, and die. thenightetc Nah, holding your breath too long just makes you pass out, and start breathing again thebestdecepticonleader They have artificial breathing machines Starscreamapillar Or, if not that, then stress can kill. If they cannot suicide themselves, I would wager they would still die. thebestdecepticonleader We don't know how bad it is either, the one who saw her mother seemed happy thenightetc Okay! Starscreamapillar Or this, I suppose. thenightetc Bad idea, then! thenightetc I, uh, guess other people had the "what if it wears off" idea, too thebestdecepticonleader There are houses that are bound to be abandoned between here and there Starscreamapillar 'Safe' thenightetc Oh my god. thenightetc That's... MORE dangerous than walking around blindfolded. thebestdecepticonleader A GPS is not enough to make sure you don't run into something thenightetc Yeah, it's not going to be fine enough. thebestdecepticonleader Like one of the cars stopped in the road Starscreamapillar Perhaps not. If they think that other humans might be equally dangerous. The car is some armour, at least. thenightetc Or bodies. Starscreamapillar Eyes would not still be intact, after three days. thebestdecepticonleader At least the bodies are dead I guess Maybe it affects animals too though, so nothing to scavenge Starscreamapillar Even without scavengers, juicy parts like eyes dessicate. They shrivel up quickly. thebestdecepticonleader Ew Starscreamapillar Conquer a human city, and you learn terrible things. thenightetc Haha. Horse. thenightetc How do they know there's not one inside here. Starscreamapillar Horrors cannot use doors. Everyone knows this. Also, why do they not stay here? thenightetc Yeah, that would be sensible. Maybe. There's more space than the house, more supplies... Starscreamapillar Less travel. Me Why not just pack everyone up and live in the grocery store? thebestdecepticonleader Harder to defend I guess? Starscreamapillar Because they are all stupid. thebestdecepticonleader I would have stayed there thenightetc ...Aww, man, you know nobody's fed it for days thenightetc "TOTALLY lit" thebestdecepticonleader ((alcohol in a supermarket? thenightetc ((Yep!)) thebestdecepticonleader ((You can't get that here, it's amazing Me Hop in the car and go get them, you idiots. thenightetc Right? They can ALL live in the supermarket! Starscreamapillar Zombies. thenightetc Ah fuck. Starscreamapillar The birds do not like him. thenightetc Fuck thebestdecepticonleader hmmmm Me He could have, you know, just helped to shove. Starscreamapillar Did they re-lock the front door? thenightetc Gosh, what a sympathetic character! thebestdecepticonleader Maybe pregnancy gives you some form of... immunity Two pregnant survivors when it would significantly slow you down seems suspect thenightetc Ew. Starscreamapillar Of course you are going to have escapees. thenightetc Yeah. thebestdecepticonleader they were smarter than the others probably going back to the supermarket thenightetc It's now clear that the "infected" are a danger to others if they survive thenightetc So grouping up seems... ill-advised thebestdecepticonleader Yeah, just don't open the door and you will be fine though Starscreamapillar That is how to kill your box of birds. Me "Get you warmed up, child I didn't want or love or name." thebestdecepticonleader ((wait... is this the woman in the house? Starscreamapillar This is the angry pregnant one. thenightetc ((I think so?)) thebestdecepticonleader ((I am very, very faceblind Starscreamapillar She has grown her hair out. thenightetc Oh, damn it ThebesAce what a surprise, small children mucking things up Starscreamapillar Children are valuable, but they are a liability. thebestdecepticonleader ((like, don't recognise my own face in pictures faceblind Starscreamapillar Can you shoot a miasma? thenightetc Leaves acting weird there thebestdecepticonleader Don't do that stupid thenightetc ! Me They're children. You're literally their only hope of survival. thebestdecepticonleader We haven't seen any kids killed by it... maybe they are immune Starscreamapillar I strongly doubt that. The horror wanted that little girl. thebestdecepticonleader Until either a pregnant woman or child dies, that's my theory Starscreamapillar And the streets would be full of crying, hungry children, with all their parents dead outside. thebestdecepticonleader Maybe it's kidnapping the children Assuming it''s aliens or something? Starscreamapillar Hmm.. Perhaps the insane, are immune to suiciding? thenightetc Maybe they were on medication that changed how it affected them. Me I'm going to miss Sensible Character when the inevitable occurs. Starscreamapillar But it is inevitable. thenightetc "lady, I don't even want ONE baby" thenightetc ... Starscreamapillar She is still mad at that girl who is not hers. Me Just lock the dissenter in the garage indefinitely, like civilized folk. Starscreamapillar Don't even feed him. Now, we shall see if it is lobsters, or sea serpents. Me Lobsterpants. Starscreamapillar That is something else entirely. thebestdecepticonleader or a horse Starscreamapillar He's been drawing them. thenightetc Ohhh dear. thebestdecepticonleader I hope it can't be transferred by drawing Today thenightetc Right? Me "Ew." Starscreamapillar Drat. I was hoping for serpents. thebestdecepticonleader I was hoping for the horse idea thenightetc Oh no thebestdecepticonleader jerk thebestdecepticonleader butthead aft thenightetc Aw, fuck. Me Stinky. thenightetc So it just had kind of a delayed effect. thebestdecepticonleader put the babies down Starscreamapillar He sees them well enough to draw them. They're inside. thenightetc Something in his eyes? thebestdecepticonleader All he had to do was keep his eyes shut when that happened though thenightetc Could have been from memory thenightetc Oh god thebestdecepticonleader Get running girl thebestdecepticonleader Why isn't he killing himself if he saw though? Starscreamapillar This is a proper mess. thenightetc Maybe it wants to spread and makes some people into "vectors" Starscreamapillar Oh yes, five years later. Nothing eventful happened in the mean time. Starscreamapillar Insane people cannot use the radio. thenightetc ...yeah, someone who'd survived for a while and then got unlucky would know about all the precautions and all. Me "Time to sit in your shame corner and eat your sawdust." Starscreamapillar So, when does he die? thenightetc Sometime in the next year. : ( thebestdecepticonleader Do they even know it's still active thenightetc Oh my god ThebesAce *FACEPALM* thebestdecepticonleader I assume everyone's just so used to keeping eyes covered and stuff that no one has run into that problem in a few years Starscreamapillar Do not eat those five year old poptarts. thebestdecepticonleader They have probably been living mostly on mould for the last two years Me It's full of weevils. thenightetc ...I guess this is when he dies :< Starscreamapillar There it is. Heroic death, right on time. Me I do like her reachin' stick. thebestdecepticonleader oops Starscreamapillar Well, I admire his dedication to finishing the job, before pleasure. thenightetc :< thebestdecepticonleader Well... it's still active thenightetc "he's not coming" wow Starscreamapillar She is bad at having feelings. Starscreamapillar There. One redeemable act, that will get them all killed. thebestdecepticonleader So everyone dies instead of one thenightetc Seems like they could just.... get to the shore slightly beforehand and walk the rest of the way Me THANK YOU. I was about to say the same thing. thebestdecepticonleader that would be too logical thenightetc I'm sure it'd be dangerous, but every single choice they have is dangerous thebestdecepticonleader and now all of them are going to die Me It'd be less dangerous than throwing themselves into the rapids. Starscreamapillar It would potentially take too long. They have no more supplies. Better to die in the water, than starve lost in the woods. Me Which one did she pick to look? Starscreamapillar Neither. thebestdecepticonleader Everyone kept their eyes shut so now everyone is drowning thenightetc Can't believe she literally just calls them "boy" and "girl" Me You'd think she could have at least named them before almost sacrificing one of them. Starscreamapillar Those birds are dead. thebestdecepticonleader they seem to be moving so... apparently not ((meanwhile real birds die if you make a loud noise too close to them Starscreamapillar I may not be the most adept at Earth fauna, but I do know you cannot drown birds in a cardboard box, and have them survive. thenightetc awwww fuck thebestdecepticonleader they have done a lot of dumb things thebestdecepticonleader They just wondered off Me "Food bags! Chromosome amalgamations!" Starscreamapillar They can potentially hear the voices too? thebestdecepticonleader seconds after she fell thenightetc Oh, they think they hear her Me "Oh, where are you, child things?" thenightetc So they didn't so much "wander off" as "be lured away" thebestdecepticonleader Maybe if you had called him something other than boy he would listen thenightetc Maybe it can imitate bells, too Me "I've got you, liability." Starscreamapillar Neither. thebestdecepticonleader Everyone kept their eyes shut so now everyone is drowning thenightetc Can't believe she literally just calls them "boy" and "girl" Me You'd think she could have at least named them before almost sacrificing one of them. Starscreamapillar Those birds are dead. thebestdecepticonleader they seem to be moving so... apparently not ((meanwhile real birds die if you make a loud noise too close to them Starscreamapillar I may not be the most adept at Earth fauna, but I do know you cannot drown birds in a cardboard box, and have them survive. thenightetc awwww fuck thebestdecepticonleader they have done a lot of dumb things thebestdecepticonleader They just wondered off Me "Food bags! Chromosome amalgamations!" Starscreamapillar They can potentially hear the voices too? thebestdecepticonleader seconds after she fell thenightetc Oh, they think they hear her Me "Oh, where are you, child things?" thenightetc So they didn't so much "wander off" as "be lured away" thebestdecepticonleader Maybe if you had called him something other than boy he would listen thenightetc Maybe it can imitate bells, too Me "I've got you, liability." ThebesAce Sudden attempt at emotion! thebestdecepticonleader I am almost surprised that she didn't name them "Lia" and "Bility" Starscreamapillar Or One, and two. thebestdecepticonleader Even that would be better than Boy and Girl Me Thing 1 and Thing 2. thenightetc They've got to be so fucked up thebestdecepticonleader The kids I get being tricked, but the woman should know better Starscreamapillar She's never been that smart. thebestdecepticonleader Don't listen to voices of people you know are dead, this should be obvious by now thenightetc Yeah. Starscreamapillar But she decided to have feelings now. That includes the stupid ones, where she pines for the dead. thebestdecepticonleader Pine for the dead inside thenightetc Ahhh. thebestdecepticonleader ((called it Starscreamapillar I hope she lets those birds out of the box. They have suffered most of all. thenightetc dog! Me "I was insensitive to you once!" Starscreamapillar She is going to have to explain to people why her children are named Boy and Girl. thenightetc I think this might be too little, too late thebestdecepticonleader She couldn't have come up with those names a bit earlier? Me They're never going to be alright. thebestdecepticonleader Those are the blandest names ever thenightetc Although really, maybe they don't even know that "boy" and "girl" aren't proper names thebestdecepticonleader And it took her 5 years to come up with Starscreamapillar That's it? That's the entertainment? ThebesAce well... 'entertainment' thebestdecepticonleader We still don't have an answer was it a disease? was it aliens? thenightetc "gone wrong" thebestdecepticonleader Did anyone try an autopsy? thenightetc Uh thebestdecepticonleader ((haven't these people tried to do anything with their eyes closed before? thenightetc ((But now it's A Meme!)) thebestdecepticonleader ((like the grass fair enough, but they don't know the way around the house blindfolded? Starscreamapillar A challenge better attempted without asshole friends. thenightetc Perhaps. thebestdecepticonleader lol Me The kind of challenge that's only worthwhile when attempted with asshole friends. thenightetc ...Wait, I think the "mass hysteria" theory was about a different movie Hmmmm. Starscreamapillar There clearly was a horror. It rustled things. thebestdecepticonleader ((still a better shot than me at basketball thenightetc I feel like I read SOME theory about Bird Box The guy standing there watching them thebestdecepticonleader I feel like if it was aliens with tech they would have changed tactics after everyone put blindfolds on thebestdecepticonleader Disease would probably have spread person to person, so my money is on some kind of creature or alien with low tech thenightetc ~Magic~ thebestdecepticonleader (I have to go guys, night)) thenightetc ((Night!)) Me Good night! Starscreamapillar Goodnight. Me I don't want your newspark games, I want to see someone get hurt doing this. Starscreamapillar The true pain has been censored thenightetc "Ten mansions nobody wants to buy at any price"? Starscreamapillar I do not want to live in a mansion. thenightetc So What's wrong with it *chinhands* thenightetc ...Twenty million is hardly "at any price" Well! Me "At any price" my aft. thenightetc Nobody wants to buy the stalker house for a million bucks, suprise, suprise Gosh, only twenty-four million! thenightetc I feel misled by this video's title Hahahah. Starscreamapillar It was the Boy down there. thenightetc So there's a gas leak, got it Me You pay extra for the gas leak. Starscreamapillar Those ghosts are having ghost sex in your bed. thenightetc How rude. Me And for that. thenightetc Haunted by a priest--oh. Me Sleeping porch? Starscreamapillar For when you simply must nap outside. thenightetc Well, you don't want a porch that's awake, now do you Starscreamapillar Only. thenightetc I find it really disappointing that the title says "at any price" and most of them cost millions of dollars. Me I'll comment on nothing. I hate you. Starscreamapillar Ha! thenightetc .... Me I miss real Vine. thenightetc Yeah. Me I want to personally tell these humans how awful they are for being unfunny. Starscreamapillar That seems like a lot of effort for a criticism they won't heed. Me This had better end with two dead humans. Starscreamapillar Or at least some blood. Me Nope. Starscreamapillar Now how are we supposed to watch humans accidentally kill themselves? Me I give up. I've never hated humans more. ... MECH don't qualify as humans. ThebesAce what if you search bird box challenge fail thenightetc Kinda looks like youtube's been taking them down, anyway Me Youtube continues to hate fun. Starscreamapillar No fun allowed. thenightetc ... Starscreamapillar Everything is awful. ThebesAce blehhhh Me Frag everything and these humans in particular. thenightetc Bah. Me It's just as well, I suppose. I'm only vaguely conscious. Starscreamapillar Rest is important, or so I am told. thenightetc Still. Thanks for the stream! Fun, as always. : ) Me Oh, oh, wait! Found something! Starscreamapillar Oh? thenightetc WELL. Me This is.......something? Starscreamapillar I am not certain this is humor. Something, yes. Me Oh, thank the Allspark, someone got hurt. That's enough for me. Me Alright, that's the note we're ending on. A child got hurt. I'm satisfied. Starscreamapillar Perfect. thenightetc Amazing. Me Good night, everyone! thenightetc Good night! ThebesAce good night! Starscreamapillar Good night, and until next time

[ethioentertainment]

HOW TPLF TURNED SOME FOREIGNER EXPERTS INTO AN ARMY OF STRAIGHTJACKET PROPAGANDA NINJASBY 

Yonas Biru 

TPLF was good at one thing. Its leaders knew how to turn international experts into straitjacket propaganda ninjas, sometimes. International experts such as Alex Dewall, Martin Plaut and Kjetil Tronvoll have always been biased towards TPLF. This is not why I am writing about them because no one is 100% objective. 

In the past, they have written a lot about the positive accomplishments of TPLF with the fervor of a new convert, including the economic development that TPLF registered during its rule. They have rightly credited Prime Minister Meles for building transformative infrastructure projects, not least the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam. What was also true is that when necessary they had the courage to criticize the now defunct liberation front.What prompted me to write this is reading their current writings and rapid-fire twitter barrages is akin to encountering “more Catholic than the pope” type of card carrying TPLF propagandist, utterly devoid of intellectual rigor and integrity. Of late, they see nothing remotely wrong with TPLF and nothing remotely right with the Ethiopian government. During its guerilla warfare (1976-1990), TPLF was an internationally condemned terrorist organization. It was known for its serial bank robberies.  During the 1984/1985 famine that affected the Tigray region the most, and where a total of 1 million people died in Ethiopia, TPLF was diverting international food aid programs to finance its war. After it took over the government, TPLF was one of Africa’s most ruthless authoritarian governments. The Human Rights Watch characterized Ethiopia under the TPLF led EPRDF as “one of the most inhospitable places in the world” and documented some of its repressive regiments, including “murder, torture and rape” that bear “the hallmark of crimes against humanity.”Alex Dewaal, who, of recent, has become a cheerleader of TPLF was one of the international experts who accused TPLF of being “responsible for starvation crimes…” Plaut is another current day TPLF ninja who, in the past, has accused TPLF of starvation crimes. In 2010, Plaut published a shocking article in the BBC, revealing that TPLF leaders sold sacks of grains mixed with sacks of sand to international NGOs who were buying cereals for food aid. Tigrayans were starving to death and TPLF was sending them sacks of sand. “Some $100 million went through the hands of the TPLF and affiliated groups,” Plaut wrote. In 2012, Plaut wrote another article, exposing that TPLF was using a “fleet of trucks donated to it during the 1984–85 famine by aid agencies. Its fleet of 458 trucks have cornered much of this lucrative market.” His article quoted an Ethiopian Ministry of Transport and Communication complaining “New individual companies may be discouraged to enter the market because of the presence of share companies deriving from [EFFORT]… which could be potentially favored for public tenders. There is a rather pervasive discouragement to owners operating independently.” Plaut further criticized “TPLF’s tight rein on political freedoms and human rights, while giving privileged access to resources to the prime minister's core constituency in Tigrai.” He added: “Meles acted against his enemies, both inside his own movement (the TPLF) and in the wider Ethiopian society with real ruthlessness.”Speaking of the 2005 mass massacre after the Ethiopian election debacle, Tronvoll wrote: “The police fired live ammunition into the crowds, leaving 193 civilians and nine politicians dead.” Tronvoll went further: “Three weeks after the election, students staged peaceful protests against the delay in announcing the results. These ended with bloody street fights in the capital’s central business districts of Mercato and Piazza, where security forces and police killed at least 36 people. In the aftermath of the protests, up to 5,000 people were arrested and detained.”In addition, Tronvoll revealed: “After EPRDF became aware of the great electoral advances made by the opposition, they passed a new parliamentary code of conduct, and a new set of regulations which restricted minority parties from speaking and tabling proposals in the House of People’s Representatives.”“The only constituency left in Ethiopia which may have political leeway to work as checks-and-balances towards the government’s unaccountable exercise of power is the international donor assistance group (DAG),” continued Tronvoll.Meles understood that as long as he continues to hold the people hostage, the international donor community will blink That is exactly what happened. As Tronvoll put it, “As a reaction to the [2005 post-election] crack down on the opposition and civil society in November 2005, the donor group tried to play tough with Prime Minister Meles Zenawi, and jointly decided to suspend all direct budget support to the government. Meles did not bend, however, and calmly told the DAG representatives to pack up and go home if they were not interested in supporting the development of the country. After a few weeks the international donors caved in and resumed full development assistance to Ethiopia.”“These incidents imparted a strong message to the donor group in Addis Ababa”, according to Tronvoll. The donor community had two choices: “stay quiescent on internal human rights violations and lack of democracy or face the consequences. Thus, when opposition leaders pleaded for support for election observation in the 2008 local elections,14 foreign embassies generally washed their hands of the whole exercise for fear of provoking the government.”The question I can't get my hands around my head is: What happened to the trios in recent days? How did they fail to be (or pretend to be) at least partially objective as they used to be? I am not saying all that Dewall, Plaut and Tronvoll wrote in recent days are wrong. Some of what they wrote have been proven right in general terms. For example, rampant rape against innocent civilians, though the extent of the problem is yet to be established by credible independent international investigators. Their claim of Eritrea’s intervention also seems to be supported by international reports, including by the US government. In the meantime, none of them has written about (much less condemn) the Mai-Kadra mass murder. This was perpetrated by TPLF associated forces, as reported by Amnesty International (Amnesty), the Ethiopian Human Rights Commission (EHRC) and the Ethiopian Human Rights Council (EHRCO). The trio use EHRC’s reports as credible when its reports accuse government associated forces and militia, but not when it accuses TPLF forces. What is also unfortunate about them is their hyperbolic claims that are all too easy to dismiss because of how unhinged and partisan they are. For example, on January 9, 2021, Plaut wrote about and tweeted an unsubstantiated story, stating that there is a “Report that Maryam Tsiyon Church [in Tigray] has been attacked (local people believe with the aim to take the Ark of Covenant to Addis Ababa). Hundreds of people hiding in the Maryam Tsiyon Church were brought out and shot on the square in front. The number of people killed is reported as 750.”Over a month has passed since Plaut wrote and tweeted this story and many have quoted him, as if it is credible. To date, no one has confirmed it. The internet outlet that published his article, Europe External Programme with Africa (EEPA), has a disclaimer to distance itself from the story: “All information reported originates from third parties and the content of all reported and linked information remains the sole responsibility of these third parties.” There is a problem with this disclaimer.  The story about the summarily massacred 750 Christians simply says there is a “report” but does not say who the third-party reporter is or where it is reported or to whom it was reported.Yet in another publication, on February 10, Plaut wrote about “Reported war situation (as confirmed per 09 February).” The next line reads: “Unconfirmed report received that a payment of 500mln US dollars was made by Ethiopia to President Esayas of Eritrea and that Eritrea was provided with weapons for its participation in the war in Tigray.” The article went on to share another unconfirmed report that “One year ago, President Esayas from Eritrea pressurised Ethiopia to close the four camps in Tigray. Many of the Eritrean refugees sheltered in the camps have fled the indefinite national service in Eritrea. It is a cruel practice which, according to the UN, constitutes a Crime against Humanity.” One year ago, TPLF was in charge of Tigray and the Ethiopian government was not able to force TPLF to do what it did not want to do. This, too, came with a disclaimer that the information remains the sole responsibility of third parties that are neither mentioned nor referred to. This is beyond unprofessional. It is far beyond your run-of-the-mill lack of integrity. It borders on the criminal, sowing hate and cycle of conflicts. It is one thing to see political cadres act this way. It is another seeing international journalists and experts with professorial title to fall this low.

[yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend]

Shelter from the Storm (Part 6)

Characters: Sam, Reader (platonic), Dean (mentioned), Leah (OFC)

Summary: The Reader takes Sam in again after Dean’s disappearance. Now she’s going to do anything she can to make sure he’s looked after. Eh that was awful so sorry about that

Warnings: None? Sad Sam (that always deserves a warning)

A/N: Here’s part 6 of my little series. Big huge thanks to @emilywritesaboutdean for being my beta on this and helping me feel better about this chapter. This might be the last one for a few weeks. I’ve caught up to myself as far as the story goes and my life is getting a little crazy right now. I’m still going to write more, it’ll just take a little longer. Let me know what you think about this. Thanks for reading!

Catch up! Read the rest of the series here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

(gif from google)

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove And old men with broken teeth stranded without love Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes I bargained for salvation and she gave me a lethal dose I offered up my innocence I got repaid with scorn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

It was a quiet night as you sat watching television in your living room. The rain that lightly pattered against your window was comforting. It had become a tradition of sorts for you to watch old movies during storms like this. The original King Kong was on and your brain was filled with memories of seeing it for the first time in the theater. Your friend – and charge – Isabelle had been so frightened of the giant monster, but you had been fascinated with the special effects. Now they just seemed to make you laugh.

A car’s headlights swung into your driveway and caught your attention. Beyond the window you could see a familiar black Impala and an even more familiar tall frame get out. You turned off your TV and walked to the door. His hand just reaching up to knock as you opened it.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Sam,” you smiled and placed a hand on your hip.

Sam smiled, dimples as big as craters, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, I knew you’d be up.”

Your eyes narrowed a little as you took in his rain speckled face. It had only been a couple months since you last saw him – the night you told him you were an angel – but you missed him. You stepped back opening the door wider, allowing him to come inside.

Sam mumbled his thanks and stepped into your little house. He shed his rain wet jacket and looked around, “Sorry to bother you, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, “Please, you know it’s no bother at all. Like you said, I was up.” You took his jacket from him and hung it on a hook on the wall. Turning back to him, you wiped your wet hands on your pajama pants and looked up to him, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” his eyes grew wide.

He followed you into the kitchen where you scanned your pantry’s contents. You kept some basic essentials in stock to keep up appearances. You even occasionally hosted a dinner party for the few friends you were gaining. Apparently you were an excellent cook. “Is pasta okay?” you shook a box of spaghetti noodles in Sam’s direction.

“Yeah that sounds great,” he said as he sat at the table.

You grabbed a pot and walked over to the sink to fill it. Sam simply stared at your tile floor seemingly lost in thought. You were tempted to read his mind, but instead you decided to go with the old fashioned way of finding things out. “Penny for your thoughts?” you questioned over the running water.

Sam shook himself from his gaze and gave a weak smile. “I’m just thinking about Dean, that’s all.” You didn’t notice it before, but his eyes were a little red. He had been crying.

You shut the water off and set it to boil, all the while only briefly taking your eyes from Sam who had turned his focus back to the floor. The temptation to read his thoughts continued to grow. You wiped your hands with a towel and placed them on the counter. “Where is he, Sam?” you asked hesitantly.

The tears found their way back to Sam’s eyes. They pooled up at his bottom eyelids. “He’s gone,” his voice was quiet and broken.

You walked over and sat next to him. Reflexively your hand went out to touch him but you stopped yourself. His pain needed to be felt for a moment. It’d be wrong to take that from him. Instead you balled your hand into a fist. “I’m sorry,” was all you could think to say.  

Sam seemed to notice your hesitation and gave a little laugh. “Old habits die hard, huh?” he pointed to your closed hand.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, “it’s my first instinct. But I know it’s good to grieve sometimes.” You began to fiddle with your hand. “So what happened?”

He told you what happened with Dick Roman and the Leviathans. How Dick killed his surrogate father. They had uncovered the word of God and there was a prophet who could read it. He told you about them going in to stop Dick from hatching his evil plot. How Dean and Castiel stabbed Dick and he exploded in a flash of black goo. Next thing Sam knew, the three of them were gone.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he breathed out a heavy sigh.

“So you came here,” you finished his thought. Sam only nodded. The water on the stove started to boil so you got up, added the pasta. As you turned back you saw tears slowly fall down Sam’s cheeks. He let his head fall into his hands. You walked back and sat next to him. “It’s been a rough few months for you, Sam. I’m sorry,” you brushed your hand through his hair.

You could see him begin to calm down. Relief washed over his hazel eyes. The two of you sat in silence as you continued to brush through his hair with your hand. He closed his eyes and let the weight of his head rest in your palm as he exhaled loudly.

He looked back up at you, his head still in your hand, “Thank you.”

You smiled at him and moved your hand to rub his shoulder, “It’s no problem at all.” You got back up and went to finish his dinner. “So are you going to try to find him?” you said with your back to Sam.

He was quiet for a moment as he thought of his answer. “You know what? I don’t think I’m going to.” He sounded so sure of himself.

You blinked as you processed what he had said. “What do you mean?” you turned back to look at him.

“It’s just –“ he let out a sigh – “I think it’s time I moved on. I mean, sure, I miss him. I’m going to miss him. But he’s gone and I just feel like it’s an opportunity for me to move on with my life – a chance for me to be something other than a hunter for once.”

For the first time in your life you were worried you healed someone too much. This seemed wrong: a world without both Sam and Dean Winchester. He wasn’t making sense. You brought the pasta over to the strainer and watched Sam through the steam. Maybe he was still in shock of the whole situation. “Are you sure, Sam?”

He nodded once and dried his eyes with the back of his hand, “Yeah, I think I am. This is what Dean would have wanted.” He got up and walked over to you by the sink. “He’d want me to be happy.”

You searched his eyes for a moment. Against your better judgement, you peeked into his mind as you plated his food. It seemed he was certain about this. There were no other secret thoughts or plans in his head. He truly wanted to retire from his life of hunting. “Alright, if that’s what you think, then I support you.” You stuck a fork into the mountain of pasta on his plate and presented it to him, “Now eat up.”

The two of you sat back at the table and you watched him eat. It must have been a while since he ate, the way he ravaged into his food. You smiled wide at the sight of him. He was innocent and vulnerable. For a moment you could see the young Sam Winchester sitting in front of you.

“This is so good,” he said with his mouth still a little full. “This tastes like the pasta I had back when I was a little kid. There was this lady who lived in the motel room next to ours. She made the best pasta.”

You gave a sheepish smile.

Realization swept across his face, “That was you, wasn’t it?”

You blushed. “Yeah, it was. I’m glad you like it, though.”

Sam took another bite of pasta, “So you’ve really been around for hundreds of years?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you shrug.

“What was it like? Being around for all this stuff, watching history as it’s being made?” his nerd was showing.

This was the first time you ever really thought about it that way. It had always just been your life, nothing more. You sighed and leaned back in your seat. “I mean, it’s just like any other life. Some of it’s been good. Some of it’s been bad.” You looked back to him as he eagerly waited to hear more. No one had ever asked you about your life – or at least your real life. It was a new and exciting feeling. There were so many things you wanted to say you didn’t know where or how to start. “Like the wars, that was bad. So many people were dying and scared. People were mad at God and I couldn’t make it better.

“I was in London during the bombings. There were so many people I wanted to try to protect. So many people my brothers and sisters wanted to protect. But we could only watch out for the ones we were in charge of. Mine was a young nurse. We were both nurses and we had to help out at the hospital. It was a nightmare. I haven’t done medical jobs since then.

“But the good times were great. They all seem to balance out for the most part.” You smiled at a recollection. “One of my favorite times was with the Fitzgeralds.”

Sam swallowed another bite of food, “The Fitzgeralds? As in –“

“F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald,” you nodded.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope, I’m not.” You leaned forward again eagerly. “I was set to watch over Zelda while they were in Paris. The twenties were a crazy time.” The smile faded from your lips the more you thought about your old friend. “She needed a lot of watching over.” Your voice got quiet. “I wish I could’ve stayed with her longer. She needed my help.” You looked back into Sam’s eyes for a moment. The awkward tension made you reflexively clear your throat. “That’s why I try not to get too close to people. I can never stay as long as I want to or feel like I need to. It leaves me messed up when I have to move on to the next person.”

Sam looked down at his now empty plate and set his fork down. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “And me? You said you got in trouble for getting close to me?”

“Well, it had been a while since Zelda, so they thought I got over that sort of thing - getting attached to my charges. They said I got careless with you, and I did.” You looked down at your hands as you picked at a nail. “I should’ve seen that demon coming for Jess,” you said quietly.

It was Sam’s turn to reach for your hands. They completely covered yours. “Y/N, I don’t blame you for what happened to Jess. For a long time I blamed myself, but now I don’t even do that. I know whose fault it was and I’ve dealt with them. Don’t keep beating yourself up for that.”

Tears stung at your eyes and a lump grew in your throat. It felt good to let that weight roll off your chest. You had been holding it there for so long. The two of you sat in silence for a moment with only the ticking of the clock on the wall to score it. Finally the silence was interrupted by a loud yawn that escaped Sam’s mouth. You looked at the clock and realized how late it was. “Sam, you must be exhausted,” you rose from your seat letting the chair scrape loudly on the floor beneath you. “Why don’t you go to bed for a while? You can sleep in the guest room.” You took his plate to the sink.

He got up and stretched out his long arms, walked over to you and pulled you into a hug. “I’m glad you’re you, Y/N. I’m glad to have you in my life.”

You hugged him back and melted a little into the hug. It was warm and comforting. “I’m glad I’m in it, too,” you said into his chest.

You stayed that way for a few more seconds before he finally broke from it. He whispered a goodnight and walked down the hallway to the guest room. You sighed and turned back to your dishes. As you were finishing up, you got a call from your work.

“Y/N,” you heard someone say in your head. Your calls on Angel Radio always came at some of the most inopportune times. “You’re needed here.”

You sighed and looked down at your pajama-clad body. There would be no time to change clothes the old fashioned way – the way you liked to do it. You hated using your powers for frivolous things. After years of living amongst humans you had developed a certain appreciation for the long way of doing things. If they could spend their brief existence doing things like buttoning a shirt or slipping into pants, you could take time out of the eons you’ve lived to do the same. But contrary to your preferences, you snapped your fingers and were instantly in your favorite cobalt blue shift dress and flats.

You gave another sigh as you blinked and found yourself no longer in your modest kitchen, but in a stark, all white office. A large white desk sat in the middle of the room taking up most of the space. Behind it was a tall woman with cropped blonde hair. She sat erect in her seat, hands folded on the desk patiently waiting. At the sight of you she gave an imperceptible glance down at her watch, as if she was noting how long it took you arrive.

“Leah,” you said as you stood in front of the desk looking down at the woman.

“Y/N, thank you for coming,” she motioned to one of the chairs opposite the desk, “please have a seat.”

You turned and looked at the white chair for a moment before sitting down. During that time you realized you haven’t been in your boss’s office in quite some time. You thought back to the last time was and noted it must have been back after Sam left. You crossed your legs and placed your hands on your lap. It slowly dawned on you to smile, so a soft one spread across your lips. Your brain began to go through the many reasons why you would have been called into her office and you kept circling back to the same one.

“You told the Winchester brothers your real identity.” There it was. It wasn’t even a question. There was no need to ask whether or not it was something you did, she already knew.

The smile fell from your face and you looked down at your hands, “I know I shouldn’t have, but the circumstances being what they were, I didn’t have a choice. It would have been too difficult to erase their memory. Castiel told them before I could –“

Leah lifted a hand to stop you, shaking her head slightly. “You’re not in trouble, Y/N. You’re right; Castiel did put you in a tough position. Frankly, at this point with the Winchesters, it was something that was bound to happen.”

You felt like this was some kind of trap, but you couldn’t figure out how. “So, you’re not mad at me?”

“You’re one of our best guardians, Y/N. You’ve been doing this for a long time. You have instincts that we trust.” She looked at you and smiled warmly. “You made the right decision telling them. Now it will make your job easier.”

Her words of praise floated around in your head. You knew you were good at your job, but your bosses were never really the ‘Employee of the Month’ type of people. Praise was not easy to come by for an angel in Heaven. Her final word pulled at you from the hazy mist of your thoughts, though. “Easier?” you repeated back to her.

“Yes, that’s why I called you here. Your new assignment is back with Sam Winchester. Now that he’s without his brother, he could use some extra protection. Since you have a…” she searched for the right word, “… history… with him, we’ve decided it’d be best for you to go back to watching over him. You can keep your distance as much as you see fit, but he will be in your charge.”

Her words made you excited. This was what you wanted – to be back with Sam officially. But your thoughts fell back to your latest charge, Matthew. What would happen with him? Suddenly the assignment seemed more like a punishment. “Leah, am I being demoted?” you tried to mask your annoyance but your words were slightly tinged with it.

Leah pressed her lips into a frown and looked down. “You shouldn’t think of it like a demotion,” she began.  “Like I said, you’ve been doing this for a long time. We feel like it’s time you took a small break.”

“If this is still about Jane –“

Her hand went up again to stop you. “No one is saying you’re at fault for her death, it was a werewolf, after all. But you do need to learn from your mistakes. We’re trying to keep you on an assignment that is familiar for you. You know Sam Winchester; he needs some additional help. Castiel was there to help him but now he’s gone. It seems like the smart choice to put you in the game rather than a new player.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. It still felt like a slap on the hand and it stung a little. You focused your attention on the statue that sat on the credenza behind her desk.

“Just remember to keep an eye on him. Regular check ins with us, you know the drill.” She turned her attention to a book on her desk.  After a moment she noticed you still sitting there. “That’s all,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

And with that you were back in your kitchen. You looked at the clock and noticed it hadn’t even been more than a twenty minute meeting. The whole night stretched out ahead of you. Sure, every night stretched out in front of you, but tonight seemed different. You were given a new purpose again, and it was one deep down you knew you wanted. You had wanted to been Sam’s guardian again for a long time. You missed those days. You missed him.

Sam found you the next morning where he had left you, standing in your kitchen. You hadn’t done much since returning from Leah’s. In fact, you hadn’t moved from the spot where you stood since returning home. Instead you spent the night thinking on your past and into your future -this future watching over the younger Winchester.

“That’s a nice dress,” he said as he entered the room.

He pulled you from your thoughts and you looked down at the simple dress. You had forgotten you changed clothes. “Um, thanks,” you looked back up at his sleepy features. His hair was a mess of strands sticking out in different directions. You couldn’t help the smile that crept over your face.

“What?” Sam let out a little laugh.

“Nothing,” you shook your head and pointed to your own hair, “it’s just you’ve got a pretty bad case of bedhead.” You walked over and began to tame his wild hair. He gave you a sheepish grin and soft thanks. “Want some coffee?” you walked over to the machine and began to make some before he could give the answer you already knew would come.

He leaned against the counter next to you as you set the coffee to start. It was a comfortable silence between the two of you. After so many years together, there were times where nothing needed to be said. The familiarity of each other’s presence was enough to fill the space. But you knew something needed to be said.

You fiddled with the towel that lay on your countertop. “Sam, I want to be honest with you from now on, okay?” You looked up at him nervously.

He crossed his arms and nodded, “Okay, Y/N. I think that’d be good thing. And I’ll be honest with you, too.”

You nodded in return. “Well, for the sake of being honest, I wanted to tell you that I’ve got a new assignment. My bosses gave me someone new to watch over.” You bit at your lower lip.

“Okay, who is it?”

“It’s you.” You mirrored Sam’s stance as you leaned against the counter. “They want me to watch over you again now that Dean is...” you trailed off.

The coffee had finished brewing and began sputtering out its final drops. Sam took the mug you had set out for him and began to pour himself a cup. “So what does that mean for us?”

You let out the breath you were holding. “Nothing, really. I’m basically going to stay here and keep up with my day to day life for the most part. But I’m going to make sure you’re someplace safe and all set up. You can call me if you need me.”

“Like in a prayer?” he turned back to you and gave a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I was thinking more like on my cell phone, but yeah, prayer works, too. I promise I won’t get in your way.”

He took a sip of coffee, “Y/N, you’re never in my way. You’re my best friend. You’ve always been there for me when I needed you. I have no doubts that you’ll continue to be.”

Relief swept over you with his words. You smiled back up at him, “Still like bacon and eggs?”

Sam stayed with you for a few more days after that. It was nice to just have him around. It was like the old days at Stanford. You talked about his plans for his future. How he thought it would be a good idea to move to Texas and see what was there for him. There was always something about the state that he loved. Maybe even apply to some schools and finish up his degree. He felt hopeful for the first time in a long time.

It was easy to keep tabs on him once he left. Like with any of your charges, you wrote enochian markings into his bones to help you track him easier. The symbols more or less said that he was chosen by Heaven and guarded by you. Any other angel that meant him harm would have you to answer to. It was an invisible connection that bound the two of you together – guardian and charge.

When Sam made it to Kermit, Texas, you happened to arrange a dog to get mixed up in his path. You felt bad for putting the dog in harm’s way, but you knew Sam would take care of it. He was in just the right place to meet Amelia, the beautiful young veterinarian. Unbeknownst to Sam, you stepped in a couple more times to make sure their paths crossed: getting him the job at the motel, her backed up sink, letting the dog get away from him to run to her room. They were all just little nudges for him in the right direction. Sam needed to feel loved again in a way you wouldn’t be able to show. He needed to feel comforted and at home. Amelia needed someone too. She needed to feel comforted and loved. You were helping her out, too, in a way. It was all going well until Amelia’s husband returned after being assumed dead. Even you couldn’t see something like that happening.

Sam had called you and told you what happened. How torn he was with the desire to stay and fight for Amelia but also the desire to do the right thing and let her go. Part of you felt terrible for getting him into this situation. If only you had known her husband was still alive, you never would have set Sam up for this kind of pain. In the end, Sam chose to let Amelia go because of course he would. He felt it was the right and noble thing to do. You couldn’t help but disagree. You knew for once in his life, Sam deserved to be happy. You vowed to not meddle so much in his life from now on, only keep him safe.

Y/N, if you can hear this, I really could use your help right now. Sam’s desperate voice unexpectedly flashed through your head one day. It made you jump a little, if you were being honest with yourself. You looked up from the paperwork on the desk of your day job. Could you please come? He pleaded. You smiled a little as you closed your eyes.

“You know you could just call me the old fashioned way still,” you stood in front of him with your arms crossed. You were in another dingy motel room.

Sam gave a sheepish smile from where he sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the floor. “I just wanted to test it out. You know, see if the Angel Radio thing worked?”

“It works more often than I’d like it to, to be honest.” You thought back to all the calls your bosses seem to drop on you. “Is everything ok?”

He frowned. “I don’t know, to be honest.” His hazel eyes found yours. “Dean’s back.” The look you gave must have been of mild shock because Sam nodded in agreement. “I know. I was surprised to see him back, too. He’s mad at me, though, Y/N.”

You sat on the side of the bed and pulled a leg up so you could face him. “I’m sure he’s not. Why would you say that?”

“Because he said he was. He’s mad I stopped hunting. I didn’t go looking for him. I turned off all of my phones and left Kevin to go on the run from demons on his own.” He shook his head as it fell down, “I’m mad at myself, too.”

“But you met Amelia. Everything was going so well. You had a life outside of hunting finally. I’m sure he could see the good in all of that.”

“I haven’t told him about Amelia. I don’t think he’d understand. Besides, she’s back with her husband now. It’s all for the best.”

You sighed and bit at your lower lip in thought. It was difficult to figure out how to best help him. Should you take him away from here? Let him live his life still? Should you go yell at Dean for not going easier on his little brother? All your angel training and past experiences never really helped prepare you for a moment like this.

“I don’t know. I just needed someone to talk to that understood. Dean doesn’t understand.” He looked up and smiled warmly at you.

You reached down and grabbed his hands, “Of course. That’s what I’m here for – to help you.” With a groan you got up from the bed. “Everything will be fine. I’m here if you need me.”

Sam got to his feet and pulled you into a hug. You were getting used to this – this new life full of Winchester hugs. It was nice. The two of you stood for a moment in each other’s embrace, swaying a little to the beat of some unheard tune. Then finally, the moment was broken with the softest of requests:

“Will you stay with me?”   

Tags:

@pinknerdpanda @wheresthekillswitch @hannahindie @trexrambling @jensen-jarpad @narisjournal-blog @notnaturalanahi @keepcalmandcarryondean @simplydaisys @winchesters-favorite-girl @emwinchester1 @mrswhozeewhatsis @katymacsupernatural @kawaiilivkitty @ellen-reincarnated1967 @capsheadquaters

[bee-careful]

Vampire Au Fic Rec

Waiting On You 76k

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

and i’ll find your lips in the street lights 4k

“Do you always ramble when you talk, Curly?” he asks, leaning against the kitchen island that sort of sticks out into the entry to the flat.

“I’m Harry.”

“So you said.” Louis’ grin gets wider.

Harry blushes. Fuck, he was so much smoother as a human. And who knew vampires could still blush. He’s never seen Liam blush. He’s the lucky enigma it seems.

“I’m, uh. Gonna go… In my room.” Harry points vaguely in the direction of his bedroom. “Make yourself at home. There’s blood in the fridge. And other snacks. And things. Help yourself. I’ll leave you to get, you know, settled.”

Louis smiles even bigger at that. “I was actually gonna go out,” he says. “It’s been ages since I’ve gone dancing. Are you up for it, Curly?”

Or, Harry is a newbie vampire who hasn’t fully gotten the hang of the whole afterlife thing, but Louis might be just what he needs.

Nocturnal Creatures Are Not So Prudent 24k

Louis spins a finger in midair, like he’s indicating someone to turn around, staring pointedly at Liam as the faucet turns itself on and the can rinses itself in the sink behind him. Liam, moon burn him, doesn’t rise to the bait, choosing instead to lean back on his stool and wrapping his hands around his own mug.

“Anyway, like I was saying and that you were ignoring, there’s this new club near my school and I want you to go with me. Could do you some good, getting out once in awhile.”

Louis is a white witch with a little black cat named Hemlock and a best human friend Liam (they’re a lot like Samantha Stephens and Louise Tate). When he’s dragged out to a new club Liam’s heard about from a friend and classmate, Louis comes face to face with that which witches do not touch: a charming vampire by the name of Harry.

As Cold as a Whisper 48k

Harry did not turn around to face Louis yet and Louis’ body screamed at him to take the opportunity and run. Run until he couldn’t anymore, until his lungs collapsed out of breath and he was either safe and away or caught back in Harry’s gaze.

Harry turned then, and his eyes were darker than the heavens and just as green as the haunting woods surrounding them, entrapping Louis. Focused, and clear.

Louis’ heart rattled in his ribcage, shaking, wanting to escape his unmoving body. Harry walked closer and Louis’ eyes stayed on him, breath leaving in a sharp exhale when Harry bent down to touch his face.

A fairy tale au where people in Louis’ village are disappearing and Louis is married off to uphold a centuries long agreement.

Carnelian 30k

“It’s a donor matching center for humans and vampires.”

“Vampires.” Louis snorts. “Like pretend vampires, like for people who think they are vampires?”

The humor clearly lost on Zayn as he answers calmly, “No, real vampires.”

“There’s no such thing as vampires.” Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking with me or something.” Louis flicks his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m not.” Zayn speaks, his tone harsh and deeper than Louis remembers. “There are vampires all around you. We are quite civilized beings. We have careers, business, and we enjoy nights out on the town just like humans do. We aren’t savages. We blend in with the rest of the world. However, no advancement in science has fixed our one problem that makes us different than humans…We still need blood to live and we love it fresh from the source.”

OR

Louis finds himself donating blood to the most beautiful being he’s ever seen.

Pour Yourself Over Me (Until There’s Nothing Left To See) ~6k

Louis receives a strange invitation to a masquerade ball from a stranger who offers to pay for everything.

fortune’s fools 8k 

It’s about respecting the night and the reason they’ve come together. It’s a rite of passage, as it were, a symbol of status, and that’s the only thing that keeps Louis from skiving off and going for a run with Liam.

And he knows Lottie would chew off his left arm if he kept her away from the first All Hallows’ Ball she’s eligible for. So he keeps himself plastered to her side as soon as they step into the foyer, works hard at keeping his claws at bay once they’re behind enemy lines. It’s a hard habit to unlearn, but he’s trying.

Louis likes an armistice as much as the next lad, but until he sees some sort formal treaty, he generally trusts the vamps about as far as he can throw them. Which is, admittedly, quite far, but not far enough. He’s here to represent the pack, and that’s all. He won’t pick a fight. But he will finish one if it starts, he has to. The war resumes at sunrise anyway.

[Or, two immortal households, both alike in dignity.]

untitled vampire/asexual incubus AU 10k

“You’re a vampire,” Harry says, wrapping his fingers around Louis’ wrist.

“I am,” Louis admits. “Still workin’ on what you are, love.”

[will never be finished]

Eternal Love 8k 

“If this city weren’t full of idiots like you who think the world’s a safe place, I’d starve to death,” the man’s voice said, dark humour lacing the words.

Louis had been dreaming of the green-eyed vampire for as long as he could remember; his mate from a lifetime past.

The reality doesn’t go quite as expected…

till the heavens burst  46k

Part 1

“What about you then? How old are you?”

“Nineteen.” Harry gives him his flatest look he can manage, holding out until Louis’ lips twitch with a smile and he starts snickering. “Oh, alright, I see you’re not into that cliché.”

Harry finally smiles, happy he’s going to get what he wants.

Harry meets a pretty boy while hiding out in a tree. He’s pretty sure the boy is a vampire.

till the sun don’t shine 7k

Part 2

“Hey, mate! Having a good time over there?” Niall’s voice is way too loud for the suffocating silence on Louis’ end.

“I killed Harry.” Louis’ lip trembles and he feels dangerously close to crying again, throat and chest aching.

“Congratulations! I’m happy for you two.” Louis can’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“No, Niall. I think I honestly killed him, he still hasn’t woken up.”

or: life after death.. an epilogue following Harry’s first few days after being changed

Wherever you go, bring me home 9k

Part 1

“Do you know these could kill you?” he asked, pointing towards the lit cigarette in his hand with so much concern laden in his voice that Louis almost felt guilty. Almost. Because then he realised it shouldn’t matter what Louis did with his life choices, to this man. No matter how persuasive his voice was, it shouldn’t. Louis shouldn’t care. Not at all.

So Louis maintained a composed stance, cocking his hip out slightly. Never mind that this was his flirting pose. Never mind. He flicked the butt and shrugged. He hoped he came off cool and confident. “Eh what can you do?”

Louis is a grumpy vampire who is unaware that it is Halloween and has a lot of issues and panic attacks. Harry is a joyous human who is dressed in a vampire costume unaware that he’s talking to a real vampire.

I’ll Make This Feel Like Home 14k

Part 2

Harry woke up a little disoriented, head pounding and ears ringing with the sunlight bright against his eyes. He squeezed them shut, but it did little help as spots danced in front his closed eyelids. He felt the contents of his stomach rise up and he knew he would be ditsy if he were standing. Why did he ever drink?

Harry rewound back his memory a little. He wasn’t all that drunk last night but he got bad hangovers anyway. He remembered getting out of his shift dressed as a vampire, solemnly swearing to himself that he wouldn’t drink. Then why did he do so?

Basically this is the next morning.

someday my pain will mark you 10k

Ziam

So here Liam is―Uncertain vampire. Unwilling to drink from a Normal. Bored out of his mind. Helplessly in love with a bloody werewolf, for fuck’s sake.

Oh, and a prince.

What a mercifully pleasant and charmed life he’s been living (not-living?) for quite some time now.

(Or alternatively: Liam is probably the world’s worst vampire, who has fallen quite madly in love with Zayn, the world’s most reluctant werewolf)

Suckin’ your blood until your heart stops beating 1.8k

It started quite innocent really.

Or, well, as innocent as a vampire club with your 300+ year old boyfriend grinding against you can be.

Or the Vampire AU where Harry and Louis fuck and Louis comes three times.

Written In The Stars 71k

It was so different - the complete opposite of everything Louis had ever expected about finally being placed into the real world. Zayn defied every single thing he’d ever been told about vampires, about how he was supposed to be treated. This was nothing like what he’d expected.

[or: Zayn’s the third oldest vampire in the world and found himself searching out the company of a human, so he took Louis as his keep. His maker Harry doesn’t approve.]

Beauty in Bedlam 7k

“You’re not a vampire,” Louis scoffs. He’s never seen anyone less vampire-like in his life. The man is wearing gold boots for christ’s sake. Sparkly gold boots.

“Louis,” Liam hisses, looking mortified.

“What?” Louis asks, affronted. “He can’t be a vampire! He’s…dimpling!” Curly-apparently-Harry the vampire wannabe is indeed dimpling and looking entirely too amused for Louis’ liking.

“Vampires aren’t allowed to have dimples?” Harry asks, bemused.

“The dimples are just the first thing on the list, mate,” Louis assures him.

Eternity 9k

Part 1

Louis’s been turned into a vampire in the middle of tour. He’s trying to figure out what comes with being a vampire while also hiding his new found vampirism from the boys… with some added complications.

Ecstasy 17k

Part 2

“And the most important part for me, we’d have forever. I would give up food and sleep and everything that meant being human if it meant I could be with you forever. I want this so much Louis, and I’m not changing my mind about it.”

Two years later, and Louis has to decide whether or not he can keep his deal with Harry and turn him into a vampire.

Give Me a Memory I Can Use 41k

Louis is a brilliant, yet broke PhD student, Harry’s a pretentious and arrogant vampire, and first impressions have never been more deceiving.

Or the one where Louis and Harry will always have Rome. And San Francisco. And London. And each other.

You’ve got me running from the daylight 15k

If there was one thing that Louis had never, ever wanted in his whole vampire life, it was having to protect a bratty newborn from five fucking vampire clans. Too bad he got stuck with the assignment anyway.

Or the one where Harry and Louis are both vampires and acting like assholes towards each other until at some point they can’t anymore.

Like Spilled Garnets 14k

Self indulgent fic with very little plot. AU where Harry and Niall are vampires who go to college as a hobby, Louis is the human willing to endure any adversities that come with dating an ancient vampire, and Liam is the over protective best friend.

Bite 10k

“I’m going to hunt you for real now, Harry,” Louis whispers.

“If this,” Harry says, rolling his hips so that they rub against where Louis is most definitely still hard, “is what you mean by hunting, then count me in, babe.”

Louis is a vampire hunter, and Harry is too happy being his prey.

Tell Me Something That’ll Change Me ˜5k

“What happened to me, you fucking—” Louis’ eyes shot open as he felt a burst of cold air into his mouth. That doesn’t usually happen…does it?, Louis thought. Something didn’t feel right. Immediately, Louis’ hand flew to his mouth, feeling around his upper row of teeth only to find a small gap…where both his front teeth were chipped half off.

A self-indulgent vampire!Harry fic featuring miscommunication, shady dentistry, and a hint at heavy petting.

warm blood feels good 7k

It’s stupid to try and hide anything from a vampire, isn’t it? Louis could track every stutter of his heartbeat from across the city, if he wanted. There’s no way he’s missed Harry’s reaction to him. A bloody blind idiot can’t have missed it.

Louis is a vampire. Harry’s… obsessed. AU

you are something i should do without ˜39k

Ziam

It’s been a handful of days, and quite honestly, Liam is content to spend the rest of eternity lying in bed watching Zayn smoke a cigarette, standing naked by the open window while it rains.

There’s a sated warmth that sits underneath Liam’s skin as he lays there, watching Zayn, blinking his eyes closed like sleep will take him. It doesn’t; he’s too keyed up even though every part of his spent body aches when he moves. Liam sits up and Zayn turns to look at him. He’s a mess, but it’s lovely; his hair is askew, marks all over his body, made by Liam’s mouth and his teeth, he’s covered in sweat and come and there’s a smear of blood on his chest and—

Something possessive bubbles up inside of Liam. Mine.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with that feeling, the need to have Zayn right by his side, lying there, breathing softly as he sleeps, or humming dirty songs in the kitchen as he forces himself to make breakfast or lunch, or talking with that voice and that lilt of an accent that makes his words sound colorful. Liam doesn’t know what to do with that need.

or; Liam’s a vampire and Zayn doesn’t remember anything.

Take A Bite Outta Me 4k

Louis truly resents the implication that he is basically Harry’s own version of Bella goddamn Swan, because seriously, no. Just no. But the issue is that even this stupid Meyeresque revelation has done absolutely nothing to dampen his attraction to this weirdly charming vampire man who dresses in 8000 pound coats and hangs around in dilapidated buildings with his merry band of ethical bloodsuckers.

Louis is a slightly inept vampire hunter. Harry is a slightly unique vampire. They meet.

let me outshine the moon 9k

Part 1

“Fuck,” echoes Liam, shaking his head at them with a small smile on his face. “Just don’t get yourselves killed.”

“You can come too, if you want,” says Niall, standing up.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead at a vampire bar,” Liam scoffs, standing up as well. “Wait. Fuck.”

…or, boarding school students Niall and Harry chance a trip to the local vampire bar.

a moth to your flame 9k 

Part 2

Harry attends a Halloween party with his vampire boyfriend Louis and gets more than he bargained for.

worlds will sing as we fall 7k 

Part 3

Harry doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, during which time Liam gets up and excuses himself to the bathroom, practically running out of the room.

“Wait, so what kind of silver are we talking?” he asks eventually. “Like - jewelry? Or-”

“You’re actually considering this?” Zayn asks, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Oh, Lou’s going to owe me a large favor for this.”

… or, Harry discovers one of his vampire boyfriend’s favorite kinks.

Run and I’ll Give Chase 24k

Part 1

“You go out every night and maybe you’re able to drink without hurting anyone, but you’re still thirsty, aren’t you? Still have an itch you can’t scratch. A need you can’t put a name to. You desire a companion.”

“You mean a keeper?” Harry corrects with venom in his voice. “Someone to put a leash on me.”

“Wouldn’t need a leash, love.” Louis whispers sensually, and he is suddenly behind Harry, too fast for his eyes to keep track of. “You’re practically pliant just by being in my presence. Of course, if you’re into that sort of thing, I could always get you a lovely collar with a matching leash once you decide to take me up on my offer.”

Or, Harry is a fledgling vampire without a maker. Louis is graciously offering to fill that role.

Jump and I’ll Catch You 13k

Part 2

“Anyway,” Niall coughs once him and Zayn pull apart, “Zayn has something to tell you, Louis.”

“No I don’t.” Zayn quickly denies, looking almost panicked. Harry watches as Louis shifts his confused expression between the two.

“What is it?”

“Liam knows about Harry.” Niall reveals, hands tugging at the material of Zayn’s shirt. “He’s coming here tomorrow. Figured we should give you a heads up.”

Sequel to Run and I’ll Give Chase.

Hide and I’ll Seek 25k

Part 3?

“I don’t want to impose-“  

“Nonsense.” Louis interrupts, waving away Niall’s worry.

“I need a place to stay.”

They’re quiet for a while, and Niall can practically hear them communicating telepathically, before deciding not to leave them speculating.

“I need some time away from Zayn.”

Or eternity is a long time to be in a relationship. It allows endless problems to occur, especially if you keep secrets. But it can also give you time to mend what you break.

I’ll Make This Feel Like Home 3k

“Here’s to another two hundred years, love,” Harry lifts his glass in a toast.

“To another two hundred years,” Louis echoes, lifting his glass to match. “Just try not to get staked going out to get milk again, yeah?”

Their glasses meet with a clink in the middle, and they both take long sips from the liquid, their eyes meeting fondly over the rims of their glasses.

Or,

The one where Louis and Harry are vampires who’re very much in love and are celebrating their 200th anniversary of the day they met.

Something To Live For 5k

After over a century of waiting for Harry to realize they’re mates, Louis gets his heart broken when his friend announces he’s found his ‘one’ in a human girl named Teresa. Wanting only happiness for Harry, Louis accepts that it just wasn’t meant to be and decides it’s time to let go of the immortal life.

the blood rushing sweet 10k

Part 1

Harry is 16 and his protective mother finally lets him go trick-or-treating this Halloween. Harry, dressed as an angel, runs into Louis, who is dressed as a vampire (and actually is one).

If I Could Fly 10k

Part 2

tasting me like blood in your mouth 5k

Louis smirked against their meshing lips, and pulled back to gaze at Harry lovingly. He pet his cheek and smiled a bit softer, said, “you look so pretty with your blood all over your mouth.”

Harry giggled and wiped at the corner of his lips with his thumb, and felt his sticky blood. He sucked his thumb and heatedly looked at Louis. “Daddy, please fuck me now?”

“Of course, darling,” he said, kissing his cheek.

My Reflection; All I See Is You 38k 

Ziam

Part 1

This life, it’s forever. That’s what being immortal means, but Zayn didn’t realize it would take him this long to realize it. What good is forever if nothing else is?

Everything I Do 28k

Ziam

Part 2

This life, it’s forever. And Zayn has found his forever but does he want this same life for Liam?

Love Affair With a Vampire 6k

Part 1

"There aren’t enough words in any language to even begin describing my feelings for you, Louis Tomlinson.”

The Wingman  1k

Part 2

Interview With a Vampire was far more interesting than Liam’s lectures on his unsociable-ness… was that even a word?

《Prequel to Love Affair With a Vampire》

read you for some kind of poem 11k

Part 1

He likes to imagine that he’s always aware of Harry’s eyes on him, but the spark that flashes across his body at how often Harry licks his lips while looking at his throat doesn’t feel like something he’s explicitly and consciously acknowledged before, but it feels familiar. Usual. Right.

(Louis is human, and Harry is lucky enough to be his vampire boyfriend.)

painting the hills blue and red 12k

Part 2

It’s not that he’s obsessed with his own body—although he does know that it’s a nice one—but Harry is obsessed with his body, and Harry likes leaving reminders all over to make sure that Louis remembers. To make sure that everyone else knows.

(Louis is still human, Harry is his vampiric one true, and things are looking a lot more permanent than they were two years ago.)

Etched In Blood 6k

Harry’s first time meeting a vampire did not go as expected.

“Fuck, you taste like blood and my cock,” Louis groaned, pulling away wild-eyed.

Not as expected at all.

The Lion Man 12k

Louis is a vampire who loves tattoos and piercings as much as he loves a good feed. Harry is a biology student who gets dragged to a vampire bar (really, of all places) by his friends and happens to have blood that tastes like maraschino cherries. They’re both a bit addicted and they’re neither a bit ashamed.

How to Taste Delicious 7k

Niam

Liam was used to his boring life. Going to his boring job and then heading to the pub afterwards to be the third wheel to his friends relationship. But then a mysterious figure showed up in his life and helped him realize that things aren’t always what they seem, and that some Vampires were picky with their choice of blood.

Vampire!Niam fic

(Niall is introduced as James for a few paragraphs)

Abandoned and Found 23k

Ziall

Niall dosen’t come to school for a week. Zayn goes over to his house to check up on him, only to discover the unimaginable.

If I Was Your Vampire 6k 

His neck was exposed, and it was pretty clear Louis was waiting for Harry to claim the naked skin as his.

When there was no reaction, however, Louis opened his eyes and looked up at Harry from a somewhat awkward angle. The wide, downright hungry stare he was receiving from Harry who seemed like he was in an entire other universe kind of scared him, and when he didn’t see Harry blink for several following seconds but his tongue continued to wet his lips, Louis, now growing afraid, asked, “Harry? Are – are you okay?”

Just another Vampire AU

All you can eat. 17k

“You didn’t deny thinking about me while watching porn either, though.” Harry smiled and brushed his curls to the side before leaning over the desk so he was closer to Louis. “Do you stroke your big cock to those corny student teacher porn videos? Do you get mad when you watch? Because god, it’s so fucking cheesy. But you can’t help the way you start to come when the student starts moaning, ‘Ugh fuck professor fuck me.’ Because somehow it’s hot, and maybe it’s hot because you want to hear a certain student moaning professor while you fuck them over your desk. Now isn’t that right, Professor Tomlinson?”

~ or the one where human harry seduces his hot teacher professor tomlinson, who happens to be a vampire ~

Sink Your Teeth in and Don’t Look Back 8k 

But when Louis felt his fangs growing in his mouth, an irresistible urge to bitebitebite coming over him, he knew he had to get out of there before someone noticed.

Unluckily for Louis, brown eyes trained his every move, they knew all too well what the signs of his behaviour were, and they sure as hell weren’t gonna do nothing about it.

Or…

Louis is a vampire and no one in the band knows until they do.

In Your Eyes 1k

Louis can’t see himself in a mirror so Harry tells him what he looks like.

finding you was so hard (but loving you is easy) 66k 

An incredibly shameless vampire!AU filled with stupid jokes, endless dates, flappy bird, a bro man dude pal sleepover thing and there also might be some sex in strange places.

Also known as the one where everyone is a vampire, Louis is oblivious and somewhere along the way it becomes a bit too much like Twilight.

Then a string of thoughts make themselves clear in Louis’ head. First, Harry is a vampire. Second, Louis is a dumbass. Third, Louis is also unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. Fourth, he’s pretty sure he just quoted the back of the Twilight book.

Bloodstream 3k

“Its been three months.

Three months since Louis had turned Harry.

Also three months since Louis had seen Harry.

He went M.I.A. ever since he found out the kind of creature Louis had turned him into. He left in a fit of rage, and decided to never come back. It both hurt and surprised Louis to say the least.”

vampire!au in which both Louis and Harry are vampires and have hot vampire sex.

The Fragmented Veil 28k

In which Louis gets attacked one night in the dark. It changes his life, just not in the way he expected.

The Look In Our Eyes 1k

Harry and Louis have been vampires for many decades. One night they decide to get drunk, their curiosity and insecurities get to the best of them and this is what happens.

Bite me 5k

Louis is a vampire and Harry is a human who plays hard to get. Top!Louis ladies and gentlemen

Corrupt Me 9k 

Ziam

Liam is a blushing mess.

Zayn may just be jealous of what Louis has

Lover Dearest 43k

Ziam

“First rule, babe,” Zayn says, leaning down. His lips slide over Liam’s jaw, barely there, just a soft pressure, fleeting and gone as soon as it came. “Never trust a vampire.”

He’s grinning as he climbs off Liam, heading for the door. Liam watches him go, thinking that he’s wrong. The first rule should be to not fall in love with one.

Soul Meets Body 1k

Vampire!Louis takes blood from Harry for the first time while getting him off.

blood bank 8k

be my vampire, baby, i’ll be your boy. (or, in the middle of a snowstorm, their car breaks down and harry’s stuck with louis, a vampire).

Wrap your body on my mind 6k

“So, you know how that hickey thing bothers me?” Louis chooses to start, not wanting to spring the strong stuff on Harry right away.

He gets a nod from Harry, whose eyes search his with an unspoken question.

“Well, I was googling some stuff online,” Louis continues, “and I came across these collars that people use to, uh, remember who they belong to. Like, sexually?

Harry’s a vampire who doesn’t bruise, Louis is his possessive boyfriend.

Promised with Intent 1k

So there’s a blood-curse on Louis that prevents him from using his magic. And there’s I’m sorryHecate only knows how many vampires on the other side of his wards. And all he’s got to defend himself is a fireplace poker. They’re still not going to take his son from him, not while he’s still breathing.

Staring down at his son’s terrified, lost expression he comes to a decision. He knows what he has to do, but he doesn’t have to like it. The desire to protect his child at all costs is the only thing that could ever make him consider an alliance with his hated enemy-a vampire from the Styles Clan.

A Real Boy 29k

Harry is a college student who is forced to live with his dad in Portland. Louis is a vampire, who’s in Portland to catch a hunter. They meet, drama ensues, they fall in love and this is their story.

Or

The not so Twilight fic where Harry falls hopelessly in love with vampire Louis Tomlinson.

Won’t keep watching you dance around in your smoke,and flicker out 8k

The way things look like, Louis knows well enough, usually. That’s what happens when you can’t see yourself: you just absorb every single detail, drink them like the most precious nectar. The beauty that surrounds you feeds your imagination, helps you feel the gaps of what you can’t see. Louis doesn’t know what he looks like anymore. It feels like an eternity now - maybe thirty years, maybe forty, he doesn’t even know anymore. He stopped counting when he realised there wasn’t any way out.

How shallow of him, he thinks, to grow tired of the world just because he doesn’t quite know the way he interacts with it, isn’t quite sure of what role he plays and what use there is in him being out there, half himself, half a shadow.

Or, Louis is a vampire who hasn’t been able see himself in almost half a century until he meets Harry, who happens to be the only one who sees him for what he really is.

All That Matters 12k

Harry comes to NY with a bag of clothes, and lots of dreams. Tired of sleeping in Niall’s spare bedroom, Harry decides to get a job. When Harry applies for Louis’ bartender position he gets a lot more than what he bargained for after falling for vampire Louis Tomlinson.

Beating Heart 18k

After a wild night out at a campus party, Louis wakes up the next morning to find that his dorm mate, Stan Lucas, has mysteriously disappeared. As Louis and his friends desperately begin their search for him, mystery comes in another form as Harry Styles- Louis` new, weird, and really attractive replacement dorm mate. Documenting the entire search, and new love affair, the search for Stan begins all the while creating new mysteries that may ultimately lead to his discovery.

(Heavily based on the web series “Carmilla”)

Heartbeat 1k

Part 1

Hatred.

Hatred like nothing he’s ever felt in his long life rises up inside of him for the woman he left slumped on the sofa. She deserves death. Death by his hand. Slow and painful.

Or

Louis is a vampire out for a good time and a decent meal, but when he goes home with a woman and discovers her neglected baby son, a protectiveness he’s never felt before comes to the surface, tempting him to end her life.

Belonging 2k

Part 2

“Harry,” Louis says later as they’re driving home. “You were rude to that woman.”

Harry’s head snaps towards him. “Why do you care? Did you like her?”

Or

Harry’s growing up and Louis gets the shock of his life.

**Sequel to Heartbeat**

Clandestine 5k

Part 3

“What, am I supposed to throw him a surprise party when he turns sixteen? 'Surprise! You’re a werewolf, and I’m a vampire, have some cake’-” The sound of Holland’s high pitched laughter cut him off, “It’s not funny!”

“I’m sorry sweetie, but it really, really is.”

“You’re no help!”

**Follow up to Heartbeat and Belonging**

A Werewolf Thing 5k

Part 4

When? When had this happened? Gone was the wide-eyed, chubby-cheeked baby boy, and in his place stood a lanky teenager with stormy eyes and a brow that spoke of fiery temperament.

or

Louis is having a hard time accepting the fact that Harry is growing up; Harry resents this.

*Series not done

The Devil You Know 35k

Harry walked slowly to the door, an eerie sense of déjà vu rolling over him. “Who is it?” he called out through the varnished maple.

“Can Harry come out to play?” The voice on the other side of the door was light and airy, musical, with a raspy edge.

Louis.

Harry felt his pulse race a little before he found words. “Harry’s not home right now.” He smirked.

There was a pause and then a light tap-tap-tap on the door, right at Harry’s ear. “Bullshit.”

**** Louis is a vampire. Harry is probably too curious for his own good.

morning has broken 2k

Harry tries out his new vampire skills. In bed. With Louis.

This is a timestamp for the fic The Devil You Know. It takes place the morning after Louis turns Harry. Some might even consider it to be…the missing smut scene.

Do Things I Never Thought ˜4k

Louis finds himself in a predicament. It involves a pair of red lace panties, a newly turned boyfriend and a misunderstanding.

OR

Vampire Louis makes it up to Vampire Harry when a newly discovered kink goes awry.

For You I’d Bleed Myself Dry 3k

After a public and humiliating breakup, Louis Tomlinson finds himself on his would-be honeymoon with his best friend, Niall. However, this St. Lucian paradise is not all that it seems. Louis may be particularly vulnerable to an unusually handsome predator.

Feels Like Infinity 21k

Louis Tomlinson is an accomplished professor and a published author, all at age 28. He has devoted his life to the study and discussion of the mythological beings known as vampires. What he hasn’t prepared for is, well, meeting one.

Dance along to the beat of your heart 3k

Part 1

Since his family has been cold-bloodedly slaughtered by vampires, Louis has been hunting them, wanting to take every single one of them down. When he hears people talk about a mysterious Harry with white pale skin, he knows he has found another victim. But is Harry completely what Louis thinks he is? And doesn’t it get time that Louis finally moves one, that he ends his career as a hunter?

Burning in the light (your eyes) 3k 

Part 2

Louis learns how to live with Harry, learns how to love Harry. Harry has known all along how to love Louis

there’s no antidote (for this curse) 50k 

Threesome (Liam/Harry/Louis)

Five or so times Liam (and Harry) saved Louis and one time he saved them (and the world): A Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU

Under The Shimmering Surface 61k

Louis thinks back on his small house full of high-voltage little sisters and his messy bedroom and the neighborhood kids he’d play with when the summer nights ran long and he loved being hugged by the sun. His mind shifts to when he left, ran away and into the dark of night. His bloodlust and sex crazed life lit only by the stars and lonely moons in different phases as he skipped from one town to the next across the country.

In hindsight, falling in love doesn’t sound so bad.

aka the fic where louis is a self-indulgent vampire, harry is smart and stronger than louis knows, and Seattle is just the perfect mix of mystery and alcohol and home for the right kind of love to brew (or maybe that’s just the witch’s potions fogging up the sky)

Love Endless (The Road to Recollection) 151k

[Book ¼]

The year is groovy 1973, and eighteen-year-old Louis Tomlinson is perhaps the gayest teen to ever grace the gloomy, hateful town of Fortwright. Would be fine if he wasn’t so viciously bullied at both home and school for such a "harmful” sexual preference.

Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard this story, haven’t we?

Believe him, Louis didn’t think he was anything special either.

Until he found the mansion. The notoriously haunted mansion hidden deep within the forests of his tiny blip of a town in Bumfuck Nowhere, Idaho. No one with a brain ever goes near it, but Louis could use a little excitement in his life…and possibly a Band-Aid or two.

After discovering the mansion was less abandoned than he’d thought, he’s now left with the most riveting mystery of a lifetime; every new finding leaving him with more questions. Who is this elusive owner, and why won’t they show themselves? Why is there a set of journals in the same handwriting that span over centuries? Why in the world is there a padlock on the refrigerator…and who the hell is Alexander?

Love Endless (Path to Permanence) 241k

[Book 2/4]

So now Louis’ finally done the love thing, and it’s already in jeopardy? Just his luck.

Harry’s evil twin is back, and that can’t mean anything good. It never has.

Even with the help of friends, will Harry and Louis be able to keep him at bay? And is Auron really who they should be worried out?

…Only one way to find out.

Love Endless (Trail To Transcendence) 151k

[Book ¾] 

It just doesn’t fucking stop, does it?

**WIP

Luscious blood 116k

Louis Tomlinson, a human, has been living in poor living conditions together with his mother since he was born. Ever since he can remember he has loathed the stronger, faster, more developed kind that rule this world; Vampires. But will his opinion change after he meets his soul mate that is an arrogant, royal vampire named Harry Styles…

Route 50 2k

Sometimes he dreams of staying for even longer, of burrowing deep into the cool red earth and making his final resting place under the only stars left in America. He’d never really be able to do it, obviously. He has far too many ties still rooted to the world to abandon it for long.

A modern vampire AU set in LA.