#world state: ash in the sun

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[abyssalpriest]

Damnit lev lmfao. I was thinking about Shiva wearing corpse ash being resonant for other reasons, something about his relationship with the Bright Skinned Ones and death and whatever. No, no. More fucking importantly: Oh I wonder why Shiva is known for. you know. wearing bodies. his appearance is a mass of bodies joined together. yeah

[theplotmage]

50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men with a Deity Reader

AN: Read Rumi and felt like yapping so here's my poetic nonsense. IK I should be getting to requests but that is for the weekend.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn deity reader

Ingredients: 60% pining, 40% comfort/feels

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb for sure in this one.

Xavier:

Dusk. You are the god/goddess of dusk. You carry the quiet ache of homesickness. The urgency of birds returning home before dark. You are beautiful, yet restless. A fleeting light bleeding into darkness. A transition between day and night, a breath held between states of being.

Xavier would sacrifice a thousand days and a thousand nights just to have you. To feel the way you shift between light and shadow. To stand beneath the sky as you lull the sun to sleep, your hands stained with the fading hues of gold and red.

To witness the caress with which you guide lost souls home. His heart aches to follow them, to rest beneath your dusk.

Perhaps that mercy will lead him back to Philos. Perhaps you are the only home he’s ever truly known.

Rafayel:

Memories. You are the deity of nostalgia. That is why he refuses to forget. Memories are his way of keeping a part of you close.

He does not remember the first time he met you, but he knows he has known you forever. In every lifetime, your face returns to him.

You are the echo of Lemuria, the last music of a dying world. The sound of tides receding. The haunting sweetness of something lost yet still lingering.

He withers under the weight of you. Blossoms in the presence of you. In your blessing, he is both made and unmade at every encounter.

Perhaps that is why no birth or rebirth, has made him forget you.

Zayne:

Will. You are the deity of will and hope. The anchor that steadies him in the tyranny of fate.

Your presence was his only respite from the destiny Astra carved into his skin. When the walls closed in, when the stars themselves turned to ash, it was your hand that pulled him to his feet.

In every lifetime, he bares his heart and pushes through pain, to seek what his soul craves. He has faced death, war, and ruin for the chance to stand beside you.

Because he knows: as long as he does not give up, you will stay with him.

And even if you do not speak, your silence is enough. Your presence alone is the promise that not all battles are lost.

Sylus:

Love. You are love. Not the primordial, all-encompassing love of lust and creation. But Agape. The selfless devotion of purity. A quiet, unrelenting affection.

He remembers the first moment he saw you, how your sight settled into his eye with the fragment of your power. He did not need to learn to love you. He simply recognized you.

Since that moment, nothing else has mattered. His devotion is not loud, frantic or desperate. It’s quiet. Steady. The kind of love that could survive a thousand years of absence and still bloom the moment you return.

You exist in his bones now. His veins carry the ache of your presence. There is no pain in separation anymore because separation is an illusion. .

Separation. Reunion. Loss. Return. It’s all the same cycle. The recognition never fades. He would wait through lifetimes, wait through countless deaths, just to stand before you again.

Because to Sylus, love isn’t possession. Love is becoming. And he has already become yours.

Caleb:

Dreams. He finds you in your absence. You are sleep. You are dreams. The quiet, pleasant ones that bring him rest.

When he turns away from you, he is lost. Haunted by nightmares. Fire and destruction unravel the truth of his own self. The ruin beneath his skin. The world crumbling under the claws of his rage.

But when you return, your hand in his hair, your breath against his cheek, you bring him to rest. As if the weight of gravity, his own evol, pulls his very bones to earth beneath your touch.

You shield him from the awakening god of end. You keep him from the truth. The terrible truth buried in his nightmares.

You keep the god of end asleep beneath his bones. For the worlds of creation, and for him.

[venusiastro]

In my research I’ve noticed the correlation between sun ruled nakshatras and the alchemical process of transformation. In each octave of solar energy we see a transition from each stage of the transformation into the solar expression. Krittika being the first solar nakshatra is both highly attuned but unaware. They are often fascinated with the darker aspects of consciousness and curious about the psyche. I notice a lot of Krittika natives are prevelant in the “black sun” stage in Jungian research. The tie between the dark desires of man and the concept of influence and abstinence from these dark desires while also wrestling with them, as well as the concept of God and self. We then leap into the bed of Uttara Phalguni. Both the death and rebirth. Uttara Phalguni is tied to procreation and this also shows the crowning of the consciousness. From the depths of the shadow, purified from the ashes (a tie to uttarabhadrapadas Saturnian influence in the alchemical process of transformation) and becoming both light and yellow calling in the light to shine. A newly incarnated self. And finally we are crystallized in the new of Uttara Ashada. Victorious over the darkness and completely uninfluenced by the outer world. Fully embodied in the new self and steadfast in the new consciousness. Here we see the self natural inclination toward maintaining and retaining balance, steadfast stasis in the new consciousness.

Krittika- “nigredo” the state of darkness in the alchemical process of transformation. An innate tie to the shadow, putrefication, or spiritual death

Uttara Phalguni- “albedo” & “citrinitas” the state of lightness, the white stage of the alchemical transformation. “Purification” and rebirth. The new dawn or “yellowing” of the rising Sun.

Uttara Ashada- “rubedo” the final stage of redness, or completion. The crystallization of the spiritual self. A new element of oneself from the unconscious to the conscious.

[frantic-fiction]

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone. 

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart. 

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes. 

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity. 

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion. 

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines. 

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression. 

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room. 

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

*

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense. 

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

*

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.” 

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering. 

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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

Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[zeroseuniverse]

Labyrinth of Ruins

Word Count: 1.0K Summary: “You’re safe,” Hongjoong murmured, holding him close. But his relief was tinged with confusion. “How did you get out?” The boy pulled back slightly, his small hands clutching at Hongjoong’s jacket. “There was someone,” he said softly. “She helped me. But she’s gone now.” Pairing: Hongjoong X Fem Reader

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

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The shattered city stood in eerie silence, broken only by the distant crackle of gunfire and the occasional low rumble of collapsing buildings. Smoke curled into the air, turning the setting sun into a blood-red smear across the horizon. Among the ruins, desperation and danger lurked in every shadow.

Hongjoong crouched low behind the crumbling remnants of a wall, his sharp eyes scanning the chaotic battlefield ahead. The Vanguard patrol had swept through like a storm, leaving his faction scrambling to defend their meager territory. His team fought fiercely, but their numbers were thinning, and the fight wasn’t going in their favor.

Behind him, a small figure trembled, his son huddled close to the ground amidst the wreckage. The boy’s wide eyes darted between the flashes of light and bursts of sound, his small hands clutching a scrap of fabric that had once been a cherished toy.

“Stay hidden,” Hongjoong whispered, his voice low but firm. His son nodded silently, his trust in his father absolute. The skirmish intensified, with shouts and explosions echoing through the ruined streets. 

Amidst the chaos, no one noticed the figure moving deftly through the shadows. she had no allegiance to any faction—a lone survivor navigating the fractured world with skill and caution. She hadn’t planned on intervening today. The chaos was a storm to avoid, not to weather. But something caught her eye: a child, too still, too exposed, crouched alone in the wreckage.

It was instinct more than choice that propelled her forward. she crept closer, keeping to the shadows, her every movement deliberate. The boy didn’t see them at first, too focused on the chaos surrounding him. Only when a piece of debris shifted did his head snap up, eyes wide with fear.

“Shh,” She murmured softly, crouching to his level. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The boy hesitated but didn’t move. She took that as permission, gently scooping him up and retreating into the maze of rubble. She moved quickly, expertly navigating the ruins until the sounds of battle began to fade into the distance. Only then did she stop, setting the boy down in a small, hidden alcove.

“You’re safe here,” She said, keeping her voice calm and quiet. “Stay low and don’t make a sound. Someone will come for you.”

The boy stared at her, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t protest. she gave him one last look before slipping back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as she had appeared.

When the soldiers finally retreated, leaving devastation in their wake, Hongjoong emerged from the wreckage with a mixture of relief and dread. He scanned the battlefield, his heart pounding in his chest as he searched for his son. The boy’s hiding place was empty, and for a terrifying moment, panic threatened to consume him.

Then he spotted a small figure emerging from the shadows, moving hesitantly toward him. Relief flooded through him as he recognized his son, unharmed but visibly shaken.

“Father,” the boy whispered, running to him. Hongjoong knelt, pulling him into a fierce embrace, his heart still racing.

“You’re safe,” Hongjoong murmured, holding him close. But his relief was tinged with confusion. “How did you get out?”

The boy pulled back slightly, his small hands clutching at Hongjoong’s jacket. “There was someone,” he said softly. “She helped me. But she’s gone now.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. “Someone?”

The boy nodded, his gaze earnest. “She said I’d be safe. She hid me.”

Hongjoong stood, his grip on his son firm as he scanned the ruins. Whoever had saved his son had done so without revealing herself, slipping away as quietly as she had arrived. He felt a surge of gratitude but also a gnawing sense of unease. Why had she helped? And where was she now?

He turned back to his team, his son’s hand in his. “Find out who was here,” he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. “I want to know everything.”

As his men moved to follow his command, Hongjoong looked out over the ruins, his mind racing. Somewhere in the shadows, an unknown savior had crossed his path. And whoever she was, she had just earned a place in his thoughts—whether as an ally or a potential threat, he didn’t yet know.

The night had settled over the city, the distant sounds of skirmishes fading into an uneasy stillness. She moved cautiously through the labyrinth of ruined buildings, her footsteps light against the debris-strewn ground. She had managed to avoid detection so far, but the prickling sensation of being watched had grown stronger with each step.

She paused in a narrow alley, pressing her back against a cold, cracked wall. Their breaths came slow and steady as she scanned the darkness around her. Nothing moved, but the weight of unseen eyes bore down on her, setting her nerves on edge.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself, forcing her legs to move.

Ahead, a faint light flickered from what seemed to be an abandoned store. Shelter. Her instincts urged her to approach, but years of surviving in hostile territory told her to tread carefully. She slipped inside, the warped door creaking softly as it closed behind her.

Inside, the space was eerily quiet, shelves overturned and coated with a thick layer of dust. She crouched low, scanning the shadows. Suddenly, a sharp sound echoed from behind them—the unmistakable scrape of a boot against concrete.

She spun, a knife already in her hand, her eyes locking onto the darkened doorway. For a moment, the shadows seemed to shift, but nothing emerged. She remained still, her grip tightening on the blade, every muscle in her body coiled for action.

“Who’s there?” She called out, her voice low and steady. Silence answered her, but the oppressive sense of being watched didn’t fade. After a long, tense moment, she lowered the knife, her instincts screaming that lingering here was a mistake.

She moved quickly, slipping out of the building and back into the open. The sensation of being followed persisted, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t afford to. Whoever or whatever was out there, she would deal with it on her terms—not in the ruins of a trap.

For now, the night swallowed her whole, leaving only the shadows to keep her secrets.

[thedansemacabres]

ARES CHTHONIOS, DEFENDER OF LAND

[IMG ID: A photograph of a dark, smoky landscape that turns the sun a brightly-dim red hue. The background is obscured by the ash, with tall trees in the distance. In the foreground is a single house, the blue hidden by the dark ash, with tall oak trees to the right accompanied by a visible large SUV. The scene is dark and dreary].

I HAVE HAD A HARVEST OF GOOD CONVERSATIONS AROUND THE TOPIC OF DIVINE ARES, especially as of late, and I have begun to find a deeper appreciation for the theos. Beyond what many hellenic pagans have said, of him using rage for justice and an aspect of revolution, in my personal research I found another related Ares: the Ares of Ge, the land defender, close to the Erinys and fertility goddesses, and who casts his dice based upon holy Dike’s will. Ares was a popular deity in antiquity, worshipped across the ancient world, especially in Asia Minor with his likely syncretism with a local deity and Iliac connections. I will begin to follow a journey with Ares to understand him as more than war and slaughter, similar to my endlessly loving dea Bellona, and thus I have found Ares Chthonios.

This will be a general survey of his historical cult and my understanding of it based upon my own actions in activism, land sovereignty, and also my understandings from the devotion to the war, retribution, and revolution goddess Bellona. I will interlude my personal interpretations, but I hope these are clear, and I urge those interested to see my bibliography to understand more about Ares in a less frenzied context. 

ARES, DEFENDER OF LAND 

A strong function of war in antiquity was the defence of land. War often meant the burning of crops and homes, the raping of women, slaughter of children, destruction of hearths, and sometimes even the destruction of sacred groves of the gods. Sanctuaries could also be raided and plundered, such as the case in Rome, and their goods appropriated for other deities and personal use. Another aspect of war was civil control, as states did not desire rebellion. For this we begin to see the binding of gods, Ares, but also Dionysos. The ancient world did not have the food security that we do—and imagining life without more readily stable food, defending land becomes not only a necessity, but an ethical move. Siege spells death through Limos. Without land, you cannot access the hearth of Hestia, nor is there security from enslavement by other poli in antiquity. 

Ares’ less war-bound primary functions lie in this defence of land. He was widely worshipped, with some facets of this worship were for the purpose of defending the homeland. 

He is described as a personification of the yeoman-hoplite, who was also likely a farmer that arose to defend his homeland and farm in times of war. Cultic evidence suggests that he was also often paired with fertility goddesses, such as Despoina, Chthonia, the Anatolian Mother Kybele, and of course Aphrodite. He lacks the direct agricultural association of Mars, but he possesses the inherent relation to the chora: thus placed in the city’s sacred groves.

Us modern people concerned with justice tend towards movements such as land back and decolonialism. Xenia does not permit us to be bad to foreigners and xenophobia is a pillar of modern bigotry. Ares’ power may be used to brandish the spear in the defence of land—especially in these ages of growing oligarchies and fascism, the defense of land and home becomes ever more important. His passion and rage lend well to an activist from giving up, giving us strength to continue on. Instead of empowering doom, we may pray for Ares’ courage in the fights present and cultural wars to come just as the homeric hymnal asks for his courage and manliness to investigate the worshipper. 

ARES, OF THE GROVE 

Worship of Ares is also often found in sacred groves. As a defender of chora, it is internal sense to place him within nature. His shrines were also found in the countryside in the network of interpolis social and spatial focal politics. His association with the Earth is enough to call him one of the theoi chthonoi and more for than just bloodshed. As Cults and Sanctuaries of Ares and Enualios summarises: 

Ares, it would seem, was believed to stand guard over the agricultural land of the polls and served the divine patron of its human protectors as well. When enemies threatened, it was Ares who guided the warriors of the polls in their attempt to pay back their enemy. Thus the mythology of Ares, in which he is almost always opposes the aggressor and is often roused to action by an attack against his children,reflects the essentially parochial and reactive nature of a god intent on the defense of the land under his protection (Gonzales, pg 61). 

As a defender of land, he is keen to strike against those that threaten his children: he attempts to avenge Askalaphos in the Iliad, he fights Herakles for the body of his son Kyknos, he avenges the death of the Drakon Ismenios by transforming Kadmos and Harmonia, and he avenges the rape of his daughter Alkippe. Ares is a god of protection in his own right.

Another remark is that Ares is connected to drakons, symbols of the protection alongside chthonic earth, and groves as a whole. He fathers a drakon and snakes are commonly associated with him, his sacred grove that contains the fleece also contained a drakon. Another remark from the book on his binding to the land states; 

The oracle from Pamphylian Syedra, once again, most clearly articulates the associations between, Ares, Dike, and the well being of the polis and its chora. Physically bound to the city and its land, the power of Ares would function both as an avenging protector and guarantor of prosperity: “thus will he become a peaceful god for you, once he has driven the enemy horde far from your land, and he will give rise to prosperity much prayed for..” (Gonzales, 62.) 

This oracle will be revisited later, but there is a clear line of Ares and protection of the land. 

ARES, OF THE PEOPLE

Defending land is equally the defence of people. Undoubtedly there were ancient Greek warriors that would fight to return home, such as Odysseus, and countless unnamed people. Particularly in the context of Iliac Ares, arete is positioned in war as related to material goods and the sadness women and people express at warriors dying relates to their failure as a warrior; their failure becoming agathos. An agathos brings dishonor and shame as he is not able to defend his home, often leaving women and children in distress (Mary, 4). In Iliac poetry, when a warrior lives, he is then chosen by Ares to uphold his Arete. When it comes to Iliac Ares, it makes me wonder about the portrayal of Ares in relation to this—Ares’ humiliation in the Iliad could be related to this idea of failing Arete. 

In this context of ancient society, Ares is enjoyed by common people who take an active role in the pursuits of war. He was invoked by the state for purposes of defending it, much as Apollon was used for colonialism and in war. Ares as the causal force of war, the dangerous slayer, also rallies people to join in union for the fight, 

Plutarch quotes Archilochus, a poet from Paros, also active in the seventh century, as describing the beginning of the close combat within a battle as Ares bringing together the press of battle on the plain. This idea also appears in a mid-fifth century inscription from Samos, in which Ares is described as having brought together the ships of the Greeks and the Medes in battle. Alcaeus’ Ares is the cause of war, and Archilochus’ Ares brings armies together in the conflict which, as other poets tell us, is Ares’ domain (Millington, 113). 

Another small note from Pindar is him positioning Zeus, god of the polis and the people, as an ally to Ares. The Iliad employs an adversarial relationship between them, but Zeus is also a noted war god—elsewhere it is remarked that Apollon’s lyre tames the spear of Ares and the thunderbolt of Zeus. War and the Warrior: Functions of Ares in Literature and Cult describes the friendlier relationship of Zeus and Ares as, 

In his first Pythian Ode, Pindar describes Ares and Zeus as an allied pair,contrasted with Typhon and the forces of chaos, implying that Ares is integrated into, rather than an enemy of the city and civilization (Millington, 128). 

Thus Ares may be compositied with the other theoi as a defender of people. And looking at his name in epithets of other gods—Athena Areia, Aphrodite Areia, Zeus Areios—he is not constantly of strife, but rather comes into unity with the other gods. His association with the Erinyes only puts this as more explicit, as he avenges the blood oath—giving power to the appropriate parties in the Oresteia to avenge the blood-curse. Just as he is mentioned with Dike, the Homeric hymn pairs him as an “aid to Themis” and “ally of mortals” (Rayor, 99).

ARES BEYOND STATELY VALUES

I do critique any reconstructionist that is going to say “chain Ares”, which while in the modern period refers to limiting or constructing, in the ancient world it was to chain Ares’ power to your homeland in particular. It was to ensure his power, by Hermes, would be favoured and stay on your side. Ares’ worship may be further stood in antiquity through this—the Homeric hymn asks to “quell the rebellious”, which for a state would be a primary function of Ares as he could bring civil strife. From a critical perspective, Ares’ worship in this capacity I believe traces back to a rebellious nature—this is a god that can easily bring civil war and revolution, thus he is worshipped to appease this nature and thus secure stability. Then, equally, as a god that brings bloodlust and rage, he also brings peace and the restraint of bloody desires. A function of worship for many in the ancient world is aversion. The same hymnal remarks on Ares to bring courage, not fear, and to tame bloody desires. 

Considering the need to chain and appease Ares, this to my personal understanding shows a deity deeply concerned with the state in a negative manner to said state. He is a vengeance deity, associated with blood-curses, found in actions such us Klytiemennstra’s revenge. Taking a note from my own dea, my understanding of Ares is that he operates as a vengeance god who contests the state on the basis of state injustice. The gods are far more progressive than ancient Greek society was—considering slavery, misogyny, and strife, I find it of no surprise a god of defending land and vengeance would be such a contrarian force. 

I also think of Harmonia, his daughter. A god who was entirely hate and terror would not father the personification of musical and societal harmony. Many of Ares’ children function in harmonic rather than wholly negative roles—even if Eros is sweet and bitter. 

BELLONA, ARES, AND REVOLUTION

Bellona is the roman warrior and hero of excellence, she holds virtue, victory, and retribution in her hands. Rome before the empire understood war as an act of revenge—Rome tried to create and self-justify expansion as a revenge and divine retribution. She essentially acts as a fury. But this retribution and balancing of the scales could turn inwards, and thus, Rome was in tension with her to stay of moral righteousness, lest she bring down her whip upon the city and strike up civil war. Her methods are bloody and furious, deeply caring about wrongs committed, and very rewarding to the righteous and good that follow. 

I see my dea as a goddess of justice, as retribution for wrong that is done is often a key component of justice. Compared to Justicia, who was used for imperial propaganda, Bellona became sidelined in the times of the empire but her popularity did not wane. In this I see a homoplasy between these two gods: Ares’ masculinity would naturally contribute to his more stately portrayal than Bellona, but he is in enough tension with the polis to require a binding by Dike and Hermes from anxious polis religions. And as he is guided by Dike, justice herself, he must often have very good reason to be a volatile causal force. 

Less on my interpretative notes, this quote gives an idea to modernised Ares worship:

Pamphylians of Syedra, who inhabit a rich land of mixed men in shared fields, plant a statue of bloody, man-slaying Ares in the middle of the city and beside (him) perform sacrifices as you bind him with the iron bonds of Hermes, and on the other side let Justice administer the law and judge him; let him resemble a suppliant. Thus will he become a peaceful deity for you, once he has driven the enemy horde far from your country, and he will give rise to prosperity much prayed for. And you, at the same time, take great pain, either chasing them or placing them in unbreakable bonds, and do not, out of fear of the pirates, pay their terrible penalty. For thus will you escape from all degradation (Gonzales, 2010, 280).

Ares here is directly connected to prosperity and defense of people. And most of all, he can be peaceful. One of Ares’ essential traits is his endless bloodlust and rage, which when guided by justice, gives rise to holy revolution and the passionate urge to do good. He as the gods of these things also gives my senses a modern interpretation of a passage in the homeric hymnal: 

Mighty Ares, gold-helmed chariot master, shield-bearer, bronze-armored city guard, strong-willed,  strong-armed, untiring spear strength, defense of Olympos, father of Victory in war, aid to Themis, tyrant to enemies, leader of righteous men, wielding manhood’s scepter, your red orb whirling  among the seven paths of the planets through the ether where your fiery stallions bear you above the third orbit (Rayor, 99).

While quelling rebellion, it is stated that he also leads the righteous. For a personal interpretation, I can easily see it as such: rebellious men are quelled, but righteous men are led, and oftentimes the revolutionary is a person aspiring for right societal change—the feminist argues against the coil and chains of sexism, the indigenous revolutionary against colonialism, and many such examples. I would never shame the rightful anger of a revolutionary. And this is another aspect of Ares I see: his anger and bloodlust may be channelled for the purpose of societal equity-health and stability. Tyrants in ancient Greece were not initially viewed poorly, but after the ancient Greco-Persian war, tyrants became viewed as an enemy of people and democracy. Ares’ hymn thus describes a stance against tyranny, requiring no imagination for the modern day. 

ENDING NOTES

This post is both a survey and a modern look at the evidence. I urge everyone interested to read Cults and Sanctuaries of Ares and Enyalios: A Survey of the Literary, Epigraphic, and Archaeological Evidence to gain a better understanding of him and to develop the historical literacy on Ares. And for Ares’ darker associations, there are plenty of other texts expressing the rightful  pessimism on war. As a fragment of Archilochus says, Ares is “common” to all people, and war affects us all. But this side of Ares does not have to be the one that people still know him for—he is like my dea in this, still bloodshed and slaughter, but he is also a defender and protector. Just as Dionysos drives people mad and Apollon kills through plague, Ares embodies the dualities and complexities of the conflict. I find it depressing that Ares has not been uncoupled or understood in his darker aspects compared to Athena or Apollon. Several are quick to pick away Athena’s war aspects as a vintage value, even her historical misogyny, but not Ares. This I find to be a shame. 

If you liked this post, please consider checking out this post on my wordpress!

References 

Gonzales, M. P. (2004). Cults and sanctuaries of Ares and Enyalios: A Survey of the Literary, Epigraphic, and Archaeological Evidence.

Gonzales, M. (2010). The oracle and cult of ares in Asia minor. DOAJ (DOAJ: Directory of Open Access Journals). https://doaj.org/article/e9173c9623d24726bc11a08093a1df74

Lewis, & Sian. (2025, March 10). Tyranny | Meaning & Facts. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/tyranny/Greek-tyrants

Meghan Poplacean, D. (2017). The Business of Butchery Bellona and War, Society and Religion from Republic to Empire. The Department of History and Classical Studies  McGill University, Montréal. https://escholarship.mcgill.ca/concern/theses/b8515q959

Millington, A. (2014). War and the Warrior: Functions of Ares in Literature and Cult. In Doctoral thesis, UCL (University College London). https://discovery.ucl.ac.uk/id/eprint/1427880/

Scott, M. (1979). PITY AND PATHOS IN HOMER. Acta Classica, 22, 1–14. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24591563

Serrati, J. (2022). Gender and the Ritual Lament: Women as the Arbiters of Aretē and Virtus, 2022. Ageless Aretē: Essays From the 6th Interdisciplinary Symposium on the Hellenic Heritage of Sicily and Southern Italy.

[srbachchan]

DAY 6295

Jalsa, Mumbai May 10, 2025/May 11 Sat/Sun 3:23 am

छुट्टियाँ मानते हुए, उस राक्षस ने, निर्दोष पति पत्नी को बाहर खींच कर, पति को नग्न कर, उसके धर्म की पूर्ति करने के बाद , उसे जब गोली मारने लगा, तो पत्नी ने, घुटने पे गिर कर, रो रो अनुरोध करने के बाद भी, की उसके पति को न मारो ; उसके पति को उस बुज़दिल राक्षस ने, बेहद बेरहमी से , गोली मार कर, पत्नी को विधवा बना दिया !!! जब पत्नी ने कहा "मुझे भी मार दो” !! तो राक्षस ने कहा “ नहीं ! तू जाके, " Modi…. " को बता “ !

बेटी की, मनःस्थिति पर, पूज्य बाबूजी की एक कविता की पंक्ति याद आयी : मानो, वो बेटी "Modi ji …. “ के पास गई, और कहा :

“ है चिता की राख कर में, माँगती सिंदूर दुनिया “

तो “ Modi ji …. “ ने दे दिया सिंदूर !!!

OPERATION SINDOOR !!!

जय हिन्द 🇮🇳 जय हिन्द की सेना 🇮🇳 तू ना थमें गा कभी ; तू न मुड़ेगा कभी ; तू न झुकेगा कभी कर शपथ , कर शपथ, कर शपथ ! अग्नि पथ! अग्नि पथ ! अग्नि पथ !!!

Lost in Translation .. let me help you :

The innocent couple on a vacation holiday in Pahalgam , was attacked by terrorists, posing as Tourist guides .. they pulled them out in the open, asked the Husband to pull his pants down, and when he saw that he was not circumcised, a traditional religious procedure in Muslim men, he told him recite the Kalma .. when the man a Hindu did not know, he set up to shoot him .. his Wife fell at his feet and said do not kill him .. but he mercilessly shot him, and made the Wife a widow in front of her eyes .. the Wife then begged this monster, this demon, to kill her also .. this devil of a man said :

'I won't kill you .. you go and tell Modi .." !!

Feeling immensely for the unspeakable grief of the widow, her mental state and her absolute destruction .. I suddenly remembered a line from one of my Father's poem :

... and this I built ..

the wife went to Modi and said :

this is the line from that poem ..

"है चिता की राख कर में माँगती , सिंदूर दुनिया !!"

the ashes of the funeral pyre are in my hands and the World is asking for sindoor ..

In Hindu religion we burn our dead .. the ashes are recovered from the funeral pyre, as a ritual, collected in vessels, often brass or clay mud , taken to to a sacred river - traditionally the Ganga River - and in particular the portion in the Ganga River called Sangam .. Sangam means confluence .. that place is the confluence of three rivers and is considered the most pious water place .. the rivers are the Ganga, the Jamuna and the Saraswati , which is unseen because it flows below the depth of these two rivers , hidden from site, but religiously existing .. so pouring the ashes at Sangam is considered for the soul to have achieved 'moksh' मोक्ष , a religious deliverance .. a salvation for the soul ..

The Sangam is where the recent World Wide known MAHA KUBH was held ..

Is Mahakumbh is held every 144 years .. that is why this Maha Kumbh was very very special it was being celebrated after 144 years ..FEb 2025 at Prayagraj, the City of my birth ..

To bath at SANGAM, during the timing of the Kumbh Mela is considered the most pious act of salvation for the living .. What is the story behind Mahakumbh? According to legends, Vishnu the God the supreme saviour was carrying a Kumbh (pot) of amrit (nectar), when a scuffle broke out and four drops were spilled. They fell to earth at the four Tirthas, religious spots of Prayag, Haridwar, Nasik and Ujjain. A tirtha is a place where the devout can attain salvation.

so to continue with my story , which I have built ..

when the Widowed Wife went to Modi with open hands and spoke those words that I have quoted of Babuji , he replied

"go .. i have given Sindoor .." !!!

This is a symbolic word build ..

What happened with the Wife at the time of the killing and the words and incident writing earlier is real ..

SINDOOR in our religion is a ritual during the marriage ceremony when the to be Husband, puts the red vermillion on the parting of the to be Wife .. the parting in the hair which is made in the middle of her forehead .. in Hindi it is called 'maang' माँग .. it is an extremely pious moment .. and the Wife wears the 'sindoor ' throughout her life .. its a symbol of marriage and respect ..

If the husband dies before the wife's death , the Wife wipes off the red vermillion from her parting .. and it is a most sad and emotional moment ..

Sindoor being the symbol of dedication respect protection immortally .. prized and displayed with pride , assiduity , commitment , sedulousness

SO ..

What this monster did at the time of the attack, he killed the Husband, mercilessly, despite the pleading of the Wife .. in a sense he wiped away the 'sindoor' from the head of the Wife .. a symbol of religious respect , for a married Woman ..

the words of Babuji were apt when I thought of them ..

I have the ashes in my hand , and World asks for my sindoor ..

The Pahalgam attack where they killed 26 innocent tourists .. all with their families enjoying a holiday , mercilessly, at one spot - even on a couple just married three days ago, who had come for their Honeymoon .. will never be forgotten ..

SO ..

the Government , who have been telling the neighbouring authorities to stop terrorist camps and activities in our Country , has never been heeded ..

Hence Modi and the Government decided to respond to the terrorist base camps in the neighbours and launched a military procedure .. the results of which are well known .. 9 of their terrorist camps and outfits were destroyed .. militarily ..

AND ..

this is important to note .. the military Operation was titled :

OPERATION SINDOOR ..

Brilliant thought .. it signified that the demons wiped out the sindoor from the the married women, made them widows and India through the attack and naming it Operation Sindoor signified symbolically that we shall fight to restore it .. and they did ..

AND here is the best part ..

Two personnel from the Indian Army, were chosen to give a title to the Operation ..

You know who they were ..?

They were two Women Officers ..

A Colonel in the Armed forces and the other a Wing Commander in the Air Force ..

And after the Operation was completed .. the Authorities conducted a Press Conference ..

AND .. they were conducted by these two brave Military Women ..

AND .. finally I shall conclude .. one of the Officers is a Muslim and the other a Hindu ..

You can read about in any information facility ..

The end poem is well know by all .. it is the famous Poem AGNIPATH ..

And I chose to select words from it : as an inspiration and a demand to the Army and all Indians .. to continue the fight !! Against the injustice done to us and in particular the innocent .. !!!

" you shall never stop .. you shall never turn back .. you shall never bend ..

Path of Fire ! Path of Fire ! Path of Fire !!

Amitabh Bachchan

[littleshelbygirl]

Pt 2 for behind closed doors? 🙏🏻 maybe jealous Tommy ? Maybe Tommy semi neglects reader as he thinks she needs space, but sees her getting closer to one of the younger men 🫦✨

“ No one knows you like I do. Lipstick stains on my pillowcase, yeah. No one does it like you do. “

behind closed doors - t.s. | oneshot

fandom: Peaky Blinders

pairing: thomas shelby x fem!reader

part: two

content warning: jealous Tommy, reader gets neglected and ignored, possible cheating/flirting with other man, the “You are my wife” Tommy, smut 18+ (piv, virginity loss), reader being called an object, reader and Tommy arguing, once innocent reader became bold

summary: After being neglected for weeks by your arranged husband, you go to the pub to seek intimacy. When your jealous husband caught you, he reminded you of who you belong to.

author's note: here’s asked part two, hope y’all like it… sorry if its too long and RUSHED

masterlist. previous.

The early morning sun was casting a pale glow over the landscape, the world drenched in a hazy, tranquil ambiance.

Thomas leaned against the sleek black Bentley, waiting for you. He looked as elegant and composed as ever, his suit fitting him perfectly. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling upwards, dissipating in the crisp air. He took another drag before flicking the ash onto the ground.

Seeing you approach, he tossed his cigarette to the side.” "You're ready?"

You gave a small nod, trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart. His gaze was fixed on you, and you knew he could see right through your nervous facade. "Yeah," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of tension.

Thomas walked around the car and opened the passenger door for you, gesturing for you to get in. "Ladies first."

You slid into the car, the leather interior creaking softly under your weight. Thomas closed the door behind you, shutting you in together. As he walked over to his own side and got in, trapping you in the small space with him, you couldn't help but notice the subtle scent of his expensive cologne.

He started the engine and the car purred to life, the familiar hum of the vehicle filling the air. As he began to drive, the car glided smoothly down the empty roads, the world outside passing by in a blur. Neither of you spoke, the silence hanging heavily between you.

It was a strange dynamic. He was the one who'd decided to take you shopping, yet he hadn't said much since you'd gotten into the car. You could feel his gaze on you every now and then, like a physical weight, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

You cast a sideways glance at him as he drove, trying to discern something from his expression. But his face was a mask, giving away nothing.

The silence continued for what felt like an eternity, the hum of the engine the only thing breaking the tense quiet. You fidgeted with the hem of your dress, eyes drifting between the window and him, unsure of what to say.

Finally, he spoke, breaking the silence. "You made a list," he stated more than asked, his gaze still fixed on the road.

Startled by his sudden words, you looked over at him, feeling a pang of self-consciousness. You'd almost forgotten about the list you'd made last night.

"Yes," you answered, trying to sound confident. "A... list of things I need." His gaze darted over to you momentarily, catching the slight waver in your voice. He said nothing, his expression still impassive, as if he was simply checking the accuracy of your response.

"Show it to me," he said, his tone almost commanding.

You felt your throat go dry. You'd been prepared to shop, but you hadn't expected an itemization exam. Hesitantly, you reached into your bag and pulled out the list you'd made. You offered it to him, feeling strangely small and vulnerable since the list contained mostly lady products for your monthly.

He took the list from you, his eyes quickly scanning over the items. You watched him, trying to read his reaction. He gave you a side glance and put it back to your lap.

"Hm," he grunted, his expression remaining neutral.

A few more moments of silence passed between you two, the only sound filling the car being the hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turning signal. You felt like you were sitting in some strange test, waiting for him to grade your list.

Finally, he spoke again, his gaze still locked on the road. "You're missing one item."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, your mind racing to recall what item you might have missed. You had been so meticulous in your list, making sure you had accounted for everything you thought you might need. But it seemed like he had found a flaw in your plan. "What am I missing?" you asked, curiosity mixing with a touch of defensiveness in your voice.

His gaze flickered in your direction again, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Lingerie," he replied simply, his tone almost nonchalant. "Ladies need pretty, lacey things, don't they?"

Your cheeks flamed with embarrassment at his comment. You'd never expected him to be so direct about such an intimate topic, and the way he said it, so casually, was both jarring and somehow... enticing.

You swallowed, trying to quell the sudden heat pooling in your stomach. “Yes," you managed to reply. "I... suppose they do."

He chuckled softly, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. It was the sound he made when he found something amusing.

"And you don't have any... pretty, lacey things, do you?" he said, the question a statement. His gaze was still on the road, but his tone held a hint of challenge, daring you to deny it.

Your cheeks flushed even more, the heat rushing up your neck. The way he was talking about your lack of intimate apparel was both embarrassing and... exciting. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage, and replied. "No," you admitted, your voice a barely audible murmur, "I don't."

He glanced at you, his smirk now a full-blown grin. He seemed satisfied with your honest answer.

"That changes today," he said, the tone of his voice leaving no further room for discussion. He focused back on the road, the silence between you both returning, but you now found yourself feeling strangely flustered, his suggestion replaying in your mind.

The thought of going lingerie shopping with him, having him select intimate pieces for you, was both terrifying and exhilarating. You'd anticipated the trip to be mundane, going for everyday clothes. You hadn't expected this.

You stole a glance at him, seeing the slight smirk still on his face. He seemed completely impassive, as if discussing the weather, even though he was suggesting something so intimate.

The silence between you continued as the car hummed along the open road, the world outside becoming a blur again. You found yourself staring out the window, your mind spinning with thoughts.

The mention of lingerie had stirred something in you, something you weren't entirely familiar with. You tried to push the thoughts aside, but they kept creeping back into your mind - the anticipation, the excitement, and yes, a touch of nervousness.

Suddenly, the car slowed down, jolting you from your thoughts. You looked out the window to see that you had stopped in front of a small boutique.

Your eyes widened as you realized where you were. The boutique was small but clearly high-end. The windows were tastefully adorned, showcasing the finest and most beautiful creations. The thought of stepping inside, with him, sent a thrill through you.

Thomas was already getting out of the car, his tall figure emerging from the vehicle. He walked over to open the door for you, gesturing for you to step out. “Thomas… I haven’t got enough money for this place.”

He raised an eyebrow at your concern, though his expression remained unruffled. "Who said you were paying?" His words were matter of fact, as if it was a given that he would take care of the expenses. He held out his hand, gesturing for you to take it. "Come."

You took a deep breath and then took his outstretched hand. His touch was warm and firm, a contrast to the cool air around you. He helped you out of the car, his gaze still fixed on you. There was something about the way he looked at you, a mixture of dominance and possession, that made your heart flutter.

He closed the car door behind you and then took your arm in his, leading you towards the boutique. "We'll find something pretty for you today."

The boutique was even more impressive up close. It reeked of luxury. The clothes and accessories on display were exquisite, the prices undoubtedly high. As you walked in, a few sales assistants gave Thomas a respectful nod, recognizing him.

He led you further into the shop, guiding you towards a particular section. The section of the shop that was dedicated to undergarments and nightwear.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached that section. It was filled with beautiful pieces, some more risqué than you'd ever imagined. The silks, the lace... everything was so delicate, so... sensual.

Thomas stopped in front of a rack, eyeing the collection. His hand remained on your arm as he perused the items, his gaze running over them like a connoisseur.

He picked up a piece, holding it up for your inspection. It was a silk chemise with intricate lace detailing. The fabric was almost see-through, the color of innocent, but seductive pink. "This color would suit you," he murmured, his gaze drifting to your figure, as if picturing you in it. The thought made you flush all over again.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. The way he looked at you, the way he held the piece of fabric... it was like he could already see you wearing it. You had never been so aware of your own body.

He placed it back on the rack and picked up another one. This one was even more revealing, the silk barely covering anything. He held it up against you, his eyes appraising. "And this one," he murmured.

Your cheeks were flaming at this point. His audacity to just pick up pieces and hold them against you, as if testing them, was both mortifying and thrilling. You felt almost like a mannequin for him to play dress-up with.

He put down the second piece and selected a third one, this one made completely of lace. It was beautiful, but also... very provocative.

He held it up, his eyes traveling over the lace, the way it would cover your skin, the places it would reveal. A small hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, noticing the way your breath hitched at the sight of the garment. He looked at you, his gaze holding yours. "Try it on."

Your heart was in your throat, your entire body feeling like it was on fire. You knew he could read your every reaction, the way your chest rose and fell just a little more quickly, the heat in your cheeks, the way you bit down on your lower lip.

You managed a shake of your head, your voice a mere whisper. "I rather… not."

A flicker of annoyance passed over his face. He clearly wasn't used to being denied. "I don't recall giving you a choice," he retorted, there was a firm edge to his voice. "The dressing room is over there." He gestured towards the fitting rooms, the command clear. He was giving you no room to argue.

Your heart was pounding, your stomach tied in knots. His tone was authoritative, not leaving any room for disobedience. You knew he wouldn't accept another denial. And yet... the thrill of his authoritative demeanor was impossible to ignore.

With a deep breath, you stood straight, “You said you would not force me to anything.”

He chuckled, a low, almost mocking sound. "I said I would not touch you without your permission. I never said anything about not giving you orders."

He took a step closer, his gaze roaming your figure. "Now," he said, his voice soft but firm, "Go into the fitting room and put that on. And then come out and show me."

You felt cornered, his proximity, his gaze, the power his words held... it was all too much and yet not enough. You knew you could say no, walk out of the store, but… you didn't.

With a shaky breath, you took the piece of lace from him and walked towards the fitting rooms, feeling his gaze on you the entire time. Tommy left out a sigh and with his head up to the celling, he said. “Wait.”

You paused, turning to look at him, your heart beat a bit quicker. He had just ordered you to try on that piece of lace, and now he suddenly told you to wait. You didn't know what to expect. "Do you really not want to try them?" he asked, his tone softer, his eyes fixed on you.

You looked at the piece of lace in your hand, then back at him. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His sudden change in tone, from commanding to almost gentle, confused you even more.

You managed to find your voice, albeit quietly, "It's... it's just... I..."

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. "It’s fine. Let’s go with the list. Leave it." he prompted.

You felt relief mixed with a strange sense of disappointment. A part of you had almost been looking forward to trying on the piece, to seeing his reaction as you stepped out of the changing room in the lacy fabric.

But his sudden gentleness was also reassuring. He had picked up on your discomfort and backed off, showing a side of him you didn't yet know. You took a deep breath, glad that he was respecting your boundaries, yet the thrill that had coursed through you when he'd ordered you to try the piece... that feeling lingered.

The stark change in Thomas' behavior was as abrupt as it was jarring. There was no transition, no warning, just one day he suddenly began to shut you out, as if a switch had flipped.

The silence in the Arrow house was oppressive. It felt like you were living with a ghost. He was physically there, a towering, imposing figure, but mentally, he was a thousand miles away. He didn't acknowledge your presence, didn't even seem to notice when you were in the same room.

The first few days you tried to engage with him, to break the ice, but it was like talking to a brick wall. He'd reply with short, clipped responses, his eyes remaining focused on his work. Any attempt at small talk was met with a grunt or a dismissive wave of his hand.

His behavior was confusing, infuriating, and a little bit hurtful. But more than that, it was lonely. The silence in the house was deafening, the absence of his attention weighing heavily upon you.

The pub was a breath of fresh air from the oppressive silence of Arrow house. The atmosphere was lively, the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses offering a welcome break from the isolation you'd been feeling.

As you made your way through the crowd, your eyes fell on a young man at the bar. He was attractive, with a boyish charm to him. He glanced up, and your gazes locked for a moment.

He flashed a friendly smile in your direction; it was a small gesture, but it was enough to spark your curiosity. Feeling braver than you had in weeks, you decided to approach him. As you took a seat at the bar, you glanced back over at him, trying to appear nonchalant. He caught you looking and gave you another charming smile.

You were acutely aware of the gaze of the other men in the bar. They had noticed you, your pretty dress, the way you were sitting alone, and they were making no secret of their interest. But the young man at the bar continued to smile at you, not looking away, not leering or gawking like the others. He just watched you and smiled, seemingly content with admiring from a distance.

You found yourself returning his smile, feeling a touch bolder. It was nice, this innocent flirting. You hadn't felt so normal, so girlish in weeks.

His gaze was still on you, his eyes holding a subtle warmth. He seemed to be enjoying himself, enjoying the little game of glances and smiles that was unfolding. “What’s a pretty lady as yourself doing here?”

The compliment caught you off guard for a moment, the way he said it, so casual, so natural. There was no hint of the usual leering or crudeness that you'd come to expect. Just a genuine compliment, as if he genuinely thought you were pretty. "Enjoying a drink," you replied, keeping your tone light, as if it was no big deal.

He chuckled softly, a charming sound that sent a small shiver down your spine. "Alone?" he asked, his voice holding just a hint of playful tease.

You felt a slight flutter in your chest, the way he asked that simple question, the implication in his voice.

"Yes," you replied, keeping your tone casual, as if it was absolutely natural for you to be sitting in a pub, alone, in an evening dress. "I'm alone."

On the opposite end of the bar, in a shadowed corner, Thomas sat, his eyes fixed on you with a searing gaze. He nursed a whiskey, his expression dark, his jaw visibly clenched. He was trying to appear unaffected, but the jealousy was evident in every line of his body.

He watched as the young man flirted with you, your easy banter, the way you smiled at him, the way you leaned towards him just slightly. He hated it. Every moment of it.

His grip on the glass tightened, his fingers turning white. He could see the man's eyes on you, roaming over your form, and it made his blood boil. He wanted to march over there, to pull you away from the man, to claim you in front of everyone and make it clear that you were his.

But he held back. He kept his emotions in check, his face betraying nothing. But the jealousy was practically radiating off him.

The man at the bar said something that made you laugh, and the sight of it almost unraveled him. He could hear the sound of your laughter across the room, the sweet, delightful sound that he hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity.

He wanted to make you laugh like that, to be the one who could make you laugh so freely, so beautifully. Instead, he was sitting here, watching as another man had that privilege.

The man leaned closer to you as he spoke, his proximity to you making Tommy's blood boil even more. He could see the man's hand on the edge of the bar, just inches from touching your arm. That almost-touch somehow enraged Tommy more than anything he'd seen so far.

He wanted to be the one touching you like that, the one so casually and intimately close to you. He wanted to be the one making you laugh. “That’s enough.”

Thomas stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, the sound snapping through the bar like a gunshot. All eyes turned towards him, but he didn't care. His focus was on you, and you alone.

He stalked across the room, his gaze fixated on you, his steps measured and intentional. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the whispered comments and stares, his eyes never leaving your form.

He stopped right in front of you, his large frame blocking out the rest of the world. "Time to go." He said in a low, dangerously calm voice.

You were startled by the sudden change in the atmosphere. All the easy banter and laughter had vanished, replaced by a tense silence as the entire bar watched. Even the young man who had been flirting with you stood back, intimidated by the sheer presence of Thomas.

Your heart pounded in your chest at the command in his voice, the way he declared that you were leaving. You didn't even get a chance to respond, to protest, before he was taking your arm, his grip firm, and pulling you off the barstool.

The other patrons watched as he led you out of the bar, his grip on your arm tight enough to be possessive without hurting. You could feel the stares following you, but Thomas didn't seem to care.

As soon as you were outside, he pulled you further away from the bar, towards the darkened back alley. He only stopped when you were out of sight, leaning back against the cold stone wall. The silence hung heavily between you.

He was still holding onto your arm, his fingers around your wrist like a vice. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. He was struggling to control himself, the jealousy he'd felt in the bar still coursing through him.

He finally spoke, his voice low, "What the fuck were you doing?"

You could feel the anger and jealousy rolling off him like waves. But there was something else, too. A possessive edge to it all, as if he thought you had done something wrong just by talking to another man. "Talking..." you said, your voice a touch defensive. "I was just talking."

He grunted, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. "You were flirting." The jealousy in his voice was unmistakable now, raw and unhidden, as if the very thought of you flirting with someone else was beyond the pale. "And you were enjoying it," he continued. "You were... laughing," he almost spat the word.

You bristled at the accusation, the implication that somehow you had done something wrong by daring to smile, to laugh. "I'm not allowed to laugh?"

He took a step closer, towering over you now, his body almost pressing against yours. "Not with men like that, you are not."

The possessiveness in his voice sent chills down your spine. It was clear that he thought he somehow had the right to dictate who you talked to, who you laughed with, who you smiled at.

"Men like that?" you repeated, trying to stay calm despite the frustration bubbling up inside. "He was perfectly gentlemanly! All we did was talk! At least… he wanted to talk to me.”

His eyes flashed with anger at the mention of the man. "He wanted more than that," he growled, his grip on your wrist tightening again. "You think I didn't see the way he was looking at you? Like a dog drooling over a bone." He pushed closer, his body now pinning you against the wall, his closeness making your heart pound faster. "You're mine. Not his to ogle."

The word "mine" struck a nerve, igniting your own anger. You pushed against him, but it was like trying to move a boulder. "I'm not yours to control," you shot back, your voice rising. "And I can talk to whoever I want."

His eyes darkened at your words, his jealousy intensifying. He moved closer still, his body pressed against yours now, his hands braced on the wall on either side of you. "You are mine," he repeated, his voice a low, possessive whisper. "And I don't share."

You felt trapped, his body boxing you in, his hands on either side of you, his breath hot against your face. The possessiveness in his words was both infuriating and electrifying, stirring something deep within you. But you refused to back down. "If I’m yours then why didn’t you talk to me for two whole weeks?”

The question caught him off guard, the reminder of his recent treatment of you making his jaw tighten. He didn't answer immediately, his eyes searching your face, his body still pressed against yours. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tense. "I thought you needed space.”

Anger flared up inside you again. Space? That was his excuse for completely ghosting you for two weeks? "Space?" you repeated, your voice rising. "You thought I needed space? You just ignored me for weeks! You didn't speak to me, didn't look at me, barely even acknowledged I existed. And now... now you're acting like you have the right to tell me who I can speak to?"

His expression hardened, his jealousy and possessiveness warring with the guilt that he was trying to bury. He gritted his teeth, his hands still braced against the wall on either side of you, trapping you against the brick.

"I'm not just acting like I have the right," he said, his voice a low growl. "I do have the right. You are mine, and I don't want other men looking at you like that. And I think you need a reminder.”

You felt your body heating up at his words, his possessive declaration and the way he was pressed against you sending shivers down your spine despite your anger. "A reminder? Of what?" you managed to get out, trying to keep your voice steady even as your body was betraying you. "That I'm your property?"

His gaze darkened at your defiant words. "No," he said, his voice a low growl. "You need a reminder that you’re my wife. Mine to protect, mine to have. That's something you need to remember, especially when men like that guy in there look at you with their stupid grins and leering eyes."

He moved closer, his body pressing harder against yours, pinning you against the wall. "I don't let anyone else touch what’s mine."

The heat in your body was growing now, pooling low in your stomach. You felt the hard, muscled planes of his body against you, his possessive words sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

"And yet," you said, your voice a mixture of anger and something else, something much more... primal. "You didn't speak to me, touch me, look at me... for two whole weeks. Is that how you protect what’s yours?"

He flinched slightly at your words, the reminder of his own neglect hitting him like a punch in the gut. He let out a soft curse under his breath, his eyes flickering for a moment. The reminder of his neglect stung, and he couldn't deny the truth in your words. But his jealousy and possessiveness weren't going to be so easily shaken.

"I was giving you space," he repeated, his voice gruff. "I thought… that's what you needed."

You huffed out a bitter laugh, pushing against him again, but finding it almost as useless as before. He was a wall of muscle, and you were stuck.

"Space," you repeated, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you call it? Ignoring me, pretending I don't exist, treating me like a shadow in my own home? That's not giving space, that's abandonment, Tommy. I want to go home."

The word "abandonment" hit him like a slap to the face. He knew what he'd done, the way he'd pushed you away, but it stung to hear you say it so bluntly. He let out a frustrated growl, his body still pinning you against the wall, his hands still braced on either side of you. "Fine. I’ll take you home. Come.”

Reluctantly, you nodded, and he stepped away, releasing you from the cage of his body. You took a breath, the sudden absence of him almost dizzying. He gestured for you to follow him, stalking out of the alleyway and back to the car. The ride home was silent, the air thick with tension and unspoken words.

The silence between you was oppressive, the only sounds the hum of the car engine and the occasional crackle of the radio. You could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.

The drive home felt endless, each mile passing slowly, the tension growing heavier with each passing minute.

When you got back to Arrow House, he parked the car and silently got out, coming around to open your door for you. His movements were almost mechanical, the tension still radiating from him in waves. As you climbed out of the car, he spoke, his voice low and gruff. "We need to talk," he said, leading you towards the house.

You nodded again, feeling the weight of his words as he guided you inside. The house was quiet, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. Thomas led you into his office, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The room was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners. He leaned against the desk, his gaze fixed on you.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice still cold, his eyes never leaving you.

You hesitated for a moment before obeying, sinking into a chair, the soft leather creaking under your weight. He remained standing, towering over you, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes roaming over your form in the low light. He seemed to be wrestling with something, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, controlled. "Why did you go to the bar?"

You bristled at the question, your own anger flaring up. "Because I wanted to."

He gritted his teeth, his jealousy flaring up again. "And that man? You wanted to talk to him?"

You crossed your arms, your voice rising slightly. "Yes. I did. He was friendly and charming, and he actually talked to me. Unlike you, who's been ignoring me for two weeks." He flinched at your words, the jab hitting home.

He let out a scoff, his own anger rising. "Friendly, eh? Is that what you call it? The way he was looking at you, I could practically see the drool dripping down his chin."

You rolled your eyes, annoyed now. "He was just talking, nothing more. And he was certainly better company than you've been lately."

His jealousy intensified, the image of that man looking at you, flirting with you… it made something feral and possessive rise in his chest. “Look, little love. You are my wife.”

You bristled at the possessive tone, your own anger flaring up even more. "Yes, I am your wife. But I'm not your property, and I'm certainly not going to be kept locked up in this big, lonely house like some caged bird."

His jaw clenched even tighter, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not locking you up, I'm protecting you."

You rolled your eyes again. "Protecting me from what, exactly? From other men who actually take the time to speak to me? To look at me?"

The bang of his fist on the desk made you jump, a small gasp escaping your lips. His eyes were blazing now, the jealousy and possessiveness reaching a boiling point. "Damn it, enough! You’re mine," he bit out, his voice low, almost a growl. "You're my wife, and I won't have other men admiring what's mine."

You clenched your jaw, your anger matching his. "I'm not some object for you to own and control. I'm a human being, I have thoughts and feelings of my own. I don't belong to you."

He slammed his palms on the desk, leaning forward, his body tense. "That's where you're wrong. Since the moment we said 'I do,' you became mine. And I don't share."

The possessiveness in his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to back down. "I'm not one of your cars or your weapons or your horses. You can't just claim me as if I'm some... possession. I'm a person. And I have rights."

He laughed then, a bitter, dark sound. "Rights? You want to talk about rights? You have the right to be protected, cared for. That's what I'm doing. That's what a husband does."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Protection and care? You call two weeks of cold silence protection? You call not talking to me, not even looking at me, not caring about me for two whole weeks care?!"

He flinched, your words hitting a nerve. But he didn't back down. "I was giving you space. Since the day I saw how uncomfortable you were when we were lingerine shopping. I can see you no longer need it.”

You felt a pang at the reminder of that day, of how small and vulnerable you'd felt. But you quickly pushed the memory away. "So you thought the best way to deal with that was to practically ignore my existence, to act like I was some stranger in the house?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his agitation showing. "I was trying to give you space, like you wanted."

You clenched your fists, your own irritation mixing with frustration. "I didn't want total silence, Thomas. I wanted space, space to breathe. That doesn't mean you can just shut me out completely."

He let out a sharp exhale, his shoulders tensing. "I was trying to give you room to adjust, to figure things out. You seemed so overwhelmed by everything, by... by being married to me."

You felt a pang in your chest, hearing the self-blame in his words. But you pushed on. "I may have been overwhelmed, but that didn't mean I wanted to be ignored. I needed your support, your presence. Not your absence."

You shook your head, feeling tears pricking at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You don't get it, do you? You can't just decide what I need without even discussing it with me. Your idea of space is complete abandonment."

His jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. The guilt was almost palpable now, but he tried to push it down. "I was trying to protect you, goddamnit. I thought… I thought that's what you wanted. Oh, come here, love.” He sighed.

You felt a wave of conflicting emotions - anger, frustration, hurt, and now an unexpected pang of sympathy. You didn't know if it was the use of the nickname or the vulnerability in his voice that had you moving forward. Slowly, cautiously, you took a few steps towards him. But you stopped a few feet away, not letting yourself get too close.

He saw the hesitation in your eyes, the way you kept your distance. He let out another sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Come here," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "Please."

There was a hint of pleading in his tone now, a vulnerability that was so out of character for him. It tugged at your heart, but you still hesitated.

Despite the anger and pain, hearing the desperation in his voice tugged at your heartstrings. You took a deep breath and closed the remaining distance between you, stopping just a few inches away from him.

He reached out, his hand gently resting on your waist, pulling you closer. The gesture was surprisingly tender, and you stood there in silence for a moment, his touch both comforting and confusing. You found yourself on his lap.

He pulled you down onto his lap, his arms encircling you like steel bands, holding you close against his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, his body tense yet tender.

For a while, neither of you said anything, just sitting there in the quiet of the study. You could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest. Despite everything that had happened, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his embrace.

His hands slowly moved over your back, stroking you almost absently, as if he needed the contact just as much as you did. After a few moments, he broke the silence, his voice gruff yet gentle. Is this what you needed, love, eh?" he murmured, his chin still resting on top of your head.

You leaned into him, your anger not entirely gone, but your irritation starting to fade. You wanted to remain strong and defiant, but his touch was making it difficult. "Don't... don't do that," you mumbled against his chest. "Don't act nice all of a sudden when I'm trying to stay mad at you."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a small shiver through you. "You're trying to stay mad at me, love. It's like a hobby."

You pulled back slightly, glaring up at him, a bit annoyed that his observation was not entirely false. You wanted to cling to your anger, but he was making it surprisingly difficult.

"I'm angry at you," you protested, your voice firmer than you actually felt. "You ignored me for two whole damn weeks. I have a right to be mad."

He hummed quietly, one of his hands still gently moving up and down your back. "You have every right to be mad," he agreed. "But you're still sitting in my lap."

His observation made you realize the irony of your position. You were sitting on his lap, the very man you were supposed to be angry at, and yet his touch was so damn soothing. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

He held your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. There was a hint of a wry smile on his lips, clearly enjoying the fact that despite your anger, you were still in his arms. "You know you can't stay mad at me for too long," he murmured, his other hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your resolve faltered slightly, and you found yourself subconsciously leaning into his touch. You hated how easily he could affect you, how your anger could melt away with just a few gestures.

He noticed your response, the way you leaned into his touch, a sure sign that your defenses were starting to crumble. His hands continued to move over your back, each touch like a caress. “I said I wouldn’t touch you until you want it.”

You felt a pang of annoyance at the reminder of his earlier words, his decision to wait for you to initiate any physical intimacy. But his hands were so soothing, his touch igniting a low heat in your belly. It was both infuriating and frustratingly enticing. "You make it very difficult to stay mad," you muttered, your voice less fiery than before.

He let out a soft chuckle, his hand still absently stroking your back. "Good," he murmured, his other hand now tracing lazy circles on your hip. "I don't like you being mad at me."

You wanted to retort, to hold onto your anger, but his touch was making it harder and harder. Damn him for knowing exactly how to make you melt. “I’m ready then.”

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile playing on his lips. "You're ready, eh?" he echoed, his hand on your hip giving a subtle squeeze. "For what exactly? To stop being angry, or for something else?"

You felt a flutter in your stomach at his tone, the underlying hint of suggestion clear in his words. Your anger was all but fading, replaced by a different kind of heat. “For something else.”

His eyes darkened at your response, his smile growing slightly wider. He knew exactly what you were talking about, and his reaction made it clear he was just as ready as you were.

His hand on your hip moved to your thigh, his fingers tracing a path up under your dress. He was testing your response, seeing if you'd object or pull away. “Well then. Let me kiss you.”

You shivered as his fingers roamed under your skirt, igniting a slow heat within you. His touch was familiar and possessive, and you knew exactly where this was headed. You let out a soft sigh, your anger fading further as your body responded to him. You lifted your chin slightly, silently giving him permission. "Yes," you breathed, your voice now a mix of resignation and desire. "Kiss me."

He needed no further confirmation. In a swift motion, he wrapped one arm tightly around your waist, pulling you closer, while his other hand continued its journey under your dress, tracing patterns on your inner thigh.

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. There was no hesitation, no gentle build-up. Just raw desire and possession, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger you had been craving for weeks.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands automatically grasping at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His kiss was hot and demanding, his tongue demanding access to your mouth, which you readily granted. His fingers on your thigh crept higher, his touch leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You whimpered, your body pressing against him, your frustration and anger now replaced entirely by the heated desire he ignited in you.

He groaned into the kiss at your response, feeling your body arch against him. He had missed this, god he had missed this. The feel of you in his arms, the taste of your mouth, the sound of your whimpers. It was like a drug, and he was fully addicted.

His fingers inched higher under your dress, finding the edge of your underwear. His thumb brushed against your clothed clit, and you gasped, breaking the kiss. He took the opportunity to kiss your neck, his mouth hot and hungry on your skin. “Did you like watching me jerk off, eh?”

You let out a gasp at his blunt question, the image alone making you shiver. His words were crude, but they sent a shiver straight to your pussy, and you hated how he always knew how to break your composure.

You leaned your head back, giving him better access to your neck, surrendering to his touch. "Yes," you admitted in a rough whisper. "I did."

He groaned against your neck, the confession in your voice making him even harder. His fingers continued to tease you, but he wanted to hear more. He bit down gently on your sensitive skin, his hand still on your thigh tracing circles on your skin. "You liked it a lot, didn't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You wanted me so bad, didn't you?"

Your breath hitched at his words, the truth in them impossible to deny. You had been craving his touch for so long, and seeing him like that… it had only intensified your desire.

You nodded, your head still leaned back, exposing more of your neck to his mouth. "Yes," you whispered, your voice shaky now. "I wanted you so badly."

His response was immediate, his hands and mouth becoming more assertive, more possessive. He pulled you even closer, positioning you so you were straddling his lap, the new position putting you in an even more intimate position. He lifted his head to look at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Then you’ll have me. Right now.”

Tommy took a hold of your thighs and set you down on top of his neat desk. You shivered once your bare legs made contact with cold surface. Your dress was off in a mere minute. His hands instantly found your breasts in his bigger hands, massaging them.

The feel of his hands on your bare skin sent a jolt of electricity through you. You arched into his touch, your body reacting instinctively to his possessive caress. They were large and rough, yet somehow gentle with you, as if he was handling something precious and fragile.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. "I've wanted you like this for so long, love," he muttered, his words a low growl. "All spread out for me, and only me."

You could only whimper in response, the combination of his words and touch overwhelming. His presence was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you. And yet, there was an element of possessiveness in his words that made your heart race even faster.

His fingers continued to tease your sensitive flesh, his touch both feather-light and demanding. "You're mine, you got that?" he murmured, his mouth now near your ear.

His other hand got lower to the front of your panties. Soon, he was met with your bare pussy. His fingers teased your entrance and thumb danced over your clit. Soft moans of pleasure left your mouth which he shut as his lips pressed to yours.

His finger jaggs inside you and Tommy leaves out a groan as he feels you from the inside. “So tight, love.” His mouth was now attacking your neck with bites and licks which made your head dizzy.

Soon he added more fingers, little by little, preparing you for his already hard cock that he still kept in his trousers. Tommy leans away slightly, unbuckles his belt and takes off his coat, buttons on his shirt also get unbuttoned and trousers now pulling at his feet.

You watched as he stroked his cock like he did weeks ago, alone in his office. He gets closer to you and watches your every reaction. With a little push, he starts burrying himself inside. You left out a gasp which he shushed and started to rub your sensitive clit to ease the pain.

With rubbing on your clit the pain was slightly eased, but his big size definitely did not help. He was now almost all the way in, holding back.

“Am I hurting you, sweetheart?” His voice got you back to the reality and you only replied with a shake of your head. Your clit was still being slowly rubbed by his thumb, making you leave out a whimper.

Tommy’s hips started to move, his cock going in and out of your pussy as he tried to make you used to him. You let out few small whimpers which made him groan, “Sound so beautiful, eh?”

His hips soon started to jam inside you in a fast pace. All the pain present was not gone and replaced by pleasure you’ve never felt before— sure, you masturbated before, but only rubbing your clit.

“You are my wife,” he groans and starts to move faster, the desk now shaking with every thrust. “You belong to me.”

“Yours, Tommy!” You moaned out, gripping his shoulders hard. Soon you felt a coil in your belly, moaning automatically.

“Come for me, love.” As he said those four words, your orgasm crushed you hard. Thighs started shaking and a loud scream left your lips. Tommy followed soon after, burrying his come deep inside of you.

The two of you stayed that way for a slight bit before he placed a kiss to your forehead with a whisper, “Never going to ignore you again.”

[phantomamour]

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

vampire hunter!billy the kid x fem vampire!reader

cw// vampires, blood, injury, gunshots, temporary character death, small hint of feeding, implications of sex/smut, some heavy angst at parts, does not follow any timeline from the show as it is an au set in a loosely based universe of vampires/vampire hunters, it's a VERY long fic but it's my magnum opus and i will never write anything better than this, some lore around vampires involved but explained

Being dead, or rather undead, was a strange existence. Your heart remained a now meaningless vessel in your chest. Never to beat again as you were forced to walk the earth for eternity. More than most losses you endured when you were turned, you missed the feeling of the sun beaming down on you for hours on end. You knew your skin was far too friable for more than an hour in the sun, a downside of your new state of being that left you living in the shadows, always trailing, never taking the lead. Five years ago, you had been changed down to your very soul, and months after that, you ended up in Lincoln County, chasing a dream that would only cause you pain. 

From the moment you stepped into Lincoln, you could recognize the mass number of vampires roaming the street. It was a problem the sheriff worked hard to deal with his army of hunters, a band of outlaws who turned in the bodies of vampires for another day of freedom from a jail cell. Billy was a hunter. You knew that years ago, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Lincoln and, consequently, him. There wasn’t a night that went by without you seeing him, standing by in the shadows and making sure he never got in enough trouble to meet a fate as terrible as yours. Tonight was no different. Having watched him leave the bar to retire to his room, you chose to roam the streets aimlessly, eyes on each hunter you managed to pass by secretly.

 Vampires knew they were hunted. They’d watched the bodies burn in the streets as people cowered in fear, never certain that the silver of their bullets would finish the job until the bodies were no more than ash. You’d known the signs of a silver bullet all too well now. Friends were a hard thing to keep in a town like Lincoln; the renowned hunters were known to kill their prey and go back for their bodies when it was convenient for them. That left you to find one too many friends dead in the street, purple veins creeping out from the wound and eyes a cloudy white. To help with the vampire’s dilemma, it had become common knowledge to signal to one another when a hunter was close. It was this signal that had you rushing through alleys to get away from a hunter who had caught sight of it. 

If you still had a beating heart, you’re sure there would be a pain in your chest only matched by when you had been turned. You could die right here if you weren’t fast enough. Every new step you took felt heavier than the last as if each was destined to land you right in the hunter’s grasp. The alleys between the buildings got narrower as you reached the heart of the town, giving you less room for a swift escape. Your shoe stuck against a rock was the last thing to sign what you assumed was your ticket to the burning pile for the night as a calloused hand grabbed your own and pulled you flush to the stone wall. Suddenly, his weight was against you, holding you in place with his forearm beneath your jaw to keep it closed and stop you from biting him. But, as quickly as you had been caught, your world came crashing down as your eyes met two blue ones.

It was Billy. Your Billy. The Billy you thought was sound asleep in the boarding house. Your chest heaved against his while you both were frozen in place, and his eyes darted across your face. It was like he was checking each feature of your face to ensure he hadn’t imagined you, that it wasn’t some spell he was under that made him see you against him instead of the vampire he had thought was in his hold. 

“A-angel?” his voice was quiet, hesitant even, as his grip loosened just enough. You knew that if he had seen the newest feature hidden beneath your lips, he wouldn’t be so careless as to let you free even a bit. But you took his ignorance to your advantage when you ducked your head down and ran as fast as you could, pushing your body to take you toward the woods. He wasn’t supposed to see you. You had managed to make it plenty of years without him catching even a glimpse of you, and yet he had just stared you directly in the eyes and spoken the nickname you’d dreamed he’d call you again ever since the day he left. Tears stung your eyes as you ran, desperately trying to put distance between the two of you when you heard him curse and run after you. 

“Fuck- stop, darling! Hold on!” You didn’t want to die by his hands; that had been your greatest fear. There was a cruel reality you were faced with the first night you saw him again after you had been turned. His whole life, every ounce of freedom he had, became centered around the death of what was now your own kind. That was one of many reasons you had to choose to stay away. You wished you could be farther away now as leaves crunched beneath your rapid feet. You could hear him getting closer, and no matter how hard you willed yourself to speed up, it was a fruitless battle. When you felt his fingers graze your wrist, you had accepted the fate you were about to face. 

The force on your body from his hand gripping your wrist brought you both tumbling to the forest floor, him landing firmly on top of you, chest to chest again. He could feel every gasp of breath you had to take, but he noticed one thing was clearly missing. His heart was the only one beating between you, and it startled him more than he cared to admit. He could see the pure fear in your eyes, breaking his heart. The girl he had left five years ago was scared of him now, and he didn’t know what he’d done to scare you so severely until his eyes fell to your parted lips and what lay behind them. Fangs. Pointed and threatening, but not to him. You know you wouldn’t be able to bite him to get away; you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you did that. 

“Billy… get off me,” your voice shook as you fought to keep the tears pricking the corners of your eyes in. You wouldn’t die crying. 

“You’re… Angel, you… When?” he sounded as heartbroken as you were sure you looked.

“Billy, just let me go. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll go. You’ll never see me again. I promise,” you tried to reason with him, trembling beneath him. 

“What? No. I wouldn’t… I would never. You’re a-”

“I know. You don’t have to say it. I know.” There was a moment of silence between the two of you, the tension causing you to swallow roughly while you closed your mouth to hide the fangs you knew he was still looking at. He had realized his hand by your hip was rubbing against the small bit of exposed skin with his thumb soothingly. While his heart slowed down against your chest, your breaths started to even out. Even after all the time apart, something as simple as his skin against yours could settle your strongest nerves. 

He sat up slowly, hesitating because he didn’t want you to feel trapped beneath him, but he didn’t want you to run. His hand trembled at his side as it itched to reach out and hold you close still, but he refused to scare you away, unable to erase the memory of your fear that was a consequence of him. You pushed yourself up even slower as you watched him closely, unsure if all of this was an act. While you had always been close by, you were never near enough to know how much he had changed from the boy you knew five years ago. 

“How long have you been a…” his voice trailed off, confident that he didn’t yet have the strength to say the word hanging over both of your heads, “When were you turned?” He settled on that question instead.

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know.” He frowned at that, unable to decide if your refusal was because of your fear for your own life or not. Another long moment of silence stretched between you two, and he desperately wished he could go back five years and make the two of you the same people you used to be. He knew he had changed. So many years of hunting vampires did that to a person regardless of who they started as, and now, to his greatest horror, you were the very thing he had to hunt for his own freedom. 

“How long have you been hunting?” you were nearly silent with your question. In reality, you knew the answer. It hadn’t been long after he had to go on the run that you’d found him in Lincoln. He didn’t need to know that, however.

“Five years.”

“That’s a lot of vampires, Billy.”

“And I’d still never kill you,” he reassured you firmly, more confident in those words than anything else in the world. He couldn’t help the image that flashed in his mind now. Your body limp in his arms, silver turning your veins a sickening dark purple and eyes clouding over as he begged you not to go. He’d lost you once before; he was determined to make you feel safe with him to stay again. 

“I have a cabin not too far from here. Maybe you could… Would you stay with me for a day or two? I haven’t seen you in so long. It’s a safe place. No other hunters know where it is,” he pleaded, needing you not to run away like he had all that time ago. 

“You don’t stay in town?” it was a question more to cover your own story you knew he may ask about. You’d have to come up with a story, something plausible, about why you were in Lincoln and how you two never crossed paths before then. Knowing Billy as well as you hoped you still did, he wouldn’t be able to handle the fact you’d be so close to him for five years. 

“Most nights, but the bed at the cabin’s more comfortable than the boarding house anyways.”

“Billy, I don’t know if-”

“Please… Angel, please.” Your lungs constricted at the nickname slipping past his lips yet again.

“Pretty sure that name doesn’t work on damned souls.” You had grown up surrounded by the warnings of the souls that no grace or cleansing would be able to save. You never imagined you’d be one of them, however. 

“You’ll always be my angel.”

~

You had begrudgingly taken him up on his offer to stay in the cabin. Every part of you screamed that it was a bad idea; you had managed to stay out of trouble by keeping your distance, but sleeping in the same room every night may be the final nail in your last coffin. He had promised you safety while utterly unaware that you were the one ensuring his own for years. However, the cabin felt safe in a way you don’t think you could remember in your distant past. It was small but by no means cramped. A full-size bed had been squeezed into the corner where you lay every night despite your insistence that Billy takes it instead. He resigned himself to the small couch across the room in front of the fireplace, and you swore that every moment apart tugged on your chest like a string trying to bring you back to him. You knew you’d have to cut that string one day to save you both.

Whenever he left to hunt, he asked you if you’d be there when he returned, and while you tried to tell yourself to go, you always reassured him you would be right there. You waited a few minutes every time before following after him; only once you knew he had no intentions of turning back. It became a routine unknown to your hunter, always straying just far enough behind not to be caught in action but close enough to know he was okay. You returned to the cabin before he could every afternoon and waited for him to come through the door with a small smile. 

“Everything okay while I was gone?” He always asked when he came in as he set down his things and prepared for your favorite part of the new routine. Sunset was the one time you could truly enjoy the last moments of the sun before it disappeared beneath the ground. Setting just fast enough not to worry about burning as you walked with him. It was a comfort you knew many years ago but felt almost foreign now. You still welcomed it back with open arms as your hands brushed with each bump of his shoulder against yours. As it happened, a blush brightened both his cheeks, and your chest tightened. He’d tell you about the places he’d been to over the years, ones he unknowingly had taken you to as you followed him through the state, always ending up back in Lincoln.  

He always left out specific details; you noticed that immediately. He spoke of each trip as a vacation, not one mention of vampires or the true meaning of the excursions. You were certain he did this on purpose; it was more comforting to imagine the both of you as any two “normal” people. His eyes no longer stuck on the sight of your fangs, and you did your best to ignore the silver bullets that peaked out of the barrel of his gun before he left in the mornings. 

“You comin’?” Your head snapped up to the sound of his voice. Seeing him standing with his feet in the river in front of you made you feel uneasy as you realized your predicament. He hadn’t tried to cross the river with you before on your walks; he would have been as unsuccessful then as he was now. 

“I can’t… Running water.” His eyebrows furrowed at your explanation as you pointed to the water moving around his feet, clearly unaware of the dilemma you faced at that moment. Vampires were damned souls, unable to be cleansed – unable to be saved. Running water was a way to cleanse the soul your mother had taught you. Walking through that water would only cause you pain for your disgraceful existence. Billy walked back over to you, stepping out of the river as he brushed your hair back, worried by the frown you couldn’t quite force away.

“What’s going on?” he spoke so softly you were sure it would have been carried out into the breeze before you could hear it if you hadn’t listened so closely. 

“I can’t cross or step into the river. The running water can’t cleanse my soul. Nothing can,” you whispered, scared to remind him of the differences now starkly present between you two. 

“Oh.” It was one small sound but it tore through your chest all the same. Was it embarrassment coursing through your system? You couldn’t be sure because as quickly as he had stuck a knife in your heart, he removed it by placing your hand in yours and taking you away from the river. 

“Then let’s walk over to the north. The trees get way taller over there.” There he was. The Billy that always knew the right thing to say. 

~

“Do you need to feed?” Billy asked one night after your sunset walk, “I can… Well… I don’t know how to help other than offer myself honestly. But I would if you need to. I haven’t seen you feed since you’ve been here.” You had been feeding here and there, whatever person was willing, while you followed Billy along during the day. Few people in Lincoln would let a vampire feed from them without putting up a fight, but those who did were highly trusted amongst the vampires in town. The sheriff may have wanted your kind eradicated, but when someone had a vampire’s trust, they were protected until a silver bullet stopped it. Billy had your trust, even if you wanted to say it was foolish to give him, considering his current occupation.

“I won’t feed from you.” 

“Why not?” Because you’re my favorite person in this world. Because you’re my best friend. Because I love you. Because the thought of tainting your skin with the scars of who I’ve become makes me sick. All reasons you couldn’t bring yourself to voice. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out as he moves closer, your chests nearly touching when you swallow roughly. If your heart still beat, it’d be racing in your chest. 

“Do you know how much I missed you those five years apart? Do you know how much I thought about you?” his voice was barely above a whisper, and you willed yourself to feel trapped, but you had no reason to either. He wasn’t holding you in place. He wasn’t blocking your exits. He gave you every chance to run, but your feet kept you planted in front of him. You shook your head in response to his questions. 

“I should have gone back for you.” 

“Don’t say that.” It hurt too much to hear. He wouldn’t been fast enough. He wouldn’t have gotten back fast enough to stop what you knew was inevitable now. 

“I should have, angel.” There was that damn nickname again. The same nickname that made you fall in love with him as kids. The same nickname he called you moments before he kissed you the night before he left to run from the law. The same nickname that you wished you would hear as you lay in the dirt dying after a vampire attacked you in the street. 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” your voice shook as you spoke, unsure when the distance between the two of you closed so much. You could feel his breath against your cheek as his hand came up to brush your hair back and cup your jaw.

“For how long? If I feed you, how long will you stay?”

“Billy.”

“Tell me. How long do I have you?” Forever. You could stay forever. You could live a hundred lives with the man before you and it would never be enough. You shudder at the feeling of his thumb rubbing up to your cheekbone. It still felt foreign after a week of late nights talking and subtle touches, touches that left you yearning for a life that was no longer yours. His other hand slipped down your side to rest on your hip, thumb rubbing the small skin he revealed beneath the hem of your shirt again before pulling you flush to his chest.

“If you feed from me, will you stay another night?” he sounded hesitant, maybe even desperate in a way. He prayed that you still felt the same way you had before he left, remembering the devastation in your eyes when he walked away from you before. He wasn’t making that mistake again.

“You don’t have to feed me.”

“But if I do…”

“I shouldn’t stay.” It hurt you to say as much as you were sure it hurt him to hear.

“But you could. I’ll keep you safe. Make sure no hunters find you. I’ll protect you ‘til the day I die.” You thought about the day he’d inevitably die far too often. Even if you managed to protect him until he was grey, you’d still outlive him. You’d still have to watch the man you loved turn to food for the soil. 

“I’m not worried about myself, Billy.” You knew the dangers that being a hunter had to begin with. But a hunter who was protecting a vampire was a death sentence to him. You couldn’t imagine what the sheriff would do if he found out. You’d be killed, likely hunted, with the reward of a truly free life. Billy would be sent to a jail cell to rot or the noose. There was no happy ending for the two of you; you knew that more than anyone else. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his thumb running across your lips, causing you to part them on instinct. Your lips were paler than they used to be, he thought. He had a brief wondering of what they looked like when you fed. He knew vampires were often more messy with eating, if you could call it that at all instead of feeding, than humans. The image flashed in his mind of your lips covered in blood, not your own, but the blood of whatever your prey ended up being. That’s the image that had him slipping his thumb into your mouth to trace over one of your fangs.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the taste of him against your tongue. Then, for reasons you’re unsure you could wrap your head around, he pushed his thumb down on your fang. You heard him hiss so quietly at the puncture of his own skin first, then, a moment later, the taste of his blood hit your tongue, and your eyes rolled back. You knew it was supposed to taste no better than metal, but it was the sweetest flavor you’ve ever had. Trying to stay still and stop yourself from taking something you couldn’t give back, you stood in his hold. 

“You don’t need to worry about me, angel. Let me care for you.” He moved his thumb past your fangs to let you suck on it gently. Your body melted into him. You weren’t just connected by a string on your chest; you were his. Leaning into you, he brushed your hair off your neck with his free hand before his fingers danced along the two small scars in the crook of your neck.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, startling you as your eyes opened to look up at him, thumb still resting between your lips as the blood leaking into your mouth slowed to a stop. Your eyes never once left his face while he pushed your bottom lip down, blood trailing behind his thumb as he drew it from your mouth. He couldn’t think straight at the sight of your lips red with his blood. He would gladly make himself your prey, but now he moved before his mind could voice that, cupping your face as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. 

It was familiar. It was home. You were five years younger at that moment, a girl kissing the love of her life in the dark of the night. You’d love him until a silver bullet took you to the flame; you’d love him still as you became nothing but ash. He kissed you with a fervor that took the air, the only life source you had left, right from you as he took small steps toward the wall. 

“Should have gone back for you,” he mumbled against your lips as he pressed you into the wall, “I regretted not turning back every day. Still regret it now that I’ve got you back.” Every word echoed in your mind. He thought of you, and even if it wasn’t as much as you thought of him, that was more than enough. 

“This won’t work, Billy. We both know that,” you murmured, but you were sure the meaning behind your words was lost with every new movement of your lips against his. You were drowning in him, pressed impossibly close as you kissed him like it could bring you back to life. 

“I’ll make it work. I should have made it work years ago,” his voice was low by your ear as he pressed kisses along your jaw, “I won’t make that same mistake again.” You knew you should run. You were playing with fire, but he was still the boy who kissed you all those years ago. You could tell he’s had practice by the way he kissed you. His looks weren’t ignored by the girls of Lincoln, having watched the few times he took one of them back to the boarding house before. You found yourself grateful for that as he ran his tongue along the tips of your fangs, not cutting his tongue but taunting you silently while your knees threatened to buckle.

Your hands tangled into the hair at the back of his neck as you tried to bring him even closer, albeit unsuccessfully. You’d remember this feeling for centuries to come. Billy- Your Billy pressed against you and kissing you like it would kill him not to. This was what you wanted to remember whenever you’d meet your demise. 

~

Life became surprisingly domestic over the following weeks for you and your hunter, despite the voice in your head that told you to run more and more with every day. Sunset walks turned into regularly making out by the river, and Billy never once tried to make you cross it again. You sat at the river bank as he told you how much he missed you and held you closer than you think he ever had before. His hands felt so big against the small of your back as you straddled him, making sure not to touch the water, and it wasn’t until a small chill set in the air that you forced him to turn back to the cabin to light a fire for the night. 

You didn’t eat like he did, needing blood more than anything else, but that didn’t stop him from throwing a few quick, flirty glances toward the baker’s daughter for a free pastry or two. You rolled your eyes fondly when he’d set the small bag down on the kitchen table and tell you he brought you home something to eat.

“Unless there’s blood in that bag, you really didn’t have to go out of your way.”

“You may not need to eat like I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still deserve a sweet bite occasionally.” You knew what he did to get the pastry that tasted like pure sugar on your tongue, but rather than being upset, it was endearing to you. You knew by every single one of his actions that he had no intention of entertaining anyone else with his love, but he was still willing to play the handsome hunter and provide you with any kind of luxury. He shocked you more when he brought home a small pillar candle.

“It’s bayberry,” he explained as you watched him light it once you two prepared to call it a night. You knew that bayberry candles were a hard commodity, one of the finest simple luxuries in the country with a sweet smell that reminded you of home. But you weren’t sure why it mattered enough to spend what little money he had to spare.

“It reminds me of that perfume you stole from your mother when we were kids. I try to keep one around all the time but haven’t been back to the cabin recently before you.” Oh. The little things he did made you understand that perhaps he had really thought of you when you two were apart. 

“First time I smelled one… It was like you were with me again. I wasn’t so lonely when it was all I could smell.” Oh. It was these moments that made him leaving every morning harder. Watching him put on his belt and hat, silver bullets tucked safely into his gun on his hip, before he pressed a kiss to your forehead and told you he’d be back. It was always the same heart-wrenching feeling that you followed him into town with. You knew there was a price on his head that could only be lessened with each body he turned in, and yet, you wanted him to stop. You wanted him to put down his gun and live a life with you. It wasn’t logical and far from realistic, but you swore you’d kill the sheriff if that’s what needed to happen to fix his fate. 

The argument was coming, as sure as the sun rising in the morning. You had known the dam would break open, no longer able to hold back your feelings about the situation, and you’d both be left to pick up the pieces. 

“What happens when someone follows you home? When a hunter comes here and kills me, Billy?” you tried desperately to get him to stay at the cabin, eyes pleading as you held on tight to his wrist. He knew you meant well, that you just wanted him there with you and out of potential trouble, but the fact you had questioned the safety he offered you at the cabin had hurt. 

“What happens when I don’t meet the sheriff’s quota, and he locks me up?” he tried to reason with you. He didn’t have a choice. This was the life he had to live to get any chance at being with you. He would kill every other vampire on this Earth for one more day with you, and turning them into the sheriff was his payment. He never considered what would happen when he’d eradicated all the vampires except for you, but he was confident he’d still do whatever it took to keep you by his side. 

“I wouldn’t be able to protect you from a jail cell, angel.”

“But I’ve protected you this whole time! For five years, I’ve protected you! Not the other way around. I’m still protecting you now!” It came pouring past your lips before you could stop it. All your cards laid out as he took a step back, hurt flashing in his eyes as he absorbed the meaning behind your words. 

“...what?” his voice was nearly silent, tearing you in two. 

“I meant-”

“Five years? You’ve… this whole time? …five years.” You could hear him processing the information as his voice wavered. You had hurt him more in this moment than ever before, and you couldn’t take it back. 

“Billy-”

“When were you turned?” That piece of information was one you were far less willing to give over. It was the final nail in his coffin, and you knew it. It would kill him to know. 

“Billy, I told you-” you tried to shake your head. 

“No. Tell me the truth.” He stood taller, trying to pry the information out of you. While he would have looked menacing to anyone else, you could see the pain in every limb and crevice of his being. You wanted to beg him not to ask, not to open up the wounds that still lay deep under your skin. Your wounds would only cause him to bleed as well. 

“Billy… you- I can’t…” He stared you down, desperate for answers that you knew he wouldn’t want once he knew them. This wasn’t something he would forget, just like you couldn’t forget. 

“You used to walk me home every night… then you left.” It wasn’t clicking in his head; you could see the confusion in his eyes. 

“How… when?”

“Billy-”

“Tell. Me.” He got more stern, his walls coming up as he felt more and more uneasy. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you finally gave in.

“You’d left that morning, and I… I walked home alone that night. A vampire saw me and… I couldn’t fight them off. I wish I had just died, Billy. I didn’t want to become this. I’m so sorry,” you admitted, watching his face fall even more as his knees started to give out. He clutched the chair next to him before sinking into it unsteadily, trembling with a quiet “oh my god” and resting his head in his hands to fight back tears. He hadn’t even been gone 24 hours before you were turned. He had abandoned you, left you behind the morning after finally kissing you, and you had been turned before the dust even settled that he had kicked up with his departure. 

“When did you come to Lincoln?” Another question you desperately didn’t want to answer, but you figured the worst was already out there. 

“My parents kicked me out a month after I turned.” His eyes snapped up to you as he put everything together, his tone turning from devastated to angry in just a moment. 

“So you’ve known where I was for five years? You saw me for five years and never once approached me?” Each word was laced with venom, an anger you never had directed at you before but one you knew you had earned.

“I protected you for five years, Billy. The vampires you hunt could kill you if you aren’t safe.” That made him stand.

“And the hunters who go out with me could kill you! The same hunters that you’re worried about following me home! Why the hell would you stay if you didn’t want me?” 

“Didn’t want you? Billy, I stayed because I wanted you! Because I’d rather be forced to watch you grow old than have you die in my arms now! Or worse, be turned! You don’t want this life I have now!” you shouted, needing him to understand that it wasn’t a choice you made easily. You had suffered through five years of wanting him more than anything in the world, and it was that reason alone that you couldn’t abandon him even after he had done that to you. You watched with a broken heart as he kissed girls who weren’t you, fingers ghosting your own lips and remembering the feeling of his kiss before he left. Staying was the hardest decision you’d ever made, and Billy didn’t seem to understand it. 

“You should have told me. You should have gone up to me.”

“Don’t you think I thought about that? I tried, Billy. I tried to and it was a mistake to run into that night when you caught me. I was careless.” You swear his eye may have twitched at that admission. He had spent weeks thinking that life had finally given him a bone after so long by bringing you back into his life, undead or not. Yet, you had thought it was a mistake. 

“You should have tried harder. You were selfish to put us through this,” he hissed, hands balled up at his side as he tried not to raise his voice anymore.

“I was protecting myself. I was protecting myself from the fact that you spend every day trying to kill my kind, whether it's the kind I want to be or not. I was protecting myself from my feelings for you and failed. Because the second you held me in that alley, I was fucked. I didn’t want to remember your touch because it makes knowing what will happen eventually so much worse,” your voice was breaking, and Billy’s heart was already shattered with each new word you spoke, “Do you know how badly I wanted to see you after everything? I had been turned the same day you left, and a month later, my family kicked me out. All I wanted was you. All I wanted was my best friend. I didn’t even care that I loved you more than I’ll ever know what to do with. But the first thing I saw was how you’d moved on, laughing and playing poker while girls flirted with you.” 

“And I’d have rather been with you!” he shouted, desperate to get you to understand that you had seen it all wrong. He hadn’t moved on. He drank and distracted himself, but he never moved on. 

“Oh please, Billy, don’t lie to me! I wasn’t enough to stay for back then, and I’m even less now.” He flinched back as if you had hit him. Perhaps you had, in a way. He had wanted to stay with you, but he couldn’t find a way for it to work. From the moment he left that day, he knew it was the wrong choice, but the alternative would only drag you down with him. However, his attempts to save you had only made everything worse. He moved to grab his hat from the table before you could stop him.

“Are you kidding me? You’re still leaving?” you were exasperated, emotionally spent, and heartbroken all in one. Billy turned back to you from the door and looked just as hurt. 

“I need to think, and I- I know you don’t want me hunting, but if I don’t bring a body to the sheriff, I get thrown in jail. It’s not a perfect life, but it’s as close to a free one as I get right now without being on the run.” You didn’t get a chance to respond before he closed the door behind him. You stood frozen for what felt like years before your knees buckled, and you fell to the floor in silent sobs. He had left again; you couldn’t blame him this time. You didn’t follow him to town. You couldn’t move from your spot on the floor as each sob racked your body in a nearly painful way. The cabin grew deathly silent, and you sat there long after you had run out of tears. You only looked up from the floor when you heard a horse approaching, and a glimmer of hope swelled in your chest that Billy would forgive you. 

~

It was quiet when Billy came back. A part of him feared he would return to the cabin empty, you having run into the night after everything came crashing down around you both. You had always been close by, but he never knew. He was so alone all that time, and you were… you were alone too. The thought crossed his mind. Staying away couldn’t have felt great; he knows he wouldn’t have been able to do it. He would have caved within the first week- the first day- hell, the first hour. Regardless of whether he agreed with your decision, he could acknowledge it wasn’t one you made easily. 

He was taken out of his thoughts at the sight of hoof prints in the dirt below him, ones that he knew didn’t belong to him. No one ever rode out here; it was too deep in the woods. The only thing around for miles outside the town was the cabin.

The cabin. 

The cabin he’d left you in… without a horse. 

His heart clenched in his chest as he urged his horse to move faster, pleading to the same gods that damned you to have mercy on you this one time. He’d run. He’d rather be on the run for the rest of his life than lose you again. Suddenly, the quiet was far from comforting. It was suffocating and as lonely as he remembered it was months ago. He called out your name when he could see the cabin in the distance, but there was no response, his voice echoing back at him as his chest hurt in a way it hadn’t since his mother passed. Please let her be safe. Please let her have protected herself. Please don’t take her away from me again. 

He skirted his horse to a stop when he got close enough to take in the sight awaiting him on the porch. Your body limp across the steps and unmoving, any life, damned or not, draining out of you as he jumped down. No. No, no, no. Your eyes were open; he could tell that much as he knelt next to you, only a small breath of relief in his lungs when you blinked up at him with a quiet whimper.

“Billy…” your voice broke off as you choked on the pain radiating through your chest. 

“‘m here. ‘s okay, angel. C’mere, I’ve got you.” You cried out when he moved you from the steps to his lap, and his heart shattered for the second to last time as he noticed the dark purple dancing up your skin from under your shirt. Silver… let it be a mistake. Let me wake up and try again. I’ll do better next time, I promise. He felt helpless as you tried to cling to him weakly, trembling with each tear that stained your cheeks. He couldn’t stop himself from staring for a minute as he memorized your face one more time. Your eyes, your cheekbones, your eyelashes, your lips… He never wanted to forget a single detail. 

“What happened?” his voice broke the same as his heart, and even your trembling started to die with the rest of you.

“A- a hunter… He said- said he followed y-you.” There was nothing you could have said that would hurt him more, but he knew it wasn’t your intention. You were right. You had been right. Someone had followed him and killed you. He couldn’t yet decide if getting to hold you for your last moments was a blessing or a curse. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, tears falling against his will as you melted further into him, the pain finally leaving. You’d get to pass in peace. 

He remembered his mother’s death. The dead of the night took her as he held onto her. This was entirely different, but her voice still echoed in his mind. 

Water will cleanse your soul and provide you safe passage, my boy. We’ll all meet again in the next life. 

The river. You couldn’t cross before, but surely, as you got closer to the end, whatever gods could see you two now would forgive you. He may not have believed in them before, but he’d pray to whatever god would listen to give you more time in this life or the next.

“Angel, I’ve gotta pick you up, okay?” he spoke softly, hoping he wouldn’t cause you more pain after it finally subsided. He felt sick as you didn’t fight him on it. You weren’t gone; he could see the silver making its way further down your arms and up your neck, however. Every step felt daunting, one step closer to death. 

“I know, sweet girl. My angel baby. ‘m here. You’re gonna be safe,” his voice wavered more with each word, trying to soothe both of you as he felt you grow weaker in his arms, “I’ll make sure you get to see my ma. She’ll take care of you.” You could only let out small whimpers in response, wanting to tell him it was useless. You were never going to see a peaceful afterlife. The end would be nothing but an endless void. 

You heard the river as you two got closer. You knew what he wanted to do, and you were too weak to fight the hope he had deep in his bones. He couldn’t save you from this; he couldn’t save you five years ago. But as you slipped further from him, you wanted to hope too. You bristled at the feeling of water against your back as he kneeled in the river. It didn’t hurt, but it surely wasn’t comfortable. Yet, as he squeezed his arms around you tighter, like he could save you if he just held you close enough, all you felt was him. All you felt was the boy you’d loved for longer than you could remember. It was just your Billy one last time. 

“I’ll stay right here, angel. I’ll stay here with you as long as it takes to know that when I die, you’ll be waiting for me.” He brushed your hair from your face, hands wet from the water around you two as you hiccuped on the air you still tried to draw into your chest. 

“I- Billy-” you tried harder than ever to get words out as your body started to go. Your heart, beating or not, didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him. 

“You… you made me feel a-alive again.” He couldn’t hold his tears back any longer, however fruitless his previous attempts had been. Letting out a gut-wrenching sob as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“You made me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore,” he admitted brokenly. His heart shattered as your body started to still; you were leaving him. He couldn’t stop it, and every fiber of his being begged whoever could listen to take him too. Let me go with her. Let me keep her safe in this next part. Please. I’ll do anything. 

Then it all stopped. 

You were a dead weight in his arms. Your eyes glassed over. You weren’t breathing. 

No. No, no, no, no. Please. Anything. I’ll do anything for her. Just let me have her back. 

His heart screamed with each sob, holding you so close he was worried for a brief moment he was hurting you. Kissing your forehead, he rocked you gently, begging you to come back, to breathe again. He wouldn’t survive a life knowing he’d never see you again. Everything flashed in his tear-filled eyes. The girl who flirted with him shamelessly while he helped his mother work. The girl who sat out under the stars and taught him every constellation she could remember. The girl who held him when his brother died, who held him even tighter when his ma followed shortly behind. The girl he vowed to protect. The girl who kissed him like it would kill her not to. 

The girl he left in tears when he ran from the law—the greatest regret of his life. 

“I love you. I love you, angel. I love you,” he chanted, each syllable cracking him open more and more. It felt like years passed as he sat there in the water, not once loosening his grip, terrified that even your body would float away and never be seen again. He would bury you. He wouldn’t let them burn you. You deserved so much more than that. He’d dig you a grave under a big tree by the cabin. He’d spend every cent he could scrounge up for a headstone worthy of the girl it would sit atop. 

Then something moved. 

You moved. He couldn’t be sure if it was the river or you, but he wiped his tears quickly before smoothing out your hair. His hand rested against your neck as he spoke.

“Angel?” It was a shot in the dark, a plea for you actually to have survived. It was met with dead ears, however. You didn’t move again. You were just as still as before. Then he felt something against his hand. 

Thump, thump, thump. It was faint, but it was there. A feeling he hadn’t felt for five years. A feeling you hadn’t felt for five years—a heartbeat. He could only stare for a moment, pressing two fingers firmly against your pulse point and letting out a small gasp when there was something to feel. Your lungs filled your chest with a breath, and he swore that you took the air from his lungs straight to your own, his lungs constricting with anticipation.

“Open your eyes, baby. If you’re here, I need you to open your eyes.” He needed it to be real. Not something he was making up in his grief. Your fingers twitched in the water as he watched the gloss fade from your eyes before you blinked up at him. Neither of you moved momentarily, overwhelmed by the reality you both faced. Your body didn’t hurt; the pain in your chest from the bullet was gone, replaced by the steady thumping of your heart. He just stared, taking in every color in your eyes that had been stripped away only minutes ago. 

“Angel?”

“Billy?” you croaked, the best sound he’d ever heard. 

“Hi, baby,” he breathed. Thank you. Oh, thank you. He wasn’t sure if he was thanking a god or his ma, likely the latter. It was her voice in his head that told him to take you to the water. You moved as quickly as you could to sit up and hold him, burying your face in his neck as you felt your own heartbeat against his again. It was everything you had begged for as you died moments ago. Another chance. One more chance at a life with him. His arms wrapped tight around you, letting you move your legs to wrap around his waist as he smiled harder than he thought he may have ever before. You moved back to pull one of his hands to rest on your chest over your heart.

“I’m… Billy.” He nodded in response.

“I know. I feel it. I feel it, angel.” You couldn’t wait a moment longer before you cupped his face and pressed your lips to his, desperate to feel him. Desperate to feel like the human you were again. His hand wrapped back around your back as he pressed you flush to him. You moaned softly into his mouth, giving him the perfect excuse to dip his tongue past your lips. You felt it drag across your teeth, but this time, it didn’t catch on anything—no more fangs. 

“Those are gone, sweet girl. You won’t hurt me,” he mumbled against your lips, reassuring you as you melted into him, letting him move beneath you to get you two out of the river with a quiet, “Don’t want you to get sick by staying in the water.” You two didn’t make it past the river bed before he laid you down in the grass, pressing himself close atop you. He needed this all to be real. He needed you to be real, and when you tugged on his hair to keep kissing him, it was one more reminder that it all was.

“Billy,” you moaned softly as he moved down to your neck, kissing every inch of your skin like it would make you any more alive than you already were. He couldn’t stop; neither could you. You didn’t want him to either. It all felt right. Every slight roll of his hips down against you as he cherished you beneath him made you feel more than you had in years. Your hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, pulling with a desperate plea that he quickly listened to. One of his hands moved back to the neck of his shirt to pull it off after you undid the first button for him. 

Your hands shakily moved down to your own shirt, still wet from the river, before he sat up to help you. He pressed soft kisses along your bare shoulders before laying you back down, tucking his discarded shirt underneath you, and peppering kisses down your chest. You shivered at the feeling, heart pounding out of your chest in the most unfamiliar way as you placed your hands on his shoulders to slow him down.

“Billy, my heart- it- oh, it hurts,” you cry softly, no real pain behind your voice. His mouth moved down to your chest, kissing along your collarbone to reach your heart, pressing open-mouth kisses over the organ now working again under your skin.

“Poor thing hasn’t beat for me in a while, huh?” You smiled at the tenderness in his voice as he licked at your skin with each new kiss.

“It’s always beat for you. Even when it was just in my head,” you stated firmly. It was true. There was never a moment, beating or not, that your heart wasn’t his. Your hands carded through his hair before tugging his head back up to yours, wanting to kiss him still. You didn’t think you’d ever grow tired of kissing him, of his lips on yours. He was yours as much as you were his, and now he had been the one to bring you back to life. 

“Billy, I’ve never… I h-haven’t… I always thought it would be you, so when we s-separated, I didn’t…” you stuttered out when his hand brushed past the hem of your pants. His eyes widened as he realized the meaning of your words.

“You’re still…” You nodded in reply. 

“I am. There aren’t a lot of people who want to have sex with a vampire anyway. Not normal people, at least. Some people are weird about it in a-” He cut you off with a kiss, not wanting to hear the details of those who sought out vampires specifically for that reason. He had heard of them, and the thought of you with one made him sick. Suddenly, a pang of guilt hit his chest.

“I’ve had sex before,” his voice was quiet, almost ashamed.

“I know.” 

“I wish I had waited for you.” He meant that, and you can hear it, the regret dripping off each word.

“I’m glad you didn’t.” You really did mean that. As much as you hated watching him bring girls back to the boarding house, you knew it was an escape for him for some time. “Now you’ll know what to do with me.” You tried to reassure him, and you watched a slight smile tug at the corners of his lips. 

“I have learned a few things… should I show you, angel?” You nodded desperately, the heat pooling between your legs becoming nearly unbearable as he moved down your body, leaving sloppy kisses across your skin. You trembled as his hands gripped the hem of your pants, and he looked up at you in question, waiting for your okay. He never stopped kissing each inch of skin that he could. Kisses on your ankle as he pulled your pants off. Kisses down your shin as he adjusted himself in his pants. Kisses along your inner thigh as he looked up at you. 

“I love you,” he declared, voice low and just for you. You thought your heart couldn’t beat faster, but with each heavy breath, you were proven wrong. 

“I love you too,” you breathed out before he ducked his head lower, reaching a hand up to your stomach to offer you to hold.

“Tell me if it’s too much or uncomfortable, okay? I’ll stop immediately.”

“I will,” your voice was nearly a moan in itself at the feeling of his breath against you. You thought you knew pleasure before, but the second his mouth connected to your body, you knew only he was capable of giving you it. This was Billy. Your Billy. He’d be the only man ever to make you feel like this.

~

“I’ll miss the fangs,” Billy whispered as you tucked yourself closer to him, bare skin glistening with sweat the same as his. He draped his jacket over you, having grabbed it from the side of the river where he discarded it earlier, holding you close as his feet brushed the water. Your legs were exposed and soaking up each ray of sunshine through the trees, something you’d wished to feel again for so long.

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed softly as you smacked his chest playfully. 

“What? I can’t think you looked hot, angel?” he teased, looking down at you with an adoration that wasn’t foreign; it was comforting that you knew it, that you knew only Billy looked at you like that.

“Shut up, Billy Bonney… before I have to bite you,” your voice was nothing more than a seductive whisper, and had he not just spent an hour cherishing every inch of your body, he’d be flipping you back over to prove his love even more. He could wait until you two were back in the cabin, until he could make love to you in a bed. 

“Ooh, please do. It’ll feel really good now.” He laughed with his whole chest as you smacked him harder, looking up at him with a smile that he swore made the world stop turning even if just for a moment. You were his girl. No longer undead. Just his. He would protect you until you both were old and grey. He’d hold you in your shared bed as you both drifted off to sleep on your final night. He wouldn’t let you go this time. 

“It wasn’t a mistake, Billy. I may not have meant for it to happen, but I don’t regret you seeing me that night,” you spoke softly as you rested your chin on his chest. A small smile tugged up on his cheeks as he smoothed your hair out and took in the sight of you.

“I know, angel. You thought you were protecting me. I thought I was protecting you by leaving all those years ago. We were both wrong. That’s okay.” You wanted to hate how understanding he was after your harsh words that morning, but it just made you melt into him more. You were safe. Your heart was beating. You didn’t have to hide anymore. 

“I’m done hunting,” he proclaimed, “We can run. We’ll go to Mexico or- or past that if we have to. I’m running again, but I’m not letting you go this time. I’m not leaving you behind. I don’t know where we’ll end up, but if I have you, that’s more than enough.” You moved to press a kiss to his skin as you moved one of your hands up to brush his hair from his eyes. 

“Take me someplace warm. I missed the feeling of the sun on my skin.”

“I’ll find you somewhere you can lay out in the sun all day, angel.” This was it. This was your ending. This was how life was supposed to be. The last five years were a cruel nightmare in your past but your future was so bright. You had a home, unmoving and steady, in Billy’s arms. The same arms that held you and begged the world to give you back. It had worked. By some miracle –or his ma beyond the grave as you knew he’d like to believe– you two knew your story wasn’t over. Your heart started beating again, which the two of you would never take for granted. 

[girlactionfigure]

Today, 77 Years Ago in the Hebrew Calendar: The Birth of a Nation Surrounded by Fire

On May 14, 1948, as the sun dipped over Tel Aviv, David Ben-Gurion stood before a small crowd in a modest hall and declared the rebirth of the Jewish state. After 2,000 years of exile, persecution, genocide, and broken promises, the dream of generations was finally spoken into existence. “We hereby declare the establishment of a Jewish state in Eretz-Israel, to be known as the State of Israel.”

That night, Jews across the land wept, danced, prayed, and kissed the ground. The moment had come. But as fireworks lit the sky, so did the fires of war. By the next morning, May 15, five Arab armies invaded from all sides. Egypt, Syria, Jordan, Iraq, and Lebanon launched a coordinated assault with one goal: to destroy Israel before it could take its first breath.

The new state had no formal army, only a patchwork of militias. Many of its fighters were Holocaust survivors who had stepped off refugee boats still wearing the numbers of Auschwitz on their arms. Israel had almost no tanks, no real air force, and ammunition so scarce that commanders warned their soldiers, “One bullet, one kill.”

But the one thing they had was the one thing the Arab world never understood: the will to live. The will to reclaim a home stolen over centuries. The will to never again rely on anyone else for protection.

Teenagers picked up rifles. Women packed bullets in dark cellars. Farmers left their fields and became fighters. In Jerusalem, Jewish defenders held out under siege while enemy shells struck synagogues, schools, and hospitals. In the Negev, men welded iron plates onto trucks and called them tanks. In every corner of the land, they fought with everything they had, and everything they didn’t.

And yet, Israel did more than survive. It won.

By 1949, armistice lines were drawn. The Jewish state secured more land than it had been offered by the United Nations. Its population swelled with Holocaust survivors and refugees from Arab lands. The flag of Israel flew over its capital. The ancient dream had returned to life.

Today, 77 years later, Israel is no longer a miracle in the making. It is a miracle fulfilled. From a handful of fighters to one of the most powerful armies in the world. From a land of tents and ration cards to a global center of innovation, faith, and freedom. The children of the exiles are now doctors, soldiers, farmers, engineers, and leaders.

This day is not just a celebration of survival. It is a celebration of resurrection. Of light out of darkness. Of life out of ashes.

Happy Independence Day

Am Yisrael Chai!

Open Source Intel

[burtreynolds-esquire]

Ashes

Chapter One - Change

Lottie Matthews x gn!reader

—————————

'You will never do anything in this world without courage. It is the greatest quality of the mind next to honour.' - Aristotle.

You moved to Wiskayok, NJ during the Summer of ‘95. Before the faithful day of the Yellowjackets plane crash, you have to navigate a normal high school life of friendships, crushes, unnecessary drama, actual serious drama, a shitty home life, and cheering at the sidelines for the girl’s soccer team.

Covers pre-crash, wilderness, and adult timeline.

Mature rating for later chapters for obvious Yellowjackets reasons. Cannibalism, violence, injuries, lots of swearing, possible sexual content (we’ll see).

AN: I originally wrote this with my OC in mind and changed the pronouns and everything for a reader version for tumblr. I noticed tumblr folk prefer reader inserts over OC’s so I did my best to accommodate that. There may be slip ups of female pronouns but I did my best to change every single one. I’ve kept it as vague as I can for the reader but certain things I can’t change, such as Lottie’s height being taller than the reader, the reader’s backstory and hobbies (which are still fairly vague in comparison to my OC) and during intimate scenes later on (if I write them) reader may be AFAB, it depends how well I am at writing sexual content without using gender specific words. I’ll do my best though!

~ Well begun is half done ~

1995

The warm rays of the late-afternoon sun cast a pleasant glow over the trailer park as it made its descent in the cloudless sky. A potent smell of marijuana lingered in the air as two teenagers sat on the back door steps of one trailer in particular, sharing a joint.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come tonight?” Natalie Scatorccio asked her companion before taking a drag of the joint in her hand.

Natalie had met you, the seventeen year old who was currently sitting to her right, just a few weeks ago when you and your mother had moved to New Jersey from out of state. The two of you had grown somewhat close rather quickly, bonding over your paternal trauma and habit for smoking weed.

“Absolutely not,” you replied, your accent a stark difference to that of your New Jersey friend. “I don’t know anyone there and I’ll just be stuck on my own all night while you have Kevyn following you around like a little duckling.” You took the joint off Natalie as soon as it was offered to you again.

“Come on, it’ll be a good way to meet some people before school starts,” Nat tried to persuade you. “Besides, it’s the last weekend of Summer vacation and the party’s at the resident rich girl’s house… a house that has a pool. Which means it’ll be your final chance to attend a pool party before school starts.”

“Then I definitely don’t wanna go,” you replied as you gave what was left of the joint back to Nat. “The bigger the house, the more people will be there. No thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Nat shrugged as she stood up to leave. “You still cool with picking me up tonight, though?”

“Of course, someone’s gotta make sure you get home safe. Tell Kevyn I’ll take him home too, I don’t mind.”

“Will do, thanks,” Nat replied before making her way to her own trailer.

“No worries,” you half-heartedly waved her off. You continued to sit for a few moments, listening to the sound of gravel disturbed by your friend’s boots as you heard her walk away. You leaned your head back against the rear door of your trailer home, soaking in the sun’s rays on your face with a contemplative sigh before finally standing up.

With the rest of the afternoon now free, you made the decision to wander the area a little more with your camera. You entered the trailer through the back door to grab the item in question from your bedroom, catching sight of your mother on the way in. She was sat on the couch in front of the television as she usually was on her days off, chain smoking her way through another packet of cigarettes.

Once you had what you needed, you walked passed your mom on your way out of the front door, which you noticed was slowly turning a shade of yellow from the constant cigarette use within the home.

“Hey ma, I’m going out for a bit. You need anything?”

“Hm?” Your mother looked up at you hazily, having not noticed your presence until you spoke. “Oh yeah, get me another couple packs of smokes, will you?”

“Sure thing,” you replied as you took some cash from your mother’s purse to fund the cigarettes. “I’ll see you later.”

Your mom didn’t reply, her focus being back on the TV once more. Rolling your eyes at your mother’s disassociation, you left your home.

As much as you hated that you had literally become trailer trash since moving to New Jersey, you were thankful to be away from your father at least. You often wondered about what he was up to now that you and your mother had left him behind.

‘I hope he’s drank himself to death by now,’ you thought bitterly as you made your way to a nearby park. ‘The world and everyone in it would be better off without him.’

~

Natalie woke up on Monday morning hungover as hell, feeling overly sensitive to the bright rays of sunlight filtering into her room through the gaps in the pitifully old curtains. Despite the party being on Saturday night, she’d spent the entirety of Sunday still drinking with a couple of her friends. And today she was feeling it.

And so, despite the pounding in her head and constant nausea in her stomach, she swallowed some pain killers, took a quick shower, and got ready for the day before hearing the telltale beep of a car horn outside.

Nat grabbed her leather jacket and opened the front door, seeing you waiting in the driver’s seat of your blue 1989 Toyota Corolla, 80’s rock music now playing from the tape deck.

“Get in, loser! We’re gonna be late,” your voice carried through the open windows. Nat rolled her eyes as she made her way to the car, noticing that you had placed your camera in the back seat.

“You bringing that to school?” She enquired once she sat in the passenger seat, nodding to the item sitting behind the you both.

“Yeah I was thinking of joining the yearbook or something, I dunno,” you explained, making your way out of the trailer park and onto the main road, heading in the direction of the school.

“Seriously?” Nat asked, her eyebrow raised. “Have you seen the kids that do yearbook? Nerds pick on them.”

You playfully scoffed at your friend’s teasing behaviour. You knew Nat well enough by now to know she wasn’t seriously insulting you.

“Be that as it may, I need an extracurricular and I’d rather it be something to do with photography. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“You could always try out for the soccer team.”

“Wooaahhh, I’m gonna stop you right there. Absolutely not. I’m nowhere near athletic enough for sports and you know it,” you laughed as you spoke.

Nat shrugged before answering.

“Fair enough, you could always try for the school newspaper as well. Either way, you’ll have to come to some of my games. The student photographers and reporters always make it to the most important ones,” she explained.

“Oh please, I’d be at all you important games anyway,” you smiled with sincerity. “I have yet to see these so-called legendary Yellowjackets in action.”

“Hey, we are legendary! I reckon we could go to Nationals this year if we don’t fuck it up.”

~

French class first thing on a Monday morning had to be a crime. Despite your maternal grandmother being born and raised in France, you had never taken to that particular language very well.

You looked around the classroom trying to find your seat, praying you didn’t seem as hopelessly lost as you felt. This classroom was laid out with tables built for two people instead of a single person, presumably so students could perform speaking exercises with a partner.

You finally found your assigned seat and sat down, the other one at the table already occupied. The student next to you was a girl with bright eyes, a warm and welcoming smile, and dark blonde hair. Or was it light brunette? You couldn’t quite tell to be honest.

“Hi there, you’re new,” the girl stated before introducing herself, her voice sounding just as sweet as her smile. “I’m Jackie Taylor.”

“Oh, uh hi…” you replied, a little taken aback at just how one person could be filled with so much pep this early in the morning. “I’m (Y/N)… uh, (L/N).”

You didn’t mean to sound so awkward, really you didn’t. But Jackie’s attitude just took you by surprise and if you were being honest with yourself, you were still half asleep.

“Oh wow, a different accent! You’re from out of state?!” Jackie asked in awe. “People are gonna love you around here. Most of us have never left New Jersey. I have, of course, but still!”

“Uh, really? I can’t be that rare.” You honestly didn’t know how to respond.

“In small town New Jersey you are,” Jackie explained as she watched you take out your things, almost fascinated by your existence.

“So, (N/N)… can I call you (N/N)? you any good at French?”

~

“Anything good happen on your first day of school, then?” Natalie was once again sitting in the passenger seat of your car, her right hand hanging out of the window holding onto a lit cigarette.

“I actually made a friend,” you replied in the driver’s seat as you pulled out of the school parking lot.

“No shit!”

“You have the audacity to sound surprised. I can make friends, you know,” you squinted your eyes in a mocking manner. “Her name’s Jackie.”

“Ugh,” was the only reply you got from Nat. Evidently your first friend did not approve of your newest friend.

“What’s wrong with Jackie?”

“Seriously, Little Miss Preppy Over-Achiever? How’d you end up friends with her?”

“She sits next to me in French class and insisted on showing me around during lunch,” you replied simply.

“Oh, well that explains it. She’s gonna be relying on you all year, Jackie sucks at French,” Nat explained as she flicked her cigarette away out the window.

“Well, I suck at French too,” you shrugged. “By the way, when’s your first practice? I kinda need to meet your coach.”

“Wednesday straight after school, what d’you need coach for?”

“Because not only are you looking at a brand new newspaper photographer, I’ve also been tasked with taking portraits for the sports teams,” you smiled as you explained. “I’ll be sticking around you guys a lot this year by the sounds of it.”

“No fuckin’ way, that’s actually pretty cool,” Nat responded with genuine enthusiasm.

“Oh? What happened to me being worse than a nerd?”

“Shut up. I was messin’ with you, (L/N), and you know it.”

You just gave a chuckle in response as you drove

home.

~

Wednesday morning rolled around all too quickly for your liking and you had woken up barely on time, so you got ready for the day ahead with what little time you had. By the time you were showered and dressed, you noticed your mother had already left for work.

Since moving here, the two of you didn't spent much time together anymore. Hell, your mom barely spoke to you now but you couldn’t help but not hold it against her. You’d both been through a lot in terms of what your father had done and you figured your mom would be ready to talk about things, or anything really, in her own time.

You found yourself sitting in your car once again waiting on Natalie. This would soon become your usual morning routine, you figured. And, yet again, the two of you drove to school whilst sharing playful banter and a morning cigarette.

At lunch time, you spent your time in the room assigned to the school newspaper. Wiskayok High seemed to love its sports teams so much, even the newspaper had affectionately been named The Buzz Bulletin after the school’s mascot, the Yellowjacket wasp.

You didn’t really have anything to do other than introduce yourself and meet the people you’d be working with until graduation. Most importantly, you would be getting to know a girl named Jennifer Miller, a journalist who would be covering all the sporting events, both soccer and baseball, alongside yourself.

She seemed nice enough and you both got on just fine, but you didn’t immediately click with her like she had done with Nat and even Jackie. You felt like you’d be coworkers at best.

Your last class of the day was English, which you coincidentally took with Nat. The bleached blonde girl sat in the seat directly behind you so you were in prime position to be pestered the entire time. Whilst Natalie was a good enough student that she’d do her assigned work, she also took every opportunity to torture her poor friend.

“Natalie Scatorccio, I swear to God…” you mumbled quietly enough so only Nat could hear after another small paper ball had been tossed at the back of your head.

“God, I’m so fucking bored,” Nat commented with a sigh. “I can’t wait to get out of hear and blow of some steam at practice.”

~

“Okay girls, listen up,” Coach Martinez called out to his team, all of whom were scattered around the soccer field in their blue soccer uniforms, which they’d worn specially for picture day.

Everyone instantly stopped what they were doing and made their way to their coach as he stood near the edge of the field with you, where you were feeling nervous at suddenly being the centre of attention.

“This here is (Y/N), they’re our new sports photographer for the school paper,” he explained as he placed his hand upon your shoulder in a gesture of introduction. “They’re in charge of taking your portraits for the year so I’ll leave them with you. They’re all yours, (Y/N).”

A few girls nodded at you in acknowledgement and Jackie even shouted from among the crowd,

“Hey (N/N)!”

You found Jackie and waved a little awkwardly at her. With both Jackie and Nat just across from you smiling encouragingly, you started to feel a little more comfortable amongst the strangers that you could soon hope to call friends.

“Uh yeah, what Coach said,” you started, cringing internally at your clumsy first impression. You took a moment to take a breath and calmed yourself before speaking up again.

“I’m gonna need some group portraits from you all first before I move on to doing your solo ones,” you spoke a little more loudly, willing the confidence to be there. “I’m thinking in front of the Western goal post, there’s less cloud coverage which makes for better lighting. Also the sun won’t be in your eyes so less squinting.”

You got a few chuckles for that as the girls started to casually make their way over to the specified area. Coach Martinez and the other younger coach were already manoeuvring a long bench in front of the net for half the team to sit down on.

“Okay, I’d like the goalie to be front and centre on the bench please,” you called out once you had quickly checked that the area and lighting were perfect. A red headed girl holding a soccer ball made her way to the bench, introducing herself as she walked by you.

“Name’s Van,” she said as she nodded her head briefly in your direction.

“Hi Van,” you replied, repeating the name in an effort to remember it. Van obediently sat down on the bench and placed the soccer ball between her feet as you instructed the rest of the team.

“Okay so I’d like the captain to be right behind Van, so Jackie if you please… then you with the big doe eyes, you can stand next to Jackie… Nat I’d like you to go next…”

This went on until only the tallest of the girls were left, and they were to join Van on the bench. You looked around the remaining crowd to figure out who you’d like to place where.

“Hey,” you gestured to one of the girls, “tall, dark, and beautiful… you can sit on Van’s right side.” The girl in question seemed to hesitate for a split second and very nearly tripped over her own feet as she made her way over to the bench, thanking whatever Gods were out there that you hadn’t seen the hint of a blush spread across her cheeks. Unfortunately for her, Van had seen everything and watched with a smirk as her teammate sat next to her.

“Aaaand tall, dark, and gorgeous,” you gestured towards another player, “you can go on Van’s left side.”

After another few minutes, every single one of the Yellowjackets were in place and ready to be photographed. You were about to get started until someone else caught her attention. An excited looking blonde girl with a hopeful look in her eye was watching from the edge of the field. Her blue and yellow jacket stated that she was the equipment manager.

“Hey, Curly, you getting in on this or what?” You shouted towards her. The girl wore an expression of pure shock before changing it to enthusiasm.

“M-me? Really?!”

“Yeah, get over here,” you called casually, not realising how much being included meant to the girl. The young equipment manager ran over and stood on the end, a wide and toothy grin adorning her face.

“Okay guys, let’s do this.”

~

Once you had taken an adequate amount of group shots, you let everyone go about their warm ups while you did the solo photos of each player. With the promise that they didn’t get too sweaty, of course. These would be their portraits for the year so they had to look good.

You did each one in numerical order, starting with number one: Van

It didn’t take long to get through each girl and when you got to number five, you smiled warmly as the girl approached somewhat nervously.

“Oh hey, if it isn’t tall, dark, and beautiful,” you greeted her as you got your camera ready to take yet another portrait for the team portfolio. “I’m sorry, I got way ahead of myself back there and never actually asked you your name.”

You, once again, were completely oblivious to the deep blush on the girl’s face.

When number five finally reached you, you realised just how tall she actually was in comparison to yourself. The height difference was very apparent.

“Lottie,” the girl introduced herself softly, her voice sounding careful and deliberate as she made eye contact with you for the first time.

“Lottie…” you repeated. “It’s nice to meet you.”

———————

[thesharktanksdriver]

Okay, hear me out, if Determination!reader goes back to wano, how does king react? Because I kinda get the feeling he is probably one of the most worried about them, and also how would he reach to Reader's being part of the strawhats? Love ya!

(Sorry for not posting a lot lately I’ve been really busy with school. Next week I have two essays due one day after the other with one being 50% if my grade and two days later after the last essay a test worth like 20%. As apology and because I love king I went full analysis mode)

Worried is the understatement of the century, king is in a perpetual state of panic and paranoia from the worry. It’s the type of worry and fear that leaves you on hyper surveillance and makes you sick to your stomach kinda worried. The shot that starts actually affecting your mental and physical health (I know from Experience lol, was not a fun couple of months and I think it gave me trust issues irl oof)

None of the beast pirates are particularly happy about y/n joining a different pirate crew, let alone the strawhats. For a while the Beast pirates have no idea what, who or where y/n went so they were all left in perpetual worrying. Because there’s a possibility they ended up with the marines, vegapunk, or gods forbid in the hands of the world government or Mary geoise (again). But eventually they hear rumours through the grapevine that y/n joined a pirates crew, none of them are sure who but it’s a rumour that only mildly mitigates the stress on most their shoulders except for king.

While kaido stews in a mixture of depression and alcohol, king remains long hours in the night trying to talk with all the contacts that Kaido has into getting more information. What’s the Jolly Roger? What sea could this crew be in? Do they have bounty posters? And most importantly are they competent and a threat?. The number one thing he’s worried about is the world government and by extension marines getting their hands on y/n, so he firstly needs to know if this crew for the time being is competent in protecting them whilst he’s trying to track them down and secondly if they’ll be a hassle in tacking down when the time arrives for retrieval.

He’s coldly calculated in his efforts mostly because fear consumes him down to his very being. It reminds of him being Alber again, not being in control and at the mercy of others and fate.

He so desperately wants to take control of the situation and find y/n because he cares. He cares too much about them and the risk it is with them having their freedom. He will tear their wings and lock them in a birdcage if it means they’ll be safe, and whilst it’s hypocritical he doesn’t really care anymore when he’s been subjected to the hands of the worst of mankind.

You won’t be poked and prodded at like he was, you’ll be safe. Won’t be strapped to a lab table but instead held with care as ash coloured feathers hide you from the world, never mind the smell of burning flesh of those who threaten you.

For a long while his efforts are fruitless (Luffy’s chaotic nature realllly makes it hard for people to track, even highly paid bounty hunters lol) but king starts to get word after one of the Whitebeard commanders is captured by the marines. He wouldn’t take note of it if not for the fact that immediately in response for this reports of something happening on sabaody with doflamingo’s auction house and quote “3 members of the first generation fighting over a child”. What’s more worrying though is the fact that an admiral and pacifista was sent in response.

For a few days tops there’s radio silence and he thinks maybe it’s just a coincidence even if it sounds wayyyy to much like y/n. And then news comes out that some lunatic broke into impel down with a kid and both then proceeded to break out with the help of the now ex-warlords sun of the sea Jimbei and mother fucking crocodile.

At that point king had the unfortunate realization that yep, that’s you and you joined the strawhats of all fucking crews. The crew that quite recklessly went to crocodiles home turf, defeated him and his whole baroque works system, defeated gecko Moria and his island ship, declared war on the world government for Nico Robin and now was headed head on into Marineford to save one of whitebeards commanders. God hates him-

By this point he knows there’s no getting there in time to stop you nor that lunatic you apparently called a captain from getting to Marineford but that doesn’t mean he nor the others would waste this opportunity. But as kaido rallies the other beast pirates king is left to stew in his own thoughts of fear, anger and a bit of envy.

Fear because of how your quite literally sailing straight out of the fire and into the inferno, fear that they make take you and they, no, he wouldn’t be able to save you from the fate of the world government getting their hands on you. Anger at the fact that your apparent captain, Strawhat Luffy, had dragged you through various dangerous situations carelessly. All those stupid decisions could’ve easily ended up with you dead or worse once more and yet this smiling idiot did it anyways knowing you’d follow along, knowing you’d follow him to the ends of the earth because he was your captain. Quite honestly it pisses him off astronomically how careless this kid is, and it makes him deeply envious that you trust him of all people to be your captain. Something that Kaido deserves

Because Kaido unlike this bumbling teen could protect you.

Kaido would raize islands and king would burn cities to ash to prove that

Did you not know that?

Did you not know how much you mean to either of them? To the rest of the upper ranks?

What could this captain do to deserve your kindness in the wake of this cruel desolate world? More than him and Kaido?

It makes him more jealous than he would like to admit, alongside more volatile and easy to anger as the question festers. He wonders if he did anything wrong, if it was all his fault. That maybe if he did something else, if he was faster and didn’t flinch at the moment the hairpin stabbed past the leather and into his flesh that maybe you’d still be here and not with that captain.

What ends up worrying him more though is what happens at Marineford and after. The fact you reveal yourself to the world and so many other questions that can’t be answered on the fact that you escape and disappear for 2 whole years. They couldn’t even make it in time because big mom intercepted them on the way and both crews ended up locked into a battle of sabotaging the other.

But that now leads to wano (sorry for the big build up I like reveling into character analysis lol and I love king)

Within wano due to king, Kaido and Maria’s insistence there are a lotttt of wanted posters for y/n. Considered y/n can’t have photos taken of them due to their devil fruit (they look like a person made of light rather than a person) hand drawn posters are made and distributed. So it’s safe to say y/n is screwed when they show up and the rest of the strawhats are shaking their heads when in their respective new identities they also find these bounty poosters nailed to every board and post in wano lol

( somewhere in wano nami states at the poster of your smiling face painted on the sheet. She can’t help but grumble under her breath and scrunch the picture into a ball that she then kicked away. This batshit plan was already bonkers enough, but of course you had to understate the fact you somehow tamed the god damn beast pirates)

Yeahhhhh so king through Orochi had the posters put up and no matter how small of a tip (typically it was a rumour or some random kid that had maybe the slightest resemblance to you) he showed up regardless of how small of a chance it was.

And eventually it pays out when he found you, someone called in a tip and there you were. Clad in a brown kimono, sticks stuck in your hair and dirt covered hands digging through the trash seemingly looking for food.

Tanuki, you looked like one of those raccoon creatures the people of wano talked about.

Joyful little tricksters and that’s a pretty good description of you right now as he grabbed you by the back of the kimono and lifted you up. Not letting you finish your sentence of trying to talk your way out of this.

He can’t help but frown beneath his mask of the various scratches and bruises littering your arms and face. Not to mention he can already see that the material of the kimono is poor, probably scratchy and irritating. Your scrawny and considering the fact you were elbow deep in the trash behind a small restaurant tells him of why.

He’d fix this though.

Though the tanuki look was fitting he can’t help but think something else is a better look. Maria would fuss over him taking role of caretaker over her but first come first serve. Kaido likely wouldn’t be swayed even with her “affections” towards him because he’d be more than happy with king bringing you back.

There was another myth in wano that he thinks would fit better.

A black winged being of the wind, the tengu.

Yes, perhaps that would also warn others that you were under his protection.

For the first time in years all feels fine at least in the moment, because for as much as you argue with him he can’t help but see that even with the annoyance and slightest bit of fear that internally rips him apart…he also sees that some part of you was happy to see him.

Even with the shit situation and context, within that moment there was still a small silver lining to you seeing that he was ok

He was still alive

Your friend was still alive

“Wait king why is your flame all weird?”

“We’ll talk about that later. For now just…just let me hold you”

There’s a small moment of silence as his star shaped flame created crackles in the alley

“They missed you, I missed you”

“They?”

“The crows”

“Ah”

“….theres still time for you to let me go. To pretend-“

“I won’t do that”

“…I know. Doesn’t hurt to try though, kaido’s orders and all huh?”

His wings extend around from his back to cover you

“You think I’m doing this just because of Kaido? If you truly believe that then I’d suggest you rethink. I’m not letting you go just because of an order, I’m not letting you go because I’m not letting you go back to those who don’t deserve you. Who don’t protect you as they should”

“King…there’s a difference between protection and possession” it leaves you shakily, his wings trapping your further as your fingers dig into the leather of his jacket

“I know. But when you have nothing but pain and suffering but then find something irreplaceable you don’t let go. If a star fell into your hands healing your pain, making you feel less like a husk wouldn’t you not let go?”

“But I’m not a star, I’m a person”

“You’re a lot more than that and you know it…Kaido will be happy. A feast will be thrown and I will be at your side the entire time, your bodyguard”

“My jailer”

“I’m not sorry for that, not when you chose to constantly and deliberately put yourself in harms way. The only thing I’m sorry for is the fact that I may not be able to save you from the sight of Kaido killing your crew”

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ pt.3 ]

Authors Note: Well, shit. Glad to see this garnered some attention and that you guys liked it 🫡 as per usual please keep an eye on the content warnings and take care of yourselves.

Some more useless history facts nobody wanted:

• Remedies for illnesses in the fifties were a mixture of at-home and rising industry cure-alls. Many people used sponge baths for fevers and hot water bottles for aches while taking their Asprin. It was an awkward middle ground of well-known techniques and modern medicine.

• Nail care was also becoming more popular in the fifties, as with everything in society now that a war was not a concern. In 1954 a dentist was the creator of the first fake / artificial nail since he was tired of his own nails breaking lmao. Most women took care of their own nails and painted them with practice, for the most part. Women also started reshaping their nails in the process of the upkeep!

• The fairs we know today and see as a sort of larger aspect of a season were a lot more deeply involved in the local communities back in the day. Fairs were used to bring many — or just one — communities together and often made a show of selling local goods by those who lived within the county it was held in. It had a large focus on the region’s agricultural culture as well and it wasn’t uncommon to see livestock at these events. This is how some fairs ended up being hosts to many beloved country events that go on today, like rodeos. The classic carnival rides we love were still used even then — but mostly had limited options that included Ferris wheels, bumper cars, the whip, and some games that may or may not still be found in today’s fairs!

• Cotton Candy was invented in 1897 by a dentist and a candy maker. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

• Funnel cake was brought over to the States by the Dutch as drechderkuche around 1879 and they themselves had gotten it after the dish spread in popularity across Europe after initially being dated back all the way to the medival worlds of the Persians known as zalabiyeh. Only in 1947 did it make a grand entrance to the carnival and fair life as a snack of wonder!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio’s really done it now. She’s created a monster of herself and broken her most important rule and revealed her lies to you in doing so: her inability to create life. Allegedly. Death becomes your dueling partner as all you can do is grapple for some semblance of control between her moments of appearance as she works double time to keep you — and now whatever she thinks grows inside of you — alive.

Content Warnings: Dark, so expect the usual — internalized homophobia and gender norm expectations in flashbacks, panic attacks, self-harm [ not graphic but it’s there ], angst, forced impregnation, misuse of magic [ Rio, always Rio ], manipulation, obsessive behavior, threats of violence [ R —> Rio ], Stockholm Syndrome taking effect, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES

Word Count: ~5.2k

2024

You awoke with the curtains pulled open and the sun glaring across your face which really only added to the pounding in the front of your skull that welcomed you back to the world of the living.

Gods — it wasn’t just your head that pounded. Your entire body felt like a dump truck came through the house and just meandered over your unconscious body and left behind whatever was left of you.

The pain alone was almost enough to convince you to go back to sleep, to try and escape it longer and what you knew it would mean by getting up.

Because you remembered last night — down to what Rio had whispered to you with deadly promise and such conviction that it still was too much for you to think about right now.

You should have known better trying to kill Rio. You were smarter than that, most days. You knew to some extent how powerful she was and that you had no true capability to so much as give her a paper cut if she didn’t allow it.

You drew your arm from under you and rested your forehead against it, still facedown against the pillows and refusing to move from your position. That would be . . . It would be admitting a lot of things to yourself, never mind Rio.

The wetness on your skin is how you found out you were crying. Quiet tears, falling directly onto your arm before your brain could catch up with the severity of your emotions.

You dug your teeth into the skin of your arm to silence any noise that would dare try to leave your chest. These tears would have to come and go without trace, and this would be your only acknowledgment that they were ever there at all.

Your body shook only slightly as you willed your crying to end and just let the anguish and loneliness be your friends for this single moment before you had to return to this endless game of brutality with Rio.

When you could cry no more and you were sure you could breath without shuddering, you pulled your teeth from your arm and assessed the damage.

You had dug in deep enough to bruise — it was already turning red and had left deep tracks, unforgiving in the proof of your inability to hold your emotions in.

You wipes the wetness from your arm and did not wince when a throb from touching the mark was returned. It was a small price to pay, and it would be a good grounding-point to slip out of bed.

At least your emotions were back to normal. . . They were regulating now.

That’s what you told yourself as you sat at the edge of the bed and stared at the plants on the shelves across from you on the wall.

The ache between your legs that matches the one deep in your chest beyond flesh and bone were ones that you knew well — from your previous marriage and then with Rio. Both with positive and negative connotations attached — at first.

Now you weren’t sure there was anything left to recover from those feelings. Not when you could reach up to your neck and practically touch the hum of magic that kept you tethered to her.

You flexed your fingers and dug them into the mattress as you tried to even your breaths again. The tears were long gone, but the breathing —

She took, took, and took and never once thought that she was taking. She only cared what it did for her and how it made her happy, to appease her immortality? The despair it brought with her to be alone so long?

You hated that it was you.

You used to love that it was you.

But the thing with Rio is that her affections are animalistic and not grounded in how it will hurt everyone else. You realized that when she collared you the first time and you had to escape under the cover of night and get the magic removed quietly and quickly.

She is selfless in her selfishness and that is her most dangerous attribute. A patient hunter who knows the game after a long time playing it.

“Mow.”

Billy was sitting in front of you, just inches away with intense eyes and his fluffy tail curled at his paws. He seemed almost curious.

You unclenched your fingers from the sheets and reached out, offering a hand passively.

He blinked at you, owlish, then stood and rubbed his head against the stretched hand and down your arm. Loud purrs soon filled the quiet surroundings and his tail vibrated as he chirped at you.

“Are you hungry?” you asked him, watching his flank ripple as your fingers ran through it. Your mind was quickly able to release despairing thoughts and the pit that sought to drag you deep.

A loud mrow was your response and you took that as an initiative to stand and find something comfortable to wear and pointedly ignore the pain left behind by Rio and ignore the fact that it was as though she was never there at all.

1954

You hid upstairs long after Rio had returned from her job. You folded laundry and ironed some, then refolded others again. When that was done and you couldn’t really make an excuse to just constantly fold laundry repeatedly, you locked yourself in the bathroom you had been using and decided to “organize”.

You had heard her inquiring calls from downstairs and had chosen to ignore them in hopes she would . . . Well, you weren’t entirely sure. Your mother’s news had been unsettling and left a sour taste in your mouth.

Why did you have so many lipsticks, now? You had five in your palm and three on the ground where you sat on your knees. They were in varying shades of reds and pinks and relatively new — all from Rio. She sometimes liked to bring you gifts from the store.

Did you really care how many you had? Did it matter?

Your mother said Rio was never married — no records of it were recorded in the archives, no official obituary to be found under the name Vidal. You supposed she could have returned to using her maiden name . . . But —

“Angel?” A rap to the door shook you out of your thoughts and the lipsticks clattered to the floor.

“Shoot,” you murmured and began to scoop all of them up hastily, “h-hang on, Rio. I’ll be just a moment.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart, really. I was just concerned when you didn’t come to see me when I got home.”

You stacked everything back into place and lifted the container before setting it back into the medicine cabinet-mirror duo and shutting it. Your reflection startled you.

You had regained some flush to your cheeks and a light to your eyes after the death of your husband — even you could see it without it being pointed out. Nobody did, though. It would’ve meant implying something — something that was never meant to be discussed in the open.

But even as you stared at yourself you could hardly believe the difference that you found in your reflection.

“. . . Sweetheart?” Rio prodded from behind the door, tone gentle but more firm.

“I’m sorry, Rio.” You pushed off the sink and unlocked the door, swinging it open and smiling at her. “I haven’t been myself today. I think I’m just a little under the weather.”

She softens and steps closer to you, eyes roaming over you. The inspection felt intimate and you shelved the way it made you feel and reminded yourself that those feelings aren’t natural . . . And you were just a mess in general.

She seemed to be satisfied with whatever she found and leaned against the doorway. “You should’ve called me. Maybe I could’ve brought something home — heated lemonade is all the rage for colds right now.” She rubbed her hands together.

You smiled meekly. “That’s sweet, thank you, but it really only started when — oh, perhaps after I left lunch with Mother.”

She tilted her head, a black strand of hair floating from her updo. “Oh I remember you telling me you were meeting up with her. I’m glad you did — it was a beautiful day.”

You looked away from her and fiddled with your fingernails. Once nervously bitten and torn, now kept well-managed under Rio’s careful eye and money as she ordered you to a woman in town who knew how to do them from her home. You brought your own polish, but she did well with keeping them intact for you.

“It was a good lunch,” you answered carefully. “She — my mother has my best interests at heart.”

“Of course she does,” Rio agreed easily, pushing off the doorway and considering you with that gentle look of hers. “Did something . . . Did you two talk about something difficult?”

You didn’t immediately answer because you weren’t sure you wanted to go down this road with the other woman, in truth. She had been so helpful and the shame that filled you for feeling so useless and meek coiled tight inside of you.

But somehow you found yourself telling her anyway, without considering how you wanted to word it, “We talked about . . . My husband. Settling his affairs, mostly. Making sure I won’t see trouble down the road.”

Rio relaxed slightly as she eyed you. “That’s good, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have been so distressed during that period if I’d had my mother to help me.” She smiled a little, her silent support.

But if your mother was right in that Rio never had a husband — much less a husband that died in the war — then why would she be going through all of this trouble? How did she manage to make you feel so less alone in the agony you’ve been clawing your way out of?

“She’s been wonderful,” you say to her, reaching up to fidget with an earring. Her eyes followed the movement with hawk-like observance.

“Anything else that seems to be on your mind, angel?” Her head tilted slightly, curious and full of wonder. Like she was having a hard time getting a read on you — and maybe she was. Your moods weren’t subject to change so often and this one in particular was rare after moving with her.

“No, no just that.” You released the earring and smiled at her fully, returning to the present to be with Rio fully. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to greet you. I just got so caught up in finishing some things up here. I have so much lipstick, Rio . . .”

Her gaze drifted to the cabinet thoughtfully then slipped back to you. “Put some on — and dress somewhat warm,” she finally told you, unstrapping the straps that hooked over her shoulders to her pants. “Something pretty for me.”

Your cheeks heated even as you frowned at her. “What ever for? It’s such a waste to use when we’re not going anywhere.”

Rio chuckled. “Angel, we are going somewhere. The fair’s in town, remember? You’ve been eyeing the newspaper article on it all week.”

You brightened considerably in front of her, darting forward to grasp her arm. “Really? We’re going to the fair? You’re sure?”

The black-haired woman grinned down at you, tilting your chin up with a finger, “Very sure — if you can get ready before the field fills up on parking.”

You nodded rapidly and pulled back, filled with a sudden renewed vigor. “Oh I have the perfect scarf I’ve been waiting to match with that pair of pants you got me. The ones with red stripes.”

“You’ll look beautiful, I’m sure.” Rio winked at you and you made a point to ignore the weird fluttery feeling that crossed your chest at the action.

You’d felt that once — an old boyfriend who kissed you under the stars on top of his brand new Chevrolet before he returned you home and made sure to leave some of those stars in your eyes.

You’d married that boy once upon a time, and it ended up nearly destroying you later.

Rio left you to get changed and you busied yourself with finding the perfect outfit for such an outing. It was chilly outside during the day and so you expected it to be even more so overnight. It wouldn’t be wise to go out without layers, even if you planned on some festive rides to warm you up.

Oh and you so hoped they had spiced apple cider that they kept warmed at the stalls like they’ve been doing in the recent years. The drink was dangerously addictive and you indulged in the past when your husband inclined to go with you to the fairs. It always left a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest after having a cup.

You were just pinching the scarf carefully into position when Rio reappeared. She hadn’t changed completely from her work attire, but she did cozy up. She made no move to disguise roaming eyes.

“Hmm I worry for the wandering gazes I may have to hide you from tonight,” she muses lazily.

You despised the way she managed to made you feel things a woman should never feel from another of her gender — despised that you were drawn to the way she somehow carried herself like she owned the world and could protect you from its’ angry realties. Despised the way she wasn’t a man and therefor kissing her is not allowed, not desired.

You despised how you were forced to feel the disgust in your stomach at how heavy with want it left you when you saw her and found what you could never give your husband.

“Perhaps I will be able to catch the eye of a wealthy man,” you got out, refusing to meet her eyes and instead finding your own in the mirror. “And you will surely catch the finest of attentions. You could have anyone you wanted and not blink before it was in your hands.”

Rio hummed at you. The footsteps on the flooring creaked until she was still behind you, chin just brushing over your shoulder as her eyes forced yours to meet together in the mirror. You were trapped between her and the sink, unable to escaped unless she willed it.

Or maybe you just made no effort to try.

“You speak as though I yearn for another man to warm my bed,” the black-haired woman crooned lowly, ruby red lips twisting upwards mockingly, “to handle my finances and give me the world.”

“Surely every woman wants that — wouldn’t you get tired of working?” you asked her boldly despite the tremble that threatened to shake you down. She was so close and you feared she would hear your heart’s cries if she got any further.

“Angel,” she started, the same tone, eyes becoming mischievous and glittering under the light above, “why would I seek out that which I want from a man when I can just get it myself?”

Your throat constricted and for a moment there was a terrible feeling you were a prey to a dangerous, deadly predator.

Rio. This was Rio — your only friend, the woman who shielded you when you nearly crumbled under the weight of the world when you realized what being a woman without a husband meant.

“I just — Rio?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you have any pictures of him?” you asked as you fought off the urge to sink into her from where you held onto the surface like a lifeline. “Your . . . Your husband. You’ve not told me his name, and you don’t even have photos of him.”

Her fingers reached up to capture a stray wisp of your hair that had fallen from the position you’d had it in. She held it delicately and observed it, wrapping it around her pale finger.

“Rio?”

She tugged suddenly and it left a minor sting when she did. Then she released it, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness opposite of the previous action.

“His name and face live in the past and I seek to march into the future,” she finally told you, however no warmth remained in her voice. Only clear, concrete assurance. “Having either in my present keeps me from which I aim to go, so I decided a while ago to put him to rest for good.”

She moved away from you in order to give you some space and tucked a hand into one of her pockets. “Don’t take too long, Angel. I want to ride the Ferris Wheel with you while the stars are bright.”

She was gone and now alone, you tried to process what she laid before you but found that nothing was answered when you asked her those questions.

2024

You peeled open a can of wet food and scraped it into the fancy cat bowl Rio had conjured up. The little shit had dry food still full, but seemed to think he needed the good stuff two times a day.

Leaving him to scarf down his breakfast, you opened the French doors in the dining room. The dining room which, by looks of it, had been meticulously put back together as though you and Rio hadn’t tried to rip one another to shreds.

You weren’t entirely positive you could claim much of the damage anymore, though, looking back. You had the human ability to shove, break, and throw but Rio was above that in ways that made your predator senses switch into the brain of prey. It made you think of a time you saw a program — a lynx playing with its prey right before it decided to kill it.

Rio had been playing with you — perhaps leaking some frustration without realizing it. But you were stupid to believe that you could have the upper hand in any regard.

Your hand drifted up to your neck and rested there as the hum from the magic collar vibrates against your fingers, a warning that you were touching the invisible but powerful mechanism that kept you caged to this place. To her.

The bird feeders outside caught your attention from the open doors. Ten birds of varying colors, chirping happily and fluttering about as they picked their way around the feeders you filled the day before.

Was this to be your life now?

What did Rio intend to tell you about the status of your job? It wasn’t . . . It wasn’t like you adored it but it kept you busy, you sort of enjoyed it on some days.

A huff greeted you to your right.

Your eyes drifted to the source of the sound and knew it wasn’t Billy — who felt he was too sophisticated for such a noise and was still tinkering about in the kitchen with his bow and bell collar.

No — no, this was not him.

Instead a new object has been tucked into the corner of the dining room. A large, fluffy dog bed of a soft brown coloring and cream innards.

The source of the sound was the sleek looking canine laying there, head on paws and eyes watching you closely.

“A dog,” you said aloud as the two of you stared at each other. He was a light brown with black markings on his long legs and face. Pointed ears and a thin, long tail.

You’ve seen these dogs before — you knew they were used mostly in the military and police force. Similar to the German Shepard but smaller and leaner.

She got you a fucking protection dog — and she did it to taunt you. Because she knows not even the most trained, intelligent dog will be able to keep her from.

“Okay.” You got to your knees and the sun soaked into your body from doorway. The dog watched you. You watched him. He already had a thick leather collar with tags on it and it made you wonder if, like you and possibly Billy, she took him too. “Who are you?”

He didn’t respond, of course.

You got back to your feet and hesitantly made your way over. He lifted his head to watch you until you bent down next to him and carefully scratched behind his ears. He seemed to like it, and so you flipped his tag to read his name. TOMMY was stamped into the gold metal.

“She did you an injustice with that name,” you told Tommy, but kept petting him anyways. He sighed.

You eventually left Tommy alone to nap and went out to sit in the garden, your heart heavier now. The way she used things as a way to mock you was like an extra knife digging deeper and deeper each time she added a new aspect.

You sit for a while then make some coffee and down some plain toast to fight the nausea. You hated how lonely the house you were caged to felt but refused to break and call out for Rio to end the feeling.

You would bear it rather than face her and yourself and the night before. It was all too much and it would explode eventually, with angry sobs and violence like it always did.

But until she forced you out of your self-induced exile of silence and singularity, you would pretend like you’ve handled it and it’s over.

Even if it would never be over.

Rio heard naught when she returned from her duties that night. The lights were on but there was a lack of cooking to be found. None of the smells that brought her a great deal of comfort when you were behind the stove, no warm smile to greet her, and certainly no kiss to the cheek or anywhere else.

“Angel?” she called out, but was only greeted by the dark and watchful eyes in the kitchen’s entryway by the animal she had bestowed upon you before leaving that morning.

He stood stock still and regarded her with a type of cunning that almost made her wonder if she should’ve gone with a dumber breed to avoid issue. His hackles were raised down his spine and a low, vibrating growl was echoing through his chest.

Rio simply stared back at him. “I brought you into this house, creature,” she told him, continuing closer. “Angel please call off the dog.”

“No.”

Ah, so you were just feet away as suspected. A small grin pulled at the corners of Rio’s lips as she came to a stop just inches from the stiff dog. His tail was as rigged as the rest of him — and though Rio didn’t know dog language relatively well, she knew the universal language for “I do not fucking like you.”

“I don’t want to have to take him away after giving him to you so soon, my sweet,” Rio started sweetly, fingers reaching out to the curled lips of Tommy. Her tone hardened, “But I will if you can’t keep him in line.”

There wasn’t a reaction given to her in the first few seconds after she spoke, and the dog had become more hostile in those seconds. Rio was ready to snap him into another room and use that fear when she heard a soft, call.

“Tommy, come.”

Like a flipped switch and without any effort the dog seemed to rear away from Rio as quickly as he had been ready to try and maul the witch. He trotted back into the kitchen and so the pale figure followed.

He curled at your feet where you were rewarding him with slices of raw meat mixed in a metal bowl, prepped ones seemingly laid out for burgers ready to be grilled at any point.

Tommy took the offered pieces carefully from your fingers as you locked gazes with Rio.

“I see you two have bonded once you’ve made your introductions,” Rio concurred as she opened the refrigerator and looked through the contents. All of the bear she had to magic back in was once again gone.

Rebellious, angry little thing you were. It didn’t matter. She waved her hand and a cold beer appeared between her fingers instantly.

“Is there never consequences for what you do with that? you asked her quietly from across the room.

“Mm.” She slowly makes her way over to you, a twinkle of something dark and insidious covering her features. “There’s a consequence in everything of this universe, Angel. If you tie your shoes the wrong way, it can have a massive impact on someone else in another world.”

“Then why the fuck do you be so careless? I never asked — not before when I thought I could love you. But now that I know there’s always a price to the things we do . . . Why?”

The anger, the rage she fell so deeply for — she felt the fire in her chest when she saw a flicker of it again. “Because I can,” she told you simply, lifting the bottle to her lips. “I can, so I did. I have the opportunity and why would I leave it untouched?”

Your hands slammed on the table. “Because it means for every day I get to live someone else dies early!”

Rio rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is about? How long do you plan on mourning over the ones you never know about that take your place? They’re nameless to you and can’t bring the guilt that bears your name.”

“Because it’s my life, Rio,” you bit out. She looked closer and realized you had been crying, “and my ticket was punched a very long time ago but for some reason you won’t take it. You refuse my entry every damn time, and then you play with magic and ignore that it has its own prices and can—“ you suddenly pressed fingers to the bridge of your nose and breathed out shallowly.

Rio removed the rim of the glass from her lips, taking care to observe your actions. You stood without saying a word, eyes closed, as you experienced whatever it is went through your body while Rio simply watched.

And smiled.

1954

The music and the lights were overwhelming in the best of ways. There was so much joy to be found and the giggles of children darting through the crowds covered in cotton candy and fisting sacks of what you assumed to be allowances to go and play games.

You kept a polite distance from Rio despite the pestering urge to hold her hand and lean into her for warmth during the cold night.

You wished you could be a couple — but it simply wasn’t possible. So you maintained your space and pointed out stalls to stop at as she kept an unmoving look of amusement on her face.

You were elbow-deep in overly powdered dish that you’ve never tried — colorfully labelled the Funnel Cake — and you found that it was almost on par with your apple cider drinks you adored so. Rio seemed fascinated with it as well and the two of you shared the one you bought.

You did find the cider you so sought and made Rio get one too, even after she complained of having a full stomach.

“It’s rather good, Rio,” you begged as the two of you stood in line. “If you don’t like it, I’ll just drink your share.”

She arched one perfectly sculpted brow at you as a smile rose to greet you. “Oh, you will will you?” she asked.

The shine in your eyes must have been answer enough, because she ordered two of the drinks but ended up finishing half of it.

She seemed to enjoy it, but relinquished it to you on the claims that she couldn’t possibly fill her stomach any longer.

“More for me,” you commented like you’d gotten away with stealing something valuable. Rio barked out a laugh as her arm brushed against yours.

It was entirely too true that right now, you had no cares about how close she was. You were having fun with her and she with you as you talked and drank cider.

She won a little bottle game that was 50¢ a turn and she didn’t have to spend another quarter in order to fetch you a duck you had pointed out.

“How did you do that so well?” you asked her, beaming as you held the stuffed toy like gold. “I’ve seen children run screaming from their parents once they emptied their pockets.”

Rio tapped her temple. “All in the head, Angel. I wanted to win, so I won.”

“If only it were that easy!”

She simply smiled those red lips at you and pulled you toward the Ferris Wheel. The stars had become as bright as they could be while the fair was open and she wasted no time in deciding on what she wanted to finish it off with.

“Do you fear heights?” she asked you as she waited with two quarters in hand, back of the line.

“No,” you said, and you liked to think you were right in your belief. “No, I don’t think so. Not if I feel like there’s not a reason to be afraid of them.”

If you hadn’t been so focused on the way the wheel was spinning with its flashing lights, you might have been able to catch how Rio seemed to think over your words. But as quickly as the line went, so did your conversations and laughter.

The teenager in a red and white striped shirt waited expectantly at the till as Rio uncapped her hand over his to drop the two coins into his palm.

He led you both through the gate blocking access to the ride and waited for the Wheel to stop until a car came down and emptied the contents of its seats. Then he hastily ushered you in and pulled down the security bar.

“Hands and feet inside, no wiggling around,” he said with a sigh. “Enjoy the ride.”

Rio was startlingly quiet on the way up as she and you both took in the view. It was truly breathtaking -- and you could both see Westview in all it's small twinkly lights the higher up you rose.

Rio nudged you with her wrist. "I can see the house."

"You cannot," you scoffed at her, leaning into her to try and get the same view as she was.

Before you realized what was happening, an arm was being wrapped around your shoulders and you were being tugged close.

"Rio." You tried to tug away from her, a small swell of panic rising as you glanced around. You were close to reaching the top of the ride and the closest to the stars you would ever be for the first time. "Rio, the people above us can see."

"They can't," the older woman murmured as she bent her neck down to look at you, squeezing your hip reassuringly. "I wouldn't let them. It is just us."

"The people below . . ." you glanced down, wondering if the other cars would be able to see and hear you.

"Stop." She lifted your face to yours and gave you the softest of expressions. "Hey. It's okay."

And then she leaned down to kiss you.

Rio and Reader will return in Part 4

PART FOUR

[call-me-kermit]

So Long Reputation

Word Count: 2611 Read Time: 10min Warnings: Swearing, Insinuated Smexy Time, Canon Violence, Cooper is a Cutie-pa-Tootie Summary: The Ghoul's reputation is slipping, all because of his lady. Rating: PG-13 Notes: Just a little lighthearted blurb. Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The saloon door creaked open like it hated being disturbed. Every head inside took a turn turning to look as the pair walked in—him first, boots thudding slow and heavy, her just a step behind, smiling like she didn’t notice the silence that followed them.

The ghoul cut a grim figure: long coat dusted in ash, mottled skin tight over sharp bone, lips dry and cracked from too many days in the sun. His eyes—bright, cold, calculating—scanned over the drums and brutes littering the place. A few patrons shifted uncomfortably, not too welcoming to ghouls in these parts. One reached for a weapon and thought better of it.

She didn’t notice or pretended not to. Just nudged him toward the bar with a hand on his back like she was steering a mule.

They slid into their seats. The bartender—a kid, who couldn’t have been more than twenty—stared a second too long before trying to play it cool.

“What’ll it be?” He hesitated. 

She leaned in, smiling. “Two whiskeys for me and my Snugglebones here.”

The bartender blinked. Looked at the ghoul. Blinked again.

“Your… what?”

The ghoul didn’t move, but his jaw clenched tight enough to creak. “She’s drunk,” he said flatly.

“I’m not,” she added helpfully.

The kid behind the bar looked from one to the other, clearly recalibrating everything he thought he understood about the world. “Right. Okay. Snugglebones. Got it.”

He poured the glasses with slightly shaking hands.

She clinked her glass against the ghouls with a grin. “To dying  men that our bills.”

“Woman,” he growled, “I swear on my damn boots—”

She downed her glass before he could finish, face scrunching at the burn. He followed suit, less for the drink than for the excuse to stop talking. Around them, the bar began to relax—slightly. People still stole glances. A ghoul wasn’t rare in the wasteland, but one being flirted with like a prize hog at the state fair? That was new.

Cooper leaned in close, voice low and dangerous. “Call me that again in front of strangers and I’ll start callin’ you names. See how you like bein’ Sweetmeat.”

She grinned at him over the rim of her glass. “You got yourself a deal, Coop.”

He didn’t smile—but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t quite as mad as he claimed.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

They didn’t need anything.

The ghoul had made that clear half a dozen times between the gates and the stall-lined road that called itself a market. “We’ve got food. We’ve got ammo. You just like touching junk we don’t need.”

She’d just smiled and said, “So?”

Now they strolled side by side down the dusty aisle, past traders hawking dented cans, scorched clothing, old tech, and broken dreams with a fresh coat of polish. Cooper’s coat flapped behind him like a threat. He radiated ‘don’t talk to me’ energy and most folks listened.

She, on the other hand, made herself welcome wherever she went. Even in a place like this.

“Oh wow,” she said, stopping at a stall stacked with twisted old circuit boards, scorched vacuum tubes, and a toaster modified into a makeshift radio. “You’ve got some good stuff here.”

The vendor was an older woman with weather-beaten skin and sharp eyes. She eyed Cooper warily, then flicked her gaze to the woman. “Ain’t good, but it’s better than the garbage three stalls down. You know what you’re looking at?”

“Not really,” she admitted cheerfully. “I just like to see what the world used to look like before it turned into a bone pile.”

The woman grunted. “That toaster still plays jazz if you kick it.”

She laughed. “I love that. Hey, baby—Cuudle-bug, come look at this!”

Cooper froze mid-step. He turned his head slow, deliberate, like a predator deciding whether the noise behind it was prey or just something to ignore. “You call me that again,” he said, “and I’ll put that toaster where the sun doesn’t shine.”

The vendor blinked. “Cuddle-bug?”

“He’s shy,” she said, still smiling, ignoring his vulgar yet empty threat. 

“Pretty sure I’ve heard about you,” the vendor said, squinting at Cooper. “You the ghoul who shot up Filly?”

Cooper looked irritated by the reminder. “Wasn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

“Thought you’d be taller,” the vendor muttered.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose—what was left of it. He grabbed his lady's arm and pulled her along despite her protest, “But the toaster.” 

“Screw the damn toaster.” He muttered through a tight jaw. “I got a reputation to uphold, darlin’.” Cooper gave her a look that said she was both exhausting and irreplaceable. She just frowned in response letting him drag her away. 

She wanted that toaster. He was gonna pay. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

They’d made camp in a hollow out of the wind, the fire crackling low and mean beside them. The stars overhead looked bruised—clouded by fallout, maybe, or just the way the world worked now. Cooper didn’t much care.

He had her in his lap, one hand tangled in her hair, the other resting on her thigh like it was always meant to be there. The air was warm from fire and whiskey breath. Her smile was lazy, languid—something rare in the wasteland. She sighed feeling the hum of his kiss on her neck. She teased him with a rock of her hips and he sighed in approval. 

Then came the sound of boots. Not one pair. Several. Too loud to be animals, too casual to be soldiers.

Cooper stiffened. “You gotta be kidding me.”

She sighed, head dropping to his shoulder. “Every time we’re about to get naked…”

“Apparently, I’m not allowed to be happy.” He grumbled, easing her off his lap, and stood, brushing dirt from his coat like he wasn’t about to kill someone.

Five of them. Raiders, by the look. Wore spikes and bone, shouted too much and smelled like they’d bathed in rot and blood. The lead one stepped forward, rifle slung over his shoulder like it was a fashion accessory.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin full of crooked teeth. “Ain’t you two cozy.”

Cooper didn’t bother answering. He just rolled his neck until something popped.

“You look like you crawled outta a grave, man,” another said, snickering. “That your girl or your caretaker?”

The woman leaned back against a log, lounging in wait, checking the dirt under her nails like they were an inconvenience. “If you boys are here for our gear, I’d reconsider.”

“And if you're here for a show,” Cooper added, Pulling back the hammer of his revolver. “you’re interruptin’ the wrong damn performance.” 

That got a laugh from the Raiders. They circled closer, half-serious now.

Then she said, “Snookums, be a dear and shoot the loud one first?”

The laughter doubled. One of them nearly dropped his machete.

“Snookums?” the leader gasped, cackling. “Is that what you call him? What the hell kind of ghoul love story is this?”

Cooper didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just drew his revolver and shot the loud one straight through the teeth.

Silence fell. Then the leader screamed. A couple of others dove for cover.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she called, casually ducking behind a rock as bullets started flying.

“You’re welcome!” he shouted back.

It wasn’t a long fight. Raiders had numbers, but not tactics. Cooper moved like a ghost with a grudge, and she flanked them with the precision of someone who’d learned survival was just a faster kind of kindness.

When it was over, smoke curled off hot shell casings. Blood stained the dirt. One raider crawled away on a shattered leg, but neither of them chased him.

She dusted ash off her pants and walked back to the fire, where Cooper stood reloading.

“You okay, Snookums?”

He gave her a flat look. “I’m beggin’ you.”

She kissed his cheekbone, warm and unapologetic. “You’ll live.”

He holstered his gun, sat back down, and patted his lap.

“Now, where were we before the circus showed up?”

She smiled and curled against him again. Finding her place back in his lap she wasted no time kissing him silly, rocking against him until he was breathless, his hands holding tight on the plump curves of his hip.

She pulled away enough to say, “Just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“You’re a little fond of Snookums.”

“I will feed you to a deathclaw.”

She just laughed. And Cooper—though he’d never admit it—almost smiled. He just pulled her back in.

This time, no interruptions.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

The old rail stop was half-collapsed and mostly forgotten, baking under the sun like everything else in the wasteland. The rusted sign overhead read “YIELD” in peeling letters, though what you were supposed to yield to out here was anybody’s guess.

They stopped for water.

Or rather, she stopped for water.

Cooper leaned against a twisted steel beam, arms crossed, watching her barter with the wiry trader who’d set up shop in the shadow of the station’s skeletal roof. He didn’t trust the guy. Slick smile. Clean hands. Too many teeth still in his head for someone who lived out here.

But she was already smiling, all warmth and friendly curiosity, hands on her hips, head tilted like she was listening to the most fascinating man alive.

“Your filters actually work?” she asked, nodding toward the battered water purifier on the table.

“Guaranteed clean,” the man said, patting it like a loyal dog. “You won’t grow any extra fingers. Unless you want to.”

She laughed—actually laughed—and Cooper’s jaw tightened. She did that with people. Drew them in. Made them forget what the world was really like.

“Tempting,” she said. “But I’ve already got ten fingers and a Sugarfangs over there who might get jealous.”

The trader’s eyes went wide. “Your what?”

She jerked her thumb toward Cooper without looking. “Tall, broody, looks like a mummified outlaw. Big softie when you scratch behind his ears.”

Cooper didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

The trader followed her gesture, mouth half-open. “Him?”

She turned and gave Cooper a wink. “Come on, sweetie. Show the nice man your smile.”

“I will skin and eat you for breakfast,” Cooper scowled. 

The trader took an actual step back. “Alright. Okay. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

She handed over some scrap, grabbed the bottle of water, and strolled back to Cooper like she hadn’t just detonated a social minefield in the middle of the transaction.

“I hate you,” he said, taking the bottle.

“No, you don’t.”

“I could leave. Right now. Disappear into the dust.” He threatened, she pouted in response. 

“You wouldn’t last a week without me. Your interpersonal skills are a war crime.”

He scowled, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long drink. “Stop giving me names. I had a reputation before you.”She just smiled innocently.

Pecking his lips, “Poor baby.” She mocked. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

Cooper kicked the saloon door open hard enough to shake splinters loose.

Inside, five men froze mid-drink. The one he was after—Tanner Crow, a twitchy bastard with a crooked jaw and a bounty poster thicker than a Bible—stood from the table in the back, hand going for the revolver at his side.

“What the fuck is this,” Tanner spat. “Ugly, irradiated bastard.”

“Aw, I’m flattered.” Cooper mocked.

The room went quiet. No one moved. Just the whisper of wind through broken shutters and the slow creak of the saloon’s swinging doors behind him. The dust settled like tension in the air.

Tanner’s hand hovered over his gun.

So did Cooper’s.

“Don’t make this messier than it needs to be,” The ghoul said. “I only need your head. What happens to the rest is your choice.”

Tanner sneered. “Big words for a half-rotted sack of meat.”

Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Draw.”

Tanner went for it.

Cooper’s gun cleared leather first, his arm a blur. The bullet caught Tanner’s weapon mid-draw, shattering it in his hand. He screamed, and staggered, blood spraying the floor. The room held its breath.

Cooper stepped forward, boot grinding on glass.

He pointed the barrel at Tanner’s forehead, calm, final.

Then, “Oh my god.” The voice was unmistakable. He didn’t turn. Didn’t have to. “Look at you!” she said from the doorway, breathless and utterly delighted. “All murdery and broody—I could just eat you up.”

The room blinked. Cooper blinked.

Tanner, still clutching his mangled hand, looked from Cooper to her like he’d stepped into the wrong damn universe.

“I swear,” she continued, stepping inside like this was a casual brunch, “you’re cuter when you’re threatening someone’s life. It’s the little wrinkle right here—” She reached up, traced the deep scowl line above his brow. “—so cute, doom muffin.”

Cooper said nothing. His gun was still pointed at the bounty.

Tanner tried not to laugh—and failed. Cooper just shot him. Not for the bounty.

“I hate you,” he muttered out the side of his mouth.

“You say that a lot,” she replied, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I translate it as: please keep talking, you make my life better.”

“I am going to bury myself alive.”

“You’d miss me.” She shook her head. “Plus, you said you got bored the last time.” 

He said nothing, just grumbled. But he let her kiss him before she got her hands dirty removing the bounty’s head. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

Cooper wasn’t a happy camper. She’d ruined his reputation after her stunt in the saloon.  The whole bar had been laughing behind their hands while she cooed at him like he was some adorable blood-streaked stray. So today, he was going to get her back.

While I’ll tell you something if you can keep it secret; he doesn't actually mind. If someone pisses him off he just kills them and makes them into jerky. In fact, if you think tactically people underestimating him just makes it easier for him. 

Plus, she's adorable when he looks up at him with those lovesick puppy eyes. Not to mention the sex is great.

But if she gets to have fun fucking with him, he should have a turn. It’s only fair.

As they walked through the market of whatever this settlement was called—he forgot the name—he waited for the right crowd to form. Vendors, wanderers, bounty hunters. Good. Plenty of ears. Plenty of eyes.

She was walking ahead, humming, looking so damn pleased with the world. Perfect.

He stepped up behind her, looped an arm around her waist, and pulled her in close—dramatically—like some pre-war romance poster. He was Hollywood’s poster boy after all. 

Then, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “There she is, my little killer. My dusty darlin’. My sweet pile of radiated sugar.”

Heads turned. The blacksmith actually stopped hammering. Somewhere, a gecko made a confused chirping noise.

She blinked, paused— Then beamed.

“Oh, are we doing nicknames now?” she said, grabbing his duster lapels and practically melting against him. “God, I love when you get romantic in public. Say it again, but with feeling.”

Cooper froze. “Wait—what?”

“You’re so sweet when you’re trying to be mean to me,” she said, cupping his face. “My big angry pumpkin. My leather-wrapped chainsaw. My little apocalypse cuddle bug.”

There was laughing now. Real laughing. From every direction.

“Cuddle bug,” someone snorted behind them.

Cooper’s jaw twitched. “I will end you.”

She just kissed his cheek. “No, you won’t. You started this.”

“I was trying to humiliate you.”

“And I loved it,” she whispered, practically glowing.

A young scavenger nearby clapped like it was a stage show.

Cooper stared into the sky like he was praying for a meteor.

He turned and started walking away while she hung from him,  “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

 •Kermit’s Masterlist•