#that she too will be broken and consumed by the wasteland

[molinaesque]

"What are you?" "Oh, I'm you, sweetie. You just... give it a little time."

[cherriesxinthespring]

WASTELAND, BABY!– ellie williams x reader

hi! I'm writing a new series that happens after the events of TLOU II. it's an enemies to lovers. A story about ellie eventually finding happiness and love again. She finds her light; and so do you.

Before you read the summary– please read this. Free Palestine. Do not consume tlou fanfics without educating yourself about its zionist themes.

this story is only posted on ao3. read it here.

*SUMMARY: You had decided to give life one last try. That was it. After the events in The Last of Us Part II, Ellie decides that the only way to find peace is to turn herself in to the fireflies. She finds a lead; they tell her to find you, a young woman who wanders around with no purpose. When she eventually does, you refuse to tell her where the fireflies are; if she finds them, everything that you did in your past would've been for nothing.

You embark on a journey together, walking through rain, snow and through the darkest places this cruel world has to offer. What neither of you expect, broken and traumatized, is to find the light again in each other.

"For the world is Hell, and people are on the one hand the tormented souls and on other the devils in it." (Schopenhauer, On the suffering of the world)

LINKS: read it here. playlist.

C.W/GENERAL TAGS: enemies to lovers, AFAB reader, eventual smut, gun violence, ellie kinda kidnaps you?, suicidal ideation (both ellie and reader), r! is wounded, PTSD and trauma, triggering flashbacks. canon violence in the game, depression. overall heavy themes, but happy ending i promise!

CHAPTER 1: One last try. You encounter Ellie. She follows the trail of blood you were leaving. You refuse to give her the information she wants. So, she drags you through the entire state of Montana. "You’re bold for someone unarmed and bruised, with a gun pointed to their head"

CHAPTER 2: Courage, dear heart. A small flame inside you ignites. you finally have a purpose; to mislead her, and to escape from her. You come up with a plan, and that involves earning her trust. just enough until she becomes sloppy. But you can't let her see your skills; she might see you as a threat. That plan quickly goes to waste when you encounter a large group of clickers.

“I could kill you right now,” she said, holding your own knife against your throat. Her knuckles were white from how much force she was using. Her features were almost unrecognisable.  “Then you’d break your promise,” you said. “Promises mean nothing in this world.” 

CHAPTER 3: No one left to sing to The rain doesn't stop, so you and this strange girl are forced to stay inside the cave. You're feverish, disoriented. After a conversation in which she mentions the fireflies, you decide to go through her journal to find answers. And you do.

"Are you a firefly?" she asked, like she had just read your mind, or you were thinking out loud. “not a firefly,” you said. you held back a laugh, but she saw the flash of a smirk. You, the reason why they were gone after Salt Lake City, a firefly. “Definitely not.” you paused.  “are you?” you asked. “No.”

CHAPTER 4– Your blinding light (flashback chapter)

Summer 2033, Boston QZ You waited for Hannah to come to you. Life in the QZ was simple for you; being confined in between four walls, listening to your mom's Beatles cassettes, and sneaking out past curfew. That is, until your mom slowly starts abandoning you. "Maybe Hannah was the only one you had, after all"

CHAPTER 5– This darkness i'm condemned to

Ellie and you finally reach the nearest town. And your plan is successful; you finally lead her to danger. What you failed to account for is that this danger can harm you, too.

“took them out right?" you said, trying to test the waters. Trying to sound lighthearted, but failing completely at it.  "Damn right you did," she said.

CHAPTER 6– The injury of finally knowing

taglist: since i impulsively deleted my old account, i'm tagging my old taglist. it's still me! the bitch that wrote the abby greys anatomy AU! you can still join my taglist here

@kissesskittens @zahraaziza @uraesthete @elsvrse @lonelyfooryouonly @ximtiredx @ellabsprincess @spaceshipellie @machetegirl109 @sc0ttstre3ted @taylarxse @carmellie @mayfieldsz @brooklynvwilliams @rinarchy @elliesgffr @wannabwanted @ellabsweet @sapphic-and-sappy @imyour-favouritegirl @andersonsgirl @heyabimina @novadanversss @mulan-but-gay @lez-zuha @abbys-sweat-wife @maribelo-o @peppesgirl

if your name is crossed out, it means I can't tag you– please check your settings and follow these steps!

dividers by @saradika-graphics.

[dragonseeds]

do you have any thoughts on daenys the dreamer?

extremely fun and obvious play on the cassandra figure. a version where her family not only believes her but venerates her visions and prophecies—like, she saves them and a handful of dragons and, in doing so, the world, but it also curses her bloodline. the thing that once saved them becomes an obsession that consumes them literally in wildfire. the idea that you can be doomed by believing in and actively trying to fulfill a prophecy (aegon v at summerhall, melisandre and stannis) just as easily as others are doomed by their disbelief or their attempts to circumvent fate (cersei echoing my buddy king laius)—like that’s so, so cool to me. i love the ambiguity between fate and choice, the way grrm takes the whole trope apart and plays with all the individual components.

also very interested in the line running from daenys to daenerys, and i always wonder if daenys saw her too and if so, how much of her life daenys saw and was able to contextualize? did she see clear images like melisandre and bran or more metaphorical ones, like jojen or dany in the house of the undying? something like… a dragon with three heads fighting in a frozen wasteland lol?

considering the the loss of female power in house targaryen is so deeply entwined with the dying of the dragons, underneath all of that for me is aemon’s line in affc and the context that follows it:

what were they translating?? were some of the documents in other languages? it couldn’t have all been daenys’ works because aemon says they’ve been wrong for a thousand years. this prophecy has been a motivating factor for the targaryens (and valyrians?) for a thousand years, but i wonder at what point the translation error actually crept in? daenys was valyrian and that would’ve been her primary language—i like to think she would’ve understood the nature of the dragon in a way her male descendents couldn’t. no one ever looked for a girl, but it was always a girl. not men in a patriarchal feudalist society reducing women to their reproductive capabilities (rhaella’s miserable life being one of the most egregious examples of this) and then being surprised when a woman is needed to rebirth the dragons lol.

this got away from me because i think the (deconstruction of the) use of prophecy in asoiaf is fascinating and everything we know about daenys is tied up in that. cutting myself off before i start talking about gender as it relates to this prophecy. beyond that, i’m really not interested in interpretations of daenys where she’s catatonic or broken by what she’s seen any more than i am in interpretations of dany where she goes mad, just because i’m sick of the seeing the general victimization of women in asoiaf taken to such an extreme that they’re defined by it—with whoever suffers most ecstatically being the least problematic to stan, especially when the women in question are from/associated with house targaryen.

[punk-in-docs]

🕷 Don’t Need Telling Twice 🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.4k words

Summary: Movie Night at Eddie’s place. All the little things that sneak into the cracks in between new love and affection. So I was intending to get a lot filthier with this but somehow it turned out sweet enough to rot your teeth- Eddie being insecure. Wayne being parental, Pencils being nervous. Let’s see how they iron it out man. (It’s really just me waffling about insight into these two lovebirds)

Saturday morning in your scruffy yet clean kitchen. Stereo cranked high. Melded into your happy place.

The bright slip and drip of the opening guitar licks to ‘Should I stay or should I go.’ Joe’s condescending spitting voice begins. You twirl around with the greased baking sheets in hand.

The kitchen is warm, it’s got this odd glow about it, from the slanted sun gushing in through the cream drapes that have yellow flowers on them. The shabby wood cupboards and the creamy tiles of the breakfast counter with its little peach-pink roses, which is now cluttered with baking trays.

Entirely rose tinted in your view. But you’re blasting the Clash. Loud enough to wake the neighbours.

You’re making cookies for your date tonight. Moms tattered pink apron hanging limp off your body from too many washes. Really it’s a scratchy old thing.

This morning did come around quick. Sunrise like a copper-red wound knifing slashes across the sky. Burning the whole horizon to that fantastic blood orange. You’re too squirmy to sleep. Too excited.

Seeings as you were up early, you put it to use and ran to the store. And now you were knee deep in cookie batter. Chocolate chip. Little starbursts of Cocoa powder and flour dusted everywhere. Head banging, head shaking and hair flicking along to Joe Strummer and his ridiculing tone.

You kick the walnut stained cupboard door closed. It’s wonky and juts out like a stubby tooth snapped off a jaw. It’s always been like that.

Every door in your kitchen creaks. Whines all aged. The appliances have their knacks and sticky tricks that come with years and years worn behind them. Temperamental.

Sure even your whole house is nothing fancy. You’ve never had that much money to scrape together, or give a shit that the whole place is dated. One thing wins favour over all that; your place is cosy.

It’s stuffed with life. Scored deep with it. Consumed. It’s not some ultra chic monotone black-red wasteland. It’s got posters and art on the walls, the crazy bohemian touches that come from your entirely whacky mother.

Sure this house wasn’t all that. But she made it great, and celebrated it in it’s own uniqueness.

Same goes for the best kind of people too. She’d say that to you with a wink.

Handfuls of pennies and some imagination went a long way. Clicking her tongue and shooting you her fierce brand of optimism that seeps out her every pore: eternally unflinching.

A lot of it, this house, echoed its funky warm pattern after the musical, magical, mental, woman who birthed you.

Forever hunting thrift stores for funky things. Weird shaped clocks. The Who posters. 60’s pop art. French Impressionism posters. Stupid cartoon lamps with Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck on the shade. Broken and chipped from the Goodwill but she liked that it wasn’t perfect or level.

She bought prints of famous artworks. Degas. Van Gogh. Millet. Flower drawings, or pressed leaves and flowers behind a sheet of glass. Not one piece of furniture matches in your living room. Or any room. The rugs are old and squishy soft, worn to death. It’s whacky to say the least. But you’d take it over any home they’re always flashing from the interior pages of a magazine.

She has blue daisy pillows on the couches. Always buys godawful cheap lemon candles that are all sugar acidic when they burn. But it cements that scent of home to you now.

There’s no inch of wall space not covered by frames or colour. One day she got up and impulsively painted your kitchen a bright buttery yellow. Just because. Flowers stamped everywhere cause she saw the idea in some hippy book.

And she filled this house with second hand books, too many, spilling over with them. She crammed your home with laughter, and literature, arts, and so many idols of your taste in music came from her.

You wouldn’t trade her for the entire world.

Flighty and bonkers as she is. You hate her being away so often, and with Charlie gone off now with her serious boyfriend, it does chip at you on the sadder days. Being here alone. It gouges just that little bit more when she’s not around.

The days when Linda says something particularly cutting, or times when jocks insults jab just that little too deep. You do miss her then. You can’t hate her for it. her job is a real earner and it makes her so happy. She brings you back souvenirs from every little corner of the globe she’s seen. Postcards. Snow globes.

She trusts you. She always says you’re her favourite kid in the world. That she knows of.

She’s not like some of the other Hawkins Moms you’ve seen. Not at all. The ones who all go to the same lousy hairdresser for the ruler straight highlighted bob. Go to Jazzercise on Thursdays. Hate their ignorant husbands. Wear beige cardigans and chunky gold jewellery and are the queen of boring casseroles and insist their kids be in bed by nine.

Then there’s her. Jagged and wound down and much looser. Etched in coolness. Less controlled - more quirky. Crazy hair even on a good day. Cherry ice cream smile. Young by their standards. Berkeley dropout. Strolling around in her suede fringed jacket and a Patti Smith t-shirt and boot cut jeans.

You’ve always seen the way other moms raised their brows at her appearance. They think she’s trashy. A single mom who dresses and eats and acts the way she does.

Scoffing behind her back at the rhinestone jacket or her vintage cowboy boots. She’s punchy. She doesn’t give two shits. She loves both her kids passionately and would be the first to swing a punch, split her knuckles open for you. Always in your corner. No matter what.

She had you both so young and braved through your dad walking out. Good riddance. He never did have the balls to do the important shit.

She told you that once you were just on the cusp of being old enough to understand why he wasn’t around.

Told you as she wrapped her arms around you and engulfed you in a hug. Smelling like Yves Saint Laurent Paris and gold Newports. She kissed the top of your head.

He couldn’t hack responsibility babe. He had his chance. Too bad he blew it. Cause I happen to think you’re the coolest pair of kids in the world.

She bucked up and scraped money together and it stung a bit sure. Pinched the corners of life at times. But she turned the back of her Brooke Shields shiny hair to the stares she gets in this town. Flipped the bird to those Carol’s and Susan’s who dared to judge her.

Somehow they thought she was a deadbeat mom. But she’s now raised two honour roll kids. First Charlie. Now you.

You’re on track for Indie State. Charlie went to Purdue. She said she’d love you even if you wanted to flip burgers or fix greasy old clunker cars for a living.

The phone shrills out loud as you’re scooping sticky chocolate chip dough into the greased sheets. It clumped between your fingers.

“Hang on.” You call out with no patience to the ringing, as you lean over to pluck it from the wall. Cradle it between your shoulder and ear. Trying to locate a dish rag for your smeared messy hands.

“Yeah.” Figured it would be someone for Mom, or a telemarketer.

“How’s it hangin, Pencils.”

Immediately a grin bursts on your lips. It’s Pavlovian. He smiles. You echo it.

You hear his voice? Ok then. Your stomach flew to bits. All fluttery like confetti.

“Well well well. If it isn’t my favourite metal head.” You say as you balance your trays down. Bumping the counter with your hip.

He chuckles through the phone. You hear the crackle of his exhale. You can picture his smile and it’s doing something to your guts that is just, crazy.

“Hey, c’mon now. Play fair. You never told me you were seeing other metal heads? I bet it’s that lanky haired bastard from the pizza place on Beechwood Drive, in his Slayer tees.” He twirled the old green phone cord around his finger. It clacks around that chunky silver ring of his.

He’s so quick to step up and play around and you love it. You can hear the jokiness layered on his voice. Hear him moving around cause staying still is his worst nightmare. Typical Eddie.

God. Look at you. You’re both twirling the phone cords around your fingers like middle school girls. Crushes thick in your throats and smiles. Choking your hearts fully. Paper airplanes tossed with love notes folded inside. Initials crossed together in a pink love-heart.

“Yeah.” You tease. “But his hair isn’t as great as yours. And don’t you know by now that I’ve got guys lined up around the block. I’ve had to have a ticket booth installed.” You pick up your wooden spoon to mix.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Linda. I thought I rang my pencils.” You hear the soft scuff of his laugh.

“Hang on one second, my lipgloss needs refreshing.” You pout. “And I feel like I should be singing ‘If I only had a brain’.”

He beams and it’s so wide his cheeks hurt.

“That’s not the Wizard of Oz I’m hearing over there pencils, right?” He deciphers.

“Saint Joe of Strummer. Our lord and saviour.” You tell him proudly. Cursing when you splodge a little of the sticky dough on the countertop. Looking around for the dish rag.

“I’m of the Anti-Christ church myself. Ozzy is my devil and I’m bound to obey.” He leers. His voice drops and it slithers between your legs to hear it get deep.

“Mmm. Sounds kinky.” You flirt. Trying your hardest not to drop dough on your bare toes where you’re scooping it to the tray. He’s a great distraction to your focus.

“If you’re into blood play and satanic practices baby, I got some great news for ya.” He fiddles with the empty microwave packets on the kitchen counter.

Chicken pot pie from two nights ago. The Kraft mac n’ cheese that he shovels down like air. Usually scraping it out the pan, eating it with a too big wooden spoon. As he reads a rock magazine at the kitchen counter.

“Sadly no. Dungeon stuff only. Oh and leather. Face masks. Lots of whipping too. And biting.” You tease.

“Hang on. Lemme get a pen and some paper… I’ll make a note…” He rustles around like he’s actually searching for it. Wiry body with the twisted phone cord wrapped around his torso.

You smile at his eagerness to please you.

“I don’t think you need to take notes, Munson. Last time was pretty sensational.” You blush. Mixing your batter and flirt is creeping onto your lips.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Jesus. You’ve no idea. It’s been driving me crazy. I should be committed. Look, I couldn’t even wait til tonight to hear your voice. I-“ He sighs in wanting. His tongue was tripping away from him. He drew back. Worried he was being too much.

He couldn’t wait. He had to call you.

“Munson. You never have to be sorry for calling me.”

Cause, I fucking like you.

“You know, you can call me Eddie. Pencils.”

“First name basis? How brazen.” You rib.

“Yeah, later on I was planning to show you my ankles. Risqué or what?” He flirts. You chuckle.

He’s wandering over to the window and flicking the curtain aside with his fingertips to see the same old drab and murky Forest Hills staring back at him.

“What would the village elders say-“ You gasp. “My reputation will be in tatters.”

“Not possible. Your name isn’t Linda.”

“I may have to kiss you for that one.” You warn.

“I’m very open to that.” He says very quickly. Twirling a packet of reds around the shiny surface of the table. Considering lighting one up. The rush of your voice is his nicotine until he hangs up.

You close a cupboard door and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound. “Learning drums over there?” He seeks.

“I’m baking.” You offer up.

Phone at your shoulder and between your ear still as you mix the dough with your other hand to fold in the chocolate chips. Shaking the packet and watching the chips fall. Plinking into the thick batter. It’s very messy and clumsily done.

“Tell me you’re wearing a tiny pink Betty Crocker apron?” He all but purrs down the phone. Licking his lips.

“It’s pink and frilly.” You drawl.

“Mmm. More-“ He rasps down directly down the phone. Grinning. Holds it right to his mouth to talk louder into the receiver.

“Pretty heels too. Lacquered hair like Donna Reed. Whole shebang.”

“Fuck.” He twirls hair around his finger. Almost bites down on his skull ring.

“The images in my head are so unmatched right now. You’ve no idea.” He charms.

“Damn.” He moans again. It’s low and it strikes a direct chord with your pussy.

Shit. You’ve had delicious filthy dreams about those moans. Your hands on that hard dick of his.

“Yeah and don’t forget my strand of pearls.” You grin.

He splutters. Oh he could give you pearls if you wanted them. It’s what he’s been dreaming of.

Such a horny boy.

“You’re the perfect date you know. Kinky as fuck, into whipping and leather. But pearls and baking.”

“You don’t even know what I’m baking-“

“You say pot brownies pencils, I’m gonna go out right this second and buy a goddamned ring.”

“Remember the four C’s. Colour. Clarity. Carat. Cut.”

“Shit. You want a diamond? Hmm I was thinking more along the lines of a pop ring. More in my budget. Or maybe something out the claw machine in the arcade.” He bargains.

“I like a man who puts in the effort. And, hey I’m not picky. I’ll take it. Diamonds are way overrated anyhow.” You decide.

“And just to lay your mind at rest I’m making Extra Chocolate, chocolate chip cookies.”

He cradled his aching throbbing heart. Hand splayed over his chest. Made a groaning noise like he was mortally wounded. A crackle of the sigh rattled the phone.

“Alright. You’re officially too good for me. I’m gonna have to hang up.” He jokes. You laugh.

You really hope he doesn’t.

“Don’t do that.” You ask quietly. “I need to talk to someone sensate. I beg of you.” You urge. “I had to listen to Linda bitch all the way home on Friday about how low fat ice cream sucks, and how much she wants to bang James Spader in Pretty in Pink.”

“Wow that really says a lot about her taste in guys.” He commented. She really was Tiffany-twisted, that girl. Wrapped up in her own over groomed looks, bouncy blonde curls, and sex life. Lived by rules out of Cosmo magazine and fad diets.

“My ears wanted to commit suicide by the time I got home. Thank god cause as I got out the car she started to mention the words sleepover and boyfriend and I just about had the sanity to slam the car door, before anymore came out.”

“Wise move baby.” He beamed.

You preened at the nickname that did dirty things. Finally you now had the cookies ready for the oven.

“Alright...” You clunked the wooden mixing spoon down. “First wave of troops going in. I’ll you know their condition after battle. Hopefully they make a worthy addition to our night as I am trying to impress you with my passably mediocre baking skills.” You charm.

“Hey don’t practice too hard now. You know us guys like em stoopid.” He puts on a southern-belle twang.

“If you can navigate yawself round a tree girlie. Keep on walkin. Them slick city fellers can have ya.” He drawls.

Your laugh makes his whole mood hop into giddy.

“You’re such a goof.” You smile. He couldn’t wait to see that grin of yours in person again. In a mere handful of hours-

“I didn’t need another incentive to be impressed by you, pencils...” He smiles. Tone slipping back into genuine. “Already there.” He offers.

Before you can respond. Hurricane Munson struck elsewhere.

“And uh, Whatever condition those troops are in. I’ll take it. I’m not picky either. Charlie. Tango. Bravo.”

“Good.” You answer. Twiddling with the corner of the dish cloth. Fondness settled like warm oozy mush on your chest. Inescapable.

You could spend hours down the phone listening to Eddie crack his jokes. Twirl around. Get distracted. Put on stupid drama club voices like he was at Hellfire

“There aren’t trees in the way of your trailer are there? Cause I won’t be able to navigate round them all on my own.” You joke in reference to his earlier remark.

“You’re the perfect lady.” He sighs in a sweet hum.

“Oh and uh, I picked the movies for tonight.” He suddenly announced. Sounding cheeky. Brimming with it.

“Yeah?” You asked with inflection. “Yeah.” He answered. With none.

“You’re not gonna tell me are you?” You clued up.

“Leave me to have my wicked wicked fun.”

“VHS tease.” You complained all snarky.

“Scoot your pretty ass over here and come see for yourself you coward.” He dares. Tongue tipped out between his smiling teeth.

“Six still good?” You check. Up on your tiptoes and swirling around the tiled floor. Stomach swooping with anticipation.

“Golden.” He answers.

“Guess I’ll see you then. I’ll be the one in the skirt.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Ah same here. I hope we don’t clash.”

“Bye, Edward.” You joke. He gasps.

“Mm. Definitely gonna have to let you see my ankles now.” Comes his voice. Smile traced on it. You could tell.

“I’m counting the minutes.” You dip your voice low.

“See ya.” He parts. Slinging the phone back into it’s cradle on the wall. Smile charged to megawatt from your conversation. He wants to twirl and flip his hair. Goddamnit. He couldn’t keep still.

Then he drags his eyes to his surroundings. The crushed beer cans crumpled up on the kitchen counter, and the coffee table. The overflowing ashtrays. Trash in the kitchen. The dishes. The laundry strewn sofa. The dust- he chews his lip.

It was like he was seeing this place through fresh eyes. And it needed rectifying. He rolled up his sleeves.

Shit. He needed to hustle.

~

It was fair to say Wayne and Eddie had to grow used to living with each other.

The veil of constancy was Eddie’s safety blanket when it came to the gruff and earnestly stoic man, that was Wayne Munson; he pretty much remained himself. Didn’t change much.

Liked his bacon crispy. Made a peach cobbler that would blow your socks off til next Tuesd ay, but couldn’t assemble a sandwich neatly at all. Used to drive big semi trucks across the states. Did the crossword in the Hawkins Gazette. Adored Billie Holiday. Collected comical mugs. Liked strong coffee with cinnamon and had a dislike for cilantro. Loved old spaghetti westerns and that twanging soft country music he always hums too, which had carved space out of his soft-soppy Tennessee heart.

He had hatred for people with nasty gossiping sniping souls. Ugliness born inside, he thinks people don’t ever shift it on or lose that. He worked his fingers to the bone for the modest home and the little money they raked by on. He was unfailingly honest and generous. He had few words to give. He was Eddie’s weather-beaten yet reliable rock.

Eddie can imagine that Wayne getting to know him was more of a challenge; tricky to navigate; herding cats, walking on-knives-and-eggshells kind of difficult. How do you get to know someone when their character is set on shifting sand?

Thing is. Eddie never really changed that much.

He’s still the starry-eyed kid leaping on the couch, shredding air guitar to Metallica in filthy sneakers cause the moment just ran away with him. He’s the one making a huge show of not stepping on cracks in the pavement cause he’s down enough as it is. Not breaking mirrors, ever, and picking up sidewalk spilt pennies. And apologising and stepping over weeds in the trailer lot. Not trampling them underfoot.

Eddie was still the boy inside that felt bad for struggling weeds. The one to feel sorry for a squashed little dandelion.

Wayne wrenched open this home to this kid as a stranger. Barbs and shame-wrapped guilt set in his heart that he didn’t know his brothers own kid better than he did. He kept to his lane. He stayed out the way of his brothers numerous convictions. Remained a stranger to trouble.

But then, when need came knocking; he offered up, no questions asked. The way a bird offered the gentle lift of their wing, to something foreign needing shelter, in a warm bramble nest, from the raging storm.

Eddie will never forget the first words he heard out of Wayne’s mouth. Around the corner of some bland police precinct. Warm. Firm. Dependable.

“He’s my family. He’s blood. That’s enough. Kindly let me see him.”

He didn’t regret stepping up to bat for one minute. Maybe he’s grouchy and he’d never fully ‘get’ or approve of everything his nephew did, or enjoyed. But he didn’t chew him out, or pick at him for it.

He learned what flavour pop tarts Eddie liked best for breakfast. When he needed sleep or help. When he needed space. When to warn him to watch his attitude, or his mouth, or manners, and when to back off. Parental things.

Eddie was a stale eyed kid when he first met Wayne. Perhaps innocent and maybe just jaded enough to see beyond the rose-tinted prism of childhood. He was jaggedy-rough round the edges and not worn into himself yet. Caught up in the hard knocks of social care and down-and-out on his luck, as a mostly unwanted eight year old. That stuck some nasty pins in his ego pretty early on.

Wayne could see how Eddie kept expecting to be shuffled on elsewhere. Big shining eyes that a puppy would envy under a scruff mop of hair. Clutching all he had for dear life. His scruffy collection of tattered comics and stubby pencils and half broken toys.

Kept looking around the trailer like he shouldn’t get too attached. Sat gingerly on the edge of the sagging bed. Shouldn’t make mess or get comfy. Cause soon, he’ll have to pack his scrappy things into that sad cardboard box and eek out a wobbling lipped goodbye. Sad that home hadn’t stuck, again.

Eddie kept that empty scruffy little box sat in the bottom of his closet for six months. Just in case.

Wayne threw that box right in the trash.

Bought him a beat up old turntable. Put a shelf up in his room and a stood a few second hand fantasy paperback books on it. Bought him a few new things that didn’t belong to someone else first.

Wayne watched Eddie fall into stability. To learn how to put roots down. Grow steady and then in quick spurts, into who he was. In that way kids do. The way they grow into clothes that were too big. Shoes that would eventually fill out to fit their steps.

He watched the love of music come blasting in. Middle school. Rolling Stones magazines. Catching Black Sabbath on the radio one day. The appreciation for that loud thrashing dirty-steel rock he now loves. The one that ran vein deep. His idols with the crazy scruffy long hair. He discovered Ozzy and Axl, Judas Priest and Lemmy.

Watched him sew on badges that he bought for pennies at dime stores, and get bloody fingertips cause he really was useless at needlework. Found his signature rings at a cool vintage place outta state. Watched him saw off the arms of his denim jacket and come home with a swing in his step and a DIO shirt from the goodwill - a twinkle in his eye. Determination threaded in this burgeoning passion. Tip of the iceberg.

A plan Wayne. I have a well executed, thorough plan. Foolproof.

Mmmhmm. Is this gonna end up exactly like the last plan you had, kid?

Let’s find out.

Gone from the sweet boy who was too scared of everything, and everyone boring, and being judged, and now he’s turned inside out, full circle, to become this genuinely sweet young man, who turned against that boring tide of beige normalcy.

Eccentric and whirly with the unfocused energy that never burned out. Dynamite blaze kid. Even when he tried to hide scrapes on his knees, and raw knuckles. A shiner that he let his shaggy fringe cover, from an attempt to fight and claw back.

He still gave Wayne that shocking toothy grin with a fat lip and a busted nose, cause he was actually stupid proud of himself - and the way he stuck up for some freshman. The tiny nerdy one who had a carton of milk poured over his head by the meat head jocks. Having pages ripped out his science textbooks by them and spread to the wind like leaves.

Eddie sat beside the newbie with bleeding raw knuckles, cracked jokes, sellotaped those torn pages back together - wonky. Just to show that someone out there, cared.

The smiles became armour, devil horns and Gene Simmons tongue. The hair started to grow out into rioting curls. Doe eyes glinted promiscuity; to those who didn’t know him well enough to know there was no shred of malice anywhere in him.

Eddie collected parts of himself, the way someone would laundry plucked off the line- like the badges and pins he secured on his chest and flashed around for fun.

He found his first DND board and his dice at a yard sale. And then came that sweet head-muzzy strain of Colombia gold, and Reefer Rick and light frothy cans of beer on an empty stomach. He found acceptance. Ripped jeans and scuffed knees. The exquisite pin pricks of a scratchy tattoo the day he turned 18. Asked if he could wear the old sagging leather jacket he found hung in the back of the closet, from Wayne’s younger and more hip days.

The way he went full bonkers-gaga over seeing his 24 fret NJ warlock in the window of a music store in town. Bursting big heart eyes over it and saving up for months. Awfully tempted by the idea of some piercing, somewhere, but nearly fainted when he got in the shop. So that was the end of that. He founded Hellfire and he protected his fellow freaks. Scraped together his high school band.

Collected the little lost sheepies in armfuls, in bunches, so that no one within his reaches would ever have to sit and console that festering hungry chasm of being an unwanted kid, with nowhere to turn.

Cause Eddie knew well enough, it was a bottomless gremlin pit with gnashing teeth, and it would take take take as long as you bothered to feed it.

And all that learning and comfiness, and living, now it currently tapered down to Wayne not being at all surprised, by watching his nephew shaking frail little spindly spiders out into the doormat, talking soothingly to them.

Shooing them out off the glossy pages of his rock music magazine. Telling them to get used to the brave new world of Forest Hills outside these four walls.

“-And kudos by the way for eating the flies. Appreciate you for that. Sorry I’ll have to take down those cobwebs. Consider this your eviction notice.” As he jimmied the last one off the paper and it crinkled noisily. Bracelet on his wrist jingling.

Wayne is peering over the shield of his paper. Coffee steaming away in a chipped Snoopy mug by his side. Cigarette dangling from his fingers. Watching Eddie crouch right at the mouth of the trailer door. Holding it open and watching the insects lope away in new brave directions.

Pieces of clarity started to to swim together when he takes a look at Eddie’s clothes.

Different to his normal threads on a Saturday night; Either he’s kicking his feet into reeboks, shouldering on his leathers and vest to go out a party at some place, and come back reeking of grass and beer breath. Or; he’s shuffling around in his thread bare plaid pyjama pants and a ratty AC/DC tee, asking what’s for dinner through a smeary eyed yawn.

This is neither; he straightened up to go and neatly return the magazine to his room, as opposed to throwing it down to rest in any old place. Odd.

Wayne took notice of his clothes. Black jeans that were suspiciously clean of ash stains or frayed knee holes. His long sleeved black skull tee rolled up to his elbows, ink on display. Chest blazoned with a band name he’s never heard of, and down the sleeve too in gothic red. His hair was all fluffed up - like he’d finally discovered what a comb was.

Eddie saunters back into the room. Flitting from place to place. Shoving beer cans in a bulging garbage bag. Along with empty crushed food packets that he left out. Sweeping crumbs off the counter with his bare hands. Probably over the floor but the effort was there- picking cigarette butts off the floor that he was careless enough to drop.

And Wayne didn’t even have to shoot his usual look, clearing his throat at him, about that nasty habit. He was clearing up entirely on his own. Without prompt.

He was rushing. Rushing was the antithesis of Eddie’s speed. A thin film of sweat on his brow under that choppy lollop of a fringe. He’s crammed garbage bags full. Shoving stuff inside.

Says something under his breath that sounds like “shit” as he darts back into his room. Wallet chain jangling behind him. Socked feet thudding softly on the carpets.

He keeps an ear open for what sounds like commotion. Frantic tidying. The shuffling of clothes by the armful. Closet doors shutting with a thwack. He talks to his guitar as he hums and tidied.

“I know I know. Sweetheart. I should have done this earlier. Don’t look at me like that…”

He rounds up his dirty clothes and does a sniff test - again. That was the third time tonight.

Movement clattering along the hall. Socked feet storm back to the washer. He’s stuffing an armful of mostly all black clothing into it like he’s trying to dispose of body parts in there. Ramming in so much he has to shut the door quick.

“Rat bastard.” He hissed after he shook the dream fresh laundry powder in and slams it shut. Punches it for good measure. His rings clack on the metal-metal contact. Shook his fist out I n the air cause that hurt more than he thought it would.

Now he’s back to the trash bags in the kitchen. Looping them up and walking across the door to dump them outside in the garbage cans. Hopping across the sharp gravel in socked feet like a jumping hare.

Wayne sees that determined set in his brow as the door snaps open and back in slams Eddie at a million miles a second. Frowning at everything he sees. Sloped brows. Mouth curled into a grimace.

He comes to empty the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table near Wayne. Well, it was an old soup can that somehow turned into an ashtray. Annoyed that he missed it. Muttering to himself. Scooping away dust. It was like watching a one man ant farm.

This led to him now being stood on the couch, suddenly reorganising the shelf behind it. Batting cobwebs away from mugs and wiping a hand on his jeans.

“Jesus. I mean how dusty is this place?” Eddie asks to no one in particular. Not expecting an answer.

Silence. Rustling.

Wayne folds up his paper and nicely slaps it down on the arm beside him. Folds his hands in his lap. “Eddie.”

Eddie turns around like a doe eyed deer caught in semi headlights. Twisted at the waist. Back of his shirt riding up over his lithe waist. Peek of his back and his plaid red boxer band showing over the back of his jeans.

The bony notches of his spine poke through skin where he’s leaning over. He blinks owlishly at his uncle. One foot braced on the back of their elderly moth-eaten couch.

“What the hell you doin?” Wayne asks with kind bewilderment. Shaking his head at his kid.

“Spring cleaning?”

Wayne’s eyes narrow as he lifts his hand up and sucks on his cigarette. “Sure?” He checks.

“No?” Comes the answer. Carefully. Wincing. Wayne takes a breather.

“There’s cobwebs. And, dust.” He explained. Pointing to the wall before him. “Look see, dust.”

“Why the sudden aptitude for household chores there, huh?” Wayne asks as he nurses his cooling coffee.

To his shame they don’t exactly keep the place pristine. He tries his best, but on some days work takes it clean outta him. Eddie’s room resembled a garbage tip bomb-site most likely.

Eddie swallows. “You know. Just- some light maintenance.” He shrugs. That was the most plausible answer his brain spat out upfront.

“On a Saturday night?”

“I’m um, totally slammed on Sunday.” He admits. Clapping off his hands.

“Kid. How stupid do you think I am. Because frankly, all I’ve seen, is all I need to see. If you get my drift.”

Eddie turns away and continues his frantic cleaning. Polishing a mug with his shirt sleeve.

“I have… guests… coming over tonight.” If he makes it plural maybe he can get away with it.

“Your DND club.” Wayne guesses. This earns a snort from the metalhead.

“I once saw Gareth eat pizza off the canteen floor. Like I’d bother dusting here for those doofuses.” He grins.

“Then question remains; who are you dusting, and laundry-doing and taking out the spiders for?” Wayne leans forward and asks. Scratching the stubble at the side of his grizzled jaw.

Eddie clings to silence. Which he never does. Never ever does this boy exist without noise bursting out his mouth. Looks like a sheepish kid again.

Wayne’s gaze meets his. ‘Well?’

Cause he would support whomever Eddie chose to bring home. Girl or boy, or undecided. He’s no dummy. He’s got eyes in his head. He’s seen things. The little quirky tics in Eddie’s character when he likes someone. He knows his kid pretty darn well enough by now.

“A girl.” Eddie concludes turning away, like it was casual, cool, and nothing to get worked up over. No biggie. Just… the girl of my dreams. So what? I can be casual about this. It’s totally fine. And normal. Normally fine.

“A girl.” Wayne nods.

“Change this record. It’s skipping.” Eddie leers. Pointing a funny wagging finger at his relative.

“This girl. She royalty or something.”

Eddie cuts a look. It’s just bordering on grumpy and peeved.

“Listen, she ain’t coming to inspect the place or audit us. A little dust and clutter isn’t gonna put her off spending time with you, now is it.”

Eddie sighs. Itched the back of his head. Screwed his eyes shut.

“No. See man. I wanted to be presentable. Cause when she walks in this trailer, she’s gonna be expecting me to look and act like sleazy, greasy trailer trash. And I just. Wanna-“ he clenched his fists.

“Just wanna be….presentable.” He mumbled. Repeating. As he softly scuffed the couch arm with his foot. He sighed. Rubbed a dusty knuckle in his eye until stars scrawled black and bursting.

“Goddd. Look at me. I’ve showered twice. And I untangled the knots out my hair. I used that fancy bar soap I got for xmas that smells like lemons. I brushed my teeth for a whole two minutes. May have used a splash of your cologne. That stung like hell by the way.” He added naughtily. Pinching the collar of his shirt in two fingers and flapping it up and down to cool himself off.

“I’m sweaty. My hair feels itchy. I don’t know what I’m gonna say. She’s gonna be stunning, and awesome and I feel like I’m having a heart seizure or probably a stroke over here. I don’t know man. Fuck-“

Wayne let’s him get it out. As he’s learned with Eddie sometimes it’s best. He often just needed a ramble. To let his tongue lash til he ran dry.

He kicked the couch again. Harder. Still standing up tall on it.

“What’s she like, this girl. She into the same kinda stuff as you?” Wayne enquired.

It dipped muzzily into his big soft heart seeing Eddies mouth hooked right up into a petite smile when he asked about you. One side curls.

“No she’s, uh, she likes Punk music and Bowie, Talking Heads, Billy Idol, and like, you should hear her, she talks about all these artists and shit I’ve never heard of. It’s amazing-“

She’s entirely too good for the likes of me.

“She’s so cool. Effortlessly cool y’know?- And creative?! She likes scary movies and she works in the record store. She hates jocks. I cannot believe she’s actually bothering to look twice at a moron like me. Super senior, King of the freaks.” He jabs his fingers into his bony skull clad chest.

Because Eddie didn’t think it was exactly a secret that flunk out’s like him, were never exactly crawling in babes, or cramming in dates on the weekends.

“I really like her.” He mumbled openly. Wiping palms on his jeans. That’s what this effort all whittled down too.

He couldn’t meet Wayne’s eyes as he said it. It seemed to good to be true. His hopes were so little. Floundering seeds.

He wanted this to go well. He whirled his eyes elsewhere and fidgeted through his words. Typical Eddie.

“I gathered as much from your general-“ Wayne waved his hand around in the air of the living room and towards the kitchen “…Running round. Giving me whiplash just watching you, kid.” He stubs out his cigarette.

Eddie stays where he is. Stood couch top. Absorbing the information Wayne fed him.

“Why don’t you get down from there. Leave the dusting the hell alone. And just relax.” He soothes. Always a balm to the frizzy fraying nerves.

Eddie looks like it could be a trap if he dares to let himself chill out. You say it like it’s easy.

“She must like you to come all the way out here to spend time with you. Just be yourself. I guarantee you, that’s what she’s interested in. Not the state of this place.” He shifts in his chair and groans a little. Adjusts his legs.

Eddie let’s out a huff. Slumps down the sofa and throws his body onto it. Crazy hair flicking after he moved. It’s fluffier too. Some lame attempt at his own hands to pretty it up from its usual insanity.

“What you guys planning on doing?” He seeks. Sips his coffee. Distraction worked well, too. He often found.

“Ordering pizza and watching a couple movies.” Eddie says up to the ceiling. Scanning for cobwebs. Fiddling with the rings on one hand. One knee twitching up and down.

He had the stack of videos ready on top of the TV. Night of the Living Dead. Nightmare on Elm Street. And then Ghostbusters for something undeniably cheesy. The microwave popcorn in the kitchen. A number for the pizza place hemmed in on the fridge with magnets, as per usual.

Wayne makes a soft noise at the back of his throat at hearing that. A smile creeps on his lips. He idly reads the folded back of his paper.

“What?” Eddie quizzes.

Wayne’s smile grows if anything.

“I may be an old man. But I was young once. I do happen to know what that means.” He stared Eddie down in that parental way.

“You’re gonna be careful with this girl, right. Safe sex ain’t no joke.”

That did it.

“Aww man, c’mon.” Eddie choked, cringing, as he launched himself up out the sofa and quickly scurried away like a jangly pillar of goth black missile. Aimed sharpish in another direction.

“It’s a first date, by the way. I’m not gonna be breaking out the condoms and whistles and bells here.” He lets out.

He’s shaking his head and losing himself in the confines of his room. Music is softly shredding out the low stereo. Alice Coopers ‘Welcome to my Nightmare’ sneers softly into his room. He cranks it up.

Wayne stood up. Smiling and shaking his head in making his kid cringe. Gathering his things for work. Walking to the kitchen slowly to empty the dregs of his cup. Leave it in the sink for later. He grabs his things as he walks on past the front door. Heavy work boots crushing soft on the carpets and then the lino.

He walks right up to Eddie’s door, peers into the clustered metal gilded mess of his room.

Shocked to notice he could actually see the floor. And the raunchy pin ups were safely shepherded away inside the closet. The playboy magazines he pretends he doesn’t know about shoved under the bed. The dresser and side tables were still messy as. There’s been an attempt at making the bed. The sheets are straightened and tucked in.

“Listen now, you’re 20 year old man, and you have a zipper. I won’t say any more than that. But you best play it safe. Y’hear?”

“NO.” Eddie fairly shrieks.

“Not listening anymore.” Comes the answer as he faffs around and pretends to be busy with some things in his closet.

“Eddie.” Wayne smiles.

He turns back around and stands up. Expression of limited enthusiasm.

“Wayne. I am the town fuck up in a lot of ways. But not in this way.” He marched back to his bedside. Throws the blue Trojan condom packet up in the air and catches it. A silent ‘see?’

His uncles brow crooks up. Shuffling his wallet into his jeans. Pulling on his heavy fleece lined denim jacket. “Jeez. Those things still in date?”

Eddies face falls.

“They expire?” He flips the packet and looks at the back.

“Lord. I am gettin out of here. Save me some pizza would ya.” Wayne dismisses with a shake of his old head.

This high school romance thing was better left a young man’s game.

~

Eddie thinks he forgets how to breathe, when the buttery headlights of your car slant into the big window of the trailer.

He poked his head out the door earlier. The air is cool out tonight. Hung with moisture, so thick you could sip at it. Icy cold like a dirty clear martini. The kind of night that bloats up and leaves the taste of wet grass on your tongue.

The headlights are a sobering neon yellow under the cushy spring night that was churning slowly in dregs and streaks, to a violet. Lilac bathed air punched with cold. One of those night slow nights that gets slipped into dark majesty, and the stars cluster bright like winking pearls.

Eddie’s eyes have been on the windows for an hour. He’s paced groves in this thick matted carpet, he’s sure of it. Eyes set on the windows like he’s on a mission. Trying not to chew his nails. Got him acting like a pound mongrel waiting for their owner to come home.

The car lights flick off. Engine cuts dead.

And now he can hear the slam of your car door. His heart rockets into overdrive with scary amounts of adrenaline and stabbing excitement that will, he’s sure, undeniably make a moron out of him before then night is out.

You’re stepping up the creaky porch. He knows those snaps and shifts of the old steps. You’re knocking on his door.

He takes a deep breath. Fills his crappy sentimental lungs, that he placated with a cigarette, twenty ache filled minutes ago.

He cannot open the door fast enough, and the sight of you the other side, roundhouse whirls into his chest. Smacks right between the ribs. Fists him by the front of his t-shirt and yanks-

You’re like that song Wayne hums and taps his feet too, when he makes eggs on a Sunday mo rning. ‘Like being hit by a falling tree, woman, woman what you do to me.’

“Ah woman bearing beer. You’re definitely welcome inside.” He grins. Leaning against his door.

He thinks he keeps on imagining how pretty you are. But here you stand with the cheap orange light of the trailer washing back over you, haloing your body like a wash of heaven, and he’s gotta remember not to stare.

You’ve brushed this smoky-sparkly purple eyeshadow on. Nightshade purple like the sky out tonight. Big lashes all dark too. Your lips are pink shiny and glossy. (You so totally stole a tube from Linda, naughty pencils)

You’re wearing a brown corduroy skirt and a black polo neck. Long brown leather boots up to your calves. Your hair is so silky. Eyes shimmering this angel honey warmth at him.

You’re holding an eggshell coloured plate of Saran-wrapped cookies. Piled high and dark chocolate. In your other hand you have a six pack of coors and something else-

“Best part?” You begin.

You hold something up, tilt your head and there’s that smile.

The thing you hold, it’s all canine teeth and fake tufts of hair. Two triangle ears. Tacky acetic smell of plastic. “For the Heist.”

A wolf man mask. A smile leaps onto his lips.

“You think of everything.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Got yours I hope Pencils?” He asks with a levelled look as he widens the door for you to step in.

“It’s in the car. Messes up my hair.” You shrug. You climb up the last uneven wedge of a step and move to come inside.

“Hey.” You smile. He liked that you goofed around first. Went traditional greeting second.

“Hey back.” He said softly. Pretty smile all wide. Espresso dark eyes fixed unendingly on your face.

You nervously chew your lip and gaze down. You want to lean over and kiss his cheek but didn’t want to overstep or be weird about it.

You clunkily flounder on the doormat. Self doubt lingers on your fingertips. You wish you could just escape into the confidence to lean over and kiss him like you did the other night. But then you had a belly of vodka and Dutch courage backing you up.

Decide hand him over the plate of cookies. He can smell the cocoa and sugar sneaking out when he takes the thing off you. “For you-“ you gift.

“Troops made it. Well done boys.” It makes you chuckle. Wiggles the plate in one hand and talks to the cookies.

“Hope you got a sweet tooth. I made so many.”

“Always.” He answers to your enquiry. “My diet is 98% Oreos and mini powdered donuts.” He beams.

You nudge the beers in your hand too. “Fridge?”

He takes them off you gently. “Yeah, here, gimme.” He bundled them up and stepped past you. The door snapped shut behind him and you took in the space as Eddie padded to the fridge.

You smile as you gaze around the walls. The scratchy orange curtains. The warmness of the lamps splashing up light. A very well beloved couch and all the mug keepsakes and hats on the walls. It’s cosy. It’s a home. Capital H. Just like yours. You can see that from one glance.

The Campbell’s soup can used as an ashtray cause the actual red glass ashtray next to it was overflowing with pocket junk. The plaid shirts yet to be ironed, crumpled somewhat clumsily in a laundry basket. Some sepia family pictures tacked to the space above the counter where the sun won’t bleach them. The red pansy pattern on the sofa that clashes with the lone saggy yellow throw pillow. The marbled malty brown carpet.

A place that sure wasn’t fancy, but had character and warmth in swathes more than anything designer and clinical green money could buy. It’s a sagging trailer sure, no hiding that. But you imagine with a cold shower of outside patting at the roof, these friendly yellow walls would swallow you up in their charming blanket of old cigarettes, male cologne and powder dreamy detergent. Some scratchy record playing blues and a snuggly throw on that couch, it would be a sort of enclosing haven.

“It’s uh- not much. But… a place to crash or to hang your hat, as Wayne says.” Eddie trails off. Setting the cookies on the counter. Nodding in jest towards the numerous baseball caps.

“I like it. Honestly. You should see my house. Moms hippy-bohemian posters and pretty strange sense of interior decor reigns strong.” You tell him.

“I’d like to see that.” He says as he clunks beers in the ancient whirring fridge. You smile over at him. You nod and share eye contact.

“Come through the front door this time though, perhaps. Save your ass from that thorny rose bush.” You encourage warmly.

“Awh. You’re worried about the state of my ass.” He preens. Leans against the counter and gives you moony eyes.

“Damn right. Someone’s got to be.” You answer back.

“Thank heaven it’s you.” He simpers. Smile

Slowly crawls up and your stomach warms all dizzy. You bite your lip.

“Drink?” He offers. Hands splayed over the counter. “We got Pepsi, ginger ale.”

“Actually, a beer would be great.” You nod. Cold buzz light give you some courage to finally bump your mouth to those soft sweet lips you adore. And had missed.

You should have done it tonight the second he opened the door. Damn politeness. You should’ve sprung on him.

“Two beers. Coming up.” He grins. Drums the counter with open slaps of his hands. Dives for the fridge.

You unzip your boots. Worried about getting wet marks on the floor.

“Princess. Your shoes are probably cleaner than this carpet.” Eddie explains wryly from behind the fridge.

Coming back to see you standing into the mushy carpet in your bare feet. Painted toes mulberry purple. Sparkles glitter gritty over the deep paint.

“It’s the principle of the thing now, Munson.” You say as you toe them off. Stuff your socks inside. You place them by the door and wander over to the jut of the counter. Standing the other side looking at him. His skin itches and leaps with the realisation of your smiling at him. He more than likes it.

He’s got the beers before him. Cracking them open. The fizz and the hoppy mist. He slides yours on over for you to catch like a saloon bar in a western.

“Mi’lady” He says as he raises his can up for you to crash them together in a toast. A tinny clank where you toast. His rings clack on the side of the can.

“Thank you, gallant Knight.” You flatter. After taking back a cold hop filled sip.

It makes you think of that slanted drunken time in Kyle’s garden. Sharing polite sips of a warm beer. Stealing glances under fringes and sparing longing looks.

You watch his brows raise with surprise at your choice of title. “And here, I thought I was the jangly belled jester dude. Or the scrawny but lovable bard.” He grins all toothy.

“Fraid not. You’re my Knight in shining DIO vest.” You tell him.

If you had to, you’d rearrange the entire solar system by hand to see the sight of Eddie Munson blush again the way he is now. His cheeks full with it.

He scratches the back of his neck and looks like he wants to twirl away and hide in his hair all bashful.

“You rescued me from the pack of Ogres and brought me healing Campbells aid. Not to mention some very seriously delicious behaviour in a closet.” You played along. Fiddling your fingertips along the edge of the counter. “That’s Knightly behaviour, my guy.” You nod.

“You’d be ok with being my maiden then, huh?” He can’t ignore the very bloated intent behind those words. Chews the inside of his lower lip. He can taste beer and he’s so aching to kiss you again.

“More than ok.” You met his longing brown gaze. Those melty eyes standing stark under that chippy fringe. “Hey, as long as you don’t think I’m the Dragon. I’m fine with whatever.” You hold your hands up.

His smile brightens. “I think we all know who the dragon is, pencils.”

You laugh.

His heart swoons.

And then it twirls somewhere different. He looks intent. Like he wants to grab something but can’t. Pent up. Like he’s digging fingers into the counter to keep from something else.

“Ok, excuse the shit outta me but, fuck it, I should have done this the second I saw you tonight.”

He suddenly bursts into movement around the counter. You follow where he rounds it in record time. Chain jangling. Socked feet padding the floor.

Emotions are chunky jagged things that can’t contain him. Slip off his body like oil slick. Beat off him like rain bouncing off concrete. It can’t contain him or maybe it’s the other way around.

He comes your side and you can barely have a breath before he’s cupped your neck either side, so gentle, and pushed his lips onto yours in a kiss so sweet it made your brain wipe blank.

His body cages you back into the counter. Tile top digging the back of your waist. Your hands flounder for a second. You smile to his lips before your hands come to his back. His belt buckle jams to your skirt and it makes your stomach flutter with want.

He tastes the same and it’s a flavour you’re oddly fascinated by. Smoky brush and hoppy beer. Maybe a little acrid but you don’t mind it. So traditionally Eddie it makes your knees wobble.

His thumb is soft on the line of your jaw. Savours the way He languidly kisses you out of breath. He swallows a sugary clasp of a little gasping noise you made. Wants more- more more more of them. He’s caught in your orbit and never wants to fall out of this clutch of your gravity.

Tastes the gloss off your mouth and he prays you don’t think him a massive perverted creep for this.

When you break for air, his lips don’t wander far. Spit wet and near yours and now he’s wearing sugar high pink gloss too. His nose lays along the line of yours.

“Sorry-“ He gasps.

He may have short circuited your brain with that kiss. Glitched something out for sure.

“I don’t see what sorry has to do with that.” You murmur softly. Leaning up to brush your nose into his. Try to contain this harsh vein buzz he’s got going in you.

“Inviting you over to my trailer and mauling you.” He gasps as he rakes a soft brush of hair off your cheek. Back tenderly behind your soft ear.

You push on your tiptoes. Capture his mouth in a slowly melting peck. Hand sliding across his cheek. Palming a cheekbone. Fingertips nesting in that dry wild mane.

“I don’t mind a little mauling.” You explain. He rests his hands on your hips with a self satisfied chuckle. Thumbs stroking the waistband of your skirt.

“Not very Knightly.” He quipped. Going dumb the way you plucked kisses at his mouth in-between his attempts to speak.

“Chastity is overrated. I’m not waiting in a fucking tower to protect my virtue.” You tell him.

You’ve got his fucking chest skipping and his heart is on the roof of his mouth. Cheeks ache from smiling.

He holds your waist like he’s afraid you’ll move or drift away. Ridiculous. You’ve patiently waited to get here. You’re not budging. Eyes set on yours. The wet gloss glimmer of your lips and those eyes he pathetically wants to stare into like he’s discovered a new form of Eden.

“I can’t believe I didn’t work up the courage to talk to you sooner.” Bursts out his mouth before he can stop it. A shy little confession that he feels very nerdy to have given a voice too.

“Wanna know something?” You tell him all softly. Stroking over the wavy tips of those choppy bangs.

“If not guess I’ll just kiss it outta you…” He decides. Eyes dizzily on your lips. His hips sway into you and he tilts his head to plant a sweet kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“I think I had a crush on you from the very second you got sat behind me in history class.” You explain.

You couldn’t help it. There you were all wrapped and stirred up in your love of punk and anarchy. And then in walks this crazy, messy leather clad and metal dipped kid with doe eyes and trouble stroked deep into his smile. The frenzy and the non-conformity. Clutched you good.

“Why do you think I always tapped on your shoulder asking for a pencil, pencils?” He teased. But he wasn’t done;

Sense slotted into place.

“Do you know why I call you that by the way?” He checks. Voice such a soft chasm of purity.

“I assumed the way I’m always covered in graphite and ink, and paint splatters.” You shrugged.

“No.” He raises your hand up and marks a kiss the back of it. “But I do really dig that look on you.”

“Alas-“ He continued. “Its because you never snapped at me. Never once rolled your eyes or ignored me when I tapped on your shoulder. You didn’t dismiss me the way everyone else did.”

You’re floored. Stood pinned to this counter and you’re so touched.

“You always gave me a pencil. Always. And you smiled at me as you did it. Didn’t tell me to keep it with disgust or bark that you wanted it back right after. Look at it like you’d contract rabies from being touching something I’d used.”

You indeed smiled at him. You asked about the patches on his vest. About the bands you’d not heard of. Told him the answer to a random question of the pop quiz if you saw him struggling. Twisted around and caught sight of the horned devil skull he was doodling and thought it was cool.

You lit up when he came into class or when he said something funny. And sure, he did show off in the hopes it would earn that beam of yours. He always felt like opportunity slipped out his hands when you scurried away after class finished.

He tried every day, to stay and catch your eye- make you laugh again. Just something to rouse that little kernel of connection he had to you. And when he saw you around you were always alongside the blonde one he assumed was too cool to approach.

“Wow, we’re morons. It’s only taken us this long to get things going.” You supplied casually.

“Pencils. Trust me. I noticed you beside that blonde poodle friend of yours a lot. I thought how pretty and awesome you seemed. Would’ve tried to talk to you, but I kinda thought you hated me.” He admits with a wince.

“Why?” You ask almost sadly. Ready to crunch up your own conscience in guilt.

“That’s what people usually do. They don’t even get to know me they just decide to skip right to the ‘hating my guts’ part.”

You shake your head. Boldly.

“Not this people.” You say. Cupping his cheek. “And I’d like to spend a lot of time proving that tonight.”

Your free hand slunk to his waist. Holding him with a perfectly lovely touch that has his knees swooning. Fuck it, yes. He could swoon too.

He smiles at that. And it’s so stunningly honest it makes the slippy walls of your heart ache. Lays his lips onto yours again.

“What’s say we order this pizza, get buzzed and uh, do some very dirty hand stuff on the couch whilst we pretend to be interested in it?” He grins.

“Perfect.” You slip up and kiss him again. Arms crossed over his shoulders. Body entirely pasted to his.

“Does this mean we’re officially dating now?” You ask him sweetly when you pull back. Not having moved one inch away. Engrossed, entangled and entwined.

“It better.” He nudged his nose to yours. And it really was as simple as that.

“Fuck. I wanna kiss you again. Can I-“ He started, and before you can even answer. Before your tongue can shape and push words out your teeth. He’s on you again.

“Baby. We’re way past asking permission.” You break away and breathily tell him as the kissing gets heavier, more intense. Arms squeeze harder. Getting closer when there’s no room to spare already. Crushed. No breath. It’s glorious.

“Don’t tell me that.” He flirts. If you give him free-reign, you’ll never be able to reel him back again. You just won’t. He’s far too, far gone.

“Believe I just did.” You tell him. Ballsy.

He leads you stumbling by the waist over to the couch. Smiling. Nibbling your lower lip. Sucking and his tongue sweeping yours. Knocking and kissing, knees touching. Falling and falling into each other again. You gasp where you awkwardly clash together on the lumpy couch cushions.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that one Pencils.” He teases. Face all blushy and definitely love-drunk. Kiss dazed. Funny how you’d quite forgotten about those beers all of a sudden.

“Bring it on, Munson.” You urged.

~

🕷️This here? Oh no biggie. Just the next part of Eddie x Pencils 🕷️

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx

~

[roadkill-punk]

First au post yippie

This is Hornet! Maybe a little bigger than usual, but she doesn't seem particularly bothered.

These are some doodles connected to my most thought out au, proper name pending, Queen Hornet au. Au stuff below, if you're interested!!

A brief CW for injuries and Radiance infection related stuff!! It's not too graphic, but do keep that in mind :3

Long after Hallownest falls, Hornet is still there, standing watch over the dying lights of what remains, keeping those unworthy from finding what they shouldn't, and watching with long since faded hope for something, anything to bring peace to this deserted kingdom.

She waits, and waits, and waits, but nothing comes, nothing changes. More die, more suffer. There's nothing left for her in this wasteland any longer.

Except for one thing, one person. Locked away sealed within a black temple just below the surface from which darkness and plague oozes and agony ripples like waves upon long rotted corpses.

That is not a place she can enter, not only is it sealed tight, bound by spells even she wasn't skilled enough to unweave, but the darkness within would be devastating to her mortal body. She would unravel at the seams of her very existence in this physical realm and be nothing but faded ribbons to be consumed by the abyss infused into that desolate prison.

But truly, at this point, what did she have to lose by trying? Everything else she had at one point was lost, her mother in eternal sleep on her deathbed, the last of the weavers slowly succumbing to the all consuming infection, her father... well. He deserved the death that came to him. And finally her sibling, their suffering echoing in her mind, calling from within the very temple she stood before. Whether they knew they were reaching out or not, she heard their forever unspoken pleas, their cries of pain.

She pressed her hand to the side of the black egg, feeling along its intricate spellwork. She did not understand the sigils and bindings used, a strange mixture of soul magic and weavers spells, all too complicated for what she learned from either of her parents before they passed. But she could find patterns and vague familiarity in the etchings of soul and silk. And she had time, so she sat and looked and felt until she could pull at the delicate ends of the binding spells.

And then with patience long acquired and a steady hand born of her weaving culture, she pulled. She would not allow the threads she grasped to snag or break, she would not. She would be slow and she would be steady and she would wait. She would wait just a little longer.

And she waited then, hours or days she couldn't say as her focus was narrowed beyond the bounds of time. Eventually though, the last mask unraveled, the last seal was broken, and the door cracked open. It took much of her strength to pull it open, it wasn't built to be unsealed, after all.

Already the darkness felt cold and unrelenting on her carapace. She hugged her cloak tighter around herself, but the feeling only crept deeper beneath her shell, into her blood and the very air she breathed. Regardless, she pressed on. It ached and clawed at her mind and body, but she held fast. They were close, she could feel their mind close. Breaking through to the chamber they were held in was like suffocating. She gripped the wall to keep herself from collapsing. They stared at her. She stared back, unable to otherwise move.

They were hung from cold, white metal chains keeping their body suspended above the floor. She could see where one shoulder was pulled far too far outward and the other was so rotted and grotesque it hardly looked like an arm anymore. Infection seeped from every crack in their shell and the eyes of their mask bled sickly orange.

Hornet choked on the thick smog clouding the room, eyes squinting hard against the haze and mind reeling from the absolute force of the influence of beings much more powerful than herself. She would not give in, she couldn't, not now.

She reached out, hand finding the chain closest to her quivering form and giving it a tug. It barely budged, as was expected, though there was a soft wheeze from its captor.

"Sorry," She whispered, voice coarse and raspy from breathing the rancid air of infection for so long. "I'm sorry." And she hoped it got across that she meant her apology for much more than just the chains.

She found where the chain attached to the wall, and tried so, so hard to look it over, to find the spells and undo them like she had the seals outside, but she couldn't see. She stumbled then to the knight hanging from the middle of the room, knees buckling as she got to them. No matter, she could reach the chain in the floor here, just.. just a little more effort and she could get them out.

She looked up at them, bound by their arms and body and mind, and cried. How unfair this was, how vile and pointless and endless all of this suffering was. They didn't deserve this, they never had, their prison didn't even do what it was meant to and they were hurting for nothing, for no one, for a dead kingdom and a dead king and his dead subjects. Fire burned in her heart and blood, anger rising in her throat and spilling in hot tears.

She forced herself off the ground, she reached up, to the largest chain on one side of her sibling, and coiled her claws around the construct, forcing all her rage and hatred and intent into the biting force of her grip. She felt the spells crack under her touch, sealing magic groaning and weakening as she squeezed it harder and harder.

She did not notice how her knuckles split and her hands began to bleed. She did not see the way her arm cracked at the seams of her carapace and she did not feel the burning in her chest. The chain broke, the Hollow Knight jerked to the side, falling half limp, awkwardly hanging from one side. They watched her still.

She moved to the next chain, her own blood drifting in and around her wounded arms and burning back into her flesh. She split apart as she grabbed the other chain, her body doing everything it could to keep her alive despite falling apart. Her organs seared apart and the fire burning through her veins stitched them back together. It was agony. She broke the second chain. Her sibling fell to the floor. She fell after them.

Her body glowed hues of red and black, the infection surrounding her recoiled from her flames. Her shell cracked, her body shifted, and the building around them crumbled. The last conscious thing she remembered was a cold, clawed hand on her shoulder, pulling her closer.

And so was the birth of a god, in desperation and agony.

[mist-fire]

Thirteenrose Master Fic List

I'm aware of the fact that honestly, there's not enough fics for this ship (a tragedy) to warrant a master list, but I wanted to share some of my very favorite thirteenrose fics.

All below the cut!!

last sunrise in the wasteland, by Shaedan

A tragic, angsty fic of how Thirteen would handle being able to interact with Rose, one last time.

i'm on my own, you're at the beach hundreds of miles away, by thelemonisinplay

Rose only has 36 hours in her universe to solve a problem, and then she's heading home. Angsty lovely closure.

'cause I followed my star (that's what you are), by quantumshade

Lovely little one-shot, where instead of regenerating into Ten during the Christmas Invasion, the Doctor regenerates into Thirteen.

A Door Once Opened, by BlueMargaritasAndYum

Rose comes back, but she's got a wedding to attend to, and what better way to do it, then have the Doctor be her fake girlfriend. Super sweet, soft fic that I loved.

Back Here in Another Universe (After All You've Been Through), by regenderate

Fantastic reunionfic one-shot, that I have no notes for. It ate that up.

Pink and Yellow Roses, by CupofSonic

Another by CupofSonic! Multi-doctor one-shot, ultimately ending with a thirteenrose reunion. Beautiful prose and an excellent understanding of the characters.

I'll Take You There Someday, by Allamarain

You want Thirteen pining after Rose, even after thousands of years? Look no further than this angsty hurt filled one-shot that breaks your heart in the best of ways.

The Reason (Is You), by MarbleHeart

Featuring two of my favorite tropes: Thirteen looking like Rose for a reason, and a reunionfic! Gorgeous fic!

Heal Thyself, by Allamarain

I love Tentoo as much as the next person, but what if he was too much? What if Rose couldn't fix him? This explores that, in the first longer form story yet on this list!

One Ring to Bind Them, by CupofSonic

Multi-doctor fic that has them mourning over Rose, until suddenly, they don't have to mourn anymore.

You're So Northern, by MiJasmine

What do I need to say about this? Short, soft, fluffy reunionfic!

i had a feeling so peculiar, by tablox

Love the hints of Bad Wolf throughout this one! The Doctor is searching, but can she find Rose? Reunionfic

Here I Love You, by Maiden_of_the_Moon

A desperately mourning Doctor talks to sixteen year old Rose in a club. ANGST fest galore, but beautifully written.

It's Me Here, Riding A Light Through The Universe, by Allamarain

What if Rose had never met the Doctor until she was twenty three? This story explores that! Another long form fic by Allamarain that I THOROUGHLY enjoyed.

You Will Find Me Time After Time, by mltrefry

This is seriously one of my favorite thirteenrose fics ever. When the stars never went out, Rose was trapped in the other universe, but now, for a completely unrelated problem, she has returned. Will she meet the Doctor? Another longer one!

When The Chaos Calls Me Out, by Melusine0811

Thirteen follows the ache of a broken bond to Pete's World, where she finds Rose alone and hurting, the Metacrisis nowhere to be found. What's an alien to do? Longer form, and absolutely brilliant!

i wished on a star (it brought me you), by rcsetyler

Broken and alone in Pete's World, Rose tries to find the one person to lessen her grief. A wonderful reunionfic.

come on, come home to me, by nounpolycule

Short and sweet reunionfic of what might've happened if Rose was stranded in the same place the TARDIS had stopped.

Pertinacia by lumidaub

The first incomplete and first comic of this post, but don't let that dissuade you! This comic is gorgeously drawn, with just the right amount of ridiculousness. Very excited to see where lumidaub takes it next!!

your bouquet of golden roses, by lifeitself

Also incomplete, and unlikely to be finished, but truly one of the most gorgeous and well written pieces of media that I have had the fortune to consume in the past few years. The last chapter is a decent enough stopping point, and the story and prose itself are so so worth it.

a collapsing star, by sunshinemachine

A little twisted and convoluted in the best of ways, this is an angsty one-shot that will keep you on the edge of your seat!

No More, by Singing_Siren

What can I say other than a masterfully executed reunion one-shot!

World in Flux, by withthekeyisking

Rose takes a bit of a unique path back to her original universe, but she muddles along the best she can, hoping to eventually find the Doctor. Great one-shot!

Interwoven, Entangled, by regenderate

Multi-doctor fic showing how Rose fits in with the rest of the Doctors, featuring one of my very favorite hcs, Bad Wolf as Disability!

forever (wondering if you knew), by sherlgrey

Silly little multi-doctor speed dating fic, and ends with some gorgeous thirteenrose.

[sockatoothewafflebird]

The Amazing Digital Apocalypse

a tadc au where abstraction is a disease that turns people into mindless, impulsive zombies, and where the world has crumbled from almost two decades of war. during this, two brothers separate, one keaving the other to start his own organization of freedom in a lost world.

this is just a placeholder lore dump until i get actual rendered stuff ready... so look out for that whenever

---

RAGATHA, the heart.

GANGLE, the deception.

ZOOBLE, the strength.

JAX, the socialite.

KINGER, the father.

After finding herself running away from a disaster with her sworn enemies, Pomni realizes just how cruel the conditions of her old home in stronghold 004 really are, and how desperately she wants to join The Circus.

Once the leader of this organization, known simply as the Ringmaster, Caine, decides that she has potential as a member of his main crew, Pomni joins them, serving as the mind.

They grow to think of her as more than that soon enough. A part of their family, not just another team member bound to be killed or abstracted or stolen and converted to work for Able.

---

Decades ago, chemical war was threatened across the continent of (TBD). Over half the world was poverty-stricken and/or ill. A few hundred leaders sat comfortably in their meeting rooms coming up with solution in case war broke out.

They came up with bunker-like underground facilities that could home hundreds of people and provide various ways for recreation. These are called strongholds. There were around thirty of them made, the first three being used as tests to see if they would work. The fourth was the first to fully be put to use after war did break out.

And it did. Bombs flew like bullets, armies fell like flies, and those in the strongholds were sitting pretty.

After around five years of misery, the fighting stopped, but it was too late. the world was broken. most of it was turned into a wasteland, and billions of people disappeared or died. Many areas were contaminated with chemicals and radiation, which bred bizzare mutations in humans and animals, like a human with the internal guts of a ragdoll, or a person made of ribbons. Decades and decades pass, and eventually these mutations become the norm.

Those born inside strongholds have less odd mutations, like Pomni for example; she's just abnormally short, has weird colored eyes and unusually pale skin, and occasionally grows sharp teeth; otherwise she has normal anatomy. Those born outside in the wastes, like Caine or Kinger, have much more noticeable or drastic mutations. Kinger is a walking chess piece for god's sake.

In the midst of all the chemicals, radiation, and just weird shit overall, an unusual disease appeared. It would take over a person's mind and make them lose themselves at the mildest of mental collapses, turning them into unsettling, tar-like creatures that lack any and all impulse control. This illness is known as the abstractor.

Symptoms only show when the host is actively mentally unstable. Symptoms of the abstractor include dark or black patches of skin, mild to severe shaking, body aches, exhaustion, blurry or faded vision, tar-like ooze leaking from orifices (usually the face), and increased frequency of barfing.

In particular situations that mentally, emotionally, etc. trigger the victim, the abstractor can cause gross lack of impulses, black spots on skin/flesh, and tar leaking to become extreme, and the ooze and black spots can fully consume the body of the victim. This can melt or deform their skin, turning them into mindless beasts. There is no way to save someone if they've gone past full body deformation. This process is called abstraction.

The abstracted will actively try to harm others on impulse and can burn or mildly deform you if you come in direct contact. It's required to kill any abstracted folks you see if possible, to put them out of their misery and for your own good.

One can survive an encounter with abstracted folks without abstracting themselves, but it can severely injure them, the ooze and black spots worsening where touched by abstracted hands. This can render limbs useless, often requiring amputation; and it can sometimes lead to faster succumbing to the abstractor faster or easier.

---

that's all the lore dumping I have for now, any questions are welcome :D

[ghouls-and-chems]

A John Hancock (Fallout 4) x Sole Survivor OC Fanfic

Rating: Mature (MDNI)

You are responsible for the content you consume. This work of fiction is intended for those that are 18+.

Tags:

John Hancock x Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock x Sole survivor OC, Fluff, Slow Burn, Angst, Mystery, Slight Alternate universe, Violence, Mature language, Smut. (this will be updated as I continue to write this)

Summary

Having survived 3 weeks on the surface, Bonnie Labelle finds herself in GoodNeighbor looking for answers to her awakening in a Vault. She has no memory of what happened just before she entered the Vault or even the start of the war. And she herself is shocked by her skills when surviving. The mayor of GoodNeighbor is just as shocked and intrigued by how she’s survived this long.

Click Here For Chapter One

As Bonnie worked to regain her strength, John Hancock organized a room for her to stay in with the Hotel Redford. Explaining her situation to a woman named Clair Hutchins.

Bonnie could hardly believe how kind and cordial people were here. Well except for the man the mayor stabbed. But she figured that’s why he was stabbed to begin with.

Everyone treated the ghoul so normally. And their interaction in the state house was convincing her, he wasn’t something for her to fear.

And he definitely had a lot of power around here.

“ I’ve got some things to attend to.” He said as she looked around the tattered hotel room. A simple mattress. A broken dresser. And a broken nightstand. For the wasteland, this really wasn’t all that bad. Compared to sleeping on the concrete floor of a closet in an old shop. The old tattered mattress was like a beckoning cloud for her to rest on.

“ So take your time adjusting. And perhaps we can have a chat in the third rail later.” He said with a grin. “ I’ll treat you to a drink.”

She turned and observed him as he nodded his head and turned to walk out.

“ Why are you like this?” She suddenly asked. The words escaping her mouth before she could filter them. She shook her head trying to find what she meant to say.

“ What? A ghoul?” He asked with a chuckle.

“ No..” she said quickly. “ Well I mean… I suppose I’m curious about that too but..” she took a breath. “ I mean you’re actually being… a person. Everyone I’ve met so far has either tried to kill me or wanted something in return for just speaking to them..” she explained slowly.

“ You could have easily killed me when I passed out earlier… and you didn’t…. You took care of me.” She explained.

“ Goodneighbor is for the people by the people.” Hancock explained crossing his arms as he leaned against the door frame. “ Which means we take care of each other here.” He said matter of factly.

“ You clearly need help… with what? I don’t know just yet but we got all the time in the world.” He shrugged. “ Not everyone in the commonwealth is going to hurt or kill you. Just… maybe the majority.” He joked with a chuckle.

“ Plus… a vault dweller like yourself is even more vulnerable. There’s some things you gotta learn if you’re gonna stay up here. And based on what you’ve told me, you don’t have much of a choice but to learn.” He explained.

“ So I’ll offer help. It’s just up to you if you want it.” He smiled.

She listened to his words closely before slowly nodding. Her shoulders relaxed a bit, as she smiled back at him.

“ Thank you, Mayor.” She said after a moment. “ I really am grateful. Though I may appear stand-offish. I truly appreciate the help.”

Hancock’s eyebrow raised. Her kindness and well spoken words were odd to hear. She seemed so proper. And pristine. So clean and perfect. It intimidated him a bit.

He simply tilted his hat up a bit and smirked. “ No need for that mayor crap. Just call me, Hancock.” He chuckled.

“ I’ll leave you to rest.” He said as he pushed himself off the door frame and left her alone.

She took a breath and laid down thinking over this strange new reality of hers. Ghouls. Vault Dwellers. It felt like a nightmare.

Being in Goodneighbor did provide some comfort. It felt similar to the world she once knew.

Hancock had the kindness of a politician.

She furrowed her brow.

Politicians were part the reason this happened to begin with though. She couldn’t come to terms with trusting him just yet. Or the people here.

As her mind raced she dosed off again. Her body recovering with much needed rest.

When she awoke, the clock on the wall said it was 8PM. And the town sounded more lively outside through the broken window.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she stood up and leaned out the window. Down below the hotel, residents talked casually. Armed gunman talked with them. She overheard conversations about their daily lives. The errands they needed to run. Some gossip about other residents and settlements.

She couldn’t help but smile as she listened to their conversations.

After letting herself wake up more she pulled away from the window and looked to her armor on the dresser. Hancock mentioned meeting to talk more in the third rail. Would her armor be needed?

She shook her head.

If I want to fit in here I need to relax. Just a bit.

She left her armor and her rifle. But slipped a knife into the pocket of her tattered dress.

Before leaving the hotel she asked Clair where the Third rail was. And followed her directions to the supposed bar.

She was curious what a bar in this world would be like. As she entered the bouncer looked at her curiously. As she met his gaze she fought the urge to look away from fear. Another ghoul.

She simply offered a small smile. He smiled back and welcomed her inside, down a long dark hallway. As she neared closer to the end, she could hear faint music, and a lovely voice accompanying it. Along with some drowned out chatter.

As the hallway opened up to the bar, her nerves relaxed a bit more. Patrons sat around lounging with their drinks. She could smell cigarette smoke and alcohol, but the voice of the woman caught her attention even more.

A beautiful woman sang in the corner on a makeshift stage. She wore a gorgeous red dress. Her hair was jet black, cut short. She was absolutely stunning.

Her voice only matched her appearance perfectly. She was completely mezmerozied by her as she sang. Her worries drained away, as she smiled watching the woman sing.

“ She’s got quite a set of pipes huh?” A familiar voice broke her hypnosis to her right. She turned to meet Hancock’s eyes.

She nodded eagerly as she looked back at her. “ She’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“ I’d say magnolia is the diamond of the wasteland.” He said with a chuckle as he took a drink from his glass.

“ What’s your vice?” He asked, nudging her arm. “ I said I’d treat ya to a drink.”

She eyed what he was drinking curiously. Looked clear. Perhaps Vodka. Hopefully, Vodka.

“ What’s yours?” She asked.

“ Much harder stuff than this.” he laughed. “ But this is just some vodka.”

She relaxed. “ I'm really relieved to know vodka is still available.” She said with a laugh.

He chuckled as he ushered her over to the bar, where he ordered her her own drink. She noticed he handed the bartender some bottle caps. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“ Bottle caps?” she asked curiously as he handed her the glass.

“ Yeah. Guess you haven't figured that out yet. Caps are the currency here. Well just about everywhere in the commonwealth.” He shrugged as he guided her to a separate room just outside the bar. Magnolia’s angelic voice, still in ear distance, but quieter for them to speak to one another.

“ Oh…” she said softly, recalling all the Nuka-Cola caps she had tossed when she was lucky enough to find them for substance the past few weeks. “ Whoops” She whispered.

Hancock chuckled and sat down on a lounge chair. She sat across from him on a loveseat. The room was lit with red lighting, posters from the old world hung around as decor.

She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped the bitter liquid. Her body reacted with pleasure. Her nerves felt more at ease almost instantly. Hancock noticed immediately.

“ Oh yeah. You definitely needed that.” he chuckled. “ You ever need something stronger we can work something out. But that’ll do for now. Did you get some good rest?”

She nodded as she took another sip. “ Yeah actually. I haven't slept on a mattress in… “ She furrowed her brow.

Hancock raised an eyebrow. “ In…? You don’t remember?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“ well… That’s surprising. Always heard rumors you vault dwellers had a luxurious style down there. At least that’s what I’ve heard about Vault 81. They actually trade with us surface folk.” He said in confusion, taking another sip of his drink.

“ or yanno, dead bodies left over from whatever horrible shit the old folk decided to do to one another.” He sighed.

She looked at him confused. “ Why would they be different?” She asked.

He shrugged. “ No idea. All I know is I'm glad to have been born up here. Where I had the freedom to take control of my own fate… at least to some degree.” He chuckled.

“ So what was your vault’s deal? They just kick you out..? Or..?”

She shook her head and sighed. “ No… I…” She sighed. “ I woke up from this.. Pod. Like I was frozen. I was freezing for hours after I got out. I passed out in this.. Lab” she said trying to recall her first moments out of the pod.

“ Frozen?” Hancock said, leaning on his knees holding his glass between them. “ Aint that something.”

She nodded. “ When I came to, I got to explore a bit.. But I didn't find much.. Or rather I couldn't find much. I found a rifle and a way out. Everything looked like.. My home. But ruined. I found my old house, with some tattered things I remembered I owned. Luckily this dress was in an old suitcase I forgot about.” She said as she gestured to her attire.

He chuckled. “ It suits you.” he complimented. “ very well.. But you do stand out in it up here.”

She smiled at his compliment and nodded. “ yeah I’ve realized.” She laughed softly. “ I didn't know what to do so I just… kept walking.” She shrugged. “ I met these traveling settlers. Who explained some stuff to me.. Like the date, the war, and a bit of what to look out for…”

“ Why didn't you join them?” Hancock asked curiously.

“ because another group swooped in and killed all of them.” she said bluntly. After a moment she explained.

“ I tried to help. I killed some of them.. I had never killed anyone before and I just..” She took a breath. “ I took what I could from the aftermath after they finally left their bodies.” She said in shame.

“ And I just kept walking.”

Hancock stared at her with a solemn expression. It was silent between the both of them as they stared at one another.

“ I’m sorry.” he finally broke the silence. “ I know that couldn't have been easy to walk away from.”

She remained silent.

“ That’s just what it’s like up here.” he shrugged and observed her face. Her green eyes were hollow. Full of exhaustion and sadness. He frowned as he tried to think of how to shift her mind off of what happened.

“ So when did you go under the ice?” He asked.

She sighed. “ I don’t know the exact date. I can’t remember… but the last date I saw before I woke up was October 2nd, 2077–”

Hancock nearly spit out his drink. “ What”

She looked at him and sighed with a nod. “ Yeah… I was 27.. So I guess now I’m..”

“ 237 years old..” he said with a look of shock and bewilderment. He sat back in the chair. “ Holy shit.”

She nodded as she took another, much large sip of her drink.

“ And you don’t remember anything after that date? At all?” he asked.

She shook her head. “ The biggest mystery to me right now is why I was in the vault before the bombs dropped. Those settlers said they dropped on October 23rd, 2077.”

He nodded. “ So you were in there for a few weeks before you even needed to be…” He theorized.

She opened her mouth to speak when she was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“ Well hello there Mayor. I see you’ve shown your guest the VIP room”

Bonnie turned to see the stunning woman who was singing just moments before. She looked more beautiful up close.

“ yes ma’am.” He said proudly.

“ And I trust you’re being the perfect gentleman.” She joked as she sat on the arm chair of Bonnie’s seat.

“ Only if she wants me to be, honestly.” He said with a wink and a smirk before drinking from his class.

“ Im only teasing.” he chuckled.

“ Hey there, doll. I’m Magnolia. I sing here. Who might you be?” She asked with a kind smile.

Bonnie straighted up and held her hand out. “ Bonnie Labelle… You have a beautiful voice.”

“ Why thank you!” She said with an even bigger smile. “ I love your dress… but it does look to be a bit tattered.”

Bonnie sighed. “ Yeah.. haven't had much of a fashion choice around here.” She laughed. “ Seems you got everything here but a fashion boutique.” She joked.

Magnolia laughed. “ I like her can we keep her?” She said looking to Hancock. “And she’s right. We need a seamstress or something, Mayor. Imagine the crowds I could draw in with even more stunning outfits”

Hancock chuckled. “ Those are hard to come by these days but…” he shrugged. “ For you, Magnolia, I’m sure we could figure something out.”

Magnolia chuckled and looked back to Bonnie.

“ I’m sure those clothes aren't as comfortable as they once were. Mind if I steal her for a moment, Hancock?”

Hancock smiled. “ Up to her. I don’t own her.” He joked.

Bonnie laughed softly and looked at Magnolia.

“ Come along then. Let’s get you some new clothes. I need more friends with fashion expertise.” She said pulling Bonnie up and dragging her out of the room.

This woman was so graceful. And hard to say no to. Bonnie envied her immediately, and loved the idea of being her friend.

Friends must be a hard thing to make now. So far, the company she was in would be perfect though.

Magnolia led her to an upstairs room. “ This here is my home. Just above the bar.” She explained as she led Bonnie to a closet in the corner, beside her bed.

“ I don’t got much. But I definitely have things I do not and will not wear so let’s have a look..” She murmured as she opened the closet full of clothes. She pulled some pieces out and laid them across the bed for Bonnie to observe.

An old dress. Some pants. A black coat. A Leather yellow jacket. A few simple tops.

“ There we go.. Take your pick” Magnolia said proudly.

“ These are in such good condition…” Bonnie commented.

“ Why thank you, Doll.” She said proudly. “ Need to look nice for my sets of course. I do what I can to keep my clothing in pristine condition.”

Bonnie smiled. “ Are you sure it’s okay for me to take some clothes?”

Magnolia nodded eagerly. “ Please do.. Just means I get to have one of the boys to find me more.” She winked.

Bonnie chuckled and grabbed the yellow leather jacket. It looked like something she could wear and blend in better.

Along with a pair of black jeans, and a top. It was simple. But not eye catching. Just what she needed.

She smiled to herself. “ These will do just fine.”

Magnolia smiled and turned around giving her privacy to change.

“ You know, the mayor does not always just kill someone for a guest… even if Finn was somewhat of a nuisance.” She chuckled.

Bonnie took her dress off, slipping on the clean black jeans and top with ease. “ He seems like the type to take no shit to be honest…”

“ You’ve got that right.” Magnolia chuckled. “ But… he’s taken interest. So you must be one hell of a mystery for him to focus on.”

“ A mystery for sure. But I’m sure the mayor is busy with his own things. I'll be out of here once I figure out what it is I'm meant to do up here.” She sighed.

“ He’s a great guy. Is all I’m saying. I can tell you’re uneasy around him. But don’t let his looks fool you. He’s got a big heart.” She laughed softly. “ you can trust him.”

“ How did you know I was nervous with him?” Bonnie asked as she slipped the yellow jacket on.

“ Women’s intuition I guess… You seemed on the fence when it comes to trust. And I get it. From what I’ve heard, you aint from the surface. So I can only imagine what you’ve had to see and do to get here.”

Bonnie stayed silent as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked more like a surface dweller. It helped ease her nerves a bit more.

“ Look at you.” Magnolia whistled. “ Looking good!”

Bonnie smiled and turned to her and smiled. After a moment she sighed. “ If people like you and the mayor still exist up here… I think I’ll be okay.” She said coming to terms with her trust in the mayor and Goodneighbor.

[blackjackkent]

We get a little cutscene of the city beginning to rebuild and a nice little speech from the narrator:

Narrator: It's over. And it's all because of you. You, who were destined to become a thrall. Thanks to you, there will be no Illithid Empire, no Death Gods' tyranny. You have earned your place amongst the legends of the Sword Coast. You are the saviors of Baldur's Gate.

Which is all very well, and quite as it should be, though Hector is not thrilled with his name going down in song and legend; he never really wanted stories told about him.

But all of this pales before the actual end of the game for Hector (minus the epilogue of course, which we will get to in a moment), because it is ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC ACTUALLY.

They crash through the portal out into the Hells and for a moment Hector is sure that they're too late after all; Karlach has barely been able to stand in the last few moments before they passed through, and she sinks to her knees, still wreathed in fire, as they arrive. And gods, what a terrible irony that would be, to have finally brought her back to where she would live, only to watch the flames consume her anyway.

But a minute passes, and then another, and her engine begins to settle, and he feels the fear that he has carried for so many months start to loosen its grip on his heart.

"Well, soldier..." she whispers. "Here we are."

Here we are indeed. Hector takes a moment, now that he is sure she is safe, to look around, to truly absorb what they have chosen to do.

He remembers that acrid brimstone scent all too well from that day aboard the nautiloid. The heat is tremendous; it is like standing in a sauna or within an active volcano. Sweat begins to pool at his hairline and lower back almost instantly. And in all directions is nothing but fiery wasteland broken by rivers of lava.

He has never been so happy to see such a place in all his life.

He pauses to examine his feelings for a moment. There will be no more monastery, no more days of quiet prayer and study. This is home and life now, this fiery place that smells of sulfur, because Karlach is here. And Wyll, his friend, at their sides-- truly the best of their little band; even though he and Hector were never tremendously close, Hector has admired him tremendously and is proud to choose to be brothers-in-arms with him now.

And one day, in this place, they will find Zariel, and he will exact Selune's vengeance on her for her cruelty.

It is a purpose he would never have imagined himself having before. But he is no longer the man he was when he began this journey, whose only aspiration was reverence and solitude. He has learned that to stand at the side of his friends in the service of something greater is its own kind of divine act.

And he will not have to learn to live without the woman he loves.

"It worked..." Karlach says, slowly pushing herself to her feet. The column of flame around her fades; her engine settles into its usual steady pulse. The agony fades from her eyes, replaced by a calm steadiness that he remembers from their visit to the House of Hope, the last time he saw her without that underthread of pain. "My engine's calmed down."

She turns to look at him; with the moment of intensity past, she too is seeing what they are committing to for the first time. "I shouldn't have let you come here," she says with a heavy breath out and a wry smile. "This isn't going to be easy, you know. Zariel's going to come at us with everything she's got."

He looks back at her steadily, reaches out to take her hand. Their fingers interlace - automatic, instinctive - and he presses his lips against her knuckles, his eyes not leaving hers. I know what I'm signing up for. Just as all of you have made your choices, I am making mine... he thinks. So long as you're with me...

He opens his mouth to speak, to tell her this, but they are interrupted by an unearthly scream in the distance.

A pack of imps are gathering on the horizon. Hector shoots a look at Wyll; both of them square their shoulders, ready for battle.

Karlach hisses out a laugh. "Gods. Like clockwork. They'll be on us soon - but there's just enough time."

To his surprise, she reaches into the pack at her hip and pulls out a set of small cylindrical items - cigars.

"Thought I was done with these," she says, and shoots him a playful grin.

He raises his eyebrows questioningly, a smile playing at his own lips. You didn't want to come back, he thinks. And I know why. But gods... the way you look when there's no pain pressing on you... gods, I could look at you forever...

She winks at him and tosses him one of the cigars, passes another to Wyll, lifts the third to her own lips. Hector looks at his in some puzzlement, then tucks it into his pack like a lover's keepsake.

With a snap of her fingers she flares a burst of fire up on her thumb, lights the end of the cigar. She takes a slow draw, puffs out a mouthful of smoke. "But then there was you lot," she finishes lightly.

"Imps are fast but careless," she goes on conversationally - and he sees a flash of the soldier she used to be, briefing the troops before battle. "Don't let 'em tire you out - just get rid of 'em."

She grins crookedly, flicks the still-burning cigar aside. "And don't forget -- you asked for this."

He can hear a sort of question under the words. Do you regret this choice? Do you regret coming with me, now that you see what lies ahead?

But he doesn't. And he won't. He made this choice long since, and the only surprise is that it is actually coming to fruition.

He reaches out to cup her cheek, pulls her to him, kisses her fiercely, letting his fingers curl into her hair. I'm with you, he says silently in the touch. No matter what comes. And he feels her relax into the contact, the certainty flowing between them, shared, steady.(*)

She draws back and grins, looking between him and Wyll. Hector gives her a slow nod; Wyll lifts an arm in his trademark salute, the Blade of Avernus ready to stand at her side.

She pulls the greataxe from her back with a sudden air of determination. "Better let these fuckers know I'm back," she says.

"And this time... I'm not alone."

She breaks into a run, her boots digging into the ashen ground, and Hector and Wyll spare only a moment to look at each other before darting out behind her, flanking her on both sides, ready for the battle ahead.

-----

(*) Mild artistic license. No kiss here Larian, for real? :P Also please know that this whole scene was playing out to the tune of a HEAVY METAL VERSION OF DOWN BY THE RIVER which was incredibly badass, and also Hector would have climbed Karlach like a tree right here if there weren't a band of imps coming.

[gabenathreversebang]

Reverse Bang 2023 Masterpost (part 1)

Death by a Thousand Cuts

After Nathalie’s health began to deteriorate due to the use of the miraculous. She found herself stuck in another dimension…

Artwork (archived link)

Fanfiction (archived link)

The King's Guard

The Kingdom of Lapia is strong and unshakable, just like its monarch. But under the surface, King Gabriel is consumed with grief. He masks it well, but this cold demeanor distances him from his son, leaving it Captain Nathalie’s job to bring them back together. Having known the king since childhood, this should’ve been an easy task for the captain of the royal guard. But will the growing threat of the Akumas -a magic-wielding group they’d both cut ties with- make it impossible? Or could this be what reunites the royal family, and, perhaps, reveal buried feelings? Though surely in this society, a knight could never love her king.

Artwork (archived link)

Fanfiction (archived link)

Of Crisp Days and Crispier Cakes

Gabriel wants to not be sick. Adrien wants to make a cake. Nathalie wants a chill birthday. Maybe they can help each other. Maybe it’ll be a disaster.

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Fanfiction (archived link)

Painful Circumstances

As Nathalie’s illness caused by the broken peacock miraculous becomes worse, Gabriel realizes the lengths he is willing to go to for her and just how much she means to him. “It all began with a cough. It was barely a tickle at the back of her throat, one that could go mostly ignored as Nathalie went about her daily life. She didn’t think too much about it at first, believing that in a few days, it would pass. However, when it didn’t and instead only got worse, she still tried to ignore it. She had been doing so well lately, only having the occasional coughing fit. She was even able to walk about the Agreste manor with relative ease, although the robotic back and leg support Gabriel gave her definitely helped with that. But as the days turned into weeks, Nathalie couldn’t ignore the cough any longer. It was persistent, wracking her body with each hacking spasm. She tried to hide it from those around her, not wanting to worry Gabriel or Adrien, but eventually, it became too much for even her to bear.”

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Fanfiction (archived link)

La Nuit Blanche Sur Paris

During the White Night in Paris, the city is filled with art and the Agreste family will take the opportunity to analyze the past year and plan for the future. Together.

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Fanfiction (archived link)

Fanfiction (Spanish) (archived link)

The Ice Queen and the Tailor

When a simple tailor loses his beloved fiancée in an unnatural frost, only the mysterious Ice Queen can help resurrect her. But the cost to the tailor-and the Ice Queen-may be far higher than either of them realize.

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Fanfiction (archived link)

Mayura Blanc

Nathalie decides to have a discussion with Gabriel about his actions as Shadow Moth, leading to a series of events that cascade into a new villain, one more powerful than any other: Mayura Blanc. Hawk Moth and Chat Noir are sent by Bunnix into a world that has been ravaged by a destruction that neither of them understand, but slowly start to comprehend as they travel the wasteland.

Artwork (archived link) (Instagram link)

Fanfiction (archived link)

The Monster Inside Us

What if Gabriel’s cataclysmed arm reawakened broken magic inside Nathalie from her time with the peacock miraculous? Now they’re both running on stolen time as their curses feed off each other. With the damage spreading through Gabriel’s body and Nathalie’s transformation into a Mayura-like creature, will they find a way to save each another?

Artwork (archived link) (Instagram link)

Fanfiction (archived link)

A Wavering Conviction

As Gabriel gets closer to accomplishing his goal of bringing Emilie back to life, he begins to have second thoughts. Being Monarch is no longer as appealing to Gabriel as it once was, no matter how much power he has. Instead of denying these feelings, Gabriel instead wants to face them. With the help of Nathalie and the pig miraculous, Gabriel goes on a mission to uncover his true feelings and the reason behind them.

Artwork (archived link) (Instagram link)

Fanfiction (archived link)

On Ice

Gabriel wants to go ice skating for the first time after his wife’s death. but he doesn’t want to go alone, so he comes up with an impractical yet effective solution and needs Nathalie’s help.

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Fanfiction (archived link)

As We Fall

A crazed supervillain running around Paris? It’s the new general experience. But dreaming of falling to her death, and with her boss of all people? That’s a little further from normal than Nathalie likes.

Artwork (archived link) (Instagram link)

Fanfiction (archived link)

After Irritation Do Us Start

It was the most difficult decision of his life, but Gabriel did it. He let go of Hawk Moth. He moved on from Emilie. Now, all he wants is to enjoy life with his son and new wife. Unfortunately, a certain nephew of his seems to be determined to unearth what Gabriel needs to remain buried.

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Fanfiction (archived link)

three minutes till dawn

Outside, the evening sky glowed with the yellow light of the full moon, spilling over a canvas of black. The light illuminated the room through the skylight above the goddess’ head. It looked as if it were a spotlight made just for her. Or: Devotion was the only thing Gabriel had. Until it wasn’t.

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Fanfiction (archived link)

The Time Between Us

Nathalie Sancoeur never thought she would find two magical jewels while exploring an abandoned Tibetan temple with her boss, Gabriel Agreste, now imagine her surprise when she also got to see fragments of her future and the people in it. Will she want to change what she saw or will she accept her miraculously tragic fate?

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Fanfiction (archived link)

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Nathalie doesn’t understand how it’s come to this. Technically she knows the entire sequence of events; how she’d been stuck as Mayura and then caught by the heroes. It’s just the part in which she’d ended up marrying Gabriel Agreste still makes no sense.

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Fanfiction (archived link)

Osiris Was Heralded by the Stars (You Were Raised by Them)

Nathalie Sancoeur— a long suffering artefact hunter turned talent agent— has always taken her career very seriously. Gabriel Agreste, on the other hand (a has-been singer with an odd penchant for fashion), relies almost entirely on the drive of other people to begin aspiring for greatness— leaving his few genuine prospects out to dry. This, surprisingly, is a very good combination. (In an emergency, at least— it’s not like she had any other choice.)

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A Melancholic Masquerade

Stuck at one of the parties of Paris’ most exclusive club as Gabriel’s…something Nathalie Sancouer is doing her best to get through the night despite the people, the gossip, and worst of all her own feelings.

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Is She The Reason?

The wealthy and popular Gabriel Agreste is struggling with his project for the upcoming art competition at his university. He knows the perfect person to help him, Nathalie Sancoeur, an artist whose work he admires. Gabriel wants her assistance, but there’s an issue; Nathalie can’t stand him.

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[i-have-not-slept]

Animalec Fest 2023

September 21: Treasure

@animalecfest

Read the whole thing on Ao3: Animalec Fest 2023 - Chapter 1 - i_have_not_slept - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

"But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more."

― Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid

Although it was a bright day, the ocean seemed dark and bleak to Magnus as he swam. Since the day that he’d left Alec on the beach, his every waking thought had been occupied with the prince. Even in his dreams Alec came to him, wrapping his arms around Magnus’s and laying his warm cheek against Magnus’s cool one, until the warmth of his body seemed to consume Magnus. 

Magnus had never known it was possible to miss another person this much.

Thankfully, his father hadn’t managed to learn about Magnus’s meeting with Alec. He’d told his best friends, though, and listened as they tried to talk him round.

“You have to forget about him.” Catarina said, her face ceased with regret. “I’m sorry Magnus, I know you care about him, but humans and mers can’t be together.”

“There’s plenty more fish in the sea.” Ragnor had added. “Literally.”

Magnus knew they were concerned about him. He was concerned about himself. He’d never felt so strongly about another person, and it scared him how quickly and deeply he’d fallen for Alec. But the thought of a lifetime in the ocean, wasting away year after year in a listless daze… it was too much. 

Sitting in his grotto, Magnus looked around at the items he’d collected, representing a lifetime of work. A lifetime of fascination with the land above the waves.

He opened the wooden box where he’d hidden the prince’s ring, and slipped it back onto his finger. Then he turned in a slow circle, looking around at his cave for probably the last time. There was a lump in his throat as he swam away. He swam not towards his father’s palace, but away from it, into the open wastes of deep water where few merfolk ever went.

Out here, the water was darker, murkier, and much colder. The coral here was bleached a sickly white, and the ground was covered in the broken pieces, looking like a carpet of chalky bones. Magnus looked a little closer, and shuddered as he realised some of it was bones, mixed in with the coral. Here and there were more complete skeletons, the remains of people who had drowned in shipwrecks. Magnus swam faster, not wanting to look at them. 

Magnus swam through a tangle of grasping polyps, shaking them off when they tried to drag him down. On the other side was a bare plain of black sand. The only feature in the dead landscape was a house built from dead coral-- or maybe it was more bones. Magnus swam towards it, heart thudding. 

A figure emerged from the house. White as the coral itself, with ink-black hair and eyes. She smiled as Magnus approached, revealing sharp and needle-like teeth. 

“Hello, Magnus dear.” she said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You know what I want?” Magnus asked quietly. He supposed it made sense. She had spies everywhere.

“Of course.” Lilith’s smile widened. “And I can give it to you. Come inside so we can talk.” 

Magnus followed her inside warily. Many years ago, Lilith and Asmodeus had fought over this part of the ocean. Now, an uneasy truce existed between them. Lilith was allowed to remain out here in the wastelands, but all of Asmodeus’s subjects— which included Magnus— were expressly forbidden to make contact with her. Magnus was breaking his father’s laws by being here. But then, he’d broken them the second he’d decided to save Alec. There was no going back from this.

“I heard about that prince nearly drowning.” Lilith said conversationally. “Pity you saved him. I would have had his eyes for my collection if you hadn’t.” She pointed to the corner of her house, where dozens of human eyeballs floated in a pool of greenish water. Magnus flinched at the sight. He wanted to turn and swim away as fast as he could, but the thought of Alec made him braver.

“You said you could give me what I wanted.” Magnus said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Lilith trailed her fingers across the shelves lining her walls. “I can.” she mused. “You want me to turn your tail into legs, so you can go onto the land and be with your prince.” She gave Magnus a keen look. “What makes you think he even wants to be with you?” 

Magnus swallowed. “I think— he likes me.” he said hesitantly. “When we met, I think he was holding back, because he was scared of— of feeling too much. If he wasn’t scared I think things would be different.”

Lilith laughed. “So sweet, Magnus.” She smiled at him. “I can give you legs, but it will cost you. I can give you a potion to drink, which will cause your tail to change into human legs. But once on land, I can make no guarantees that the prince will love you, legs or no legs. 

“You will have five days, and five days only, to win the prince over. If he rejects you, and marries another, your heart will break and you will die, and your body will dissolve into seafoam. Do you understand all this?”

“I understand.” Magnus whispered. 

“And then there’s the matter of payment.” Lilith went on. “In return for my services, I want just one small thing. A trifle, really. I want your voice.”

Magnus flinched back, one hand instinctively going to his throat. “My- my voice?”

“Yes, your voice.” Lilith said. “I’m not going to make this easy for you, Magnus!” Her eyes gleamed at him. “True love must be fought for, not just given away without a second thought. If you could speak, well, you could just walk up to your prince and explain everything, and he’d just kiss you straight away. No, it must be genuine true love, or the charm is worthless. Now that you have heard all the risks, are you still willing to go through with this?”

Magnus swallowed. But he had already made his choice, hadn’t he? He could die if he went through with this. But the alternative was to waste away in the ocean, year after year, while his heart withered inside him. And that was a sort of death as well.

“Yes.” Magnus said, and his voice didn’t shake. “I am willing, and I would still be willing if you had asked for much more.”

“Brave little merman.” Lilith purred. “How devoted you are.” She turned away from him and pulled out a large scallop shell from under the table. This she placed on a shelf built into the coral wall. She began to open the stoppered shells around the room, pouring ingredients into the potion. Magnus watched her work, heart thudding. The mixture in the shell turned from murky grey, to black, to blood red. 

“Your voice now.” Lilith said, turning to face him.

Magnus nodded. He lifted his chin, trying to not feel as if his throat was about to be cut. Lilith reached towards him, her hand closing lightly around his throat. She drew it back, and Magnus felt a harsh tugging sensation, like his vocal cords were quite literally being ripped out. He choked, pressing a hand to his throat. For the first time in his life, he understood the sensation of drowning. 

Then it was over, and Lilith opened her cupped hand over the shell. Her hand looked like it was empty, but there was a white flash, and the potion became clear as water. 

Magnus tried to speak, but no sound came out. His voice was gone. There was a weight of despair threatening to crush him, but he forced it away, thinking of Alec. Don’t look back. 

Lilith poured the draught into a thin spiral shell and snapped on the lid. She handed the vial to Magnus, lips drawn back to show her sharp teeth. “Swim to the surface tomorrow before sunrise, sit yourself down and drink this. But remember, Magnus,” she said, eyes glinting, “five days, and no more.” 

Magnus nodded. With the vial clutched to his chest, he swam away from Lilith’s house as fast as he could. The waving polyps shrank back from the potion he held and didn’t grab at him as he swam past them. He sped over the white coral and bones, and up into the clearer water.

He paused for a moment to gaze at his father’s palace, with its windows lit by glowing mosses. His heart ached at not being able to farewell Cat and Ragnor, but they would only try to stop him if they knew his plan. Magnus kicked towards the surface, ignoring the weight on his heart and staring resolutely ahead. 

The sky was the chilly grey of pre-dawn as Magnus surfaced. He swam towards the palace and crawled up onto the beach nearby. Opening the vial, he stared at the liquid inside, shimmering alluringly.

Without hesitating, Magnus drank it in a single draught. Then he dropped the vial, gasping as a burning pain went through his whole body. It felt a sword was passing through his heart, like his tail was being slashed to ribbons on the sharpest coral. He wanted to scream, but his voice was gone, and he could only gasp, pressing his forehead against the sand as the pain rose up in waves.

Everything went black for a moment. When Magnus came back to consciousness, the first thing he was aware of was the sand prickling his scales. No, not scales. Skin. 

He looked down and saw two long legs stretched out in front of him. Smooth brown skin, so much more sensitive than his scales. Magnus held one out and wiggled his toes in fascination. 

Legs. He had legs. 

 Magnus touched the sides of his neck gingerly and found that his gills were gone. He was human. He was human, and the next thing to do was to find more humans.

He pulled himself up on a rock, took his first step, and promptly fell over.

 Lying full length in the sand, Magnus realised that walking was going to take some time to master. He felt annoyed at the idea. Humans had always made it look so easy.  

He pulled himself up again and tentatively tried another step, this time concentrating on his balance. This time, he managed half a dozen before overbalancing and tumbling to the ground. 

Magnus scrambled up again, and then froze. There was a person coming towards him along the beach. His heart leapt wildly as he realised it was Alec. His eyes were downcast and he hadn’t seen Magnus yet. Magnus tried to call out to him, forgetting that his voice was gone. It didn’t matter, for at that moment Alce, now quite close, looked up and saw him. 

He froze, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For a long moment they just stared at each other. 

“Magnus?” Alec said, in a shocked, strangled voice. “Why— how—” His face was burning, eyes darting back and forth between Magnus and the ground. “Why are you here? How do you have legs? ” His face, if possible, became even redder. “Why aren’t you wearing anything?” 

Magnus was so overjoyed to see him he forgot everything else, forgot the pain and his fear and the fact that Alec was getting married. He started towards Alec, but in his eagerness his still-shaky legs wobbled and he lost his balance. Alec lunged forwards instinctively and caught him before he hit the sand.

For a moment, Magnus found himself cradled against a warm, solid chest, with strong arms around him. Then Alec seemed to realise what he was doing and leapt back, shoving Magnus away. He stumbled and would have fallen again if Alec, looking ashamed, hadn’t caught his arm. He steadied Magnus, very pointedly looking anywhere except his body. Alec pulled off the blue coat he was wearing, wrapping it firmly around Magnus. It was long enough that it reached his knees, and he pulled it closer around him, relishing the warmth of the fabric, the lingering smell of Alec. Alec hadn’t seen the ring he was wearing, and Magnus quickly worked it off his finger, letting it drop into one of the coat’s deep pockets. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him to hide the ring from Alec, at least for now. 

“Why are you here?” Alec asked again. His breathing was a bit slower, but the flush remained in his cheeks.

Magnus stared up at him, trying to say with his eyes what he couldn’t with his voice. As the silence dragged on, Alec’s face creased in concern. “Magnus, what’s wrong?” A gentle hand turned Magnus’s chin up and Alec studied his face worriedly. “What’s happened? Can’t you speak?”

Magnus shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. A look of pain crossed Alec’ face at the sight of him crying. For a second, it seemed as though he would embrace Magnus. Then his eyes darted around the beach, as if remembering where they were, and his arms dropped. He looked around helplessly.

“I guess you’d better come up to the palace.” he said finally. His voice was heavy.

Magnus nodded, fighting back tears. This wasn’t at all how he’d pictured their meeting going. He hadn’t exactly expected Alec to sweep him off his feet and kiss him right away, but he’d been picturing something slightly warmer than this. Alec looked as if he just wanted Magnus to go away. 

Three days, he thought, the words settling like stones in his mind.

Alec began to walk up the beach, indicating with his head that Magnus should follow. He took a few unsteady steps, but seeing Alec had made him feel shaky all over and his new legs refused to cooperate. He stumbled and Alec steadied him again.

“Is walking difficult?” Alec asked. Magnus nodded, staring at the ground.

Alec hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. He scooped Magnus up, sliding an arm under his back and the other behind his knees, and set off up the beach. Magnus was too surprised to race for a second, then he carefully put his arms around Alec’s neck and leaned against his chest. Alec tensed up but didn’t flinch. He carried Magnus toward the palace, moving easily despite the uneven sand. Magnus started up at the imposing building as they approached. 

Alec carried him over the sand dunes and onto the grass, and set him down as they reached the stone path leading to the palace gates. The guards at the door let them in at a word from Alec, and then Magnus found himself entering a human dwelling for the first time. 

For a moment, he was dazzled by the high painted ceilings, the gleaming polished floors and the corridors that seemed to stretch off in every direction. Then Alec was pulling him off to the side, and speaking to some people who had appeared as soon as they had entered— palace servants, Magnus guessed. Then he was whisked away, and before he knew what was happening he found himself in a warm bath in the middle of a luxurious marble bathroom.

Magnus stretched out in the bathtub and considered his next move. Things were not going quite as well as he’d hoped. Alec sort of seemed like he wanted to get rid of Magnus as quickly as possible. At every moment of their brief conversation, Magnus had sensed Alec teetering on the edge of a cliff of sheer panic, like he was afraid of his own feelings. Still, he had carried him up the beach, which was something. 

Magnus stared up at the ceiling, trailing his fingers through the water, which was warmer than anything he’d ever felt before. He would win Alec over somehow. He had to.

The servants had left out clothes for him. Putting on the human garments was a complete mystery to Magnus, and it took several instances of trial and error before he figured out what went where. There was a soft linen shirt, and a pair of trousers made of a thick red material, plus a pair of boots. He put Alec's coat back on as well. Staring at himself in the mirror, he decided that he looked more or less presentable. 

Magnus left the small room he’d been shown to and moved quietly through the corridors, trying to orient himself with the palace. He heard voices and followed the sound to a wide room looking out over the sea. He recognised the sound of Alec’s voice before entering the room, and stepped inside cautiously. 

Alec was standing with his back to the door, talking to someone— someone Magnus recognised. It was the blonde woman Magnus had seen on the ship several days ago. Also in the room were a dark-haired woman with black eyes who looked so much like Alec that Magnus guessed she was his sister. She was sitting on a settee with a blond man who looked about Alec’s age. They both looked up and seemed to start at the sight of him. The blonde woman also caught sight of Magnus over Alec’s shoulder and stopped talking, her eyebrows rising in surprise. 

Alec turned. When he caught sight of Magnus, he froze for a split second— so quick that Magnus wouldn’t have seen it if he’d blinked. A look of panic crossed his face for the briefest instant and was gone, smoothed over by an expression of forced calm.

“Magnus.” he said, and there was only the slightest tremor to his voice, barely noticeable. He took a step towards him. “Are you feeling better?”

Magnus smiled and nodded, hoping this was a good start. A smile flickered across Alec’s face and he took another step towards Magnus, then seemed to realise everyone in the room was watching him. He hastily stepped back and quickly turned to the woman beside him. “Magnus, this is Lydia, my— my fiancée.”

Magnus wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the dark-haired woman across the room give a small sigh. He also hadn’t missed the way Alec had stumbled over the word ‘fiancée’. Nor, it seemed, had Lydia. Her eyes cut towards Alec for the briefest second, a look of— regret?— on her face. Then her smile returned. “Magnus, so nice to meet you. Alec’s told us how he found you on the beach. Were you shipwrecked?” She touched his arm sympathetically. “That must have been terrifying.”

Magnus looked over at Alec. So, he thought, you’ve let them think I’m a shipwreck survivor. Alec wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring fixedly at the ground.

If Lydia noticed the tension in the room, she ignored it. “Magnus, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. We’re happy to have you.”  She smiled brightly at him, then turned to Alec. “I’m going to go check that the musicians have all the music they need. Can you talk to the captain and confirm the route we’ll be sailing?”

Alec smiled at her. “Of course.” It was a very forced smile, but she pretended not to notice. Alec and Lydia both left the room, leaving Magnus alone with two complete strangers. 

“Jace, shut the door.” the dark-haired woman said instantly. The blond man complied with her order, and then they both turned to Magnus. The woman advanced on Magnus, and he took an involuntary step back. He wasn’t scared, exactly, but she was an intimidating presence.

“So,” she mused, studying him. “Magnus, is it?”

She surprised him by throwing her arms around him in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Magnus hugged her back, feeling stunned. She pulled away and looked at him. “We need to talk. I’m Isabelle, by the way. Alec’s sister. That rogue over there is our brother Jace.” The blond man waved at Magnus.

Isabelle led him over to one of the plush chairs and gestured for him to sit. She took the seat facing his and Jace leaned over the back of her chair. Both of them were watching him intently.

“So, Magnus.” Isabelle started. “Three days ago, my brother Alec was washed overboard in a storm and nearly drowned. He showed up on a beach claiming to have no memory of what happened to him. Now you show up, possibly shipwrecked in the same storm, and Alec brings you straight to the palace. He also somehow knows your name, despite you being unable to speak or write, as he tells us.”

She leaned forward, looking at him keenly. “I’m thinking there are a few things Alec is keeping from us. Am I correct?”

Magnus nodded emphatically. Isabelle looked up at Jace triumphantly. “I told you so”. She turned her attention back to Magnus. “Have you and Alec met before today?”

Magnus nodded again, feeling a sense of relief at being able to tell someone. Isabelle raised her eyebrows. “Intriguing.”   Her expression became more serious. “You’ve probably figured out that Alec and Lydia are getting married.”

Something struck at Magnus’s heart. He nodded again, keeping his eyes downcast so they didn’t see the glimmer of tears. 

“The wedding’s in five days—” Isabelle began.

“ Supposed to be in five days.” Jace cut in. “You’re forgetting the ring.” 

Magnus looked between them quizzically, and Isabelle explained. “The wedding’s scheduled to be in three days, but there’s a bit of an issue with the rings. See, the tradition is to swap family rings when there’s a royal wedding. So our parents had a ring with our family symbol specially made for the wedding. But they gave it to Alec to look after, and he….well….”

“He lost it.” Jace said bluntly.

“Lost it.” Isabelle said. “Or got rid of it deliberately, we don’t know. He’s being cagey about it. Won’t tell us for sure.”

Magnus’s stomach swooped. He wondered what Jace and Isabelle would say if they knew that the ring in question was currently hidden in the pocket of the very jacket Magnus was wearing.

“Without the ring, no one’s really sure what to do.” Isabelle said. “Everyone’s still working on the wedding preparations, but if we don’t find the ring in time, the wedding will probably be delayed. So as you can imagine, our parents are not pleased that Alec’s lost it.”

Magnus kept his features still, but his mind was racing. He had the ring-- the ring that Alec had thrown away. What would happen if he produced the ring? Would Alec be angry that Magnus had hidden it? Or would he be angry at Magnus for finding it and allowing the wedding to go ahead? Did Alec want the wedding to go ahead?

“It’s an arranged marriage.” Isabelle went on. “Neither of them particularly want it, but our parents arranged it, and it’s a strong political move. I know Lydia would rather not— she told me she’s in love with a man back in her kingdom, but he’s a commoner. They’d never be allowed to get married. And Alec is….well……”

“Alec’s not really into women.” Jace supplied helpfully.

“We think.” Isabelle added. “I mean, we’ve never really discussed it. He’s never really let us discuss it.” There was an unmistakable sadness in her voice, and Magnus instinctively reached out and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, giving him a sad smile. “But now you’re here. When you came into the room just now…. I’ve never seen Alec look at anyone like that before. Ever. It’s like you’ve unlocked something in him.” 

Magnus looked up at her, feeling a spark of hope. Maybe he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here. 

Isabelle squeezed his hand again. “I think Alec likes you, Magnus. Really likes you. Loves you, even. And that’s why I’m happy you’re here, because I think having you around might help him realise what a horrible mistake he’s making. This marriage is our parent’s idea, but Alec hasn’t put up any sort of resistance to it. He’s just going to be miserable all his life, and so will Lydia. It’s not fair on them. Or you.” 

She gave him a long, searching look. “Do you love him, Magnus? Do you love Alec?”

Love him? Magnus thought. I gave up my tail and my legs for him. I gave up my home and my family. I’d do anything for him, and even after all that, he might not even want me around. 

But he couldn’t say any of that, so he only nodded again. 

Isabelle’s face broke into a bright smile. “I knew it.” She looked up at Jace. “I think if we keep talking to Alec, he’ll realise he’s making a mistake and that he really wants to be with Magnus.” She squeezed Magnus’s hands, giving him a reassuring look. “I can’t promise it’ll work. But at least we’ll have tried.”

And if it doesn’t work, I’ll die, Magnus thought. But he couldn’t say that out loud, so he only smiled back at Isabelle with all the hope he could muster. The next few days would decide his fate. Either he would win Alec’s love and be free to live his life beside the man he loved. Or he would die, broken-hearted, unable even to explain what had happened to him.

Four days later, Magnus was in despair. He’d taken every opportunity he could to be alone with Alec— in the hallways of the palace, out on the balcony, on the beach. Every time, Alec had steered clear of him, citing some sort of wedding preparations he needed to oversee. He’d made sure Magnus was fed and clothed, and had told the head housekeeper, Elisa, to give Magnus anything he needed. But he’d otherwise done everything he could to avoid Magnus.

It was as if Alec had decided that, having committed to an arranged marriage, he needed to ignore Magnus’s presence, or else he would call off the engagement with Lydia. 

Time and time again, Magnus felt a surge of frustration that he couldn’t speak. If he could have just confessed his feelings to Alec, told him how he felt, he was sure he could bring the prince round to him. But he couldn’t speak, and two days was not enough time to learn to write, or to work out anything but the most rudimentary of sign language. 

After every botched meeting, when Alec pushed past him, or pretended not to see him, Magnus’s heart sank lower and lower. The design of the palace was such that Magnus could hear the noise of the sea from every room, and the sound made him shiver with the thought of turning into foam on the waves. 

On the evening before Alec and Lydia’s wedding, Magnus could stand it no more. He ambushed Alec in the corridor, grabbed his hand and forcibly dragged him into an empty room. Alec seemed too surprised to resist. Magnus shoved the door shut and turned to face Alec, looking at him with, he hoped, everything he wanted to say on his face. 

“Magnus.” Alec said, in a sort of weary exhale. “You can’t— you can’t be here. I don’t know why you came here, and I’m sorry I can’t— can’t give you what you want. But I’m getting married tomorrow, and seeing you— I mean, I can’t— ” He broke off, jaw working as he stared off into the distance. Magnus waited.

“I know you’re hurt.” Alec said in a more controlled tone. “It hurts me too.” There were two bright spots of colour burning in his cheeks, and Magnus could see how much it cost Alec, how much shame it caused him, to say even that. “But I’m going to be the king one day, Magnus, and I have— obligations— I can’t just throw my whole life away for you.”

Throw my whole life away for you. Magnus’s eyes stung. That was exactly what he had done for Alec. If only Alec knew. 

Magnus tried to speak then, his throat burning as he tried to force a single sound out of his vocal chords. He mouthed the words desperately, trying to say something. Anything. A plea, a supplication. Alec’s name. One word. That was all he wanted. 

No words came. The only sound he could make was a desperate, wheezing exhalation. 

There was shame and sorrow in Alec’s eyes as he looked at Magnus. “I-” he began, and for a wild second Magnus thought he might be about to say I love you.

“I’m sorry.” Alec said softly. He blinked hurriedly, and left the room without looking back, walking like someone in a daze. 

Magnus sank to the ground, putting his hands against the cool marble floor. Tears, hot as blood and salty as the ocean, splashed onto the cold stone. Merpeople didn’t— couldn’t— cry, and this was the first time in his life Magnus had ever shed tears. He shook with silent sobs, unable even to make a sound while he cried. 

Later, after he’d cried himself out, Magnus sat quietly in the middle of the room, staring at nothing. He’d got it all wrong. Coming here had been a mistake, the worst mistake of his life. A mistake that would now cost him his life, because of his foolishness. 

Magnus pulled Alec’s ring from his pocket and sat looking at it. The small gold circle was heavy in his palm, winking softly in the fading light. Magnus closed his hand around it as another tear spilled down his cheek. Looking out the window, he could see Alec out on the beach, staring at the ocean with his back to the palace. 

Magnus got to his feet and walked slowly through the hallways until he reached the heavy oak door of Alec’s room. It was opposite the one Magnus had been given and he didn’t know if that had been deliberate on Alec’s part or just a cruel twist of fate. 

Magnus slipped inside the room, cool and silent in the encroaching twilight. He crept to Alec’s bed, veiled by blue silk hangings, and pulled them aside. He knelt beside the bed, and for a single moment pressed his face into the silk pillow and breathed in the scent of Alec. Then he slipped the ring under Alec’s pillow and stood up. He walked away, trying to ignore the grief that magnified with every step he took. If Alec couldn’t— wouldn’t— love him, Magnus wasn’t going to fight it anymore. He would stand by and watch Alec get married, and accept his fate quietly.

Magnus went back to his own room, so cold and silent, except for the soft lapping of the waves. The sound of the sea, always so soothing to him, now sounded like a death knell. He thought he could already feel his body dissolving into foam. 

Magnus curled up on his bed, wrapping his arms around himself. He closed his eyes and tried to savour what little time he had left. 

When he woke the next morning, Magnus simply lay there and stared at the wall. He felt like there was a two-tonne stone pressing on him, weighing down his entire body. The whole world looked bleak, like a grey curtain had been thrown over everything.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, huddled under the blankets, but after a long time he heard a noise of footsteps outside. Then the door was roughly flung open and someone hurried over to the bed.

“Magnus.” Isabelle hissed. She shook him, not exactly gently, and Magnus rolled over and glared at her. 

“Alec found the ring.” Isabelle went on. “The wedding’s going ahead.” 

When Magnus didn’t react, she crouched down, trying to look into his eyes. “Magnus, we have to do something.”

Magnus shook his head, turning his face away. He’d given up, and he didn’t want to be dragged back into the agony of false hope.

Isabelle was staring at him like she’d realised something. “Magnus, did you…. did you have the ring all along?”

Magnus glanced up, then away, trying not to meet her eyes. Isabelle gasped. “You did, didn’t you? You had the ring and then you put it where Alec would find it.”

There was no use trying to deny it. Magnus nodded.

Isabelle threw up her hands in exasperation. “I don’t believe this. You can’t just give up, Magnus.”

Magnus made a dismissive gesture with his hands. It’s over. He wished Isabelle would just leave him alone and let him die in peace.

She crouched down, getting right in front of Magnus so he couldn’t ignore her. “Listen, Magnus," she said. “I’ve spent all morning arguing with Alec, telling him to call off the wedding. He won’t listen to me. But he loves you. I’m sure he does. The only thing holding him back is fear

Magnus tried to ignore her words, but something stirred inside his chest. It was the faintest glimmer of hope-- weak and flickering, but alive.

And suddenly he believed Isabelle. He couldn’t give up. Maybe he would still die, but he’d die knowing he’d done everything he possibly could to save himself and Alec. 

There was a knock on the door, and Jace poked his head in. “They’re loading supplies onto the ship. We need to go, Iz.”

Magnus gave them a confused look, and Isabelle explained. “The wedding is being held on one of the royal ships in the middle of the ocean, just like the engagement party was a few days ago. Which seems irresponsible considering that said engagement party was interrupted by a storm that nearly destroyed the ship, but whatever.”

“It’s tradition.” Jace said. “And it’s not supposed to storm for the next few days. But it means that we have to move fast.” He looked at Magnus. “The ship is sailing in two hours, and you need to be on board when it does.”

“Our plan is to help you sneak on board and hide until the wedding starts.” Isabelle added.

Magnus looked between their faces. Jace looked serious, Isabelle determined. They meant it. They were serious about helping him. He felt a wave of unexpected gratitude, followed by resolve.

This wasn’t over yet.

The ship was impressive, even larger and more ornate than the last one Magnus had seen. It was moored in the palace harbour and people were hurrying up and down the gangplank, carrying trays of food, chairs, musical instruments and flowers. Magnus was reminded, oddly, of the coral reefs he’d grown up around, with shoals of fish swarming over the reef.

In the end, getting onto the ship turned out to be surprisingly easy. There were so many people rushing to get everything done before the ship sailed that Magnus simply blended in with the confusion and slipped aboard. He followed the directions Isabelle had given him and headed below deck, into the ship’s hold. 

It was quite nice down there, among the wooden beams of the ship, with light filtering in through the slats of the planks above him. Isabelle had promised she would come and tell him just before the ceremony began, so all he had to do was wait. 

Magnus found a comfortable spot amongst the ship’s cargo, where he was well-hidden from anyone who might come down unexpectedly. He pressed his back against the hull of the ship, feeling it rock gently. It was peaceful, soothing, and eased some of the tension in his body. He settled down to wait, hoping he wouldn’t be discovered.

He was woken, some hours later, by someone calling his name. Rocked by the motion of the waves, he’d fallen asleep, slumped against the ship's hull.

“Magnus!” Isabelle called again, and Magnus got to his feet, stumbling for a moment with the movement of the ship. Isabelle was at the entrance to the hold, evidently having come down to look for him. She had changed into a dark red dress for the wedding, her hair intricately threaded with pearls.

The wedding. The thought sent another stab of fear through Magnus. This was his last— his very last— chance. It was getting close to sunset. If Alec turned him away again, it was all over. He had nothing to lose.

Magnus held out his hand and let Isabelle lead him up the stairs, into the tiny corridor that led out onto the main deck. The door at the end of the corridor had a wooden grille set into it to let in light, and Magnus moved closer to it and peeked through. 

The main deck of the ship had been set up with rows of chairs, most of them already occupied by wedding guests. The space had been decorated with white banners draped from the rails and flowers wreathed around the mast.

“The wedding’s starting in a few minutes.” Isabelle whispered to him. “Wait here until Alec and Lydia are both at the altar, then come out.” 

Magnus nodded to show he understood, and Isabell gave him a quick hug before slipping out the door to take her place at the front of the deck.

Magns waited, heart pounding and palms sweaty. He heard music begin, from the quartet of musicians in the stern of the ship, and then the guests were taking their seats and a priest in a white robe was opening his book at the front of the deck. Then Magnus's heart skipped a beat, because Alec was there, taking his place in front of the priest. Magnus drank him in, dressed in a white military suit and looking every inch the prince of Magnus’s dreams. Alec looked beautiful, but caged, like a cornered animal searching for an escape route. His eyes kept darting around, like he was looking for something— or someone. Magnus’s heart lifted, hope buoying him up like a wave. 

Lydia appeared, beautiful in a shimmering pale gold dress, and swept up the aisle to join Alec. He took her hand, with only the slightest tremble of his own, and the priest cleared his throat. The music died away, and the guests leaned forward expectantly.

Magnus took a deep breath, steeling himself with every scrap of courage he had left. He pushed open the door and stepped out onto the deck.

There was a split second when no one noticed him. Then Alec’s head snapped up, staring at Magnus with a look of absolute shock on his face. Magnus could literally see the blood rush to his cheeks in a blush, the way his eyes widened. Magnus was dimly aware of the guests murmuring and exclaiming, Jace putting a hand on Alec’s shoulder, Isabelle’s fingers twisting nervously as she watched. But he saw all of them in periphery only, his focus never leaving Alec. He was staring at Magnus, face frozen, unblinking. 

Come here to me, Magnus thought, trying to somehow reach Alec’s mind through the turmoil of the moment.

Come on. I know you feel what I feel.

You can be happy. We can be happy.

Lydia dropped Alec’s hands and leaned in to speak to him, but Magnus was too far away to hear what they said. She cupped the back of his neck, smiling at him reassuringly, and Magnus’s stomach twisted with uncertainty. 

Alec turned to face him, his expression unreadable. They were separated by nothing more than a dozen metres of wooden planking, and yet Magnus couldn't bring himself to take a single step.

He didn’t have to. Alec was moving towards him, every step firm and sure. The Queen, his mother, rose to speak to him, but he pushed past her and kept going. And then he was reaching out to Magnus and catching the front of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss, and Magnus’s world shattered into a thousand bright beautiful pieces. He gasped into the kiss, his first kiss, unlike anything he’d ever imagined. Alec’s mouth was sure and strong and so warm, kissing Magnus with an earth-shattering intensity. Magnus’s legs felt weak all over again, and he clutched at Alec’s shoulders in an ecstasy of love and gratitude and relief. He kissed Alec back for all he was worth, his heart singing.

Finally, Alec broke away from him with a gasp. He looked dazed, hands still clutching Magnus’s shirtfront, soft pink lips— Magnus now knew how soft— parted. 

“Magnus.” he breathed. 

Tears filled Magnus’s eyes, and this time he didn’t try to hide them. “Alec.” he whispered, voice cracking.

Alec’s eyes widened. “You can talk again.” His eyes darted around, like he was only just becoming aware of the dozens of people staring at them. Magnus glanced around. It was eerily silent. Isabelle and Jace were grinning widely, Lydia smiling. Everyone else seemed to be in a state of shock. 

“What did I just do?” Alec murmured, glancing around.

Magnus cupped the back of his neck, caressing gently. ‘You saved my life.”

“Unfortunately,” said a voice behind him, “he wasn’t quite quick enough.”

Magnus’s stomach dropped as he realised the wedding guests' looks of horror weren’t only because they’d seen him and Alec kissing. They’d also been staring at something behind them. 

“Hello, Magnus dear.” Lilith said. “How lovely to see you again. And is this you prince? How sweet.”

Magnus turned slowly, his stomach sinking. Lilith had curled herself along the foredeck, like the carved mermaids that  adorned the front of some ships. She must have hauled herself up out of the sea while Magnus had been distracted by the kiss. Her eyes were full of a terrible, vengeful glee. 

“Who are you?” Alec demanded. Without seeming to realise it, he’d put himself between Lilith and Magnus, shielding him with his body. 

There were murmurs and small cries of shock from the assembled guests as Lilith smiled down at Alec. “Ask Magnus.” she purred. “Ask your brave little merman.”

Magnus suddenly gasped and fell to his knees, his throat burning. A scalding pain shot through him and he cried out, hands clawing at the deck.

“Magnus!” Alec’s horrified cry cut through the pain as he rushed to Magnus’s side. An arm slid behind his shoulders, steadying him, and Alec eased him into a sitting position. His eyes were wide, terrified. “Magnus, what’s happening?”

“I made a deal.” Magnus gasped out. “I bargained with her…legs in exchange for my voice…” Another wave of agony washed over him and he slumped against Alec, dizzy with pain. 

Alec’s head whipped round to stare at Lilith. “Whatever you’re doing to him,” he hissed, “stop it.” Jace and Isabelle were at his side now, the three of them forming a barrier to shield Magnus.

“I’m not doing anything.” Lilith said silkily. “Magnus did this to himself.” She pointed to the horizon, and Magnus’s heart sank as he saw that the sun had disappeared fully beneath the horizon. 

“Too late.” Lilith said, with fake sympathy. “Didn’t I tell you, Magnus, you only had five days?” She laughed openly at Alec’s expression of horror. “You were too slow, little prince. If you’d made your mind up only a few seconds sooner, Magnus would have been fine.” 

Alec turned white. “No.” he whispered. He clutched Magnus’s hands, and Magnus could feel him shaking. “No, please — Magnus, I’m so sorry — I didn’t know— please be alright—”

Magnus wanted to say something to comfort him, but another rush of pain had him nearly screaming. His vision blurred as he slipped out of Alec’s arms, writhing against the deck. Was he turning into seafoam? He could barely see, all his nerve endings burning.

Everything was hazy and confused. Alec was bending over him, trying to soothe him, his tears falling onto Magnus’s face. “Magnus, please don’t go, I’m so sorry— I only just found you, don’t leave me, please—” He pulled Magnus into his arms again, cradling him, rocking them back and forth. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me how I can fix this.”

“Marry me.” Magnus choked out, lips pressed to Alec’s ear. “Marry me right now.” He didn’t know where the words had come from, but an instinct deeper than the sea rose up inside him, telling him that this was somehow what he needed. 

“Okay.” Alec whispered. He lifted his head, calling out to someone. Then the priest who had been officiating appeared at their side, looking rather ruffled. “Your Highness, this is extremely irregular-”

“Just do it.” Alec hissed. He propped Magnus up against his chest, holding him while the priest read from his book. Magnus’s head swam and he only caught a few words— do you take…your lawfully wedded husband… He managed to gasp out “Yes” at what he thought was the right time and felt Alec’s arms tighten around him. He heard the priest ask Alec the same question, heard him answer. Then Alec was holding his hand and sliding a ring— his ring, the one that had started everything— onto his fourth finger. 

“I love you.” he breathed into Magnus’s ear. Magnus tried to say it back. He listed sideways, now barely able to see, the pain rising. Tiny lights were blinking out inside his head. He tried to say Alec’s name but his voice faltered and cracked. He thought he could feel his flesh dissolving, becoming foam on the waves. 

The last thing Magnus heard, before the darkness took him, was Alec pleading with him, his voice breaking.  “Magnus, no, please don’t go, I can’t lose you, stay with me, stay with me — 

Magnus woke on a bed of soft silk cushions, to the sound of gently lapping waves. He peeled his eyes open, the lids feeling sticky and sore. There was a silk canopy above him, shielding him from the sun, and when he turned his head he realised that he was on the marble deck at the back of the palace. 

“Magnus,” said a familiar voice, and then Alec was kneeling down in front of him, his face a mix of relief and concern. “How are you feeling?”

It was so similar to how they’d first met that an involuntary smile touched Magnus’s lips. “I thought I died.”

There were tears in Alec’s eyes. “So did I. You went limp in my arms….It was the most frightened I’ve ever been.”

“Then how—” Magnus tried to sit up, and that was when he realised that his legs, still a novelty to him, weren't quite working properly.

Because they were gone. His legs were gone, and his tail had returned. Magnus stared down at himself in shock. Numbly, he touched the side of his neck, and found that his gills had returned. He was a mer again. 

His voice sounded weak and thin to his own ears. ‘I don’t understand.”

“Allow me to explain.” said another familiar voice, and Magnus nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Hello, Father,” he said weakly.

Asmodeus, who had apparently just surfaced from the water, raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised you even acknowledge me as your father, after that stunt you pulled with Lilith. She told me everything— came right into the palace and just told the whole story. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was almost pleased with how things have turned out.”

Alec’s hand came to rest protectively on Magnus’s back. “Um, Magnus, who is this?”

Asmodeus glared at him. “I’m your father-in-law, boy. Show some respect.”

“Oh.” Alec said. He glanced between them, appearing to make the connection. “It’s very nice to meet you, uh, sir.”

Asmodeus rolled his eyes, then resumed glaring at Magnus. “As for your query, Magnus, I can explain why you’re not dead. In all probability, you should have died—”

“Thank you, Father.” Magnus muttered.

“—but for an unexpected magical loophole.” Asmodeus continued. “Something neither Lilith or I could have predicted, for all that we know about magic.” He steepled his hands, looking between the two of them. “You two got married. It was a rush job, and I doubt the wisdom of your decision—”

“Father, please.” Magnus said wearily.

“But nonetheless, you were married.” Asmodeus went on. “Your souls were bound together.” He gave Alec a disdainful look. “By tying yourself to this…. human, you were protected from the curse which Lilith laid upon you. The magic couldn’t work.”

Magnus felt an enormous lifting of hope in his chest. “Truly? I’m not going to die?” 

“It would seem not.” Asmodeus said. He waved his hand dismissively. “You’re free, Magnus. Free to stay with this land-dweller, if that’s what you want. I would call it inadvisable, but you never did listen to me.” 

It was the closest thing he would ever get to a blessing from his father. Magnus nodded, his face breaking into a smile. “Thank you, Father.”

“Yes, well.” Asmodeus sniffed. “If it all goes horribly wrong, don’t come complaining to me.” With that, he dove underwater and was gone.

There was a few seconds of awkward silence, then Alec cleared his throat. “Your father seems— nice.” 

Magnus snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, Alec.” He looked over at him, and caught Alec’s smile. Then, unexpectedly, they were both laughing, the sort of laughter that only comes from a huge release of tension. Magnus went to crawl closer to Alec, then remembered his tail. The laughter died on his lips. 

“What’s wrong?” Alec asked, instantly concerned.

Magnus looked down at his tail, feeling sorrow well up in him. All that effort, and he was back where he started: a merman. Not human like Alec was. 

“Magnus.” Alec said softly. He turned Magnus’s face up to look into his eyes. “Are you worried because you’re a merman again? Do you think I don’t love you?”

Magnus dropped his eyes. “You said yourself you were going to be king,” he mumbled. “How are your subjects going to react if you’re married to a mer? I mean, I’m half fish. There are probably a few people who wouldn’t like that.”

“I’m not going to be the king anymore.” Alec said, and Magnus’s head snapped up. “My parents and I had a long talk while I was waiting for you to wake up.” He winced, and Magnus suspected that this conversation had not been entirely pleasant. 

“They’re not happy, exactly,” Alec went on, “but there’s not a lot they could do. We did get legally married.” He took Magnus’s hand, thumb brushing the ring on his finger, and Magnus smiled.

“Anyway,” Alec said, “I’m officially abdicating. Isabelle’s going to be the queen one day instead. It’s what she’s always wanted, and she’ll be a lot better than me at it. And Lydia’s gone back to her kingdom with her parents. She told me she’s not getting married until she’s the queen, so she can change the law and marry who she likes.” He smiled. “I hope it works out for her.”

“What did she say to you at the wedding?” Magnus asked. “I was too far away to hear.”

Alec’s smile became fonder. “She told me that it was okay. That she’d seen how I looked at you. That I was allowed to be happy.” He took Magnus’s hand in both of his and kissed it, and Magnus’s heart melted.

“So…?” he began, hardly daring to hope.

“So I’m free.” Alec said. “I’m free to do what I want. And I want you.” His cheeks flushed as he realised how he’d phrased the last statement, but us eyes never left Magnus’s. 

Not scared anymore, Magnus thought. He clasped Alec’s hands, pressing them against his chest and feeling the warmth flow through him. “I want you too.” he breathed. “Now, today and forever. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you, my Alec.”

Alec’s face lit up. He leaned in, tentatively, and Magnus met him in the middle. He didn’t know how it was possible, but their second kiss was even better than the first, quieter and gentler and comforting. Magnus broke the kiss and slid his mouth from Alec’s lips to his cheek, then his ear.

“Can you take me into the water?” he whispered, and Alec wasted no time in lifting Magnus up again, just as he had when they met on the beach. He carried Magnus down the marble steps and into the ocean, and joined him without having to be asked. His wet shirt stuck to his chest as he swam towards Magnus and wrapped his arms around him again, settling comfortably into his embrace.

They held each other in the water, soft ripples around them from the movement of Magnus’s tail. One of Alec’s hands was at the small of his back, the other wrapped around his shoulders. Magnus had never felt so safe, or so loved.

“I can’t believe we got married.” he whispered, stroking Alec’s hair. “You saved me.”

Alec kissed the juncture of his neck, making Magnus’s chest feel fluttery. “You saved me first. I can’t believe how brave you are, my treasure." His eyes were wet, and looking at him made Magnus’s heart feel so full he could hardly stand it.

Magnus kissed him again, and Alec gave a little groan against his mouth. Their first kiss had been desperate and brimming with emotion, their second sweet and comforting. This was neither. It was hot and wet, and salty from the sea, and Magnus opened his mouth wider, trying to drink Alec in, revelling in this new way of kissing.

Alec gave a low gasp, burying his face in Magnus’s neck. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”

“In a minute.” Magnus murmured. “Just want to stay here with you for a bit.” 

Still holding Alec, he swam them out a little further, out to where the coral reefs glittered underwater like jewels. He turned them in a slow circle and Alec leaned against him, solid and warm and real, everything Magnus had ever dreamed of. They drifted together, two small figures wrapped up in each other, in a love as vast and deep as the sea that surrounded them.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Judgment on Babylon (Part 2)

33 For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel:

Daughter Babylon is like a threshing floor at the time of treading; Yet a little while, and the harvest time will come for her. 34 “He consumed me, defeated me, Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon; he left me like an empty vessel, Swallowed me like a sea monster, filled his belly with my delicacies and cast me out. 35 Let my torn flesh be visited upon Babylon,” says enthroned Zion; “My blood upon the inhabitants of Chaldea,” says Jerusalem. 36 But now, thus says the Lord: I will certainly defend your cause, I will certainly avenge you; I will dry up her sea, and drain her fountain. 37 Babylon shall become a heap of ruins, a haunt of jackals; A place of horror and hissing, without inhabitants. 38 They roar like lions, growl like lion cubs. 39 When they are parched, I will set drink before them to make them drunk, that they may be overcome with everlasting sleep, never to awaken— oracle of the Lord. 40 I will bring them down like lambs to slaughter, like rams and goats. 41 How she has been seized, taken captive, the glory of the whole world! What a horror Babylon has become among the nations: 42 against Babylon the sea rises, she is overwhelmed by roaring waves! 43 Her cities have become wasteland, a parched and arid land Where no one lives, no one passes through. 44 I will punish Bel in Babylon, and make him vomit up what he swallowed; nations shall no longer stream to him. Even the wall of Babylon falls! 45 Leave her, my people; each of you save your own life from the burning wrath of the Lord.

46 Do not be discouraged when rumors spread through the land; this year one rumor comes, next year another: “Violence in the land!” or “Ruler against ruler!” 47 Realize that the days are coming when I will punish the idols of Babylon; the whole land shall be put to shame, all her slain shall fall in her midst. 48 Then heaven and earth and everything in them shall shout over Babylon with joy, when the destroyers come against her from the north—oracle of the Lord. 49 Babylon, too, must fall, you slain of Israel, because by the hand of Babylon the slain of all the earth have fallen.

50 You who have escaped the sword, go, do not stand idle; Remember the Lord from far away, let Jerusalem come to mind. 51 We are ashamed because we have heard taunts, disgrace covers our faces; strangers have entered sanctuaries in the Lord’s house. 52 Therefore see, the days are coming—oracle of the Lord— when I will punish her idols, and throughout the land the wounded will groan. 53 Though Babylon scale the heavens, and make her strong heights inaccessible, my destroyers shall reach her—oracle of the Lord. 54 A sound of crying from Babylon, great destruction from the land of the Chaldeans; 55 For the Lord lays Babylon waste, silences her loud cry, Waves roaring like mighty waters, a clamor resounding. 56 For the destroyer comes upon her, upon Babylon; warriors are captured, their bows broken; The Lord is a God of recompense, he will surely repay.

57 I will make her princes and sages drunk, with her governors, officers, and warriors, so that they sleep an everlasting sleep, never to awaken—oracle of the King, whose name is Lord of hosts.

58 Thus says the Lord of hosts: The walls of spacious Babylon shall be leveled to the ground, its lofty gates destroyed by fire. The toil of the peoples is for nothing; the nations weary themselves for what the flames consume.

The Prophecy Sent to Babylon. 59 The mission Jeremiah the prophet gave to Seraiah, son of Neriah, son of Mahseiah, when he went to Babylon with King Zedekiah, king of Judah, in the fourth year of his reign; Seraiah was chief quartermaster. 60 Jeremiah wrote down on one scroll the disaster that would befall Babylon; all these words were written against Babylon. 61 And Jeremiah said to Seraiah: “When you reach Babylon, see that you read all these words aloud, 62 and then say: Lord, you yourself spoke against this place in order to cut it down so that nothing, human being or beast, could live in it, because it is to remain a wasteland forever. 63 When you have finished reading this scroll, tie a stone to it and throw it into the Euphrates, 64 and say: Thus Babylon shall sink. It will never rise, because of the disaster I am bringing upon it.” Thus far the words of Jeremiah. — Jeremiah 51:33-64 | New American Bible Revised Edition (NABRE) New American Bible, revised edition © 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Cross References: Genesis 11:4; Genesis 16:5; Deuteronomy 4:29; Deuteronomy 32:35; 2 Samuel 17:8; 2 Kings 19:7; Ezra 1:7-8; Job 20:15; Job 31:40; Psalm 13:3; Psalm 18:4; Psalm 44:15; Psalm 46:8; Psalm 76:5-6; Isaiah 8:7-8; Isaiah 13:2; Isaiah 13:19; Isaiah 21:9; Isaiah 25:5; Isaiah 30:8; Jeremiah 13:4; Jeremiah 25:26; Jeremiah 28:1; Jeremiah 48:15; Jeremiah 50:38; Acts 2:40; Romans 12:19; Revelation 14:15; Revelation 18:2; Revelation 18:20-21; Revelation 18:24; Revelation 19:1; Revelation 19:6

[milehighmechanic]

“Your life could have gone one way or the other. What made you decide?”

@glacierfront // tony is very, very good at blaming others for his misfortunes. his bad decisions. his more than questionable life choices. the stacking pile of sins that only grows daily, as he labels freedom fighters terrorists, wines and dines the military while turning a blind eye to stray weapons shipments. a broken, uncaring corruption. he sleeps just fine at night and what does that really say about him?

well, it’s easy when you have the rest of the world to blame for all of it.  

he blames his sister, most of the time. for leaving him. for the frozen wasteland they live in now. loneliness and grief that settled into resignation and anger, a fire that he stoked over the years into a simmering, festering RAGE. somehow, knowing she’s dead only makes it worse. 

it’s even easier to blame obie, though he never voices that. ( conditioned not to, perhaps. a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just a shade too tight. ) obie, who had been there when nobody else had. obie, who had taught him everything he knew. obie, who had betrayed him more thoroughly and entirely than anyone else. but tony had killed him for that, so can he really blame him? 

to think of his own culpability would be to think of himself as fettered. mortal. WEAK. to direct that inferno of anger inwards would be all-consuming. there's too much grief and desperation and exploitation circling him, a wall of armour around his heart.

unwilling, tony can’t help but think of the day when he’d thrown the half-written letter to his absent sister into the fire. acceptance that she’d never answered. she was never coming back. he’d watched the paper curl at the edges, singe and darken and crumble into ash. 

he thinks of the moment when obie had dug out dad’s plans for the arc reactor, old research into clean energy and new elements. obie’s triumphant grin when tony had shown him the miniaturised version, the way he’d clapped him on the back and stolen it out of his hands. tony thinks of the gleaming blood red suit he’d designed, late that night in the workshop, bright power shining from its chest. 

could there have been just one moment, when he’d made a choice? one moment, or a thousand, tiny, little moments, whispers in his ear, the dangerous edge of obie’s smile. dark nights in the workshop and frostbitten fingertips. inkstains and crisp suits. straggling sonatas and high-ceiling boardrooms.

what made him DECIDE? tony shakes his head. what kind of fucking question is that? how could his life have ever gone any other way? he’d never been on any other path, not since the day their parents died. since the day julie ran and never came back. 

“you think i had a choice? in any of this?” his voice is TOO reasonable, though that edge of anger that’s never missing when he talks to julie remains constant. “i never asked for ANY of this. i never-----”

something bursts in his chest, something like panic. something like his conscience, starting to stir awake. “what else was i SUPPOSED to do!?”

[stalkersquirrel]

We Are Survivors | Chapter 3

Writer: StalkerSquirrel | Co-Writer: Unicornymous

Warning The Overall Story Contains: apocalypse, fighting, weapons, death, murder, horror, dark thoughts, dark moments, fantasy creatures, mutant creatures, Fallout Series Themed, powers, religions, etc.

Chapter 3: Changing Routines

Settlement 22 grew over several months, gaining a positive reputation across the wasteland and maybe further beyond. Radio stations take about the settlement at least once a week and soon Settlement 22 had build a radio station themselves. This helped to communicate with their people, other settlements, and wanderers.

Settlement 22 expanded, making more room for people that wish to stay and even work. Unit 10 remembers the first night when a family of 3 asks to stay, asked if they could be there forever with them. They cried that night, a mix between happy tears and sadness. Happiness that they finally had enough status for people to want to leave there but sadness when Unit 10 remembers settlement Deadfall and how they also wished the same.

"What has gotten you so gloomy, Zhi?" Zhi looks over his shoulder to see Uxue in the doorway that access the rooftop, "I- It didn't work out. Eileen and me didn't work out." Zhi whispers just loud enough for Uxue to hear him. Soon she was beside him lending back on her elbows watching the night sky along with him, "Is this the 'break' break up or the 'we fought but tomorrow we will be fine' break up?" The asking voice was a little harsh but concern was evident even with it, "The 'break' break up." He answers as he lays down placing his arms behind his head. "I gave up, I can't keep standing beside them when they keep flirting with every guy they see and I was too tired to bring it up again and fight... I gave up." His voice grew small near the end, strain building up in his throat as he tries not to cry. It wasn't that he believed he shouldn't cry, it was because he was tired of crying today.

Uxue turned to her left to look at Zhi, her usual frown is deeper as she watches him for a few seconds. "It was their fault, they were too damn happy about the fact that you stopped bringing it up. They were consumed by that, they thought you were finally okay with the problem." She starts as Zhi's eyes close, "They were so blinded that they didn't even notice that you stop fighting for that relationship, that you built up a wall to the point of no return. A wall that you didn't want to happen but it protected you from them." Uxue sit up after Zhi did, Zhi's wavy hair covered his face but the tears that hit his pants shown he was crying. "You did so well. You DID so well." Uxue whispers over and over again as Zhi lends against her shoulder, her left arm wrapped around his back as he hugs himself.

The two stand on the rooftop for another hour before finally getting enough energy to walk down the stairwell to head home. Zhi knew a broken heart can't heal over night but it was nice to be reassured that what happened was NOT his fault, that he did everything he could. No, broken hearts do not heal over night but reassures does help the insecurities along the way to healing. Zhi was grateful for the friends he grew up with and still have to this day, sometimes he wonders what would have happened to him if he didn't have them.

Zhi heads upstairs to his room as Uxue heads to the living room, the dark brunette smiles softly as she grabs the blanket off the back of the couch before laying it across Enyo's sleeping form. "You are going to have a stiff neck tomorrow but that is your problem." The bulky woman whispers as she walks off down the hallway under the stairs, she heads to her room for the night. Tiredness finally being acknowledge as she sits on the edge of her bed, kicking off her boots before lazily crawling into bed, too tired to remove her clothes as she falls asleep.

To say Baxtiyor was nervous was an understatement, even though Sonja was coming with him along with the two learning workers. The group needed to gatherer certain items from a train yard that was an hour away, nothing too unnerving about it. The unnerving part was the wind, the wind was unpredictable today. Baxtiyor's gut told him to stay home, he would have listened if they didn't need these items today but unfortunately the windmills he is making need it and so do the machines the engineers are making.

Sonja pats Baxtiyor's right shoulder with a smile, "It is gonna be fine! Since there is four of us, it will only take two hours and a half!" She states as she adjusts her backpack. "Are you sure we can't bring a medic just in case?" The Builder asks again as he watches the other two get ready, "We don't need a medic, we need you to know what to get for your builds." Sonja states as she signal for the workers to follow as they head out the gate.

She wished she listened, she wished she brought a medic, she wished they just waited for tomorrow. The winds were unpredictable but she never knew they were going to get so strong, she doesn't understand how they could get that strong. Strong enough to turn a train cart over on its side, strong enough to carry heavy items several feet away from there original spots.

The small team entered the train yard, they split up to decrease the scavenging time. It was around 10 minutes in when the winds picked up drastically, Sonja counted herself lucky that she was inside the station when the wind started to cause absolute chaos. It felt like hours even it finally stopped but when it did, she could hear yelling and screams of pain. Sonja raced up the steps, scanning the area of the train yard. Train carts were overturned, scrap sheets were everywhere, and the warehouse was crumbled on the ground.

"Sonja! Sonja!" One of the workers shouted for her as they run over, "It is Baxtiyor! He is stuck and Harun is trying to find something to get him out!" Tine says as she pulls the taller woman towards an overturned train cart. There he was, his right arm stuck underneath as he pushes on the roof of the train cart even though it would do nothing. Sonja wishes she brought Uxue, she wishes she brought some medic with them, she wishes she listened to him.

Baxtiyor eyes locked with Sonja, "Help me! Please do something!" He cries out as he feels like his arm was burning. "I found a hand saw!" Harun announces as he jogs up to them, horror sets in Sonja's stomach at the thought of any one having to cut her best friend's arm off. People here either had very little knowledge of medical emergencies or none at all, she knew enough that if they do try to cut off the limb it would take roughly an hour or at least she remembers that's what Uxue said once at the dinner table.

"We need to be prepared to move when we finish, so we need something to carry Baxtiyor back to the settlement." Sonja states as she finally pries her eyes away from her dear friend, "We also need something to stop the bleeding!" Tine quickly adds as she looks at Sonja. "Okay, Tine find something to stop the bleeding and anything else you may need. Harun, come with me to find something to carry Bax!" The nervousness in Sonja's voice was obvious as they head off to look for anything to help their situation.

They found a wheelbarrow but they couldn't find cloths of any kind for the bleeding part. Harun gave up his shirt but Tine stated it wouldn't be enough, regardless Sonja told her to try. Harun kneeled down beside Baxtiyor, he was nervous. He was about to cut this man's arm off, a member of Unit 10, a leader of Settlement 22, and a best friend to many people. If this goes wrong, would they blame him? Harun felt a hand on his upper arm, "Deep breath, kid and don't stop even when I start screaming." Baxtiyor whispers as he tries to ready himself for the pain.

"Tine, go back to the settlement and retrieve Uxue. If anyone else says that Uxue can't go, tell them I requested her." Sonja ordered, her voice filled with determination as she rethinks the situation. "What? Why?" Harun's and Tine's voices mix together as confusion filled the air, "We should hold off as long as possible and if a medic can get here after we sever his limb, they could do something. Mostly because something will go wrong." Sonja states as she sits down beside Baxtiyor. "Good thinking." The words left the injured man as he watches Tine nod before running off.

Metal on metal echoes through the medical center causing a certain dark brunette to swivel around with a glare as she looks at the culprit but that glare did not stay long as she recognize the person that went with her two beloved friends, "What happen." Uxue demands as Tine rushes over to her. "Baxtiyor is trapped under a train cart!" Tine didn't mean to yell but she was scared that she took too long, "What do you mean! All of him or some of him?" Uxue demands as she pulls the younger girl behind her as she heads to the medical storage. "His right arm is underneath, caught between stone and the train cart. Harun is ready to cut his arm off in about half a hour!" Tine stumbles over her words as she speaks quickly. A heavy sigh leaves the doctor as she quickly packs a bag, "Is the blade serrated?" Uxue asks as she looks at her tools. "What?" Confusion filled Tine as Uxue turn to her with two tools, a blade with tiny teeth and one with none. "The one with teeth is the one he is using." Tine points out before Uxue put in a scalpel and a medical saw, "Why did you ask?" Nervous filled Tine as she asked. "Dull rusty serrated blades cannot cut through human bone, no matter how hard you try." Uxue explains, "Yes, if it is sharp it can but the more it goes the more dull it gets meaning you have to stop quite a lot to sharpen it to continue." That made the pit in Tine's stomach grow as she follows Uxue out of the settlement.

Tears covered Uxue shoulder as she holds Sonja, guilt fills her as she watches Tine pull a sheet out of her back and covered Baxtiyor's body that laid in the wheelbarrow. Harun was still holding the rusty handsaw, he stood with a broken look as Tine walks over. Carefully, the young girl pulled the tool out of his grip before placing it on the train cart beside them. Uxue knew that Harun will be haunted by this, will feel unbelievable amount of guilt for what he did even after being reassured he only did it to try and save Baxtiyor.

Silence grew in Settlement 22 as Uxue pushes the wheelbarrow towards the cemetery, all eyes were on her as people come to realize the settlement lost someone important. "Uxue, who is it?" The shaky voice belonged to Enyo, the leader of Unit 10. "Uxue. Who is it." This time she demanded as she watches the doctor set the wheelbarrow down. "Bax..." The doctor replies as she turns to her unit, "how?" Sven gasps out as he watches Brittania rush pass her to pull down the sheet. "Blood loss. He got trapped under a train cart and one of the workers tried cutting off his arm to save him." She explains before walking off to get a gravedigger. Her mind was on overdrive, too worked up to seriously process what has happened. Zhi was in the same boat, overwhelmed by everything.

Two weeks has passed since Baxtiyor's burial, one week since the funeral, and a day since they announced on the radio about his passing. People in settlement 22 mourned and tried to help the leaders through this tough time but most through themselves into work or hide away in the house. They never thought losing Baxtiyor would hurt more then losing Vault 22 but it did and it was not letting up anytime soon. Weeks to come, the people of Unit 10 wore black and hardly talked to anyone. It would be around the time when fall starts settling into winter when Unit 10 slowly stops wearing black and socializing again, doesn't mean the pain is gone but the pain is bearable now. They still cry when talking about memories of him, they still stop in the doorway of his room, and they still sometimes call out his name to only remember he is no longer there.

Baxtiyor's chair is still at the dinner table, his favorite coffee mug still rests on the windowsill behind the sink, his favorite magazine rests on the low table in the living room, and the radio stays on his favorite station. Sven will make a plate for him before placing it off to the side when he remembers he is no longer there, Enyo and Sterre bring back old magazines from their scavenging hunt before placing them on the bookshelf, Zhi makes Bax's coffee before pouring it down the drain when he remembers he isn't here to drink it, Sonja and Nick will visit his workstation to bring food before walking home in silence, Eirik will walk to his room to call him down for dinner before lending against the doorway as he remembers, Brittania will be in the middle of making his favorite snack before sitting in the kitchen in tears remembering he is not there, and Uxue still sits on the rooftop of the medical center to watch the stars like she use to with him.

Moving on is hard but changing your routine is harder, growing use to them no longer being there when they were for years feels almost impossible but it is doable. Change doesn't happen over night, change happens over large amount of time. Even then you can slip and fall into a familiar routine before realizing you can't do that routine anymore or not in the same way at least.

-End of Chapter 3: Changing Routines-

[hawkeshep]

Hozier lyrics that scream Solavellan to me

“Why would you offer her name to the same old tired pain?” -No Plan

“Which each love I could lose I was never the same, watching still living roots be consumed by the flame, I was fixed on your hand of gold, laying waste to my loving long ago” -Would That I

“When I was a man, I thought it ended when I knew love’s perfect ache, but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my way” -Arsonist’s Lullaby

“I knew that look, dear, eyes always seeking, was there in someone that dug long ago, so I will not ask you why you were creeping, in some sad way I already know. So I will not ask you where you came from, I would not ask and neither would you. Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do” -Like Real People Do

“You know better, babe, than to smile at me, smile at me like that. You know better, babe, you know better, babe, than to hold me just, hold me just like that. I know who I am when I’m alone, I’m something else when I see you. You don’t understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. Don’t let me in with no intention to keep me, Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to me, honey, don’t feed me, I will come back” -It Will Come Back

the ENTIRETY of Sunlight. Think about him waking up from uthenera and cry with me :’)

“Babe, there’s something wretched about this, something so precious about this, where to begin? Babe, there’s something broken about this, but I might be hoping about this, oh, what a sin” -From Eden

“I won’t deny I’ve got in my mind now  all the things we could do, so I try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I’m imaging you” -Talk

“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies. Ain’t it warming you, the world going up in flames? Ain’t it the life of you, your lighting of the blaze?” -NFWMB

“All the things yet to come are the things that have passed, like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass, like the bonfire that burns at all worth in the fight fell too, wasteland, baby, I’m in love, I’m in love with you” -Wasteland, Baby!

“When you move, I can recall something that’s gone from me, when you move, honey, I’m put in awe of something so flawed and free” -Movement

“Deer in the chase, there as I flew, forgot all prayers of joining you” -In The Woods Somewhere

“And tell me if somehow some of it remained, how long would you wait for me? How long I’ve been away” -As It Was

“I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I’ll tell you my sins, and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death, oh, good god, let me give you my life” “If I’m a pagan of the good times, my lovers the sunlight, to keep the goddess on my side, she demands a sacrifice” -Take Me To Church

“And I have never loved a darker blue than the darkness I have known in you, honed from you. You, whose heart would sing of anarchy, you would laugh at meanings, guarantees, so beautifully. When our truth is burned from history by those who figured justice in fond memory, witness me, like fire weeping from a cedar tree, know that my love would burn with me, we’ll live eternally” -Better Love

“Her fight and fury is fiery, oh, but she looks like sleep to the freezing. Sweet and right and merciful, I’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing” -Cherry Wine

“She moved with shameless wonder. The perfect creature rarely seen, since some liar brought the thunder, when the land was godless and free” -Foreigner’s God

“Honey, I laugh when it sinks in, a pillar I am of pride, scarcely can speak for my thinking what you’d do to me tonight” -Dinner & Diatribes

manifesting these for Dragon Age: Dreadwolf:

 “I fled to the city with so much discounted, ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now. Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted, ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now. I was housed by your warmth, thus transformed, by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. Remember me, love, when I’m reborn, as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn” -Shrike

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her” -Work Song

“There are questions I can’t ask, now at last the worst is over. See the way you hold yourself, reel against your body’s border. I know that you hate this place, not a trace of me would argue. Honey, we should run away, oh, someday, our baby and her momma, and the damaged love she made” -To Be Alone

[wild-karrde]

The Sunburst in the Storm (One-Shot)

A/N: Alright time for a SUPER angsty CodyWan one-shot that I was super nervous to write. As always, thank you to the WONDERFUL @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this (and encouraging me to post it haha)!

The wind had begun whistling against the side of the dwelling, tossing sand against it that would smooth down the edges and slowly erode the outer walls. The windows darkened as the storm grew, the only illumination coming from the few lamps he kept in the small living area.

The dwelling was humble to be sure, but it was all he felt he deserved. The wind crescendoed to a deep wail, hiding the voices of the ghosts that haunted him, calling out in his mind. His peers. His friends. His lovers. His padawan. All dead.

Because of him.

His master, gone because he was a step too slow. His peers, murdered in cold blood, betrayed by those who never had a say in the matter, those that they had trusted most. His mind drifted to the commander he had served with once more, wondering what had become of the man that had tried to kill him.

By all accounts, I should be one of the ghosts.

He’d been lucky while others had not, and he had spent years wondering what exactly made him worthy of survival, what greater purpose he had been destined for.

Perhaps only to live with my failure, to do this penance.

So many of his friends, gone. The duchess that he had loved desperately enough to leave everything he knew behind. The senator that had only been trying to do the right thing, wanting to reach the one that she loved. But her husband had already gone at that point, consumed by the darkness, the darkness his master had failed to deter.

The younglings haunted him most of all. The tiny voices, the innocents that had asked for aid from his padawan, only to have their lives ripped from them instead, betrayed by one they had trusted.

Ripped out by the roots. Because of me.

His heart ached for the soldiers that had committed the genocide. He was certain if they ever had regained their minds, that they’d share in his suffering, the guilt that consumed him.

I may not have lifted a weapon against any of them, but I am the one most responsible. He was my apprentice. And I failed.

How could he have known that the small boy from this desert planet would be the undoing of an ancient order that had survived for millenia? All of the warning signs were there, the anger, the fear, the mistrust, swirling just beneath the surface and yet always apparent now when he looked back. Had he been foolhardy to think that he could change the boy, to mold him into what his destiny had pre-ordained?

The Chosen One. The one that would bring balance to the Force.

The words burned him from the inside out like a brand that he’d wear for the rest of his life.

I failed him.

The friendship that had led to all of this had been troublesome from the start, but he’d never been able to pinpoint why.

“The Chancellor has taken a unique interest in the boy.”

He could have never said it felt unwarranted; the boy’s future had been foretold to be extraordinary after all. It made sense that a political leader would wish to align with someone that carried such promise. And yet, there had been his undoing, his blindness to the influence the Chancellor had over the boy.

A Sith lord right under my nose, and I was completely unaware. I failed in that respect as well.

This was his penance: hiding on this wasteland, serving as protector of a son not his own, hoping that the darkness would not consume the child like it had his father. A promise kept to a mother dying of a broken heart.

I’ll keep them safe, Padmé. Rest now.

A rattling outside caught his attention. Likely something not tied down properly that’s blown by, doomed to drift on the wind until the storm relented. Perhaps when the twin suns reappeared, it would be buried, hidden. Forgotten.

Like me.

He sighed, pushing himself up from the kneeling position he had assumed, trying to reach out and meditate, to calm his mind. It felt fruitless, like his connection only amplified the voices crying out to him, reminding him of his failure. His knees creaked more than they used to, a reminder of time’s unrelenting progression and the toll it takes. He rubbed at the offending joints, willing them to move without the pain that had begun to set in just before the storm.

Another loud noise outside, the sound of something scraping along the outer wall, and he paused once more, but when the noise did not persist, he resumed his walk to the small kitchenette pressed into a corner. Turning on the small stove, he filled his kettle with some of the precious water from his supply. He rarely indulged in tea, but the memories were especially haunting tonight. His mind drifted again, and before he knew it, he had accidentally filled the kettle all the way to the top.

Wasteful, he chastised himself. That’s more than I’ll ever be able to drink.

With water being as precious as it was, he normally was careful with his rationing. He sighed. The access to refill his water supply was outside, and there was no way he was going outside just to dump some excess out of a kettle back into the supply. Accepting that he was going to make more tea than he needed, he set the kettle on the stove, resting his hands against the counter as he stared out the window into the storm.

Sand whipped by, whispering against the transparisteel as it was flung against it in ribbons. It was early evening, so the light would have already been dimmer, but the sand had blocked out any hope of seeing the twin suns setting, leaving the landscape inundated in a murky, brown darkness. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair, silver slowly beginning to overtake the warm brown.

The kettle whistled, and he removed it from the stove, placing it on his small table as he reached for the tea leaves and a cup. As his fingers closed around the delicate ceramic, he froze.

He felt something. The cup fell from his hands, shattering against the sandstone floor. The sound of the cup shattering pulled him from his haze, and he violently shook his head.

Ridiculous.

Carefully, he stooped down to begin retrieving the larger pieces of the broken cup, but there it is again. A presence, the signature unmistakable to him.

Warmth. Golden. A sunburst. A scar.

His breathing came in short gasps as he fell to his knees. It can’t be.

Another scraping sound outside, louder, closer. The wind howled at a shriller pitch, screaming at him.

A knock.

His eyes widened.

Impossible.

Another bang, more persistent this time. One that could only be made by knuckles against metal.

He stood, shakily.

“Who’s there?”

No reply. Another rap against the metal.

He floundered, trying to remember where he’d placed his weapon.

The chest. Near the door.

He practically flew to it, scrambling to unlock the clasp, the cool metal hilt against his fingers. He gripped it tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.

Impossible, he thought again. You’re going mad out here, alone.

He stood at the door. The knock came again, inches from his nose. He reached out.

How can this be?

It was unmistakable, although improbable, but he could take the torture of being uncertain no more. His fingers found the control panel, pressing the button and springing the door open. The wind was deafening without the barrier in between him and the outside. Sand whipped against his cheeks, burning his skin, and he shielded his eyes.

“WHO’S THERE?” he demanded with more authority than he felt, the lightsaber trembling at his side.

He could see nothing, hear nothing other than the wind. He stood for a few moments before scoffing.

I’m losing my grip on things, he decided, turning back to close the door.

But then, a crunch. He whirled. A figure, dark and looming. Hooded and cloaked against the elements, face hidden beneath wraps, goggles, and a respirator. The silhouette was indistinct due to the clothing that covered it. Sirens were screaming in the back of his mind, as he tucked his lightsaber behind his hip, reaching his other hand out.

It could be anyone. But not him.

“Come in out of the storm, my friend. You may wait inside with me. Crossing in this weather is dangerous.”

The figure said nothing, but stepped closer, almost hesitantly. The presence slammed into him again.

Yellow paint on white armor. A smile. Warm brown eyes. A smell reminiscent of cinnamon.

He stumbled, the sensation overwhelming him. His weapon slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground, rolling forward and coming to a stop at the visitor’s feet. The hood dipped as the figure stared at the hilt resting against the toe of a boot. Bending slowly, gloved fingers closed around the metal, lifting it and testing its weight in a palm before stepping forward once more.

Obi-Wan was on one knee, unbelieving as the figure approached, gently wrapping a hand around his arm and pulling him to his feet. He could feel the visitor’s fingers trembling beneath the fabric of gloves, but the grip was firm. Commanding. Familiar.

Back in his dwelling, Obi-Wan stepped away from the visitor quickly, backing up until his lower back slammed into the kitchenette’s modest counter, his feet crunching on the broken ceramic remnants of the cup, long forgotten. The visitor shut the door behind them, and the wind was immediately muted, giving way to a deafening silence.

“Do you know me?” a modulated voice asked.

Obi-Wan hesitated, still unsure he could trust what he felt.

It has to be a trick. A cruel trick.

He remained silent.

“Do you fear me?” the voice tried again.

“No.” The response surprised Obi-Wan as it escaped his lips without hesitation. He paused again, and ultimately found what he’d just said to be true. “I could never fear you.”

The figure still clutched the lightsaber, the head bowing to study it once more before holding it out, extending it towards the former Jedi Master. Obi-Wan’s eyes darted from the weapon to the expressionless mask that watched him intently before his feet carried him across the distance, closing the space between them. He grasped the lightsaber, his fingernails scraping the worn leather of the glove as he took it, clipping it back to his belt. The figure watched him.

“Do you truly not know me?” The voice was quieter, still unfamiliar from the modulator’s buzzing.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked back up to the mask, searching for some confirmation of his suspicions, still not daring to believe what he felt.

“You can’t be him,” he whispered.

“I am not him. Not the man you knew, at least.”

Obi-Wan could feel the weight that the visitor carried, the guilt that mirrored his own. The figure’s shoulders were stooped, bent under the invisible load that threatened to overwhelm him at any instant. Obi-Wan reached up, his fingers closing around the fabric of the hood, pushing it back from the visitor’s head to rest on his shoulders. The figure tensed under his touch, but did not pull away.

The Jedi continued, his fingers finding the edge of the wrapping that kept the sand from getting past the goggles and modulator, and slowly he unwrapped it, sand that had been caught trickling down the visitor’s cloak and falling to the floor. He could smell sweat, could feel apprehension. He still refused to believe. His fingers found the tighter, second hood that covered the visitor’s head, and he slipped his digits into the edge, pushing it back to reveal brown skin and a mess of dark curls, streaked with grey much as his own hair was. And there, peeking out from the top of the goggles, a crescent-shaped scar.

His hands trembled as he reached for the goggles strap, loosening it. He went to lift pull the goggles from the man’s face, but gloved fingers latched around his wrists.

“Are you certain?” the voice asked. “Are you sure you want to know what I’ve become?”

“I am.”

A shuddering breath, but neither could be sure who had released it.

The goggles lifted, revealing eyes closed, long dark lashes fluttering as dust trickled down the bridge of a wide nose. Dark brows furrowed, a crease between them, formed from caring too much, and a long scar raking along the visitor’s left temple and cheek, earned from a war he was created to fight in. Obi-Wan’s fingers brushed the sand away from where it was stuck to the visitor’s skin.

Warm. Rough. As always.

As if in a dream, his fingers traced the shape of the scar, and the visitor’s eyes snapped open, brown irises glowing like dying coals that had just been blown upon.

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply.

The eyes closed again, and the visitor leaned into the hand that rested against the scar. A tear fell from one eye, water cutting through the sand, trickling down to rest on top of the respirator that Obi-Wan was already removing, fully revealing the face of a ghost he had long searched for amongst the many that haunted him.

“Cody.”

The commander stared at him, emotions rolling off of him in waves that buffeted the Jedi standing before him.

Pain. Sadness. Anger. Fear. So much fear.

“How are you here?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if the question was meant to be answered or not, but Cody gave him a tight smile.

“I’ve spent years looking. I was told you’d died, but I didn’t believe it.”

“Despite your best efforts.” The wit was cutting, but it felt familiar to the two of them, pulling a short huff of a laugh from the clone before his smile faded.

“I…it wasn’t…I would never-“

He fears me.

Obi-Wan’s heart shattered.

He fears I am angry. That I don’t understand it wasn’t his choice.

He closed the gap between them once more, his hands cupping Cody’s cheeks as the commander floundered for an explanation he had spent years trying to perfect, never quite succeeding.

“I know, Cody.” The commander’s eyes met his, a flicker of hope flashing in them. “I know.”

The tears streamed from Cody’s eyes uninhibited now, and he wrapped his arms around his former general, fingers digging into the fabric tightly as he sobbed.

“I never thought you’d be able to forgive me,” he said, the tear stains streaking the light dust across his cheeks. “I can’t seem to forgive myself.”

Obi-Wan rested his forehead against Cody’s, giving in to the emotions overwhelming him. “Will you stay?” he asked.

“Will you allow me to?”

Obi-Wan huffed a quiet laugh, his thumbs grazing Cody’s cheeks. “Of course. And perhaps, we can learn to forgive ourselves. Together.”

Chapped lips found sand-burned ones. Gloved fingers tangled in greying brown strands. Tears intermingled between breaths. A moment that almost felt stolen, so precious and meaningful in such a small, humble space between two people that had spent years never daring to hope.

“Forgive me,” Cody begged, his voice barely audible as his gloved hands cradled Obi-Wan’s face.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Obi-Wan whispered, turning his face to place a kiss to Cody’s palm.

The commander released a wavering breath, some of the weight slipping from his shoulders. His eyes glanced over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, resting on the broken ceramic on the ground. He chuckled, the low rumble that Obi-Wan was so familiar with and had never hoped to hear again.

“Still prone to dropping things, I see.”

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Obi-Wan smiled. “Only when you’re around, Cody.” He turned, surveying the kitchenette, and his eyes fell on the cooling kettle. His smile widened. “Now, would you care for some tea? It appears I’ve inadvertently heated enough water for two.”

The wind howled outside, but the voices were quieter, muted by those of the living inside the dwelling.