blood sister

anonymous asked:

So I just read about how in some European folklore pumpkins could turn into vampires. I have no idea how to make this into a story, but this just screams Hugh Dancy to me.

I’ve never heard of that before! 

After a bit of poking around, I wrote a little young Hannibal at the orphanage and pumpkin-vampire Will fic~

Keep reading

Beca’s Fanfic Appreciation Post: Here I can share with you all the fics I read along the week.

Drabbles

Imagines

One Shots

Series

Feel free to tag me in your stuf (it’s actually encouraged), it will be a pleasure to know more writers and add you to my appreciation list. You can tag me in any fic (Reader insert, it needs to be reader insert!!!!), just don’t tag me in OFC or Male Reader.

Questions I have after ACOWAR ~spoilers ahead~

These are random and not in order relative to how the information was revealed in each chapter:

1) Why did Amren choose her name? She said she couldn’t remember the name she was given as an ~angel~ but chose Amren, and that it was a ‘long story’ why she chose it…

2) What are Eris’s true motivations? He claims he would never have touched Mor against her will, that he helped Lucien escape, and at one point he refers to the rest of the malevolent ginger clan as “my…brothers.” Is that because he detests them and hates they are his blood, or because of something else? WHY DOES HE MATTER SJM!? 

3) WHAT IS NESTA

4) What were her and Amren really doing, really studying when they were together?

5) So did Lucien’s eye see Feyre’s tattoo….or not? He says he can see through some glamours, but never mentions he knew about Feyre’s tattoo, so is that because Feyre is too powerful, or his eye isn’t powerful enough to see through those kinds of things? 

6) ANDROMACHE

7) What happened between Elain and Lucien in the several moments they had alone? I NEED THIS INFO

8) I basically need this entire novel from a Cassian/Nesta POV

9) @ Vassa

Originally posted by giffity-gif-gif

10) So Ianthe…what’s her deal? Just straight up stone cold bitch or…? Like what motivates you girl?! 

11) How on Earth did Papa Archeron know to find Vassa????

12) WHAT IS THE SURIEL’S NAME, DAMMIT

13) If Amren was an ~old testament angel~ why tf did she drink blood? How…? 

14) WHERE ARE THE BEASTS WHO WERE WOKEN UP BY THE BOOK

15) How was Elain magically healed by Azriel correctly guessing she was a Seer? Like okay? 

16) Bryaxis, where you at?

17) WHAT IS THE BONE CARVER’S NAME? We get his blood-hound narcissist sister named Stryga and his bro Koschei who is trapping some ladies in a lake, but we can’t know the BC’s name :((( 

18) NESTA AND CASSIAN ARE THEY MATES?!?!? Yes. I’ve decided. 

19) I feel like the King of Hybern took down Stryga SUPER easily…she’s a death-god so…I feel like he should’ve had to put in more effort? 

20) Lastly…WHERE DOES RHYS FIND FEYRE’S CLOTHES?  

(just a disclaimer some of these are just pure salt and/or rhetorical) 

anonymous asked:

MAMA BLUE LION PART 4! PART 4! Pretty please? Love you 💜💜

The long awaited part four, my dears! :3
————————————————–
Blue, in all honesty, felt sick. The sludgy ocean wasn’t just water, it was poison. Oil, thick and choking, and she hated how it felt against her metal skin, her human body cringing at the cold slick pressing into her metal shell’s joints and choking her movements. Lance was asleep in the chair while she rummaged around for a blanket to cover him, since she was planning to turn off most of the heating in order to speed up the healing process to her damaged rockets.
She knew her sisters were close, but she didn’t know if they’d be able to dig her and her precious Paladin out of the icy sludge. The best she could do was at least swim up to the surface to make it easier for retrieval… but her leg had damaged the internal wiring and panels; if she so much as activated it, the sparks from the exposed wires could turn this oily planet into a ball of fire.
Being the Guardian of Water, there was no way she’d survive for long inside a fire planet, that was Red’s thing. She and Lance would burn to death, which was something she wanted to avoid.
She was broken out of her thoughts when her fingers brushed against something soft and slightly dusty. Aha! Perfect. She pulled the fluffy cerulean fabric from the survival cupboard, and hurried back over to Lance. Draping it over his body, she tucked him in securely before settling down on the floor, leaning against the pilot seat and shutting her eyes to concentrate on healing her Lion form and shutting down most of the heating, redirecting as much energy to healing as she dared.
She exhaled a breath of white, misty air not even thirty ticks later, the cabin having become significantly colder. Lance whined quietly in his sleep and curled into the blanket further, soft white clouds puffing up from his mouth and fading away. At this point, she was worried even more so than earlier. His breathing was shaky and a bit shallow. He’d lost too much blood. Black, big sister, please hurry. We cannot last much longer. She pressed her thoughts to her sibling almost desperately, she didn’t want to lose another child so soon, especially one so young.
She was attuned to the cold, but her Paladin had lived in a place of warmth and sunshine his whole life. He’d never even seen snow before. Ice, yes, but never a real heavy snowfall. Never a real winter. He wasn’t built to survive the cold like she was. She opened her eyes to the sound and feeling of someone entering the ocean of oil, and the comms crackled to life. Keith and Pidge appeared onscreen, Shiro’s face in the middle.
“Lance! We’re on our way in to get you. Blue, can you direct us towards your position?” Pidge asked, startling the Blue Paladin awake. “Wha’ huh?!?” He slurred, scrambling to sit up properly, Blue standing up next to him.
“Yes, I can direct you. Just follow the main current and break off when I say so. Careful, it’s colder than you would be used to on Earth. In fact, keep Red away from it Keith. Fire and oil is never a good combination, and I’d prefer not to be roasted alive.” Blue explained, Lance shuddering next to her. “I agree, dude. I think I like my skin not crispy, thanks. I’ve gotten burned once, never again. That shit hurts like a bitch!” Lance yelped, horror clearly reflected on his face at the memory.
Pidge actually snorted a short laugh. Shiro smiled slightly. “All right, we’re diving in now. No rockets.” He informed, Pidge nodding. “I’ll keep an eye out for any hostiles.” Keith called, before shutting off his comm link. “Found the main current! Woah!” Pidge yelped as her screen shuddered violently, Shiro following soon after. “Damn, this is stronger than I thought.” Shiro grunted, Lance leaning slightly closer to the screen in concern. Blue had closed her eyes to focus on the bodies on the current, humming lightly.
Her eyes snapped open. “Pull left and out now.” She commanded, the Green and Black Paladins gunning their Lion’s legs to swim faster in order to escape the rough current. “I think I see them!” Pidge barked, and Blue’s metal form shuddered not soon after.
Shiro grinned at Lance. “We got you now, guys. Hang on, we’ll pull you free soon.” Lance relaxed with a small smile, Blue purring happily next to him.
“Thank you, Shiro, Pidge.” He mumbled, before suddenly going limp.
Red liquid stained the ends of the blanket, the blotch of dark maroon slowly getting larger as Shiro frantically yelled for Lance to wake up.
————————————————-
*cackles in the dark safety of my room under a pile of blankets*
Suffer and wait for part 5, my dears ;3
(And yes I headcanon that Lance hasn’t seen a heavy snowfall before, shush.)

Edit: no more waiting, here’s a list of even more parts! https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/160169071603/mama-blue-au-masterlist
Everglow ~Jerome x Reader~

//Well here it is, how I went with what the request was. It ended up being longer than I anticipated, but I hope y’all like it.

Warnings: The beginning might be sad, but it has a fluffy+happy ending. Death, murder, mild swearing.

Need to know: This is insinuated, but not completely said in the story: Y/n was really close friends with Jerome, and a member of the Maniax. Also, it sort of starts right when Jerome is murdered?

Title: Everglow

Rating: Mid-Fluff. //

Oh they say people come, say people go
This particular diamond was extra special
And though you might be gone, and the world may not know
Still I see you, celestial


Y/n’s mouth drops open as an agony filled scream claws its way out of her throat, rising over everyone else’s. She pushes herself out from behind the curtain where Jerome had told her to stay and she crashes to the ground next to him. She places her hands on either side of his face as his eyes meet hers, a disturbing, gurgling laugh bubbling from the back of his throat. Blood pools out of his mouth, trickling down the side of his face. Jerome’s eyes glisten, wider than they had ever been. His mouth closes, and opens, his lips trying to form words that he can barely manage to make audible.

“Y…y/n.” She shakes her head quickly, tears filling her eyes. He had already wasted enough of his energy.

“Jerome, no.” When his gaze meets Theo’s, who stands above him, y/n’s heart breaks even more. In his eyes is pure pain and betrayal. His eyes become moist with unfallen tears as he coughs softly. Theo shakes his head.

I’m sorry Jerome,” he mouths.

“You…you said….” Jerome’s mouth closes as more blood falls out, and he swallows roughly, only to choke weakly on his blood. “…you said….I was going….to be a …s…t…ar…” It only takes a few seconds for his head to fall back, his mouth tilted up in a smile, his eyes open wide. His beautiful green-blue eyes glaze over as the life leaves his body, his last breath coming out in a soft, weak, wheezy laugh.

A single tear falls from y/n’s eyes as Barbara moves over quickly, pulling her up.

“You bastard!” Y/n shouts, pointing at Theo. “You sick bastard, you killed him!” Barbara drags her backwards as her gaze meets with Theo’s. “I’m going to kill you, I’m going to make you suffer, you piece of-” her shouts are silenced by the shouting of the crowd. Y/n’s gaze meets Bruce’s and she laughs. For the longest time as Barbara is pulling her out of the building, her loud, maniac laughter silences everyone. Everyone freezes as the unstable laughter echoes through the room.

Even after Barbara put’s y/n into the car that Tabitha had waiting, she still laughs. Yet her laughter is softer now, raspier. Tabitha glances in the rearview mirror to look at y/n.

“She okay?” She asks, glancing at Barbara. Barbara shakes her head.

“Theo killed Jerome…he killed him, Tabs.” Tabitha tilts her head, slamming her foot down on the gas.

Y/n’s laughter continues, but it slowly turns into sobs, which grow louder and louder. She covers her face with her hands, her whole body shaking as she cries.

“That…son of a…I’m going to kill him…he,” she hiccups, and inhales shakily. “He killed Jerome.”


Like a lion you ran, a goddess you rolled
Like an eagle you circled, in perfect purple
So how come things move on, how come cars don’t slow
When it feels like the end of my world
When I should but I can’t let you go?

Y/n shuts her eyes tightly while Barbara holds her gently, stroking her hair. She still shakes as she sobs, unable to control herself.

“He took him away,” she cries. “Theo betrayed him-he-he killed him, he killed Jerome.” Tabitha sits down next to her, not knowing what to do.

“You’re going to be okay,” she starts. “You’ll get over thi-” Before Tabitha can even finish her sentence, y/n’s head snaps over to her, her gaze meeting Tabitha’s quickly.

“How could you say that?” She shouts through her sobs. “You have no right to say that! You don’t know what it’s like! I’m not going to get over this! How am I supposed to? How am I just supposed to let him go!?” Both of them are stunned by y/n’s rage, and Barbara attempts to pull her back into a hug, glaring slightly at Tabitha. She gets off of the couch and turns to face them. “How can I just let him go!? I loved him, I loved him!” Tabitha and Barbara stare at her, their hearts breaking when they see the pain on her face.

“Did you just…” Barbara stops Tabitha before she can continue as Y/n’s expression morphs from pain to desperation and realization.

“I…I didn’t just say that!” She shouts helplessly, backing away from Barbara’s offer of a hug. “I didn’t love him-I didn’t say that…” Her voice trails off as she inhales deeply.

“Y/n, it’s okay if you-”

“I don’t! Okay? I don’t.” Y/n whispers, wrapping her arms around herself. “I didn’t and I don’t, and I won’t ever.” She covers her face and sighs, composing herself before letting her arms fall down to her side, plastering a wide smile over her pained expression.

“Y/n…” Barbara says, tilting her head in concern.

“I’m fine.” She says, turning around. “I’m just tired, I’m going to go to sleep.”

“Y/n, you can’t just ignore what you said-what happened.” Barbara says softly, causing y/n to freeze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says coldly.

“You said you loved him.” Tabitha says.

“No, I didn’t,” y/n’s words are not only trying to convince them, but herself too.

“Why are you denying it? We can talk to you y/n. We can help y-”

“Because! Because as long as I never cared about him I can’t miss him! As long as he wasn’t important to me, I won’t cry over him! I won’t feel like this anymore! I can’t feel like this! I won’t let myself, I won’t let myself be like this! So, pathetic and so weak!” Y/n shouts, her eyes filling to the brim with tears. She inhales deeply. “Now I’m going to go to sleep.” She whispers, turning around. “And in the morning, we won’t mention this.” Y/n moves into the bedroom quickly, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her.


But when I’m cold, cold
Oh when I’m cold, cold
There’s a light that you give me when I’m in shadow
There’s a feeling you give me, an Everglow
Like brothers in blood, sisters who ride
And we swore on that night we’d be friends til we die
But the changing of winds, and the way waters flow

 

She lays down on her bed, grabbing her phone and opening the photos. She scrolls up until she comes across the picture of Jerome she’d taken when he wasn’t paying attention. A cold, heavy weight settles down on her chest as she stares at the picture. It doesn’t take long for her vision to be distorted by the tears filling her eyes and she swipes them away absent mindedly, a small, sad smile appearing on her face. Her breathing slows as she stares at his face, his hair wild as he had just come back from the rooftop. It had been the day they made their mark on Gotham, the Maniax. It all seemed so unreal, so wrong that he was dead. Y/n almost couldn’t believe it. A part of her was convinced that Theo would walk through these doors anytime, Jerome in tow, no one dead. She was convinced he would hug her, tell her it was all a joke, tell her it was a trick. That it wasn’t real, that he was fine.

That he loved her.

Y/n pushes the thought out of her head as she begins to scroll through her photos.

A small pang shoots through her heart as she comes across a picture that they’d taken together, only hours before his death.


Life as short as the falling of snow
And now I’m gonna miss you I know
But when I’m cold, cold
In water rolled, salt
I know that you’re with me and the way you will show
And you’re with me wherever I go
And you give me this feeling this Everglow


(Time skip to Jerome’s resurrection)

When Barbara and Tabitha finished telling y/n about the Cult’s plan of bringing Jerome back to life, her reaction was duller than they had expected. She simply cocked an eyebrow, a weariness appearing in her eyes at the mention of his name. Barbara had hoped for the light to return to y/n’s eyes when they had told her this. She frowns at y/n.

“Aren’t you excited? Jerome’s going to be back.” Barbara says, giving y/n a huge smile. Y/n stares up at her and replies with a small shrug.

“You’d thought he would come back when Theo did. He didn’t. What makes you think it’s going to be different now? The cult is saying they’ll bring him back, but they can’t do shit. He’s not coming back, and I need to accept that.” Her voice is dull and scratchy, as if she had just recently been crying.

“Y/n, they are bringing him back. Trust me, I know it. They seemed very serious about this. Please, just trust me. Just have hope.”

 

Oh I
What I wouldn’t give for just a moment to hold
Yeah I live for this feeling this Everglow

 

“Barbara, turn on the news, hurry!” Tabitha shouts, running out from the next room. Barbara motions to the TV.

“See, that’s probably him rig-” Before she can finish her sentence, y/n turs the television on, a audible gasp escaping her lips when her gaze focuses on the screen.

Testing, testing……..am I alive? Am I on air? Can you hear me- ah, screw it let’s do it. Hi. Some of you may know, I died. Oh, take it from me. Death. Is. Dull.” Y/n jumps up, her heart racing.

“J-Jerome, it’s-”

“But coming back….that is something. Leave it to dying to give you a whooole new perspective on life. And I would like to share that with you. Ah, hello officer, you look terrible? Hey you got, huh-ah. Tonight, Gotham, in the darkness, there are no rules. So, tonight Gotham, do what you want, kill who you wan- ah, augh. And when morning comes, you too shall be…reborn.” Jerome’s demented, hoarse laughter fills y/n’s ears as he lights a fuse, walking over to the man he has tied to a chair. “Oh, and uh….”

“Dwight,” the man supplies him with his name.

“I don’t forgive you for my face.” His laughter fills the room, still being able to be heard as he walks out of the room. A slight pain fills y/n’s heart when he’s gone, but his face is burned into her memory. Staples lined his face, as if it had been put back on, which she can only assume the man tied to the chair had something to do with.

Before Barbara, Tabitha, or Y/n can say anything, the lights turn out. Not just there’s; all the lights.

And once again, y/n is left in complete darkness.


So if you love someone, you should let them know
Oh the light that you left me will Everglow

 

It didn’t take long for them to figure out where Jerome was. It was the only place lite up; a large, twisted circus. Y/n had gone alone, and even as she entered the circus she didn’t regret it. She ran head first, passing all the maniacs, all the murders that surrounded her. Apparently, he had more of a following then they thought.

Jerome!” She shouts his name as she runs, her tears obscuring her vision. “Jerome!” Y/n’s voice cracks as she chokes, trying to hold back her sobs. She doesn’t get far before something trips her, causing her to fall face first into the dirt. She tries to get up, but someone pins her down. “Let me go! Let me go you bastard!” She shouts, struggling to move forward, only making it a few inches before she’s forced onto her back, a blade touching her neck and just barely breaking skin. A warm drop of blood trickles down her neck, and she closes her eyes, flashes of Jerome’s death playing through her mind. “Please-” Whatever y/n was going to say is cut off by her attackers screams, and a loud thud. Her eyes open instantly, and she sees Jerome pinning the man down, staring at him with wide eyes, a dagger stuck in the man’s stomach.

“Look at me,” Jerome croaks, yanking the blade out only to shove it back in. “I want to see you die,” He hisses. “I want to see your eyes, you realizing what a mistake you made.” He leans in close, his gaze slipping over to you as his smile widens cruelly. “She’s mine, and no one hurts what’s mine.” With that, the man dies. Or maybe he was already dead. Y/n wasn’t paying attention to him, her gaze was laser-focused on Jerome. He stands up, brushing himself off with one hand and then pretending to smooth his hair down as he walks over to y/n, pulling her up to her feet and placing one of his gloved hands on her face. His eyes stare into hers as a look of wonder crosses his face. “I remember you, y/n. You were the first thing I remembered…” He leans in closer, placing his other hand firmly on her back and pulling her too him. “I remember not being able to say everything I wanted- I remember not trying…I’m never going to do that again,” he murmurs, his lips now only inches from hers. “I love you y/n. I’m never going to leave you again, and you’re not going to be leaving me anytime soon…right?”

“I-I won’t. I can’t believe you’re alive, Jerome-” His permanent smile widens.

“Shh, y/n. Not now. Right now, I just… I just want to,” his voice stops abruptly as he kisses y/n roughly, his eyes closing instantly. Jerome breaks the kiss quickly though, causing y/n to sigh softly. “I just wanna be with you.” He finishes. A blissful look crosses his face as he tilts his head. “And now, after a year…after a year of nothing but darkness and loneliness, I have you back.”

When antis still think Keith and Shiro are brothers after season two…

Originally posted by phillyfishy-blog

…like…guys…if they were brothers…actual blood related brothers…why wouldn’t Keith have said ‘Shiro, you’re my brother’ instead of 'Shiro, you’re LIKE a brother to me’???

Like I wouldn’t tell my little sister she’s 'like a sister’ to me when she’s my actual, blood related sister??? That wouldn’t??? Make sense??? Wtf guys??? This logic isn’t sound???

yarrayora  asked:

request: ron weasley finding himself waking up in his younger self's body + "Harry might have forgiven you, named his sons after you two, but I'm not Harry and I'll make sure he will have a life beyond your plans"

He goes to bed a man and awakens a boy.

Ron Weasley is thirty years old. He has fought a war and survived it, too; he’s loved and lost and loved again, he’s buried one brother and sired two children and he’s—lived. The evidence of this is all around him, in the ache of his bones and the premature gray streaking his hair. It’s in the tired smiles he and Hermione will share on the days that still—still, even now, even years later—rest heavy on their souls with loss.

When he slips underneath the covers it’s with the warm weight of his wife by his side and the knowledge his children are just a room over. He shuts off the lights with a weary wave of his wand and closes his eyes with a soft sigh. Hermione grabs his hand beneath the sheets and her fingers are warm. She squeezes his hand. He smiles, soft, and squeezes back. He falls asleep with her hand in his.

Ron awakens from his sleep a child of eleven years, with gangly limbs and unscarred skin and no body lying beside him. He wakes up alone, young, and scared—falls straight out of bed into a heap on the floor, threadbare blankets twisted around him, his brothers snoring across the room. His hands are smooth and soft, free of calluses. The hair on his head is thick and a brilliant red, no gray in sight. His bones do not ache. His eyesight is as strong as it ever was.

Ron awakens into a world he outgrew years and years ago—and screams.

-

At first he is inconsolable, and no whispered words of comfort from his mother can calm him. She is too young and he is too small, and the sight of her starts the angry helpless tears anew, grief clogging his throat.

At first Ron mourns, mourns the loss of the future they all bled to create. He mourns his wife, his children. His friends. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but Ron has lived too long not to listen to instinct, and he knows—he won’t be going home. He won’t be going back. He’s lost them all.

That’s when the sorrow turns to rage.

Ron is old. Old at thirty, true, but hasn’t he earned the right? Haven’t they all? He’s betrayed and been betrayed, he’s bled a thousand times and lost so much—friends, family, innocence. His childhood was a warzone and he’s spent the last twenty years making sure his children never grew up the same way. His life wasn’t always happy but it is better, it’s bright. It’s his.

So how dare they, whoever they are, whoever is responsible—how dare they take that from him. He fought for that happy ending, his brother died for it, and the rest of them nearly followed. How dare they dishonor that sacrifice. How dare they take Ron from a time of peace and place him right back into the bloodbath.

How dare they.

-

He spends nearly a week in this state, caught between rage and sorrow, tottering back and forth between the two. His family has noticed, and he can tell by their worried glances that he’s starting to freak them out. Even the twins are acting…. Far nicer than Ron remembers them to be, but that certainly doesn’t help—Ron can’t look Fred or George in the eye, and every time Percy places a hand on his shoulder he flinches.

He’s a mess. He knows it, they know it. One week back in the past and he’s already screwed up.

In the end, it is his mother’s desperate tactic of using his upcoming year at Hogwarts to try and cheer him up that snaps him out of his stupor. Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione, Luna, Neville. War and blood and friendship and –

Ron has three weeks until he boards the train, three weeks until the year that changes everything is kick-started into motion.

Ron thinks of war and blood and brothers who died too early. He thinks of Harry, tired and old even at seventeen, blood crusted on his cheek. Hermione, eyes flinty, shoulders set back as she prepares to fight for her life. He thinks of Luna caged in the Malfoy cellar and Neville as he slayed the snake, and he thinks—

No. He knows.

They earned their happy ending, once upon a time. But that future is gone, now, so maybe—maybe this time—

Maybe Ron can find it for them.

Maybe this time, no one has to die.

Ron has three weeks before Hogwarts. Three weeks before the train. Three weeks to save the world.

And Ron may not be the hero, or the chosen one—but he has always, always, been good at strategy.

-

When he steps on the train it’s with fear in his heart and excitement lodged in his throat. The bag looped around his shoulders is filled with roast-beef sandwiches Ron has never liked (but Harry will eat them and so he doesn’t mind), used books, and a hand-me-down wand. But there are also journals, made invisible with illegal spells Hermione slaved over years ago, journals filled with diagrams and plots and important things Ron cannot afford to forget.

(He hopes, just a little bit, to perhaps buy a pensive. One day. It’s a stupid idea, but—is it so wrong for Ron to want to see his children again, even if only in his memories?)

Ron steps onto the platform and it’s like stepping into Hogwarts the first time—it’s bustling and loud and alien, almost menacing in its confusion. He sees faces of future enemies and future friends alike—Draco Malfoy, sharp features soft with baby fat, sneer ill-fitting on his sallow face; Neville Longbottom, shoulders hunched near his ears and toad clenched in shaking hands, no confidence to be found; Lavender Brown, her pretty face glowing, small hoops dangling in her ears, no blood beneath her perfectly manicured nails.

It shakes him to the core, and though Ron is young, now, young and small and as gangly as the rest of them, he fancies himself a stranger. They are so young, all of them, young in body and eyes and soul. It hits Ron right then and there that though he may try, he’ll never see those brothers- and sisters-in-blood in these children. They’re here before him but they’ll never be as he remembers them to be, once upon a future.

He nearly flees onto the train, but the twins are close behind, their eyes watchful and worried. Still, he cannot meet their eyes.

“Gotta go,” Ron tells them, before they can comment, and then he dashes up the steps and into the corridor. He waves out the open door with half-hearted enthusiasm when his family looks back, uncertain. He smiles to put them at ease, and maybe he even means it. It makes him feel better, being on the train: the only way to go now is forward.

His mother beams at him, waving wildly, Ginny bouncing on her heels beside her. For the first time their young faces do not fill Ron with grief. Instead, as he waves wildly back, something warmer rises in his chest. Something like hope.

There’s a whole future before him, and Ron is ready. All the pieces in place. Voldemort best be ready, because Ron has been playing this game his whole life. He’s not planning on losing now.

Ron wanders the train, careful not to sit down. He’ll have to wait until the train is about to leave to find Harry, and as he glides past the youthful faces of his year-mates he finds himself settling. He sees Hermione and smiles at her as bright as he can—it hurts to see her, but the small smile she gives back leaves him giddy for the rest of the trip.

A whistle blows. Ron wanders forward, already knowing where to go.

Harry is at the back, as he always is, leaning against the widow with his eyes half-lidded as he watches. Ron watches him, too. Sees the shadows under his eyes and the quiet slump of his bony shoulders and marvels, again, at how young they all are.

He thinks too of Dumbledore, and Snape, and children named after heroes and villains alike. Harry had forgiven them, but that was years ago, and Ron has never been the hero. Never been all that good at forgiving.

They’re young, all of them. Just children, and that fact is clearer to him now. They are all just children.

He’ll have a life beyond your game of chess, Ron thinks—promises. This time, he’ll be better. He won’t let himself be blinded by jealousy or necklaces that whisper in the night. He’ll save them all, be the friend he tried to be and this time succeed at it—and this time when Harry looks back at these years, he’ll have more happy memories than bad ones.

For the future Ron lost, for the future he could yet have again—Ron will make sure of it.

He slides back the door and smiles when bottle-green eyes glance back. A whistle blows loud and piercing. Beneath his feet, the train begins to move.

“Hi,” Ron says. “Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

Harry nods, slow and careful. Ron smiles his brightest smile, and for the first time, feels no grief, no fear, no worry.

It’s a new day, a new game, and Ron is ready to play.

“Try not to die, Huntress,” she says as the Harvesters roar in over the dunes. 

Imperious, Eris thinks - if ever there were a woman born to be a Queen, this is she. No wonder she is the source of so many legends - one glimpse of her bright armor, gleaming in the ruddy light of Martian noon, and Eris believes them all.

Beside glorious Wei Ning, the wall of shield-sisters holds firm, unconcerned with the ineffective Harvester-fire, hardly blinking as the troops drop.

There are more than Eris expected. More than any of them expected - far more. None seem concerned. Behind the line of Titans, countless Ghosts work through the wreckage of the Collapse to recover…something. Something they feel is important - important enough to make a stand.

She pulls the rifle from her back. It has been her crutch for the last month, the tool she uses to navigate the endless sight-lines of the wide open sands, and the legion that has hosted her these past few months has not stopped needling her over it. 

A greenhorn’s weapon, they used to tell her. A coward’s weapon. The whispers faded when they heard her name, when they saw the overlapping tally marks etched the full length of the long, worn barrel - when they heard what she had done at the Gap. Now she recognizes the gentle ribbing for what it is; some sort of Titan bonding behavior. 

And they call the Hunters strange.

“Shields!” Wei Ning yells, as barrages from the distant Colossi rain down upon the Wards that blossom at her call. Dull explosions, visible through purple voidlight, shatter atop their heads, but their leader stares through it all, toward the lines of Phalanxes that march over blood-red dunes. 

“Hold, Sisters,” she says, arms clasped behind her back, “Until you can smell them.” 

Two Titans to a Ward. One carrying the Blessing, one the Fist. It is a mark of respect that Eris shares the Ward of Wei Ning and her shield-sister; the Ward of the commander of the Martian Shield-Lines - not just in name, but in the heart of every Titan on the planet. 

Either that, or it means Wei Ning thinks she cannot take care of herself.

Not a Queen, Eris thinks, an Empress.

Psions open fire from a distance, and Eris wonders again why they cannot understand that their bullets will never penetrate the Ward. Something very much like fear drives the legions here, some sick desperation that Eris can sense in every ambush, every assault. Not for the first time she wonders what forced the Cabal to Mars.

The Phalanxes grow larger, Ghosts still buzzing frantically through half-alive computing systems.

“Hold,” Wei Ning says again, this time a whisper that only Eris can hear, and she is certain the Titan is talking to herself. “Huntress, I’m afraid your long rifle may be useless when the fighting grows close. There’s still time to trade it out for a real weapon.”

Eris hears the laughter on her voice, as the huge woman pulls the sleek shotgun from the holster on her back, leans it back against her shoulder. The words on her right gauntlet glint purple-red; words that any Guardian stationed on Mars for more than a week can recite by heart.

“I’ll try to leave some for you,” Eris says, checking her magazine, and beside her Wei Ning’s shield-sister chuckles. 

She has seen Wei Ning’s Lines fight before, has watched them fall upon unsuspecting legions like the eagles from the old books, and she has learned enough about their kind that she knows it must kill their leader to stand and wait and defend, rather than take the fight to the Cabal. And yet that is what they do, and the muffled explosions beyond the Wards do not shake the grim calm of the Titans.

It is Wei Ning who leads the charge at last, as she always does, tearing from the Ward like a bolt of lightning, her fist shattering the skull of a legionnaire, two quick coughs from her shotgun felling the closest of the Phalanxes.

Eris has danced this dance before, and by the time the Titan whose Ward she shares has reached the battle line, Eris has neatly sidestepped from the bubble, lifted her rifle, and removed the head of a Centurion.

One, she thinks, and then the fight is on.

Wei Ning, to Eris’ dismay, is right. Landing shots grows more and more difficult as the lines blur, as Titans and Phalanxes crash together and the lone Huntress is buffeted by the changing tides of battle. Still, she is quick and sharp enough to find a line, here and there, and when she does she does not miss.

The Cabal do not stop. At first, they fall like the cannon fodder they are, but slowly - so slowly Eris is not certain that the Titans see it, close as they are - the sheer numbers begin to overwhelm the lines of gleaming plate. They are being pushed back; herded, almost. But wherever the Cabal begin to gain the upper hand, Wei Ning crashes through them, dragging her Shield-Sisters behind her, leaving corpses in her wake.

Eris knows that it will not be enough. 

She has abandoned her rifle, and now it is her cannon that does her bloody work. Before long her arms ache from its tireless kick, but still the Cabal come in an unending wave, their fear of death outweighed by their fear of whatever waits behind them. And die they do, in droves; they fall to Wei Ning’s fist, they fall to Eris’ cannon, they fall to callous lines of barking shotguns. 

Then a Titan falls. A Defender, caught off guard when her Ward finally shatters. And then another. The purple blisters on the dust begin to drop, and no new Wards blossom to take their place. The Lines shift, to shield the fallen, to allow for Ghost revival. And still the Ghosts ask for time. 

Across the dunes, Wei Ning, indomitable, drives her knee into the face of a Colossus, takes its head with her, but around her the Lines have begun to falter. Eris pulls her rifle from its sling again, yells into the screaming wind and sand, yells to call for a retreat; but this is not her Line, this is not her planet, and these are not Hunters.

It is not until Wei Ning, standing strong atop a dune, makes a motion with her hand that the Lines begin to fall back toward lonely Eris Morn, auto rifles keeping the ever-advancing wall of Cabal shields at bay as best they can, Eris’ own scope preying on those stupid enough to show their ugly faces.

The Ghosts are slow, so slow, but whatever they want from this dead place will have to be taken soon or be lost to the relentless march of the Cabal. Eris hopes that it is worth the ammunition, because their re-grouping has become a full-blown retreat, has become the desperate, crouching, backwards shuffle that Eris remembers from the Gap, and Traveler take her if she will watch another Guardian die.

The Light finds her knives, and the Trance consumes her. She runs through lines of retreating Titans, skips through rows of bulky armor now dulled by sand and munitions-fire, and she carves a hungry path through the advancing Cabal towards Wei Ning, towards the woman who will - who must - pull them from this disaster. 

She reaches the vanguard at last, crackling Light dripping from her armor, and with a final spinning lunge she breaks through to Wei Ning and her shield-sister, her commander’s shotgun still couched in tireless arms, hands still clenched into unbreakable fists.

“Wei Ning! We must leave!” she yells, but Wei Ning does not turn to acknowledge her. 

“Now!” she continues, “Before the Ghosts are taken!”

“Go!” Wei Ning screams, fury in her voice, and she thrusts her shield-sister towards the last defensible position in front of the Ghosts, to where they will make their final stand. And then she turns the full weight of her gaze upon Eris.

“Get behind me,” she growls, and Eris learns what it is like to fight back-to-back with her Empress of Fist and Thunder.

Together they hold the line, buying time for the scattered lines of Titans to retreat. Eris’ rifle may be slow but she is faster than any Titan, and with Wei Ning beside her there is nothing she cannot kill. They kill and kill and kill, with fist and knife and rifle, until Wei Ning grabs Eris and forces her to run, the massive Titan shielding her with nothing but her own bulk.

Eris sprints after the commander, breathing hard, diving in and out of the limited cover, and she is certain that the last sound she hears will be the hiss of Cabal artillery.

Wei Ning does not see the motion, far to their right, that pulls Eris to a stop. She skates ahead, and before long Eris is alone, sheltering behind the ruins of an ancient something. Eris has always seen more than most, and what she sees now makes her blood run cold. In the hollow of a dune, a Titan - her own Titan, the same Defender whose ward she shares - is pinned between two advancing lines of Phalanxes. As she watches, one of them raises a shield to block a shotgun’s shell, and with the same motion it smashes the Titan to the ground. 

Eris runs. She runs over the sand that does its best to trip her, runs through the hail of bullets and rocket-fire, runs toward the tiny purple shape in the distance, not noticing when her shields begin to chatter static.

She is not fast enough. The Phalanx lifts its shield again, slamming the edge into the chest-plate of the fallen Titan; once, twice, three times, and as Eris leaps from the edge of the dune she reaches forward through that endless distance and she pulls - and then she is there, and her long rifle does a shotgun’s work, hitting the Phalanx center-mass before her knife finds the beast’s throat, purple ichor blooming in the sky, and then she is in the dirt, leaning her full weight against the immovable mass of full Titan-plate, struggling even to shift it, as her shields fail and a bullet strikes her arm.

She screams, drops her rifle. Another hits her leg, and she falls to the ground. Around her, the ring of Phalanxes closes. She stares down the barrels of a dozen slug throwers, stares at them and snarls, but before she can lift her cannon something howls out of the sky and the ground shatters in blue arc-light, hurling Cabal soldiers away as though they are children’s toys. Then Wei Ning is beside her, auto rifle laughing at the Darkness, and before long there are no enemies left. With one hand she lifts her fallen squad-mate and hefts her over the shoulders of another Titan who skates away.

She pulls Eris to her feet as well, and her Ghost finally recalibrates and catches up with the damage she’s taken. The pain lingers, and Wei Ning lets Eris lean on a shoulder as they retreat.

“Ghosts have what they came for!” she yells, and Eris nods, trying to catch her breath. 

“What do they want here?” She yells back, as distant Harvesters disgorge yet more troops onto sand burned to glass. She reaches for her long rifle out of habit.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. They can have the place, and may they choke on the dust. Let’s go.”

“Wait. My gun.”

“My shield-sisters have already retreated. We’re not staying. You can get a new one.”

“I’m not leaving my gun!” Eris says, pulling away from Wei Ning.

“Hunters,” the Titan mutters, but she accompanies Eris back to the crater she made herself, and stands guard as Eris retrieves her worn rifle.

The Titans are waiting for them when they return at last, over dunes and away from the ruins the Cabal seem to want so badly, inside a claustrophobic bunker open to the Martian air. Wei Ning passes her helm to a Titan, then kneels in front of her battered comrade. Eris slumps to the ground, pulls her own helmet from her head, and leans against the comfortable weight of her rifle.

“Good eyes, Huntress,” Wei Ning says, not looking as she lightly slaps the Titan’s cheeks. “I should have noticed.”

“How is she?”

“She’ll live. Thanks to you. I suppose that’s what they call - ” her mouth curls into a grin - “‘Fine shootin’.”

Eris smiles a tired half-smile. Her whole body aches. She does not understand how this human wrecking ball appears none the worse for wear, but Wei Ning stands and offers her a hand. Eris takes it, and lets the woman pull her to her feet for the second time.

“You’re no Titan,” says Wei Ning, “But I name you shield-sister nonetheless. You can fight at my back any day, Eris Morn.”

Aside from a handful of appreciative grunts, no one seems to notice. The Titans are already intent on their next objective, but it is enough for Eris that a few nod in her direction. She cannot help the grin that spreads across her face then, as she returns her long rifle to its holster and trails her Empress back out into the alien light.

Once, she had thought that Twilight Gap would break them. Perhaps not. Perhaps it has made them stronger.

Perhaps this is what Pack feels like.

The man holding the camera steadied it in his hands as he held it up to Jared, “Okay we are good to go.” He said, “So are there any messages you have for the bride and groom?”

Jared looked down for a moment before he glanced back up at the camera with a smile on his face, “Oh man I don’t even know where to begin. Y/N/N when we first started Supernatural you were just this awkward twelve year old kid and now you’ve become this big time time actress who still finds the time to come hangout with my kids.”

“You’ve come so far Y/N and I know there are many amazing things ahead for you; especially since you’ve found your other half in Bryan. Now, I’m not gonna lie, when you first brought Bryan around, Jensen and I were suspicious. You’re our little sister, blood or not and we only wanted the best for you. I think it was the second time that you brought Bryan over that Jay and I decided to have ‘the talk’ with him. Honestly I thought we were gonna scare him away, but at the end of the conversation he looked us in the eyes and promised that he would never hurt you. That was when I knew he was the one for you.” Jared spoke as he let out a small chuckle, trying to hide the emotions he was feeling.

He brought his hands up to his lips and blew a kiss towards the camera, “I love you guys, I wish nothing but the best for you, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for you two.”

“I got it, thanks. Oh crap, before I stop recording can you say your name and relation to the couple? When I edit everything I wanna put text at the bottom with names and everything.” The cameraman said.

“Of course,” Jared said with a smile, “My name is Jared Padalecki. I’m the brides brother.”