#also a reminder that h is viewed by the world largely as a man and as such using woman-coded terms for him can be an affirming move to show | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldentsum · 3 years

Text

— made to be together.

PAIRING: adopted father! sakusa x adopted daughter! reader; sakusa x mentioned wife (beginning)

GENRE: smut, dark content

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

SUMMARY: after trying so hard to get his wife pregnant so many times, sakusa is done and coming to the conclusion that his wife would never give him children. already fed up with trying and getting his hopes up, the two decided to adopt a child to avoid getting disappointed again. in the midst of searching for a daughter, he didn’t expect to find a sweet little thing he won’t be able to resist.

WARNING: pseudo-incest, age-gap (10+), smut, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, daddy kink, manipulative tendencies, implied miscarriages, creepy and asshole! sakusa, cheating, unprotected.sex, .dubcon, virginity loss, delusional! reader, narcissistic! sakusa, 17-18 years old! reader at the beginning but then turns 18+ when smut is happening

AUTHOR’S NOTE: MERRY CHRISTMAS HOES! tis a present from me~ first dark content fic and my first long fic after 2-3 months of hiatus! but i’m still excited! if you don’t like content like this just ignore this then. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR UNCOMFORTABLE WITH DARK THEMES. if you don’t like content like this, just block the tag tw.darkcontent,, READ WITH CAUTION!

REMINDER: this is not love and i do not condone this type of behavior. be smart on the internet. if you don’t like it just click away, no need to hate. you are responsible for your time on the internet.

“shit” sakusa cursed as he sat on the bed, hands running up and down his face in stress and anger. his wife bit her lip at the sight of her husband getting angry. she called out with her small voice, trying to lighten up the mood and chirped. “w-we can try again, yoomi.. we have all the time in the world-”

sakusa stood up, his beautiful wife’s words trailing off. he looked at her with a scowl, “and how many times more do we need to keep trying? it’s your fault, for fucks sake. always fucking it up and losing the damn child.” the glare on his dark eyes was enough to shut the timid woman up. sakusa saw how she was trying to make herself small in the large king size bed and scoffed.

he then exited to go to the connected bathroom in their bedroom, leaving his wife with her self-destructive thoughts as she blamed herself for always stressing her husband out. it was her fault that the man was angry and sakusa makes sure she knows that. it was her fault that she can’t get pregnant. all of those time trying and money spent for vacations wasted because she can’t even do what normal women do.

quickly wiping the pesky tears that run down her soft cheeks not wanting her husband to see it because she knows how sakusa doesn’t like it when she plays the victim.

sakusa washed his hands on the sink, gritting his teeth in irritation. shutting the running water off and quickly wiping his hands on a clean towel he puts on the sink, he stared at his reflection. dark eyes trailed down his features.

it wasn’t his fault. it was his wife’s. he is a capable man. he can do anything. he is not at fault here. how can he be? he’s perfect. he’s handsome. he’s rich. athletic. at his prime and can do anything his mind tells him to.

“w-we can try other things...” sakusa heard his wife’s timid voice call out. his wife, such a delicate woman. a pathetic one too at that.

the man rolled his eyes and moved to enter their shared room again. “what other things, misa?”

the woman tried to smile, but her lips were too wobbly and shaky. “we can always a-adopt, right?”

sakusa scowled at the suggestion. adopt? raise another man’s child? what kind of bullshit was that. that was the stupidest thing his wife ever came up with and that’s saying something.

“i-i know what you’re t-thinking.. but uhm.. we can always just look around and see if you like them?” misa trailed off, her voice scared and small when sakusa only continued to stare down at her.

“fine.”

this is stupid and a waste of time. why is he even here? in this place filled with vermin and shitty things? oh that’s right. because of his wife, who’s stupid enough to suggest they go to an orphanage.

dark eyes glared at the children playing on the courtyard. hate and shame filled sakusa’s being. why can’t he just have children of his own. tsk, of course the woman he chose to be with has to be utterly useless. sakusa scoffed at his thoughts and followed his wife. she was quite excited if he guessed correctly. her soft eyes observed the dirty children around them.

“hello, welcome! welcome! come in” an old woman greeted them by the door, her smile wide and happy. the couple entered the large building much to sakusa’s dismay.

“thank you so much for having us” sakusa heard misa said softly in front of him as he looked around the place and grunted in disgust when he saw the dusty windows. it was a good thing that he always wears a mask, other people are too inadequate to be trusted and they can’t even clean the damn place right.

the headmistress smiled at the lovely woman in front of her then turned her gaze to the tall stoic man behind her. the two were in their separate world while the man ignored them.

the older woman chuckled wearily making misa copy her in nervousness. the woman then toured them around the building, introducing little kids that might capture their attention but sakusa couldn’t care less. they won’t be adopting. he won’t take a little vermin into his house only for them to disturb his safe place.

sakusa grunted in boredom, making his wife’s attention snap to him. wide nervous and questioning eyes stared up at him.

“i’m going to stay in the car.” he grumbled and walked away, leaving misa with the headmistress, not even waiting for her response.

he left the building, the noise inside now was a muffled sound making him sigh in relief and irritation. sakusa climbed down the stairs of the porch, rolling his shoulders and groaned when his joints cracked satisfyingly. when he reached the bottom, he looked around and realized that it wasn’t where he parked his car.

“for fuck’s sake.” cursing under his breath, he was about to go back inside when he noticed something or someone at the corner of his eye.

he stood there in awe, looking at the most beautiful creature he has ever saw. you sat on the bench in the garden while flowers and trees accompanied you. you looked so picturesque and ethereal with your long (h/c) hair down in a braid on your shoulder and your white prim and immaculate dress.

sakusa continued to look at you, loving the contrasting moment with you and the building where he hears the muffled noises inside. with you, it was quiet, peaceful.

the man snapped out of it, scolding himself for ogling at a young girl. that was a new low and sakusa kiyoomi does not do low. he wasn’t the type of guy who’s creepy and fucking disgusting. he was above that.

sakusa scowled and moved to enter the building again but then the door opened and in came into view was his wife and the headmistress. his wife stared at him in shock but quickly replaced it with a soft smile.

“yoomi... good timing, the headmistress was just going to introduce me to someone” his wife said, sliding down a hand to grasped his making him cringe in disgust but his wife was already used to that.

the headmistress cleared her throat, seeing the awkward interaction, and smiled at the couple then to the garden where you were sitting at as you read.

“(y/n) dear? where are you? i would like you to meet someone” the older woman called out and sakusa saw you perk up from your seat and smile at the headmistress.

when you smiled, it felt like you just knocked the air out of his lungs and all he could think of is how to make you smile again, this time directed at him.

you walked ever so gracefully and stopped when you were just merely a couple of feet away from him. from this distance, sakusa could smell the fresh scent of flowers that followed you.

“dear, this is mr. and mrs. sakusa, they’re here to look for a child” the headmistress cooed at you while you smiled at her then turned to the couple, greeting them like the good girl you are.

“hello, mr. and mrs. sakusa. i hope you’ve been successful in your search” your voice was a melodic chime, a sweet and alluring call like a siren, pulling him closer and closer.

your big doe eyes then locked with dark ones. sakusa didn’t realize how beautiful the color (e/c) was until he saw it in your eyes. he just found his new favorite color.

“the headmistress told me so much about you, (y/n). and i do hope it is successful as well” his wife giggled softly, looking at you.

the older woman smiled at the couple and then turned to you, “go on, dear. go to your room”

you raised a brow at that when you heard the line the headmistress uses when the children are about to get adopted. confused but also happy, you nodded and bid the couple goodbye.

when you were out of sight, the headmistress then asked, “what do you think of (y/n)? she’s very smart. she’s a well-mannered girl and she helps the church”

sakusa furrowed his brows in confusion then looked to his smiling wife who was quick to explain, “i suggested to the headmistress that it would be nicer to have an older child”

“an older child...”

the headmistress then cut in, seeing the tension that was rising between the couple, “an older child might be better, sir. mrs. sakusa told me that you and her have a very busy schedule”

his wife nodded and smiled at the headmistress, “she’s perfect...” the older woman nodded as well, smiling brightly and bid them a small farewell to relay the news to you.

“what the hell are you thinking, misa? have you gone crazy” sakusa glowered at his wife making her flinch.

“i-... i want her yoomi! she’s perfect, isn’t she? and with o-our busy schedule, she can fit right in” misa argued, she really needed the company.

sakusa always leaves her alone and when he does get home, all he does is belittle her. reminding her of her shortcomings as a wife, as a person... she needed someone... someone who can be her safe haven.

you sat inside the car, looking out of the window, happy that you were finally adopted. in the midst of your happy thoughts, you didn’t notice the constant shifting gaze to you by your new dad on the rear view mirror.

misa turned to you from the passenger seat with a smile, “i’m so happy that you’re here, (y/n).”

you smiled back at your new mom and nodded, “i’m very happy as well”

the beautiful woman grinned at you and nodded back then sat normally again, humming a cheery tune under her breath. sakusa shifted his eyes again on the mirror to look at you. suppressing the shiver that ran down his spine when you caught him staring as you smiled at him, he ignored you and looked back to the road again.

you let your smile fall when you saw the cold reaction the man gave you but quickly shrugged it off and looked back again to the window to watch the buildings go by.

when you finally arrived at your new home, you gaped at the huge house. clearly, your new parents are rich. filthy rich at that. misa giggled at your expression making you snap out of your thoughts as you looked away in embarrassment at being caught while sakusa scoffed and exited the car, leaving you and misa alone.

misa frowned at her husband but quickly smiled back at you, reassuringly, “don’t worry, (y/n)... your new daddy... he’s just a bit reserved and quiet...”

you knew for sure that the man hated you or something. well, maybe hate is a strong word but you’re sure that he doesn’t like you. you nodded at misa with a small smile.

“let’s go, sweetie?” misa exited the car as well making you follow her. you gaped at the sheer size of the house as some people went out of the house, greeting your new dad that ignored them and went to the car to get your things.

you were about to help them but your mom quickly held your hand. misa smiled at you and led you inside, “it’s okay, sweetie. let’s just get you settled in, okay?”

still a little awkward, you nodded and followed misa. your new home was stunning. it was spectacular! you knew you were lucky enough to get adopted at your age but adopted by a family that’s rich? it was amazing!

misa led you to your room as you looked at the large room in awe, admiring it. the beautiful woman giggled at you. you were like a breath of fresh air to her. it was always so silent, filled with tense atmosphere in the house but with you and your innocent energy, it was like she was in a different world now.

“i guess you like it, sweetie?”

you turned back to her and nodded with a huge smile, “it’s beautiful, miss. thank you”

misa pouted at your words making you think you have said something offensive, “miss? you can call me mom! i’m your mommy now after all!” her tone was youthful and happy.

you nodded, “thank you, mommy”

misa glowed at your words, eyes getting teary. you tried to go closer to her, worried but the beautiful woman only smiled at you and held the door, “i’ll let you settle in, sweetie. call me if you need something, okay? kiyoomi’s and my room is just around the corner” and then she shut the door.

you smiled at the door, remembering your new mom. she must’ve been lonely. her eyes showed so much emotions.

the couple was very busy, now you know why they didn’t adopt a younger child. also your mom was an absolute sweetheart. she was busy with her job but she always tried to make time for you. you two always bonded when she gets home. even though you can see that she was very tired, she always talked to you before going to bed.

your mom was lonely. your daddy wasn’t home at all. you barely even see him and when you do see him, he never really acknowledges you. like that one time you greeted him on the way to the kitchen.

you were going down the stairs and saw your daddy going up, to clean up you guessed. you smiled at him when he noticed you and chirped happily at him, “good morning, daddy!”

the only response you got was a sharp inhale and then he was out of sight. you frowned at his cold response but you didn’t mind. your mommy said that it was quite normal and it takes time for your daddy to warm up to someone.

but it has already been years since then and the only real conversation you had with him was when you asked if he could drive you to school because your usual driver was sick.

you tried everything to make him like you. it was weird. you didn’t know why you want to be closer to him. you want him to look at you. his dark eyes locked with yours. you want to feel him. and it was making you feel sick with how desperate you are for the older man. it wasn’t right but you just couldn’t help it. the way he looked at you made you felt needed.

for the past years, sakusa was being tortured by his own mind. the sound of your voice follows him wherever he goes. your scent stuck on his skin when you hug him goodbye. your presence was like a ghost, haunting him. taunting him.

he’s really trying to keep these feelings at bay but as years go by, you are starting to grow into a fine young woman. more curves appearing in your body, an alluring slope as your hips grew that sakusa desperately wanted to grip. thick thighs that was usually covered by thigh highs. lips so plump and red.

everything about you was so perfect that it made sakusa want you more than ever. he wants you to want him too. he wants you to depend on him. call him with that soft teasing voice as you cry out the fucking name that makes him tick every time, “daddy~”

sakusa groaned at his thoughts and held his head in his hands as he sat on the bed. you two were alone in this huge ass house. misa was out for a week because of her job and the thought of being alone with you makes him jumpy and his emotions in a messy whirlpool of madness.

thoughts of how he can just fuck you right now makes his cock twitch in his sweats.

he sighed in irritation, trying to think of something else because if he keeps this up he’ll only make himself horny and bothered and that doesn’t sound very enjoyable.

a knock caught his attention. he looked at the door with a frown and answered, “who is it?”

“it’s me, daddy”

for fuck’s sake. why can’t you just leave him alone? if you keep this up, sakusa won’t be able to keep his emotions at bay and might do something that’s frowned upon by society.

“what is it”

the door opened and you stood by the door, your glossed red lips curled into a shy smile. sakusa’s dark eyes trailed down to your body, you’re just so beautiful he can’t help himself. a thin singlet and short shorts hugged your gorgeous figure.

you are a goddess incarnate in his eyes. so immaculate. you were calling out to him like the snake in the garden of eden, tempting him to just bite the forbidden fruit already.

“-dy? daddy? are you okay?” sakusa’s eyes snapped back to your face. you looked worried. he sighed tiredly and nodded.

“do you need something?”

you bit your lips in nervousness, his eyes watching the action. you hugged your figure, not knowing how to say what you had in mind.

“u-uhm... i just thought that maybe we can eat together...--” you trailed off, looking at him, anticipating his reaction.

the man made you nervous that was a fact but you would be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive. and that small little fact made you guilty and confused about why you felt like that for him. he was your dad for fuck’s sakes! yes, not really biologically but still your ‘dad’

you were ashamed that you thought of him that way. you can’t even consider him as your father. and every time you call him “daddy” it makes you shy. staring at him, you bite your lip as you wait for his response.

sakusa grunted and nodded, standing up as he walked towards you. the unwavering gaze he had upon you made a shiver run down your spine. you looked up at him through your lashes, fluttering those pretty eyes up at him.

that was the final straw! sakusa can’t keep this up! he has to have you and what better time to have you than now. you two were alone and you look so fuckable as always.

he gluped when he stopped right in front of you, so close. you two were just a breath away. your eyes drifted to his lips for a moment but quickly returned to his eyes, feeling the shame rise inside you when you realized what you did.

the older man wanted to coo at you when he saw the embarrassment that crossed your face. he wanted to tell you that it was okay. you can need him. you can want him all you want. hell, he preferred it. now that he saw the small action, he can’t help himself now. he can’t pass this opportunity.

“what’s wrong, sweetie?” he whispered, you shivered when you felt his minty and warm breath hit your lips. you stuttered at the nickname and guilt rise in you as you heard the same name your mommy calls you.

“n-nothing, daddy...”

“you can tell me, (y/n). it’ll be just between us, don’t worry. i won’t tell a soul” the low seductive voice of your daddy made you clenched at nothing as heat spread across your cheeks.

“i-.. i uhm..” you continued to stutter. sakusa hummed in amusement at your obvious awkwardness, a small smirk growing in his pink lips.

“do you want daddy?” he whispered, leaning closer to you as your noses touched and your lips barely grazed each other but it was enough to get you excited. sakusa could feel your breath hitching as he does so.

your eyes turned half-lidded and you pouted in embarrassment, lips curled in such an alluring way.

“c-can i have daddy?”

sakusa’s heart started beating rapidly inside his ribcage, this was so new for him. he never felt like this before, not even with his wife. you have such an effect on him, it was scary.

“you can have daddy anytime, sweetheart” he grunted, tongue swiping against his bottom lip to wet it as he watched you lean closer, slowly standing on your tippy toes.

sakusa groaned at your slow movements and quickly leaned closer, kissing you with ferocity. his large hands gripped your hips, maneuvering you inside the bedroom as he slammed you against the wooden door. you gasped at the pain but it quickly faded into pleasure.

he groaned into your lips, taking advantage of your open mouth to slither in his tongue into your mouth. you moaned when he started licking and playing with your wet muscle. you unconsciously grinded against him, searching for friction. sakusa moaned into the messy kiss when your clothed heat grazed against his hard cock.

his hands drifted down to your thighs, squeezing and kneading it. the heat of his palms was so distinct. he then gripped your thighs, carrying you up. you squealed at the sudden movement and quickly wrapped your arms and legs around him. in that new position, your clothed pussy was directly against his member.

you gasped at the feeling of sakusa’s dick twitching against you. the male groaned and started kissing down your neck, your arms tightening around his neck. the overwhelming feeling of his lips trailing hot wet kisses against your sensitive neck and his constant grinding of his cock against you was too much.

your moans spilling out your pretty red lips as you tried to match your daddy’s grinding. sakusa’s breath heavy against you, it was all too much for him. you were finally in his arms, moaning like the pretty slut that you are. sakusa could feel your wetness sipping through the thin cloth of your shorts.

he removed you from the door and carried you to the bed as his body covered yours. leaning against one of his arm while one hand groped your chest, his large hand slowly slithered down and in your singlet and caressed your stomach, savoring every skin until he reached your bra.

he continued to litter your pretty and sensitive neck with his marks, humming in satisfaction when he sees your neck covered with bite marks. you whined when his hips stopped moving against you for a moment. sakusa leaned back a bit to look at you. his breath hitched when he saw you. you were such a sight to see.

your eyes heavy and dark with lust, chest heaving with every pant. your singlet was raised up to expose your smooth stomach. your lips were red and a little swollen as your red gloss was smeared across your chin and lips.

“you’re such a sight, sweetheart,” sakusa praised, making you whine as your hips bucked

“my pretty baby” he muttered then he captured your lips again, biting your bottom lip and quickly soothed it with his tongue.

“d-daddy, i need you...” you whimpered through the kiss, your words muffled with sakusa’s lips against yours.

“don’t worry your pretty little head... daddy will take care of you”

his hand then trailed down, leaving your boobs. he tipped down to your shorts and in your panties, grazing your mound as you gasped against his lips.

“so wet... is that all for daddy?”

you cried out at the unfamiliar feeling when sakusa massaged your clit. the older man’s hissed at the wetness, his self-control slowly threatening to snap.

“have you touched yourself before, princess?”

your eyes widened at his question but shook your head no, embarrassed by it. your hands gripped sakusa’s shoulder when he started massaging your clit faster, gasping at the pleasure coursing through you.

“you’re so cute, (y/n)” he muttered, watching your virgin body already shaking at such light actions.

sakusa’s hand left your shorts making you whine at the loss of pleasure but was quickly followed by a welp when the man removed your shorts, your body getting tugged along at his aggressive action.

you lowered your gaze and clenched your thighs together, trying to hide from your daddy’s intense gaze. sakusa clicked his tongue and gripped your thigh, “let daddy see you, pretty girl”

you slowly let your legs open, your embarrassment worsening when you felt the air nipping at your skin. sakusa admired your wet pussy out in display just for him. his fingers touched your wetness ever so slightly but even that makes you gasp.

“so beautiful...” you heard your daddy whisper making your heart full that he finds you attractive. sakusa wet his fingers with your arousal, caressing the clenching hole but never really prodding inside.

you watched sakusa between your legs, biting your lips when you saw the prominent tent on his grey sweats. you let your head hit back against the pillows, trying to control your breathing as your nervousness slowly got to you.

“that’s good, baby. relax for daddy. my pretty girl is so smart”

sakusa groaned when he finally sunk one finger inside you as he watched you whimper while your hips buckled against him. “so wet and tight...”

he watched you get lost at the feeling of his finger pumping in and out of you. his gaze then went back to your cunt and his finger, seeing the thin string on his finger that connected him and your pussy. sakusa groaned and leaned down, capturing your neglected clit in his mouth.

you cried at that, looking down at sakusa. your eyes locked as he fingered you and his tongue flicking against your clit. you moaned, your eyes rolling back into your skull as you threw your head back when he hit the spongy spot inside of you. he hummed in satisfaction making you shiver at the vibration as he added another finger.

the older male watched your body writhe because of his ministration, finding it so alluring and seductive when you arched your back so prettily when he kept hitting your g-spot. he sucked on your clit, his tongue massaging it. the rising of pleasure was too much for you and the feeling of something threatening to snap in your stomach made you teary. you cried, hips moving frantically chasing the pleasure given to you. the clenching of your pussy against sakusa’s fingers was the sign that you were close. so deliciously close. his movements quickened at that, wanting you to cum for him. the sound of your wetness was embarrassingly loud and sakusa’s constant smacking as he ate you out messily was getting you closer than you want to admit.

the unfamiliar feeling of the intense pleasure made you close your eyes, loud moans escaping you. the constant flicking of his tongue finally pushing you to the edge as you cum. loud whimpers and whines escaped you as sakusa rode your orgasm for you, moaning against you when he felt your cum sticking to his fingers, trailing down to your ass.

he released your sensitive clit, swiping a last lick on to it, and his fingers moved away from you, the wetness made his fingers glossy. you panted on the bed, the sensitivity of coming for the first time still in your system. sakusa smiled down at you and kissed you. you whined when his hard cock nudged your sensitive pussy.

“will you let daddy fuck you, princess?”

you moaned softly at his dirty words and nodded tiredly, opening your legs like the good girl you are. sakusa’s eyes turned dark and removed his hard cock out of his sweats. you gaped at the size and closed your eyes with a hiss when he grinded against your still sensitive cunt. you looked up at him with a pout and grasped his tight t-shirt.

“w-wanna see daddy too” you muttered with a pout, tugging at his clothes. sakusa smirked and nodded, removing every piece of cloth in his body until he was nude. your eyes trailed up and down his body, trying to memorize every feature. hands going to his body, caressing his skin.

“you’re p-pretty too, daddy” you whispered shyly, smiling at him. sakusa didn’t reply but only moved closer to you, letting his nose graze your cheek, nuzzling into you. you giggled softly at his affection. you guessed that this was his way of showing his love.

“ready for me, baby?” he asked as you nod, grasping unto his shoulders. sakusa lined his hard cock against your wet cunt, slowly nudging forward. he hissed at the feeling of your tight and wet pussy clenching around him.

you felt divine. so good. so wet and warm. and you’re all his.

you gasped at the feeling, it was so much larger than his fingers but the stretch was addicting enough. you moaned when your daddy kept going in. you panted, tongue lolling out when he finally bottomed out. you felt so full.

sakusa grabbed your hips, moaning beside your ear. he waited for you to adjust to the feeling of his cock and when you grinded back, he knew you were ready.

he started slowly, savoring the feeling of your walls dragging against his thick cock, your wetness sticking on him. sakusa then groaned when the pleasure started getting intense, chasing the high of it.

your nails made crescent marks on his skin, moaning loudly at the feeling of the constant pumping of his large cock inside of you. the tip of his cock nudging your cervix, so deep inside of you.

you choked on a moan when he hit your g-spot again, the sensitivity was making you tear up whilst sakusa leaned back, watching your body tremble at his mercy. he watched your pussy suck him back in every time, your cum decorating his cock with strings.

he fucks you with intent, loving the way your boobs bounce to the way he fucks you hard. your pretty mouth open, letting strings of loud moans out, whilst a thin line of drool escaped to your chin. eyes almost getting crossed eye with how good he’s fucking you.

“you like that, baby? you like the way daddy fucks you dumb?” you could only cry out, incoherent mutters and cries was the only thing sakusa heard from you.

the man groaned when he felt his release coming way sooner than he expected. the way you were clenching around him was almost enough to send him over but he doesn’t wanna cum before you cum again.

sneaking his hand on your pussy, he started rubbing your clit with rough circles. you sobbed at the intensity. your legs shaking around sakusa’s hips as he grinded against you harder.

“fuck, you’re g-gonna make me cum...” he cursed, his rhythm getting sloppier as he chased his high.

your moans gotten louder at that as sakusa smirked when he felt your pussy clenching around his cock, “you like that? you want daddy’s cum inside you?

fucked out from your daddy’s thrusts, you could only arch so beautifully for him. your position making it easier for sakusa to hit deeper inside you.

“cum for me, princess. cum for daddy” sakusa groaned, hand frantically rubbing your clit pushing you to another orgasm. you sobbed when you felt your second orgasm rushing into your system, eyes rolling back to your head while your pussy milked sakusa’s cock, making him paint your insides with thick ropes of white. your body jerking violently against his at the feeling of the intense climax.

the man growled and it trailed into harsh moans, his hips rolling against you as he rode yours and his climax.

the room was filled with harsh and loud pants as you two climbed down from your highs. you gulped, throat dry and sore from all the screaming you did. your thighs trembled around sakusa’s hips. he slowly let your legs down and lay down beside you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer to him. his strong chest against your slender back.

you moaned when you felt the soreness kicking in but cuddled back to him, touching and caressing his arm that was thrown over you. you hummed, satisfied, when you felt his cum dribbled out of you. it was his love inside of you.

sakusa’s heart was full. you were finally his. finally in his arms and he’ll be a fool to let you go. he’ll get rid of the older hag after this, he has no need for her anymore now that you were beside him..

he won’t share you with anyone. you are his. only his. and anyone who gets between you two will suffer the consequences. sakusa guarantees it. his dark eyes trailed down to your body, admiring your bruised skin.

“are you okay, sweetheart?” you heard him asked quietly behind you. you smiled and nodded, leaning your head back.

“i am...”

sakusa hummed, sleepiness coming over him. his hand touching your stomach where his cock was bulging out earlier.

“w-will daddy be here with me when i wake up?”

“i’ll always be with you, princess. i love you... now sleep”

you bit down a huge grin on your lips, listening to sakusa’s breaths that started to get even signaling that he has fallen asleep. your daddy loves you. no one ever said that. no one ever treated you like him. it was a nice change from all the times you were alone in the orphanage.

the moment felt warm and gentle like it was a moment shared by a couple who loves each other deeply. you hummed a soft sleepy tune, your hand caressing his arm to his hand.

your warm and soft moment came crashing down when your hand touched a cold metal on his finger. your (e/c) eyes trailed down and stared down at the ring that was glistening as the light hit it, heart thumping in shame and guilt when reality hit you like a wave.

that’s right. he’s married and he’s your “daddy”.

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lokescurse · 3 years

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Hello I hope you're feeling better soon and please a - z for naoya and the nsfw alphabet hehe I'm greedy for Naoya content. Sending love and hugs

Thank you~❤️I'm doing okay, still recovering but I was well enough to finish this. I hope the wait was worth it! Some of these letters were already answered for other people, so I'll be linking back to the posts where I put them. Otherwise, here you are, a full alphabet for our favourite little menace of the Zenin clan:

These are gn!Reader friendly!

As one could expect, MDNI, thank you!~ Specific warnings under the cut.

C/D1/K/W1 & B/D2/J/N/W2

Warnings: Mentions of cum, katoptronophilia, limited aftercare, oral sex (both receiving), rough sex, mocking, degradation, humiliation, praise, choking, implied unprotected sex, creampies/cumming inside, detailed descriptions of uncircumcised dick, semi-public sex, quickies, exhibitionism, descriptions of pubic hair, use of toys, sexting, dick pics, overstimulation, dumbification, multiple orgasms, and orgasm denial. Also if there are grammar and spelling mistakes, I’m sorry but I didn’t have the energy to proof read this a million times lol.

A = Aftercare: Aftercare with Naoya is...minimalistic, really. If he’s awake enough after sex, he’ll probably want to wash off with you so that you don’t have to worry about yourself or your bed sheets in the morning, though. This can be a shower or a bath and he doesn’t really have a preference, so if you just want a quick rinse that’s fine & if you’d like to put some scented bath salts in the tub and just soak for a bit, that also works. He’s not really picky during this time (in fact, Post-orgasm Naoya is probably the most agreeable version of him lmao). Anything more than this is a bit of a toss-up, however. He’s probably just gonna want to go straight to bed or he’ll have to even skip the wash, adjust himself, and head off to whatever he has next on his daily agenda. But, if he does get to stay in bed for the night, expect him to also use whatever power he has to sleep in with you the next day.

D = Dirty secret: This is one that even a very beloved partner would have significant difficulty wrangling out of him.....but Naoya really doesn’t mind the idea of wearing lingerie, even if it’s a bit more on the feminine side. He has a great figure and he knows it. What’s more is that he loves all kinds of accessories that accentuate his naturally pretty features. So it should come as no surprise to learn that Naoya has definitely tried on a few things in front of his mirror, and somewhere deep in his computer are the selfies he took while wearing the pieces he liked most. He’s especially partial to black garments with lace trim and lots of straps & garters. Perhaps even more than the lingerie itself, he loves thinking of all the praise and compliments he’ll receive for wearing it. So his partner had better be prepared to absolutely drown him in heartfelt flattery if this is a thing they’d like to see more of in the future.

E = Experience: Naoya isn't very experienced, in my opinion. I do think that he'd be willing to have a few one-night-stands here and there just to get out some of the frustration that he can't relieve himself, but that doesn't mean he was all that well-educated on what to do. He's not innocent by any means, but being with him means being willing to understand that he'll need some actual practice to be exceptional at anything in the bedroom. His one strength is that he does have some natural talent with his tongue and fingers, though, if you get my drift. It's a learning curve, but he'll get there. F = Favorite position: I’m of the mind that Naoya enjoys the butterfly, cowgirl, classic missionary, and spooning positions best. Ultimately, these are all positions that either 1) let him see his partner’s face & body, 2) let him press his skin directly against theirs, or 3) both. A position that allows Naoya to choose between getting up close and sensual or leaning back and enjoying the view is going to land on his favourites every time. All four of these also allow him to have good control over the pace to some extent or another (which we’ll establish later as being fairly important to him). Even cowgirl gives him the option to steady his partner’s hips and push into them at his desired speed from below. An honourable mention here is doggy style, but he tends to only like it while him and his partner are facing a mirror. Like I said, he likes to be able to see everything.

G = Goofy: Naoya doesn't tend to be goofy during the act, per se, but he does enjoy bringing his normal scoundrel attitude into the bedroom with him. He's the mocking, sarcastic, and teasing sort. At times, it can also just be him playing coy in an attempt to get his partner to admit to/beg for something they want done to them. He's the kind to hear his partner say "please..." and ask "please, what?" even though he knows full well what it is they're looking for. Playful, to say the least. We’ll get more into this when we get to U.

H = Hair: While the idea of Naoya also bleaching his pubes is...interesting to me, I do think that he keeps them the natural black colour they are. As far as the cut goes, I’d say he’s very well groomed. He keeps it well-shaped and tame down there, sometimes he might even shave it completely if he’s going to be too busy to see to it properly for a while. He does also take into account what his partner likes, though, as he wants to make sure he’s as attractive to them as he can be in every possible way. Tell him what you like and, if it suits him, he’ll do his best.

I = Intimacy: Let’s face it, Naoya’s not the romantic type. While he can be tender, it’s rare that there’s a time with Naoya that isn’t punctuated by roughness or mockery to some extent or another. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something deeper to it at all. More accurately, Naoya’s roughness is largely due to his enthusiasm to be wrapped up with his partner in the first place. Obviously, his nigh insatiable appetite is also to blame, but it’s not the only contributor to his eagerness. When Naoya desires someone, he desires them wholly, and he seeks no one else. So while his partner probably shouldn’t expect a soft/romantic lovemaking session unless it’s their birthday or some such occasion, they should know that everything Naoya does is specifically, and only for them. It has its own inherent romance to it, even if it’s not always clear.

L = Location: There a few different locations that Naoya loves to get tangled up in. His own bed, the estate sauna, the training mats in the dojo - they're all great and he'll almost never say no to them. But there's one place that Naoya absolutely loves to defile with his partner more than any other:

His father's bed.

It's risky and he knows well that it's not always an option, but if there's ever a moment in which his partner is game and Naobito is busy elsewhere, Naoya will practically sprint there. The whole way he's biting his lip at the thought and loosening his clothes to prevent lost time. He can't help but to love the high that comes over him when he and his partner have their way in the Very Important Private Room Only for the Head of the Zenin Clan. It serves as both a reminder of his own personal motivations, as well as just a giant "Fuck You" to his father in general. The best of both worlds. M = Motivation: Naoya isn’t a difficult man to turn on, as he’s practically always at the ready. You can pretty much just vaguely allude to the concept of sex and his brows (and something else) will begin to perk up. However, I do think there are a few little things that will get him particularly entranced with his s/o. One of them is low-cut or revealing clothing. Parade yourself with confidence or tease him with a suggestive outfit and he’s already ravishing you with his eyes at every possible moment. Naoya loves beauty and ostentation, so if his partner takes the time to pick out clothes that really highlight all their best curves & features, you can bet that Naoya isn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself. For male/masc partner’s especially, I think he also loves shows of strength. Naoya can’t help but stare when he sees taught muscle flexing, or be impressed by how easily his partner can lift heavy objects that he can’t (as I’m writing this, I’m thinking maybe maybe maybe Naoya might just have a bit of a size kink, too eheh). Finally, something that works for all kinds of s/os is that Naoya absolutely loves having his neck touched - it’s probably his most sensitive, non-erogenous body part. If the person he’s involved with at the time comes up behind him while he’s sitting on a couch or at his desk, gently grazes their fingers along the side of his neck, and whispers something suggestive in his ear, Naoya’s all but putty in their hands.

O = Oral: Oh, Naoya, Naoya, Naoya. When isn’t this man wagging his tongue? Honestly, even he knows that he really ought to put it to better use sometimes. And so he does, but you almost hate to admit that he’s so damn good at it. As one could imagine, it’s filled with a ton of teasing, though. There’s plenty of him blowing lightly on the excited skin, lots of kitten licks and soft kisses, and of course it wouldn’t be sex with Naoya without a heavy dose of “use your words” and other taunts. Ultimately, there’s not much Naoya Zenin loves more than really taking his time between his partner’s thighs and watching as they completely come unraveled beneath his diligent tongue. It’s so good to him, that he’s often caught moaning around his partner’s sex, sending pleasant vibrations all along the flesh there & enhancing the experience further. Sometimes, even, he can’t bring himself to stop after his s/o’s release finishes coating his lips, and he’ll continue to press his tongue against them until they’re jolting from overstimulation. Even then he might not stop without a safeword. Asking Naoya for oral really is a gamble in that way. There’s no telling whether he’ll leave his partner at a comfortable satisfied, or catapult them thoroughly into mindless and exhausted.

Naoya prefers to give and, honestly, if he had to choose the method to his climax, he’d just choose sex over oral if he had the time. That being said, Naoya was made for multiple orgasms. So if there’s only enough time for oral, expect for him to try and make use of every possible second. Therefore, his partner should probably make sure they rest their jaw afterwards.

P = Pace: Generally speaking, Naoya prefers the act to have a more rapid pace. As one can expect from someone with a speed-based technique, Naoya has a great capacity to keep things moving quickly. The bedroom is no exception. Even in moments where the scene is more sensual, he can’t help but raise the pace as time goes on. There’s something about the extra friction and the desperation it fills him with that makes the sex all the more passionate in his eyes. Just him and his partner, recklessly chasing their highs together. Mmm.~ ♡

Q = Quickie: Naoya loves quickies, for the most part. He kind of has to, seeing as he has to always be somewhere for some reason or another. His partner can probably expect at least one each week in-between blocks of missions, meetings, and other monotony. Sometimes it's the only kind of sex there is, which is mostly fine for him....but he does sometimes long for the more calm, slow moments when he can really take his time. A balance between the two, is really what he craves. R = Risk: Naoya is very willing to experiment and take risks, as I'm sure you've probably guessed by this point. He's down to try almost anything once, and some of his favourite acts are ones done in places where it would be easy to be caught. The things he likes are also pretty varied, and he doesn't mind going from soft to harsh or anywhere in between. Ultimately a pretty exciting partner once he starts getting the hang of things. S = Stamina: I’ve talked about this before in separate posts, but I think it’s fair to say that Naoya likely has pretty good stamina. I don’t necessarily like when other people just say that every character they write for can go multiple rounds all night because that’s not always realistic. But, since Naoya so very specifically has a speed-based ability and we know how important strength, performance, and training were to the Zenin...I don’t think it’s unfair to say in this case that, yes, Naoya can probably go for quite some time. I’m also of the mind that he cums quickly, but is not easily overstimulated, leading him to be able to hit multiple orgasms without getting too overwhelmed or tired. Ergo, this man can and will keep you up way past your bedtime if you ask nicely. ♡

T = Toys: I like to think that Naoya is pretty open to the possibility of using toys. After all, they can very easily result in a heightened experience for both him and his partner. He’d especially love using things like vibrators, clamps, and plugs because of how readily they can bring his s/o over the edge and deep into overstimulation. And since he’s someone who also likes to cum multiple times in any given session, I can definitely see them as being useful to him, too. Ultimately, I think this is a “you name it and I’ll try it,” sort of subject for Naoya. He’ll give anything a go at least once.

U = Unfair: Oh, are you kidding? I think we’ve established by now that teasing may as well be Naoya’s own, distinct love language. It’s impossible for him to refrain from denying, teasing, and openly mocking his s/o during any stage of sex. For him, it’s an integral part of the fun. He loves to make his partner beg, to mock their whimpering, to intentionally “miss” any of their sweet spots, and to give only the slightest of touches against the skin for far too long. Bringing his partner to the brink and sinking them down over and over again - having them completely at his mercy...oh yeah, he positively adores it all.

V = Volume: I think this is where I differ the most from a lot of other people who write for him, because I absolutely think that Naoya is shameless enough to fully moan whenever the mood strikes him. No hushed grunting or strangled noises with this man. He will just let it all out exactly as he feels it. After all, Naoya’s not a person to conceal his emotions as is. Why would he bother to hide what a good time he’s having? Plus, if you’ve been around my posts long enough, you know full well that I think he would also really enjoy trying to embarrass his partner by repeating their own sounds back to them when they get particularly amusing. So, really, there’s no way I would have ever told you that this man is quiet, of all things. Lmao.

W = Wild card: Naoya loves to lock his partner in place, especially when he’s close to cumming. This can sometimes be in the form of choking, but other times it’s just him pressing closer against them or wrapping an arm across the chest/sternum to anchor them to him. It’s quite the display, really. A hand or arm will come up to curl around his s/o’s body, his pace will quicken, and his breathing grows ragged. He has almost no mind left for dirty talk and simply moans readily into his partner’s ear as he reaches his peak inside them. The whole time, he’s holding them firmly in place and making sure they take every drop of his seed.

X = X-ray: He’s beauty, he’s grace. Naoya’s overall body is lean, fit, and sculpted. His musculature is more on the subtle end, but each gentle slope and rounded hill is wrapped so perfectly in smooth, even skin. His ass is especially noteworthy, as it is that somewhat square shape with divots in the sides that one can expect from a very fit build, but also with enough mass there to give the actual cheeks that lovely & grab-able bubble-like quality. Truly, it’s an enticing thing that any good partner would be loathe not to appreciate. Rotating the man a bit, let’s talk about what he’s workin’ with, you know what I’m sayin’? 👀 Naoya’s a proud member of the Pretty Cock Squad, in my opinion. It’s not particularly large or small, sitting at about a comfortable 6-6.5 inches. He is uncircumcised and almost religiously clean. His foreskin is about the same colour as the rest of him, but with a red, blushing quality to it. It’s also very smooth & soft to the touch. There are no veins visible, save for a single prominent, raised one along the underside that looks almost like a seam turned out. The head underneath is cutely rounded, very pink, and super sensitive - which is largely why he cums so fast. Overall, it’s a member to be proud of, and he’ll certainly take any opportunity he can to show it off to his partner. Hopefully they like dick pics during sexting!

Y = Yearning: Oh, boy. This man is horny 24/7, babe. It’s honestly a wonder that Naoya isn’t trying to chase his high every moment of every day. If he isn’t engaging in a sexual act himself, he’s probably thinking of the kinds he’d like to be involved in later, or ones he’ll think about with more clarity when he has a moment alone. So any time a partner even jokes about getting intimate, Naoya will be there actively hoping that they mean what they say deep down because he’s already thinking about just how he’d like to do it tonight.

Z = Zzz: Conked out immediately. Naoya can last quite a while, but no matter how high your stamina is, there comes a point where you need to stop for a bit. It's actually because Naoya is able to exert so much energy during the act that he needs sleep so badly after. Don't be surprised if you roll over to snuggle up to him sometimes only to hear him softly snoring away. Just make sure you wake him up at some point so he can brush his teeth!

Okay! With that all being said and done, I’m gonna tag you ( @depechemoth ) as well just to make sure you get it since sometimes tumblr doesn’t tell people when their asks get answered anymore + I spent a lot of time on this so I don’t want you to miss it!

#WHEW! Sorry this took so long but it was a lot to think about lmao!#Kinktober #Naoya Zenin #Naoya headcanons #Naoya smut #Naoya x Reader #Naoya x gn!Reader #smut alphabet #not sfw #not sfw text #mdni #asks #depechemoth #long post

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irishlookingmexican · 3 years

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The Winter Ball

🥀A/N🥀 I actually wanted to post this for Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve, but I procrastinated so much... Anyway, I hope you like this. I’ll probably write a part two that will contain some smut simply to be forgiven for this huge delay. 🥀Warnings🥀 None, at least I don’t think so. Also, Caliban’s major appearance is towards the middle of this.

🥀 Word count🥀 1495 words. [Requests are open] Also, if any of you happen to know any good Tate Langdon imagines form AHS that aren’t written in the 1st person, I would really love for you to tell me.

You sat on the perfectly arranged red velvet sheets that laid on top of your large and luxurious bed, facing the French window that gave you the second-best view in the castle, the best view being the one Sabrina had in her room, of course. With her being the new Queen of Hell and all, she had the most beautiful and perfect things out of the two of you.

You took one last longing glance at the blood red sunset with a few hints of gold and yellow that reminded you so much of your beloved boyfriend, Caliban; oh, how you wished you didn’t have to attend that ball. After years of playing Lucifer’s perfect and powerful daughter that wouldn’t let anything get to her, you were on the brink of exhaustion. Because of that, you were somewhat grateful for Sabrina, for coming into Hell’s limelight that had only room for one, pushing you out of the way, without her even noticing it. You remembered how, a few days ago, she all but begged you to come to the Winter Ball, saying that if you didn’t want to attend the ball next year, you wouldn’t have to. She told you that she thought it was only appropriate since the both of you were the future of Hell, since you were half-sisters and you were both the daughters of Lucifer, not only her. In reality, you knew she wanted you there, not because she loved having you as a sister, but because she just wanted to see a familiar face, even if it was yours and not one of her closest friends, like Theo’s. Thought the only upside for you was that you would be able to spend hours dancing and doin some other stuff with Caliban without being told that you should be doing more productive things such as reading over some documents or signing your name on important contracts for Hell’s sake.

You sighed as you stood up and walked into your gigantic closet, in one of the far corners of your room. Judging by the footsteps approaching your room, it wouldn’t be long before your personal maids barged into your sanctuary and intruded on your thoughts. You would think that after growing up surrounded by staff people, you would be used to people dressing you up and helping you get ready for important events, but actually, you utterly despised all that attention, which sure wasn’t a desirable trait for a princess to possess.

As it turned out, you were right. A group of around five maids, all of them wearing assorted black and white uniforms that were quite fashionable, were walking towards you. You felt your body go limp, feeling the indifferent feeling you always got before an important ball, or simply an important event, other than political meetings your father used to bring you to, which you completely loved because you enjoyed helping your father’s people.

You watched yourself in the mirror as the maids helped you change into your dress, sometimes doing things yourself when they were having trouble, then being reprimanded for doing so. After an hour or so, your finally ready. When they left, you sneaked one last look in the majestic oval gold and ruby mirror. You wore a beautiful black tuile dress with a bit of golden floral embroidery, under which was a layer of white fabric that match the shiny belt you wore. Your white gloved hands caressed your face, as you appreciated how little makeup the head mais out on your face, yet, still managing to make you look exquisitely unreal; you only wore scarlet red lipgloss and some eyeliner. Your (h/c) hair was arranged in a fancy bun, some hair clips with white pearls on them stood out proudly here and there.

Sabrina bumped right into you as you were leaving your bedroom and beginning to walk towards the ballroom. You were surprised by how pretty your sister looked, of course she always looked pretty but the dress she wore and the crown that rested upon her platinum hair both really suited her. At that moment, you began to feel rather self conscious and nauseous; you were well aware that your boyfriend, Caliban was going to attend the Winter Ball and you were frightened by the fact that he might think that Sabrina looked better than you.

“Wow, (Y/N)! You look so beautiful and elegant,” Sabrina said with an honest smile.

“Thank you, Sabrina. Yes, well, Mother always told me elegance is the only beauty that never fades,” You felt shy all of a sudden, that always happened when someone complimented you. ““I would hug you, but I don’t want to ruin your gown. Are you actually comfortable in it? You look like you can barely move.”

“Well, that’s because I can barely move. Anyway, all of the guests have finally arrived,” she shot you a mischievous look. “Even Caliban is already here. I swear, his jaw is gonna definitely drop when he catches a glimpse of you!”

It felt weird to admit to yourself that you were actually beginning to see Sabrina as your actual sister instead of simply seeing her as an acquaintance. But you pushed all of those thoughts away as soon as you recognized Caliban among the sea of guests due to his golden hair. You had to repeat to yourself, as if it was a mantra , that even if Sabrina was more important than you, you still had one of the highest statuses in Hell, meaning that you still had to act graceful, and that no matter how much you wanted to run down the stairs and jump into Caliban’s arms like you normally do, you couldn’t do so. Instead, you walked at a moderate pace down the stairs, your right gloved hand sliding down the golden handrail, trying to lower your eyes to look at the ground to make sure that you don’t fall as seldom as possible,as if you knew perfectly what you were doing. In theory, you did, but seeing Caliban’s incredibly smouldering figure in his suit flustered you and took some of your concentration away. As you took a few more steps, your (e/c) eyes met Caliban’s. He took one look at you and his mouth that was previously pressed into a tight smile opened slightly, ne cocked his head to the side and he couldn’t tear away from you; you looked absolutely ethereal, even more magnificent than you usually looked. It must be said that, at that moment, you had proven to yourself that you had a lot more of self composure than you thought, as you stopped yourself from smiling like a fool because of your boyfriend’s reaction.

Caliban, slightly pushing some demons away, made his way to you, a gorgeous smile that made your knees go weak plastered upon his face. You quickened your pace, and the two of you met each other like a pair of shooting stars. You tightly wrapped your arms around his neck before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips that only lasted for a few moments so that nobody would really notice.

“Have I ever told you how luckyI am to have a girlfriend as gorgeous as you?” Caliban asked as he softly caressed your cheek, warming your heart in the loveliest way of all. “You look absolutely splendid tonight, (Y/N).”

“I could say the same about you, Cali,” you answered as you and the blond man began to dance, a few demons following suit. “You know, I only decided to attend this ball because I knew you would come.”

“Oh, really, darling,” he said in a cocky tone as he rose an eyebrow. “I feel so special all of a sudden, but I could’ve sworn that just a few days ago you said that you were only doing this because your sister, Sabrina begged you to do so.”

You were surprised that, this time, when Caliban called Sabrina your sister you didn’t cringe at all, like you used to. Your boyfriend lowered a bit his hand that was on your waist as he spun you closer to the doors that permitted you to exit the ballroom. He rose his eyes only for a moment, but based on the hurt that was displayed on his face, you assumed Sabrina had made her grand entrance. It wasn’t that Caliban didn’t like her, it was just that he wished that he was the King of Hell, not her. You pressed a hand to his jawline and whispered in a soft voice, “You don’t want to be here either, do you?”

He lowered his eyes to meet yours, “In all honesty, I just wish that the only two persons in this world were you and me.”

“Well, that can be arranged.”

Simply by looking at how his beautiful eyes glimmered and at the cocky grin he offered you, you knew that you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

#caliban x reader #caliban imagine #caos #caos netflix #chilling adventures of sabrina #winter 2020 #sabrina spellman #hell

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

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8 Anti LO Asks

1. as a mythology buff, i honestly think it was really weird of rachel smythe to take Hecate, a goddess who helped Demeter search for Persephone after she vanished and heard her screams and shared in Persephone and Demeter's joy after reuniting... and then just make her into Hades's like... total bro who plays aggressive matchmaker to h/p to the point of trying to break up Hades's current relationship. but honsestly i refuse to believe rachel smythe did literally any research before making this comic judging by how she depicts the mythology she's taking inspiration from so honestly im not suprised

2. I don’t know if anyone on here has discussed this, but LO very much plays into the idea of “good victim vs bad victim”.

A “good victim” has suffered many things, but despite it they still remain cheerful and happy and pleasant, they do not put others out or lash out at them even if they are triggered, they do not become petty or angry or hold onto negative emotions. They, in essence, “get over it”. Thus, the narrative rewards them: they get many friends, a love internet they’re happy with, and a happy ending. This is what Persephone is. She’s the “good victim”. Despite her many hardships, we know she will not suffer in the end. She will get everything she wants and more.

Then there is Minthe, the “bad victim”. They too have gone through many hardships, but they’ve become cold, angry at the world, they lash out and have trouble opening up and connecting to others, they even hurt others, themselves victims to the toxic pain they can’t get rid it. They do not and have not “gotten over it”. Thus, the narrative punishes them, even when they try to better themselves. It’s never good enough. These characters often are lonely, the cast are large do not like them if not outright hate them, and they more often than not end up dead. This is what Minthe is. She is not a pleasant person, she’s a victim of a manipulative older man and a cruel, unjust society and system, and we know how her story ends. It’s in pain, her maiming/possible death framed as a joke and not even a genuine hint of sympathy towards her fate. She was a “bad victim”, she “deserved” what she got.

Now, you only often see this in fandom, since the actual works that deal with victims of trauma and how they react will often try to give more nuance to every shade of victim they may have on cast, but it’s very disturbing to me that Rachel seems to eagerly play into this idea, like she gets joy out of punishing a victim she created and watching them suffer even more at her hands. It’d be one thing if she kept Minthe a shallow, one dimensional character who was just evil for the sake of it, fine, but her showing us her actual complex nature and the very real struggles, trauma, and manipulation she went through, especially at the hands of our supposed “heroes” of the story, just to have her demise framed as a win for Persephone and a joke for the audience to laugh at? That’s highly disturbing to me. It’s one thing for fans to act that way, but the writer themselves? It’s very dark, to say the least.

3. "I'm invested in working with fairy tales and folklore for my next project" oh no no no oh god please no. Fairy tales have been through enough hot takes and modern "betterments", they really don't need Rachel "Apollo is bad, actually" Smythe to add to it

4. Quick question

Greek Mythology is mostly incest.

So what if someone who is actually good at writing and storytelling and consistent artwork

Kept it in

For example Zeus and Hera arguing like the married couple they are

And Hera uses older sibling card

With Zeus dumbfounded face

I don't know why but I want it but would it be weird since it's incest

Most fanfics always keep it out. Just keep it in if you want it to be closer than the actual methods you know

Hera is youngest daughter of Cronus and Rhea and older than her brother Zeus, who was also her husband.

I want to do it but like I have no clue how to start a webtoon so you know💀

5. Oh god, Hades not needing therapy because Persephone's "love" is enough? To quote my lord and savior Kennie JD: "not the p*$$¥ being therapy!"

6. uuuuuh sexual trauma warning.?

So I was writing a comment on the "Re: bpd" ask and i had a realization about persephone

She reminds me of how I was about the idea of sex

I'm demisexual and have sexual trauma and the idea of sex excited me but I wasn't able to like, do it. Me and my partner would mess around but because Mctrauma i couldn't do it cuz I hadn't exactly worked through my trauma and i wanted to get through that because i was finally experiencing sexual attraction.

Kinda reminds me of Persephone. The problem is at that point it had been 6-7 years since my trauma occurred and persephone's happened like last month.

Considering how everyone talks about persephone being a self insert i think Rachel has some things to work through

Also made the realization literally as im typing that Rachel's attitude towards asexuality could be because she's demi and doesn't fully understand what that is or means

becuase if you're ignorant enough you can 100% end up describing demisexuality as "being asexual and then like, slowly turning gay."

this ask weirdly personal so fuck it this is gonna be anonymous feel free to delete if it makes u uncomfy

7. That’s also a part about Hubris Rachel clearly doesn’t get: it was always committed by rich, often people in high authority, NEVER lowly farmers or the poorest of ancient society. They always knew better. Niobe was a queen! Minos was a king! Arachne was the rich, spoiled daughter of a really successful merchant. Sisyphus was a cunning king. The trojan war was kicked off by royal drama. The list goes on and on. You have to notice these things and genuinely study the myths or you become like Rachel, who seems convinced the poorest people would be stupid enough to not only defy their bosses, but the gods themselves? They would be the last people to do such a thing! They don’t have the ingrained sense of entitlement and arrogance like the rich and powerful to even dare act like that towards the gods, as is the case with hubris. Because of this, Rachel ends up creating a narrative that the rich and powerful (literal GODS) are the real victims to those cruel, uppity poor people, going as far as to say in comic they deserve to be slaves for hades’ benefit and they’re wrong for ever hating Persephone for, you know, murdering them because she had a bad day! They should know their place! It’s absolutely insane that she doesn’t actually seem to realize what she’s writing. Unless she does, which is an even bigger issue, and shows a really dark look into how she views the world and society and how it should be run. It’s all a bad look.

8. Have you seen the "The demon, is here in the room right now?" meme

Welp, that's literally Persephone and her "feeling"

I legit saw that video about a dude faking a mental illnes (and seeing a demon that made him do bad things) after he commited a crime and that was so cringy and I can't stop thinking about Persephone confessing her AOW like that

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lo art

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euphoriyoongi · 3 years

Text

☂︎ Doom at Your Service || p.j.m smau

☂︎ Summary:

you lost your parents at an early age, and now you’re diagnosed with a brain tumor, forcing you to have less than 100 days to live. As you pray for the destruction of the world, the destruction himself—Jimin—comes to live with you in your last days.

☂︎ Pairings: Doom!jimin x sick!reader

☂︎ Word count: 2.4k

☂︎ Warnings: language

prev. // next.

m.list

☂︎일 one— peace out

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

“It’s glioblastoma.” The doctor said, looking down at the paperwork in front of him. “It seems like a few tumors. It’s terminal.”

Terminal? Where did you go wrong in your life for this to happen? Was it because you never did anything else but work?

“It’s why you’ve been dizzy and why you’ve been throwing up.”

All you could do right now was just stare at him, wide eyed.

“We could take more tests—a biopsy—but, the location doesn’t look good.” He let out a sigh, looking behind him to see the Head CT scan.

“I see.” You said, confused, but still understanding his words.

“There’s a surgical option, however,” he stopped speaking and looked up to your eyes, nearly pleading you to take this seriously. “It won’t give you much more time.”

Keeping calm, You asked the question you were dying to hear. “Am I going to die?”

It seemed a bit morbid, but the doctor didn’t seem fazed. “Yes.”

The doctor was silent. He didn’t want to tell you and it was obvious. It might be because you knew him personally outside of the hospital, but right now, he just looked at you with eyes of worry. “If you get the surgery, you’ll have about one good year. At most.” He murmured, bringing his gaze back down to the papers. “But still, it won’t be an enjoyable year.”

“And if I don’t get the surgery?” You questioned, playing with your hands in your lap nervously. You had a feeling he was going to tell you to get the surgery and not worry about time, but what he said sent chills down your spine.

“Three months. Maybe four.” He sighed, flipping through the papers. “Please think about this, you’re going to suffer great pain if you don’t decide on surgery.”

“I couldn’t get off enough days for surgery” You said, calmly.

The doctor looked dumbfounded. “But I—I think this is much more serious than missing a bit of work.”

You couldn’t think. Maybe it was the tumor making you think that You couldn’t, but you were overwhelmed. You tried to keep your calm, and stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back behind you. “You seem like a real doctor.” You said to him with a smile.

He was a real one, but he was also a writer, and you were his editor. You couldn’t help but feel like this was all some sort of joke. It wasn’t, though, and he didn’t laugh. “Just make sure you get your writing in on time.” You said, forcing a smile. “Then,”

You started to walk away and out of the room when he called out to you again. “I trust you to make the right decision, whatever way it is for you. But please, if you decide surgery, come here or call as soon as possible.”

Now out of the room, you walked down the corridor and towards the atrium. The words the doctor said hit you straight through the heart. You didn’t want the surgery. You had too much work to do. You wouldn’t be able to. You might as well enjoy whatever time you have in life.

“Glioblastoma..” You muttered under your breath. “Glioblastoma..”

As you kept saying that treacherous word over and over again, You must’ve not of been paying attention to where you were walking. You bumped into someone in a white doctors coat, and as he caught you in his arms, your heart beat a bit faster as you looked up to his face.

What kind of..face?

Sure, he was beautiful. His eyes were sharp, and his lips looked soft you nearly reached out to touch them. His hair was some sort of dark blue..maybe green? Possibly even black. It was the kind of color the human eye would have difficulty deciphering. He was stunning. But as stunning as he was, when he opened his mouth, he knew it too. “I know I’m handsome. But I’m busy.” He smirked, and lifted you back up to your feet and walked away.

You watched him walk, his footsteps making little pit-pats on the tile floor. He was even attractive from the back as his white coat flowed behind him.

Breaking out of your funk, you continued to walk towards the reception desk to check out. “Hi, I’m Y/L/N, Y/N checking out.”

Just as you finished your sentence, sirens started blaring right outside the entrance door, and paramedics rushed in with multiple stretchers, sending the people around staring to worry about what happened. On the tv next to the desk, it showed on the news that there was a large-scale stabbing. He stabbed seven people, and all of them were rushed to this hospital. And well, you guess this included the perpetrator as well.

You gritted your teeth. “That crazy—“

“Mam? Are you going to pay?” The receptionist called out to you, and you brought your attention back to her.

“Ah, yes..”

Looking at the bill, it was nearly seven-hundred dollars. Your eyes widened and you nearly said some things You shouldn’t say. “Crazy—“

“What?” The lady tilted her head at you, her eyes squinting.

“Ah, never mind.” You looked around the room. “Can I pay this in monthly installments?”

The lady started to type on her computer. “For how many months?”

The doctor’s words flooded back into your mind when she said the word “month”. It reminded you that you would only have a few of those to live…and it was strange to think you don’t have longer. Just an hour ago you were living your life like normal, thinking you’d have forever to go. Truth is, life isn’t permanent. And it’s only a matter of time when you get a death sentence.

Smiling, you just said the only amount of time you have. “For three months, please.”

Back in the emergency room, Jimin stood in the midst of all the injuries, watching the stretchers roll in one by one.

Not yet. He thought to himself, watching a stretcher with a man bleeding heavily. He couldn’t help them. It was their fate.

Just then, another stretcher rolled in. This time, it was followed by multiple paramedics and he was put onto an ER bed.

There he is.

Since Jimin was dressed up in a hospital coat, the paramedic started to explain the situation. “He’s the perpetrator. He tried to kill himself on the scene. The police are on their way.”

He nodded, and turned to his right, where a nurse was coming to tend to the patient. She noticed that he didn’t have a badge with his name on it, and blinked at him. “Excuse me, which department are you—“

He interrupted her by fixing the sleeve of her top, and she stared at him right into his eyes. Big mistake. He stared back, gazing deeply into her as if compelling her. He was.

Her eyes widened as he didn’t even need to say any words for her to listen to him.

Smirking at her, Jimin leaned in closer. “Pull the curtain around the perpetrator. I need you to make sure no one but the police can enter.” He demanded, staring intently at her until she answered.

“Yes doctor.”

He smirked again as she walked away, and made his way back to the man who didn’t deserve to die after hurting all of those people. It wasn’t fair.

The man was heavily bleeding from the stab wound he made himself of his neck, and laid lifelessly as Jimin neared. “Open your eyes, prick.”

As if on command, the man’s eyes pierced awake, getting a blurry image of Jimin standing over him with a frown.

He laid there without speaking as he nervously looked at Jimin, who wasn’t helping him at all. “Ah, I see. You think you are something, eh?” He sneered, a smile resting on his face. “We’ll I’m the one who’s something. You’re nothing.”

He leaned closer to the man. “It feels as if you parked in my goddamn parking spot. A horrible park job, by the way. Totally ruined my mood.”

He let out a few groans and he tried to look away, but couldn’t seem to.

Annoyed, Jimin had enough. He reached out his hand and choked the man, gritting his teeth. “Move your fucking car.”

The man was confused, he hasn’t parked anywhere. He realized that it wasn’t a car he was talking about. It was the action he did. Doom. He brought doom on peoples lives and well, that was jimin’s job.

He choked him still, the man’s hands coming to grasp onto Jimin’s pleading to let go.

“See, doom isn’t your job. It’s mine. You were completely careless.” He hissed, wiping his eyebrow with his free hand.

A smile dawned on his face. “So I’m gonna be just as careless.”

The man grabbed onto Jimin’s white coat, blood smearing onto it. “I’m going to make you pay for taking my parking place.” He nearly growled, and focused his attention to the man’s neck wound, healing it as he groaned in pain. He didn’t deserve to die. To get away with what he did.

The man let go of his grip on Jimin when he realized he had been healed, and stared up at him in shock, holding onto his neck and panicking.

Jimin smirked, and turned around as if to walk away, but had a sudden thought.

“Ah, one more thing.” Jimin said, turning around to face the man, who was clutching his neck. “There’s something that’s much more dreadful than doom.”

Silence took over the space they were in, the man still gasping for air and Jimin having his arms crossed over his chest with a smile.

“Life.”

At that, he abruptly turned and was about to leave, when the police moved the curtain. “We’re the police.”

Smirking, Jimin looked over at the criminal.

The criminal groans and cried, watching Jimin fade from his view, his smirk never ceasing.

He walked away, proudly, leaving the police behind to do the justice.

No one gets away with taking his job.

No one.

On a balcony of the hospital, a tall man stood, overlooking the view of the city. He wore hospital clothes, and slippers that seemed to be too small for him. As he heard footsteps nearing him, he knew who it was. “You’re here?”

“What are you doing?” Jimin asked him, walking up next to him to overlook as well.

He looked over at him, noticing the large blood stain obviously visible on the white coat. “You could’ve at least changed.”

Jimin huffed. “I didn’t so I could show you it.”

He then hit himself in the spot where the blood was, and it began to disappear as if it was never there. “Some kind of god you are.” He muttered, leaning up against the balcony’s railing. “Are to tired of this hospital life, too? You have the whole world in your hands.”

The man scoffed, running his hand through his shortly cropped brown hair. “You try being sick.”

“There you go again, acting all pitiful.” Jimin smiled, looking towards him.

They both looked out to the skyline, where the sun was nearly setting. The sky had a bit of and orange hue to it, reflecting against the buildings.

“I feel like a gardener.” Namjoon smirked, still looking away from Jimin. “I’m always planting and watering. Wishing it will all grow.”

He then turned to Jimin. “But not all of them sprout. And some that do, can be poisonous plants. Some medicinal herbs. Who knows.”

He was talking about the earth. Joon was a god. He was the reason Jimin existed. It felt strange that his fate was all because of him.

“But..” Joon carried off, turning away. “The garden doesn’t belong to the gardener.”

Catching him off guard, Jimin furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what am I? In this garden of yours.” He asked him seriously, hoping to get some kind of assurance that he wasn’t only living to bring doom to the world.

“You’re a butterfly.” Namjoon said, smiling.

Jimin scoffed. “Until when? How long will I be a butterfly?”

He was inderectly asking how long will he have to live as a death-bringer. A walking ticking time bomb that was never able to live amongst human kind, only to watch destruction that was brought upon by him. He didn’t even mean to do the things he did most of the time, and unhappiness just occurred around him. It was like the would would drain if color just by the sight of him.

Namjoon stared at Jimin, tilting his head. “Forever.” He sinfully smiled, noticing Jimin’s frown as he said it.

Jimin scoffed again. “Damn man, you’re so cruel. Even on someone’s birthday.”

Joon’s happy demeanor shifted. “Birthday? Someone?” He shook his head. “Since when were you born? You were never born. And you were never a human, so how could you be someone?”

Jimin felt his heart crack a bit. He shouldn’t be upset about that statement, but he was. He silently looked at Joon, waiting for him to keep going.

Joon just sighed, and rested his elbows on the railing. “Go, be someone’s wish today. It’s the only day you could do it.”

“Even my birthday isn’t for me.” He said, bitterly, and feeling bitter as well. He just wanted to have a purpose in life, and not it being doom. Destruction. Pain. Irritation.

“It’s for the humans.” Joon smiled.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Those damn flowers.”

Humans were the only reason of his existence. And he wanted it to be over. He didn’t want to live anymore, especially with the way he was living. The only way he could cease to exist was if the humans did, too.

They both stood there quietly, looking over the world as if it’s in the palm of their hands.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #park jimin #doom at your service #based on movies #jimin x you #jimin x reader #bts smau

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fanficsforheartandsoul · 4 years

Text

Courtship | [Obi-Wan Kenobi x M!Reader] | Star Wars

Notes: This is inspired by @xmalereader Mandalorian x Dark Fey! Reader story. I absolutely adore his stories and the concept, therefore I wanted to write something similar, only with Obi-Wan.

Although this is based off Maleficent: Mistress of Evil, I just mainly used the character designs, while deciding the culture of the Dark Fey myself. So it could be interpreted as an AU

Fandoms: Star Wars, The Clone Wars, Maleficent AU

Warnings: Heartbreak, Slight Fluff, Slight OOC, Obi-Wan Being Oblivious

Summary: Obi-Wan knows nothing about courtship and causes a huge misunderstanding.

Word Count: 7′455

Taglist: -

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

Reader is a Dark Fey!

Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka had been on an undercover rescue mission when the transport ship that should have taken them back to the Core Worlds malfunctioned.

That only worsened the mood because their mission target had died and Obi-Wan had gotten his lightsaber destroyed in the process.

Anakin, the great pilot he was, decided it was for the best to try and land on the nearest planet and get help.

But none of them had expected that the small multicolored ball they had landed on only housed a few inhabitants - most of which had never seen a spaceship, or even a droid.

Thankfully they found one of the more progressive tribes.

They had a person who spoke Basic, and fortunately, C-3PO was with them for the rescue mission, so they had another way to communicate. Although, the language of the natives was only partly in his database.

The alien race who lived on the small planet was a species they had never seen before. They were all winged, with feathers of different colors and lengths, and two large horns that were different for each individual.

They called themselves Dark Fey, however the name didn't seem accurate. At least not for him. Dark wasn't a word Obi-Wan would have associated with them.

Especially not with the man who had taken them in.

Y/N was the son of the tribe chief of the village, and his wings reminded the Jedi of a butterfly in one of the Jedi gardens. They were mainly orange, with a speck of white and black and some small blue dots.

His father's wings were even more colorful, but Obi-Wan preferred the ones of the son because they were less shrill.

And like the color of his wings, Y/N was kinder than his father. He wanted to help them find a way back to Coruscant.

"Father, we need to help them," argued the h/c-haired man, his eyes glistening with annoyance when his stubborn parent crossed his arms and flipped his wings.

The three Jedi were currently in one of the giant tree trunks, in the forest where the Fey resided, in a room as big as the Jedi Archives. It seemed to be the tribe's meeting hall.

Y/N's father Aster sat on a throne made out of small tree branches, his red and orange wings spread wide behind his back.

"Don't act like that, please," groaned Y/N, and Anakin and Obi-Wan only watched with furrowed brows, not understanding what kind of conversation was going on between the two men.

C-3PO informed them about the dispute between the son and the father, and they realized that the tribe chief did not want them here.

Ahsoka happily munched on the fruits that one of the younger Fey had brought, oblivious or more likely ignorant of the tense atmosphere in the hall.

Although the Fey appeared not to welcome them, they still provided them with some hospitality. The Togruta flashed a toothy grin at one of the kids, and they giggled.

"You know exactly why I don't want to help them!"

Y/N's father looked at the three Jedi with a stern expression, and the only person in the room who wanted to support them huffed in anger.

"We'll be careful!"

The tension suddenly rose, and Obi-Wan assumed it was because the younger's wings now rose too, his feathers ruffled.

"May I say something?" he asked carefully, all eyes then turned to him.

The five women next to Aster leaned forward to listen, they were probably the elders of the tribe.

Y/N turned to him, his eyes held a hint of displeasure, and Obi-Wan gulped, now asking himself if he had just made a big mistake.

"Speak, human," ordered the tribe chief, the Fey who spoke Basic translated, and he bowed slightly, then made eye contact with Y/N's father.

"We are only looking for a spaceship that can take us off-planet. We don't want to burden you with our presence and neither wish to harm you, we can also camp outside your land if you wish us to."

The pupils of Aster shrank considerably, the air turned cold, and Ahsoka stopped eating. Anakin gave him a worried glance, and the Jedi realized that he had said or done something wrong.

He lowered his gaze, and Anakin mimicked his posture, his hand gripping his lightsaber inside his sleeve tighter.

Silence reigned over them, and Obi-Wan tried to catch a glimpse of the tribe chief, but then Y/N stepped before him, obstructing his view.

"Father...", he began, but Aster interrupted him, standing up from his throne, wings now spreading even further, showing his hostility.

"You became a burden when you stepped foot on this planet!", he snarled and descended the stairway made out of the giant tree.

His son held his ground and ruffled his feathers. A single feather touched Obi-Wan's cheek, and he flinched from the softness.

He looked upwards, and the man before them looked like an unmovable stone, an unbeatable protector, who had descended from heaven to help them.

"They did not know, Father! And they had no choice either!"

Y/N's voice now sounded as agitated as his father's, and the situation was about to escalate - although the Jedi did not know into what - when a calm voice suddenly spoke:

"Believe in your son, Aster."

Everyone in the hall turned toward the gigantic entrance where a single Dark Fey had landed.

It was a woman with snow-white wings and silky hair that reached her hips. The present Fey bowed, and the Jedi knew that the newcomer was a respected figure within the tribe.

From the way Y/N smiled at her and how the woman opened her arms wide, she probably was related to him, although their features showed no real resemblances, besides maybe the eyebrows. Y/N hugged her without hesitation.

"You're back," stated Aster, and his wings slightly relaxed.

The woman smiled and then turned to Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka.

"I apologize that I could not greet you when you arrived here. I am Neela, and you're names are?" she spoke in Basic, and all three of them were surprised.

Although it probably shouldn't shock them that much, when they first met Y/N, he also spoke the language.

The translator seemed to have taught it to the ones who wanted to learn it.

Anakin introduced himself first, a brilliant smile on his lips. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes in his mind. His former padawan had probably realized that Neela seemed to be the only one who could tame the tribe chief to some extent.

Ahsoka greeted the woman with a respectful bow, and Obi-Wan did the same when he said his name.

He stole a glance towards Y/N who's lips now showed a triumphant grin. The man noticed his stare and winked at him. His expression was something along the lines of 'Don't worry, we got this'.

It seemed like the arrival of the white-haired woman turned the tides in their favor.

"I heard you are stranded. Your arrival here is of great significance for us. My husband knows that, and his caution is not unreasonable. We do not wish to get involved with the galactic conflicts that are waging right now, I hope you understand."

So, she's Aster's wife... But Y/N truly doesn't resemble her.

Obi-Wan was curious about the woman. She knew more about the galaxy than the rest of the Dark Fey, or so it seemed.

He nodded, and Anakin replied:

"We do. None of us wants to involve you in the war, we're just trying to return home. Our ship is badly damaged, therefore we wanted to find someone who can take us with them."

While Neela asked about their transmitters, Aster's face darkened, the further the conversation continued, but he did not interrupt his wife.

Ahsoka's eyes glistened with respect, and Obi-Wan could imagine what she was thinking. Aster may be the tribe chief, but Neela held the reins in their relationship, which influenced the whole tribe and important decisions.

Anakin then informed them of the last SOS-signal they had sent before they breached the atmosphere of the planet.

"Someone is probably already looking for us," added Obi-Wan, and Aster's eyes turned into slits.

"They will come and force us to leave!" he growled, more towards his wife than the Jedi.

Neela turned around to face her husband, and he visibly flinched. The woman spread her white wings, and her wingspan was even wider than her husband's and Y/N's. Her aura was way more intimidating than the tribe chief’s one.

"They won't stay, I will make sure of that."

She spoke in their native language, but C-3PO translated it, although reluctantly, and the underlying threat worried Obi-Wan.

If no one arrives will they try to kill us?

But Aster relaxed, and he stepped towards his wife, their foreheads touched, and the tribe chief sighed.

Neela's wings lowered, and she then turned around again, her hand on her husband's back.

"You are welcome to stay until your friends arrive. We will make sure that they will find you."

Their action before not only was a display of intimacy but also an opportunity for a silent conversation, where they had decided if they would help the Jedi or not.

Relief washed over Obi-Wan, and Anakin's shoulders relaxed.

As if on cue ran the Fey children from the one corner of the hall towards Ahsoka, and they laughed and fluttered their wings excitedly. They spoke a few words in broken Basic and twirled around her.

The Togruta blinked in surprise and then joined their happy laughs and followed them to their friends.

Obi-Wan and his former padawan cautiously stood up. Anakin only watched when the small bird-like kids kidnapped the Togruta, his expression showing a hint of worry.

"She will be fine," said a calm voice, and the Jedi knights’ heads turned towards Y/N, who had walked closer.

"I'm worried she'll do something offensive," confessed Anakin, and the man laughed loudly.

His head tilted back, showing a necklace with a long blue feather and his wings flapped wildly.

"Not to be mean, but you already offended us greatly, another misstep won't matter."

The Fey continued to laugh when he saw their upset expressions.

"Don't fret it. it's already a miracle that your droid knows parts of our language. How would you know about our culture."

Neela joined their talk. Her eyes focused on Anakin.

"May I talk to you?"

He shared a look with Obi-Wan and then shrugged his shoulders.

"Sure," he responded, and they distanced themselves, Obi-Wan now being left alone with the chief's son.

"Why..." he began, unsure whether he should ask or not.

"She can feel he's special."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Feel?"

Y/N turned his in Neela's direction.

"Mother is like you. She was chosen too."

Obi-Wan could guess what Y/N meant, and it honestly didn't surprise him as much as it probably should have. The moment Neela had stepped into the hall, the force had changed around them.

"What about you?" he asked curiously.

Y/N's expression turned somewhat solemn.

"No, I- I wasn't chosen. It's not possible."

The Fey's hand grabbed his necklace, and his wings quivered.

Obi-Wan realized he had touched a sore spot and decided not to pry further.

"Come with me", said Y/N after a short while, and his smile returned to his lips.

"I'll show you where you guys can stay."

The Jedi followed him out of the hall, after glancing back one last time to see Anakin and Ahsoka standing surrounded by Fey.

Y/N lead him across the branches of the giant tree, which seemed to be the main living area of the tribe.

Twice, they used a hoist to travel higher up, the Fey explaining that they had been built for their youngest who couldn't fly yet.

The Jedi could stay in a room, hollowed out of the main branch. The room was sparsely decorated with wooden furniture, and instead of beds, there were three hammocks made out of thick green fabric that felt considerably softer than it looked.

Obi-Wan put his small backpack he had taken from the ship on the table and then turned towards Y/N.

"Thank you for everything."

He smiled at the Fey, and the man's expression twitched.

"It's fine", he responded curtly, and before Obi-Wan could ask if something was wrong, he had already passed through the leaf curtain that gave the room some privacy and jumped off the branch.

Obi-Wan stayed behind with a somewhat worried expression. He remembered what the man had said before. “You already offended us greatly.”

Hopefully they weren’t digging their own graves.

They stayed on the small planet, in the giant forest for about a month, and in the beginning, they held their respectable distance from the Dark Fey.

They got invited to meals and attended them, but only Y/N, Neela, and the translator, who turned out to be a teacher and one of the only Fey who had left the planet before, really talked to them.

If the children were excluded.

They had a great time with Ahsoka, and she played with them and even found some friends in her age group, who were studying under Danosh, the translator. Thanks to him, most of the children could speak a few words in Basic, allowing Ahsoka to communicate with them.

Aster had instructed the tribe members to treat them with respect and give them everything they needed, but his hospitality ended there.

He did not include them in any kind of activities the tribe performed besides the meals.

The Dark Fey were a close-knitted species, and the tribe of Y/N did almost everything together. They ate together, hunted together, played together, and even slept together.

They seemed very suspicious of strangers - at least the adults - and they mostly kept to themselves, only talking to the Jedi if necessary.

While Ahsoka got mostly occupied with the children, Anakin's attention got caught by Neela, with whom he even traveled to one of the Fey's sacred places for the Chosen.

Obi-Wan got mostly accompanied by Y/N, but he did not mind that at all.

He enjoyed the other's presence, and his open-hearted character and he talked with the man about all kinds of things.

He told him stories about the Jedi, the beauty of the Jedi gardens on Coruscant, the vast ice tundras of Ilum, and the force.

On the other hand, Y/N taught him about the Fey culture, the significance of one's first flight, the meaning of life according to the elders.

He told Obi-Wan the story of the Batellia flower, that would soon bloom at a day the tribe celebrated.

"The flower blooms for a very short time and then it dies, its roots forming a bond with another plant."

Obi-Wan had asked the Fey why they celebrated that day then.

"Batellia portrays the honest truth of our lives. We live, we die and then we join the Ancestors and the Phoenix Mother."

Y/N also told the Jedi about the worst punishment a Fey could receive - losing one's wings, and the importance of death in their culture.

But one thing he did not talk about because he thought Obi-Wan knew.

For him, it was obvious; Something even the wingless humans should know about, but well...

Maybe the Jedi were just too dumb.

"What's that?" asked Anakin, pointing at the shimmering blue stone on Obi-Wan's nightstand while drying his hair.

He looked at the stone he was pointing at.

"It's a present from Y/N. It's a "Soulstone" according to him. It glows in the dark."

He smiled faintly, remembering when Y/N gave it to him.

It's already been three weeks since they had stranded on the small planet, and the Fey had found them. And he and the chief’’s son had formed a close bond.

They had traveled twice to their spaceship, Obi-Wan showing it to him and explaining the mechanisms while Y/N watched from a safe distance, seemingly too scared to approach the metal beast.

Y/N also accompanied him to highest tree they had, trying to send another SOS signal. He caught him, when he almost slipped and Obi-Wan clung to him like dear life, because they were so high up.

The Fey had only laughed, his eyes glimmering with something Obi-Wan couldn’t quite place.

His former padawan looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"And the one next to it? Also a present?"

"All of them are presents, Anakin", said Ahsoka, who had suddenly appeared and now strut to her backpack, a new load of her favorite fruits in her arms.

"What about me? I want a present from Y/N too."

The Togruta eyed him strangely, then muttered something to herself and grinned.

"They are just things he had found on his regular trips to the river," Obi-Wan said, trying to calm Anakin.

Although he also questioned why he seemingly was the only one who regularly received gifts from Y/N.

On the other hand, he felt a tingling sensation in his chest, somewhat proud that the Fey apparently viewed him as special.

"Did Neela not give you a present?"

Anakin shook his head but then replied: "I don't really care, the things I've learned on our trips to their temples are more than enough. Did you know that the Chosen use the power of their emotions to strengthen their force abilities? They aren't unleashing them like the Sith, apparently, but I don't really understand the difference yet. Neela will tell me more tomorrow. She's busy with the preparations of today's feast."

Anakin's voice was full of excitement while he talked, and Obi-Wan got reminded of his early padawan days when the boy had commented on every little thing with amazement.

"What's different this time?" he asked, Ahsoka watching the both of them silently, her fruits now stored in her backpack for tomorrow when she would go on a trip with one of the Fey at her age.

"They will perform dances after eating. It's going to be quite a spectacle, according to Neela. She wanted us to stay and witness it."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brows, sitting up from his lying position in his hammock.

"Is that really such a good idea? Aster still doesn't seem too keen on having us around."

Anakin shook his head and pointed at him.

"No, we must come. Especially you, the chief actually requested it."

The Jedi's eyes widened.

Aster personally demanded that he attended? Why?

Obi-Wan wasn't delighted to see the dances after hearing that, and he went to the daily feast with a queasy gut feeling.

The meal went like normal.

The Fey sat in groups in the big hall, various bowls with different dishes on the ground, some of them vegetarian, some with fish, others with meat.

The ages were mixed, and Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and Anakin got accompanied by several small Fey who had played with the Togruta before.

Normally, Y/N and Neela would be in their circle too, but this evening they were nowhere to be seen.

"Probably still preparing", said Ahsoka, and Anakin nodded with a full mouth.

They both anticipated the dances, while he was the only one who somehow couldn't.

He just worried why Aster would want him to be there.

Not having Y/N around made it worse. The man had acted as a calming presence in the last few weeks, and Obi-Wan had begun to like him a lot.

The Fey was thirsty for knowledge, kind, and also understanding. He liked to listen and Obi-Wan always felt some sort of proudness, when he could guess Y/N’s thoughts or feelings correctly from the way his wings and feathers moved.

The Fey seemed to shine like a light, he was very popular with the others of his species, especially the female ones, and it was obvious that he would be the next chief.

Although, he wasn't Neela's son.

His mother, Aster's first wife, had died a long time ago, and his father had remarried. Neela gave birth to two other sons, but they both did not want to follow in their father's footsteps.

Y/N didn't dislike his father for remarrying, he loved Neela like his own mother, and she loved him like he was her own son.

Obi-Wan admired their strong bonds and Y/N's personality.

He was comfortable around the other man, so comfortable that he had confessed the secret feelings he had harbored for Satine Kryze.

Y/N had listened silently and then patted his shoulder to comfort him. He didn't say a word of judgment, silence was the only thing they shared at that moment, but Obi-Wan felt so much better after telling him.

Everything went well, and although they had been here for three weeks and he knew that Cody and the High Council were probably dying from worry, he felt relaxed and content.

When he swayed in his hammock in the evening, the stars visible through the carved out window at the ceiling, his hand holding the “Phoenix’s heart” - another stone Y/N had brought him that was always warm - he even dared to think that he wouldn't mind staying with the tribe forever.

But now...

Now the peacefulness seemed to be in danger.

Obi-Wan barely ate anything, and when Aster finally stood up, the Jedi couldn't stop his whole body from tensing up.

"Let us go to the Ancestors Realm!" the tribe chief shouted, and the present Fey joined in a cry of joy.

"Come on!" squeaked one of the children and grabbed Anakin's arm.

Another clung to Obi-Wan, and the young Fey pulled the three Jedi towards the hall entrance with surprising strength.

The Ancestors Realm was a place at the crown of the giant tree. They had to use nine hoists so get up there and when they arrived, the air was considerably thinner.

It was a flat plateau out of red lichen, the tufts at the border of the round area were glowing, and it did look like from another realm. In the middle of the plateau burned a bright fire, illuminating the faces of the arriving people.

The Fey sat at the edges, Ahsoka went to the new friends she had made, and Obi-Wan and Anakin joined Aster and Neela, the latter had shown up out of nowhere.

The tribe chief greeted them with a smile, which surprised both of them, and he motioned for Obi-Wan to sit next to him. He hesitated for a second, but when the chief looked at him with true friendliness in his eyes he gave in.

The Jedi carefully sat next to Aster, avoiding the man's wings, which he had leisurely spread behind him, and then crossed his legs.

"Are you ready?" asked the leader, and Obi-Wan smiled weakly.

"Yes...?" his answer sounded more like a question, and the man next to him laughed.

"You'll like it, I'm sure."

He could only nod, a big lump in his throat.

He knew that Aster was watching him intently from the side, but he had no clue why.

But before he could ponder over it, one of the elder Fey began to hum, and the rest of the Fey immediately joined.

It was a tribal melody, and it resounded deep in Obi-Wan's chest. Aster started clapping in a rhythm, and the male Fey followed his lead, while Neela clapped another beat, and the women did the same.

The humming was accompanied by the beating of a drum and a sudden cry caused the female Fey to shout.

It was strange for the Jedi, but all three of them were mesmerized by the following scene.

The shouts were a signal for the dancers, and seemingly out of nowhere appeared the few missing Fey. Among them was also Y/N, who Obi-Wan could only recognize because of his wings.

The dancers were a group of males who wore masks that covered their entire faces, their bodies decorated with glowing paint.

They flew a circle above the sitting Fey, and their wings spread, causing loose feathers to descend.

Obi-Wan caught one, and it only took him a glance to know to whom it belonged.

Aster flashed a grin at him and motioned him to clap too.

He put the feather carefully in his robe, worried that he damaged it, and then joined the clapping, feeling excited from the display of the dancers.

They twisted and turned with surprising speed and elegance, and when they landed, the actual dance began, and the sound of various music instruments echoed in the tree crown.

The young men all randomly picked a person in the crowd and started to perform in front of them.

Their wings were the main attraction of the dance. They spread them and flapped, showing off their brilliant colors.

Obi-Wan watched in amazement, not realizing that a certain person was staring at him intently.

A light shove from Aster startled him, and he noticed the person who had gotten closer to him.

Y/N's eyes glistened from behind the mask, and the glowing blue body paint gave him the appearance of an ethereal being.

He twirled and then hid his lower face with his left wing. His e/c eyes pulling Obi-Wan's attention towards Y/N like magic. The Jedi felt like he was in a trance.

The Fey looked beautiful, but at the same time powerful, his sturdy muscles visible thanks to the fire.

A flame began to burn in his heart and it reminded him of something, however, he couldn’t figure out what.

The feathers shook when the music quickened, and the Fey jumped from one foot to the other, his heels never touching the ground.

The Jedi followed the man's every move, too enthralled to notice how Aster and Neela were staring at him with pleased smiles.

Anakin looked at them with a wondering expression, not knowing what they were thinking.

Obi-Wan's mind got filled with a thousand thoughts. His heartbeat had quickened, and the sudden wish of taking a holographic photo of Y/N dancing surged through his veins.

He didn't expect the man to be able to move like this, like an elegant warrior.

It was a traditional dance, the other men of the group performed the same routine, but Y/N's was somehow special.

It felt sensual and, at the same time, like a plead.

The man's wings stretched towards Obi-Wan. Had he leaned a little forward, his nose could have touched a feather.

The music turned to a crescendo, and he knew the dance would be over soon, already a little disappointed.

With a sudden move back, Y/N spread his arms, that had also reached out for the Jedi, to the side and his wings darted back and froze in a position similar to the Jedi order's symbol.

The ending was improvised by him, the wings of the other dancers had stopped in a different pose. Obi-Wan’s heart jumped and he let out a shaky breath.

The Fey for whom the other dancers had danced began to stand up and clap and howl wildly, their ardor audible in their voices, and Anakin and Obi-Wan joined in.

The dancers walked up to the audience members they had chosen and they pressed their foreheads together. Obi-Wan watched their display of affection with a big smile. He loved the kindness the Fey held for each other.

The tribe leader couple also stood up, he following their lead, when Aster suddenly pulled him closer with an arm around his neck, and the tribe chief asked him:

"Did you like it?"

And Obi-Wan could only exclaim with an excited tone:

"Yes! It was wonderful!"

Y/N's father showed a very pleased expression and then let go of him.

The Jedi wondered for a moment if that was the only thing he wanted to know, but his attention shifted when a glowing figure appeared in his peripheral vision.

"Obi-Wan" uttered Y/N, while taking his mask off, his breathing was slightly heavy.

"Y/N, you were amazing! The dance displayed so many emotions, I loved it!"

The Fey stopped short in his track, and then his lips formed a breathtaking smile, which reminded him of the sunrise in the morning.

"Thank you!"

Obi-Wan's head got suddenly grabbed by the other man, and their foreheads touched in a swift motion.

Y/N's skin felt hot from the dancing, and the Fey's breathing shook his shoulders, but Obi-Wan was solely focusing on the man's closed eyes.

Their position felt almost too intimate, his heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears, but he did not move back, ignoring the sudden flutter in his chest, telling himself this was courtesy and showing his respect for Y/N.

He expected the other to pull his head back, but the Fey did not move, until his father patted his shoulder and laughingly boomed:

"That's enough, son. You'll have plenty of time for that later."

Y/N finally pulled back, although not stepping far away, and he turned to his father, shooting him a glare. Obi-Wan stood somewhat dazed, blinking wildly, and wondering what Aster meant with later.

"I'm proud of you, Y/N!" said Neela, and she hugged the man.

The Jedi smiled at the display of their feelings, and he distanced himself to give them some space and to calm his beating heart.

Get it together. Your heart is acting as if you’re in love.

He turned to Anakin, who talked to Ahsoka, both their expressions still showing amazement.

"That was soo cool!" squealed the Togruta, and his former padawan agreed.

"I now feel the desire to have wings too," added Obi-Wan to the conversation, and they turned around to greet him.

Ahsoka's eyebrows shot up, and she grinned somewhat disbelievingly.

"So, you did it," she said, a matter of factly.

"I did what?" he asked, not understanding what she meant.

She gestured towards his face, and he tilted his head in confusion.

"You got paint on your forehead." Anakin said while watching his padawan with questioning eyes, but the Togruta didn't say what she was hinting at.

And he didn't find out until the end of the evening.

After he had talked to the two other Jedi, Y/N had shown up again and told him that he had to attend a family meeting.

He was apologetic, his expression showing clear annoyance and Obi-Wan felt bad for the Fey, although it wasn't such a big deal for him.

They could talk about his performance tomorrow.

So they said goodnight to each other, Y/N once again pressing his forehead to Obi-Wan's, who let it go without a word.

Aster and Neela also left.

They only waved at them, the tribe chief winking at Obi-Wan, leaving the Jedi once again puzzled about why the man had changed his behavior so suddenly.

Although the Fey poured out some delicious alcohol, the three Jedi decided to go back to their room. They were surprisingly tired from seeing the performance.

When Obi-Wan had already laid down in his hammock, Ahsoka addressed him:

"Congratulations, Master."

He lifted his head to peek over the hammock's edge.

"Congrats for what?"

"You and Y/N."

He didn't understand a word.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice sounding slightly worried.

"Don't you know?" she said, now sitting up inside her hammock.

He only blinked. Ahsoka's expression turned baffled.

"The performance today got danced by courting Fey."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, then his eyes widened.

"Are you saying... Y-Y/N..?", he finally squeezed through his lips, realisation slowly dawning on him.

She mirrored his shocked expression.

"You didn't know?! But you accepted!"

He was panicking now.

"Accepted what and when?!"

Anakin walked into the room, unaware of the sudden revelation.

"What's going o-"

"The forehead touch!"

Obi-Wan sank back into his hammock, his heartbeat thundering in his ear. He had gotten a confession and he didn’t even realize.

"Oh, what have I done?"

The next morning, Obi-Wan felt no motivation to stand up.

He wasn't ready to clear up the misunderstanding that had happened yesterday.

He hadn't known that the dance was about courtship, nor that the forehead was something only romantically involved Fey would do.

He just thought it was something intimate that friends, partners, and family did. The other dancers had done it too, but now he knew the real reason.

That’s why not all of them touched foreheads, they got rejected!

But apparently, he was wrong.

And now he had to take the consequences.

"Come on, old man. Get up", said Anakin with a laugh, and he made his former master's hammock sway.

"Why can't I just die right now of old age?" he sighed, feeling dreadful about what was about to come.

Anakin snorted, and he finally sat up.

He had to talk to Y/N before the whole thing escalated.

But oooh, it already had.

"How did you not realize?!" shouted Y/N.

The Fey was shaking Obi-Wan by the shoulder.

"How should’ve I known?!" he shot back, now also agitated, after the other had told him his parents practically considered them being already married.

"I brought you all these presents!"

"Friends do that from where I come from!"

"You kept my feather!"

"I thought it would be a great memento!"

"I let you touch my wings!!"

"How should I know that's considered to be something intimate?!"

Their voices got louder and louder, and their argument caught the attention of some unwanted spectators.

A group of young Fey had begun to follow their conversation behind some branches, but Obi-Wan didn’t acknowledge them, too angry and panicked at the moment.

Y/N's wings had begun to flip in obvious anger, while Obi-Wan furrowed his brows in annoyance.

"I literally danced for you at the courtship ceremony!"

Obi-Wan gnashed his teeth in frustration.

"How was I supposed to know it was about that?! Anakin only told me it was a dance performance!!"

"But you-you said I danced amazing and you loved it!”

The Jedi didn’t respond to that, only showing a guilty expression.

The Fey bit his lips when he finally realized how grave their misunderstanding was.

"I didn't know...", muttered Obi-Wan, feeling helpless because he knew he had hurt the other.

"Forget it," growled Y/N, then he turned in a swift motion and darted from the tree branch. His wings flapped with such a force that a few feathers fell.

The Jedi only watched how they slowly descended, and they seemed to represent his heart.

It sunk, and a sudden pain in his chest caused him to clench his jaw.

How should I have known?

He told himself that he had had no idea, but deep in his chest whispered a voice that he did. Y/N’s feelings were obvious.

Maybe he just didn’t want to acknowledge them, knowing that nothing could come out of their relationship.

Even if you do like me, Y/N, we can’t be together.

A few days passed, and the atmosphere had turned awkward.

Aster's sudden goodwill had as quickly disappeared as it had come.

After the chief had learned of the misunderstanding, he had almost attacked Obi-Wan. Neela held him back successfully though.

Anakin felt guilty for being partly at fault, and Ahsoka also apologized for not telling him what she had known about the courtship rules.

They spent their days waiting for any kind of sign of the Republic, and they became restless.

Obi-Wan felt genuinely guilty for misleading Y/N, and he grieved for their friendship, which seemed like it had already ended.

The Fey hadn't shown himself to any of the Jedi, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but worry because neither Neela nor Aster had seen their son after he and the Jedi had argued.

Then, one day, a Fey appeared in the great hall, informing Aster of the gigantic triangle that had appeared in the sky and the small flying objects that had landed somewhere close to the forest's border.

Anakin shouted triumphantly, and Obi-Wan felt relief wash over him.

But at the same time, he felt a pang in his chest.

He didn't want to leave, not before he cleared the bad blood between him and Y/N.

But Cody and Captain Rex found a scout of the tribe pretty soon, and they finally reunited only a week after the courtship ceremony.

"Good to see you alive and well, general," said Cody, and Obi-Wan smiled weakly at him.

"Good to see you too, commander."

The clones got accompanied by Plo Koon, and Ahsoka was delighted to see the Jedi master again.

While Anakin and his padawan were happy about their rescue, Obi-Wan couldn't stop himself from wishing they had come later. Now he wouldn’t get another chance to talk with Y/N.

He collected his belongings and hesitated when it came to Y/N's presents. The various crystals and shells on his nightstand.

He contemplated whether to take them with him or not, but the thought of leaving them behind hurt him and he decided to bring them home.

Although they had parted with sour feelings, he still appreciated the memories he had made with Y/N. And his heart honestly didn’t want to forget anything, not even the forehead, which apparently symbolized a kiss.

They Fey did not publicly kiss, one of the things they didn’t display to others, Ahsoka had told him.

When he heard about that, he couldn’t stop his brain from forming all kinds of thoughts and his ears had turned pink.

He walked up to me and kissed me, figuratively!

The misunderstanding was really a disaster.

He now also knew why the other Fey had treated him with more respect even though Aster seemed to hate him again.

It was because he was the object of the future tribe leader’s affections - although he had rejected him.

He shook his head to get rid of the thoughts and left the room, Y/N’s presents stored in his backpack.

He bid farewell to Danosh and the other Fey who had treated him nicely and then joined Anakin and Ahsoka who waited with Cody, Captain Rex and some other clones next to Aster and Neela.

The tribe leader couple accompanied them to the ground and their canon gun ships.

Obi-Wan watched the ships from the border of the gigantic forest and his chest tightened.

Y/N...

He bit his lip, his heart now clenching from the idea of leaving and never coming back.

They were half way there, when Aster and Neela stopped walking.

“We’re not going any further”, explained the white-haired woman and Anakin sighed. He said goodbye first. The chief only nodded at him, but Neela gave him a long hug and whispered something into his ear, while caressing his hair.

Obi-Wan could see that the woman somewhat appeared to be like a mother-figure for Anakin. He felt the pain of saying goodbye in Anakin’s force presence.

Ahsoka also gave Neela a hug and she bowed at Aster who surprisingly patted her shoulder and said:

“Stay sharp, little one.”

The Togruta beamed and then it was Obi-Wan’s turn. He looked at the chief and behind the animosity in his eyes, he could see genuine regret.

He didn’t know what to say and just awkwardly stood there, when Aster coughed and grumbled:

“You would’ve been a splendid son-in-law.”

The Jedi blinked and Anakin couldn’t stop a snort, laughing silently at the blush that swept across his former master’s cheeks.

“Uh- thank you.”

“Obi-Wan,” said Neela and she opened her arms wide. He willingly walked into her embrace and she also caressed his hair, while hiding his embarrassment with her wings.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. If he couldn’t tell it Y/N personally, he would tell his mother.

“It’s alright. Y/N is a little hasty sometimes, especially when it comes to his feelings. I’m not trying to say he rushed into the idea of liking you...”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks heated up again, not knowing how to react when a woman, who was the mother of the man who liked him, openly talked about her son’s and his relationship.

“He’s genuine, but stubborn. He was born here and never set foot on another planet. You swept him off his feet and he got too excited, not registering that our manners and traditions are unknown to you.”

He nodded into her shoulders and she let him go to look into his face. Her blue eyes glimmered with kindness.

“I’m glad you were his first love.”

He blinked and her sentence hit him right in the gut. Oh, wow, he really hurt the man, huh.

She traced the line his knitted eyebrows made and smiled.

“It’s not your fault, Obi-Wan.”

He wanted to reply something but he had a lump in his throat and could only nod.

She let go of him and he stepped back, his expression showing how sad he was about their departure.

“Goodbye.”

The Jedi and clones turned and began to walk away. Every step physically hurt Obi-Wan and he breathed out shakily, face looking down to not see Anakin’s and Ahsoka’s possibly judging expressions.

Suddenly, a shadow sped across the plain and before he could look up, a person landed right before his feet, causing him to make a step back.

He tilted his head, startled, his eyes meeting e/c ones. Time seemed to stop.

"Obi-Wan," breathed Y/N and the Jedi's heart started to pound faster.

"You came," he hesitantly said, his tone revealed his relief.

"Yeah... I have to tell you something."

Obi-Wan turned his head to Anakin and the others, they feigned ignorance and acted as if they weren't listening closely to their conversation, although they were.

"O-Okay, but I want to tell you something t-"

"I fancy you."

Hearing that sentence directed at him caught Obi-Wan off guard.

Not that he never had been confronted by similar words, but it had never been in such a blunt fashion. And also not from a person he secretly liked too. Satine had been a different case.

A blush crept up his neck, cheeks and ears and he swallowed hard.

He had expected Y/N to tell him an apology or a goodbye, but not a love confession.

"I'm sorry. I projected my culture onto you and didn't consider your feelings."

Obi-Wan was flustered and he checked his surroundings again, the clones and the two Jedi now blatantly listening without even trying to hide their interest.

"I-I..." he began, not knowing what to say.

He knew he had to reject the Fey but his fluttering heart absolutely didn't want him to.

"I'm a Jedi, Y/N," he eventually said, his tone sounding pained, and Obi-Wan expected the other man's face to sadden, after all, he did tell him what that meant when it came to attachments, but the Fey's smile stayed on his lips.

"I know. I just wanted to tell you properly."

The smile was the same radiating one he had flashed him after the courtship dance.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, contemplated for a second and then, without hesitation, he took a step forward and grabbed Y/N's face to bring their heads together.

Their foreheads touched and the man's eyes widened.

Obi-Wan locked his gaze with his and the Fey sighed, now pressing his head closer and putting his hand on both side’s of his neck..

"You're making this very hard," he muttered accusingly, while tracing Obi-Wan’s carotid artery.

The Jedi laughed weakly, the pain in his chest swelling.

"I know, I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes and breathed in, the smell of damp soil, fruits and leather filled his nose and Obi-Wan tried to engrave the scent in his mind.

"At one point we'll have to stop," whispered Y/N and he grumbled.

"I'm just soaking you in", he replied, eyes still closed.

I don’t want to let go.

He heard the Fey breath out slowly.

Then the man moved away.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes in protest, then his hand got grabbed, and Y/N kissed him.

The Jedi's eyes widened and he remembered that Anakin, Ahsoka and the clones were watching, but his reason got thrown out of the window by his heart and he returned the kiss.

It was a short and bittersweet one. Just like their relationship.

Like the Batellia flower, their love finished before it could even properly bloom.

But Obi-Wan did not look back at these four weeks with regret.

After he had returned to Coruscant and continued fighting in the war, he would often smile at random times, his hands buried in his robes, where he caressed a soft feather.

And he could be damn sure that on a small planet in the Outer Rims, a Fey would trace the faint glow of a blue kyber crystal, he always had with him around his neck.

And who knows, maybe they’ll meet again.

217 notes · View notes

jadethest0ne · 3 years

Text

In need of Refueling, Chapter 10 - Extinguished

Summary: “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 2060

Ratings/Warnings: Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse

Notes: Start of Act 2 of this fic ;3

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!

Read on AO3

———-

The world is hazy and hot, as if the heat is distorting the world around him. And yet Red Son feels ice in his heart, reaching out from his center like slowly forming cracks on a frozen lake. He looks up to see his father, looking at him with disappointment. He shakes his head and turns his back to him. Red Son reaches out his hand and calls to his father. He made a mistake, messed everything up, but that doesn’t mean that his father would leave him. Would he? A desperate ache takes hold of his chest and squeezes the words forming in his throat as he tries to call out. The distorted world blurs into something unrecognizable and covers Red Son in darkness.

Red Son slowly becomes aware of things little by little at first - the scent of something herbal, something soft and fuzzy brushing against his cheek. But a sting of pain or shiver running up his spine wipes the sensations away like smudged marker on a whiteboard.

Eventually he gets frustrated at the lack of coherency that his surroundings are giving him. There’s an itch tickling the area where his ear meets his neck, so he focuses on that and tries to pull himself into consciousness. A pounding headache greets him, and a feeling of being weighed down makes the process slow. He might’ve fallen asleep and woken up again in his attempts. It’s hard to tell. He tries to move his head, and both the headache and the tickling sensation becomes stronger. He focuses on the latter sensation, its annoyance being the fuel he needs to wake him up further. He tries to move to scratch the itch, but something stops his left arm. It feels tied down and won’t move from its position on his chest. A throb stabs at him in both his arm and his sides when he tries to force it to move.

He lets out a pained groan and finally opens his eyes. Though the room he is in is not particularly lit, the light that shines through some windows causes him to squint at the glint of sun. A shiver trembles through his body and despite the light hurting his eyes, he wishes the sun would cast its rays on him more directly because he realizes he is freezing. That is despite the heavy blankets that are pulled over him, which he now understands to be the cause of the weighed down sensation he was feeling. He is laying down in a bed in an unknown location. He blinks and looks around the room he is in. It’s bathed in blues, with some green plants dotted around the place giving it an almost sea-garden feel. And it is filled with cats. A couple bold ones that were laying on the edge of the bed he is in get up and inch towards him.

The feeling of being observed by the cats and the dawning that he does not know where he is jolts him awake suddenly and he shifts to sit up. A vicegrip squeezes around his arm and chest in this motion. He’s hurt. He groans loudly and hunches over slightly holding his middle with his free hand. He notices that his right hand is bandaged, and the left arm is wrapped in something stiff with a secondary cloth strapping it to his body, making his left arm and shoulder practically immobile. Most of his exposed skin seems to have bandages as well. What happened? Flashes of the confrontation he had with The Monkey King and then his father sweep across his vision. His father attacked him. Hurt him. No, it wasn’t his father’s fault, it was his own fault. His father had been overcome by the very fire he wielded. He tugs at his shirt with his free hand, anxiously. The fabric feels wrong and he further notices that he is not in his usual clothes and is instead in what looks like a loose pinkish-red robe. He was put in different clothes?

A curious meow snaps Red Son’s attention away from his thoughts. One of the cats, a blueish one with a red tuft of fur on its head, had gotten very close to him. He pulls away and yelps, partially in surprise, and partially in pain. The cat, likewise does a little jump, and walks back a few steps before yowling much more loudly behind its shoulder.

Its call seemingly summons someone, as a booming voice yells from another room, “Coming, Mo! Is he awake?!”

Red Son sucks a breath in as a very large, blue-skinned man with a bright orange mohawk steps into view. He recognizes him as one of the Noodle Boy’s companions. It’s the giant blue one, who is very muscular, with hands that look like they could easily wrap around his head and crush him. He’d never come up against this man in a close fight and didn’t know what he was capable of, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. Instinct pushes him to bolt.

He scrambles the best he can with one free arm and a stiff and injured body to the side of the bed farthest away from the man. He can hear him saying something about ‘Don’t move or you’ll make your injuries worse,’ but he paid them no attention. He hears the large footsteps come closer and he desperately tries to get out of bed. His bare feet touch a too cold floor and another shiver wracks through his body, hitting every sore spot on the way. When he tries to put weight on his legs, they jiggle, and between that and what feels like a knife stabbing at his right ankle it causes his knees to buckle and he falls to the floor in a painful heap.

“Oh dear,” comes the voice of the Blue One as Red Son hears him shift around the bed.

He has to get up! Red Son ignores the pounding in his head and grits his teeth, as he uses the leverage of the bed to right himself. But his feet do not listen to him, and all he can do is push himself farther into the small space between the bed and the wall. The only escape on the end of the bed has been filled in by the hulking form of his enemy. “Let me help.” The large blue skinned man reaches out to Red Son, who shrinks back.

He’s hurt and can’t stand, can barely move, and being backed up between the bed and the wall, he has the distinct feeling of being cornered. His whole body is trembling in a way that he can’t stop as the world seems to box him in. He pushes his back against the wall, wishing he could just disappear into it, and squints his eyes shut. With as much strength he can muster he yells, trying to keep the fear and desperation out of his voice, “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

A moment passes. When no presence is felt, he cautiously opens his eyes and looks up. He is surprised to see that his shout was heeded and that the large man has pulled his hands away. The man has a look of almost hurt, and a bit of pity on his face. Red Son appreciates neither.

“I’m sorry,” says the Blue One. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not hurt.”

Red Son breathes for a moment, looking the large man up and down. He has knelt down in the gap between the bed and the wall, still blocking Red Son’s exit, but leaving him ample space so that the room feels less oppressive.

“H-hurt…?” Red Son says around a tremble. “O-of course I’m hurt! Don’t you see the bandages, you buffoon!” He tugs absently at the blanket that is hanging part-way off the bed.

“Well, yes I suppose that is a given. I-uh I’m the one who bandaged you. Your other shirt was kinda ripped up so I gave you a spare robe. I hope that’s okay…?” the Blue One says, almost sheepishly.

Red Son manages to tug the blanket off of the bed and pulls it around himself as best he can in the somewhat cramped space. “Well, you could’ve given me something warmer, do you always keep your little shack so freezing cold?!” he says with a sneer, while trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

The man looks almost surprised and looks like he’s about to contradict, but instead says, “Are you cold? I could get you some warm tea to drink!”

Before Red Son can respond, the man sweeps out of the room leaving him to sit there, with his mouth partially hanging open.

Red Son wonders what his plan is. What was the big guy up to? He supposes he could just leave if he wanted. If he could actually stand that is. He looks around and some other curious cats have started crowding around him.

“Go away!” he yells at them angrily. At his yell, he notices something is off. Normally during his outbursts, his hair would flair up. That reminded him of the tickling sensation from earlier. He moves his hand to the itchy spot and finds that his hair is there. Lying flat against his head and draped over his shoulders and down his back. No longer in its usual pony-tail and flickering with his emotions. Before he can dwell on that, the Blue One has entered the room again.

“Now now, kitties, he doesn’t like it when you get too close, so give him space,” the Blue One admonishes the cats. They weave in between his legs, and the man gracefully balances his form around them while carrying a teapot and mug. He places the mug on a tray, and scoots the tray across the floor to Red Son, careful to not get close.

Red Son eyes the green liquid and the blue man, and cautiously picks up the mug. But instead of taking a sip, he holds it close to him, greedily trying to embrace the warmth.

And that’s when he notices something strange again.

Red Son can’t feel it.

Yes, he can physically feel the cup and the heat on his skin with his hands wrapped around it. But he can’t feel the warmth. Not really. Not with his powers. Not with his whole self. He can’t feel the ebb and flow of the steam that wafts out of the tea. Nor the pulsing of the energy from the warm liquid.

He tries to reach out with his powers and interact with the heat. Pull it in, make it stronger, do something, but he realizes that he can’t. Nothing happens. Shakily taking in a breath, he tries to activate his flames. He commands sparks to dance on his fingers. They do not. He squints his eyes and tries to make his hair flare up like it usually does with his abilities. But instead it continues to lay limply on his shoulders. He attempts to conjure heat from his center in hopes of warming himself up. But it doesn’t work.

He is cold. He feels empty. And it is as if a part of him is cut off from a section of the world that he used to participate in.

He can’t do anything.

He swallows thickly and grinds his teeth. His breaths pick up and his shoulders shudder. He holds the cup in a white-knuckled grip, before angrily throwing it across the floor. Even that motion has no real power behind it, and the mug thunks anticlimactically on the ground, chipping the edge slightly and causing the still warm liquid inside to dribble out lazily across the floor. He sees the steam and is reminded that that is all he can do. Only watch. Not control.

The blue stranger fusses about the spilt liquid and goes about cleaning it up, but Red Son pays him no mind. Instead, he pulls at the blankets around him and buries his face in the covers. It’s too much. The cold. The pain. The deep loss suddenly consuming him. His head feels fuzzy, and his chest is stabbed with pain with each shuddering, fast-paced breath. These sensations buzz together until they take over his entire being and everything becomes void.

start || <– previous // next –>

#inor #in need of refueling #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk fanfic #fanfiction #red son #sandy #injury #recovery #panic attacks #my writing #jadethest0ne

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝒯hank you for all the love on the first chapter, that was honestly the last thing I expected, and it really does mean the world to me that you guys like this story. I’m going to include the taglist at the end, but if you’d like to be added for future updates, go here and put in your tumblr URL. Okay, anyways, this chapter is very like,,, rocky and emotional so! Have fun reading :)

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

Chapter Two: Do It One More Time (3.8k)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

Sneaking Harry out had been the least of her worries. Him being on her mind constantly was a much bigger cause for concern. She had trouble sleeping at night, tossing and turning and even having to wash her entire bedspread to get rid of his scent. It had been no use, however. It was like her body got a taste of something very potent and wanted it now more than ever before.

And it didn’t take long for her to get back into her routine. To soil the pillowcases in her tears because the emptiness inside her chest had only grown tenfold after what had happened with Harry. Her muscles literally ached and her sobs almost sent her to the bathroom to hurl up an empty stomach full of knots.

Her brain had finally gotten a reprieve from its loneliness. She finally felt what it was like to have someone, even if it wasn’t real. Even if it was a mistake and even if it was fleeting. Harry had filled whatever missing parts were within her and it hurt like hell to go back to normal again.

But she wasn’t the only one. He couldn’t sleep anymore either. His house felt massive and the silence between all the walls seemed to ring just a little bit louder. He found himself buying an unnecessary amount of pillows and setting them all up on his bed just to surround himself with something. He’d been here before though. After a breakup, his least favorite part was going back to sleeping alone. He hated not having someone to hold onto. It took him weeks to get used to it last time, and to get used to the cold spots on the other side of the bed. It only took four and a half hours with Y/N to fuck him all up again.

And he really shouldn’t be doing this, but he was desperate.

“Hello?” Even her voice was a breath of fresh air for him.

“Hey, it’s uh… Harry.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had my number.”

“Will gave it to me a while ago… for emergencies.”

Y/N took a long pause, unsure why Harry was calling her on a Thursday afternoon, completely at random. It had been almost an entire week since their… incident. Why was he calling her right now?

“So… is this an emergency?”

“Um… well, no. It isn’t.”

“So why are you calling then?”

“I was wondering um… you can say no but um… I was wondering if you wanted to… sleep with me again.” He cringed at his last few words and the way they felt like knives cutting his throat to get out. He had no better way to phrase what he wanted other than being blunt about it and admitting he wanted her up against him. He wanted more than just lifeless pillows to cuddle up to at night.

And something about Y/N had him losing his fucking mind the past week so asking her to sleep with him seemed low on his list of crazy.

“Sorry?”

“I mean… like we did last week. I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight, just to sleep?”

“Why?” She asked, unsure why Harry fucking Styles was asking her that. Sure, they were somewhat friendly and she had thoughts about asking him the same exact thing, but it was an odd request coming from him. She was sure if he needed a cuddle buddy that he could easily find anyone else.

But even the thought of him being like that with someone else gave her a horribly sick feeling in her stomach that she recognized immediately but could not for the life of her explain. She didn’t get jealous, ever.

He cleared his throat, “Um well… I have had a pretty hard time sleeping and then last Friday it was like… like the best sleep of my life. And this past week has been awful again. So I was just… we don’t have to if you don’t want to though. It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have even called…”

“No.” She cut his spiraling off abruptly. “I mean… yes. I… can do that.”

He immediately let out a huge breath of air in relief but also couldn’t believe she had, yet again, agreed to another one of his stupid ideas. “I just want to let you know I’m not trying to like… get in your pants or anything. I genuinely just…” He stopped then, knowing a more believable story would be him wanting to get into her pants than what was actually going on with him.

“Just what?”

“I just need someone.” He admitted with his eyes closed tight as he laid back onto his couch. “And it’s not very easy asking people to just sleep with you.”

She let another moment of silence go by that just about tore him up. And right when he was about to ask if she was still there, he heard her voice again, as softly as ever.

“What time should I come over then?”

Harry’s house wasn’t easy to access. First, there was the entrance gate to just get into the neighborhood, which had an intimidatingly large security guard posted out front like an oversized bridge troll. Then she had to hand over her driver’s license and try to convince him she was there to see Harry, and that her name was supposed to be on his list of accepted guests. The whole thing wouldn’t seem so unbelievable to her if she wasn’t already trapped in a pit of nerves from being there in the first place.

By some miracle, however, the guard returned her ID along with a visitor’s pass and opened the gates for her.

Then, of course, there was finding his house, which turned out to be a whole other task and a half on its own. Every house was so far from the main road due to oversized front lawns that she couldn’t read anyone’s house number unless she practically trespassed. He’d given her very vague instructions so she mostly had to rely on Google Maps. Which somehow got her to the house at the end of Spruce Street with the enormous pine tall trees and rose bushes surrounding it just like Harry had described.

She pulled into the short gap of driveway just before the tall, wooden privacy gates that hid most of his house from view. After rolling down her driver’s side window, she inputted the four-digit code he’d given her onto the pinpad. Within a few seconds the gates opened, and after a moment to ogle at his insanely beautiful house, she swallowed the pit in her throat and carefully drove onto his property as if it was made out of glass. She really did not belong there, not in her beat up 2005 Toyota, and she couldn’t afford to break anything.

The moon was already prominent in the middle of the sky by the time she got to his front door and rang the bell. His house wasn’t at all what she expected. It was old-looking. Almost cottage-like with stone bricks and vines trickling down the architecture. She expected the most modern amenities known to man from him, but it turned out to be the polar opposite.

She stopped staring at his garden fortress of a house, with her jaw hung wide, when his door swung open. Because finally he was there, right in front of her, giving her proof that she didn’t accidentally show up at the wrong address, even though the code had worked and the house was as he described. Her anxiety was just a little extra prominent than normal.

“This is where you live?” She asked, before he even got the chance to invite her in.

He laughed, holding the door in one hand and gripping the frame with the other to keep his balance as he stood in the middle.

“Um,” he sighed, glancing up at the house, “yeah, but I’m trying to sell it soon. I bought it when I was young and impulsive.”

“Oh.” Was all she said, and he worried for a moment that he had completely lost her. That she was going to go back to never speaking a single word to him ever again. That he wasn’t anything like what she expected and it was a little too much for her to take in.

Just like most of his previous attempts at friendships, once they got even the tiniest glimpse into his life, they either bolted or stuck around long enough to get what they wanted from him.

Instead, she met his eyes again and smiled, “Can I come in or what?”

The inside of his house, however, had been recently modernized and she wondered if Harry had made all the design decisions himself. Like if he picked out the big geometric crystal chandelier in the foyer or the white marble countertops in the kitchen. She liked it, though, it was open with tall ceilings and unlike any home she’d ever stepped foot in. Even though it reminded her what vastly different worlds she and Harry came from, she knew his personality didn’t match up to his big fancy house.

When they settled into the kitchen, and when Harry began pouring two glasses of water for them, she set her things down on his island counter to give her shoulders a break from her heavy backpack. She knew she’d packed too much stuff, but if she was spending the night at Harry’s place, she needed her own familiar things to keep her company.

“I was thinking…” she started, watching as he kicked the refrigerator door shut once he’d put the filtered water pitcher back on the top shelf and handed her one of the glasses. “That maybe it’s a good idea to not tell Will… or... anyone about this.”

He thought it over for a moment and then nodded in agreement, “Yeah, okay.” Averting his eyes, his mind thought of a million different things at once while he sipped on his own glass of water until another tangible question popped into his head. “So if we’re not telling them, then where do they think you are right now?”

“At a coworker’s place.”

He nodded again and for the first time around Harry, she felt so incredibly nervous. He’d made her nervous before but not like this. She’d always just avoided him and it worked her anxieties out, but there was absolutely no chance of avoiding him now. Maybe she should have just said no, but that also seemed like an implausible choice.

“Is it alright if I like… get ready for bed? I just got off work.”

He let out a small giggle around the brim of his glass and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll show you my room.”

And his bedroom did not, by any means, disappoint. Just the square footage of it was impressive, but her eyes were particularly drawn to his bed, and not for any other reason than the way it faced massive ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked, as it seemed, the entirety of Hollywood; and she fell in love instantly. It was mesmerizing, and she could not fathom why on earth he planned on selling. Hell if he didn’t want the house anymore, she’d take it.

“Bathroom’s over there. Make yourself at home. I’m gonna set the alarm and turn off the lights. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Nodding, she waited for him to leave before she fully lost her mind about everything. Not only was she in the nicest house she’d ever laid foot in, but she was also about to crawl back into bed with him. His king sized, fluffy-looking bed she could imagine herself getting lost in.

She knew what they were doing was slightly out of the norm for people their own age. Most people didn’t sleep in the same bed as their friends unless they were doing something friends probably shouldn’t be doing. But the benefits of their budding friendship were a little more innocent than that to the point where even the thought of Will finding out where she was right now, while she slipped into her strawberry patterned pajama pants in Harry’s ensuite, made her lightheaded. She’d almost feel better if Will found out they were actually hooking up instead, because at least that wasn’t so… weird.

With the amount of time she spent getting herself ready, most of it being wasted on psyching herself up enough to go through with all of this, she’d become very familiar with his bathroom. He had two sinks along one wall, and massive mirrors that all faced a shower that could fit an entire army inside. The tiles were either black or white except for the blue pops of color here and there. The best part of it was the massive soaker tub in the back underneath a window that overlooked his garden. It was like he plucked a bathroom straight out of Good Housekeeping.

And of course she couldn’t let his things go unnoticed. She’d make herself a space at the empty sink nearest the door, the one that didn’t have his stuff neatly stacked around it. She eyed his small selection of colognes on a tray between the sinks while she washed her face, and couldn’t help her curiosity from checking out what brand of toothpaste he used when she started brushing her own teeth.

Other than the little touches of Harry scattered sparingly about, however, it was almost as if no one lived there at all. And she became very familiar with how cold it all was.

It wasn’t until she turned the sink off after splashing her face, again, with ice cold water, that she heard the soft hum of a guitar from just outside the bathroom door. She wasn’t sure if he was playing, or if he had turned music on. She wasn’t even sure if Harry Styles knew how to play the guitar. She couldn’t ever remember him playing any instruments whenever he came over to work with Will, but maybe she was just tragically unobservant.

And that seemed to be the case once she finished up and went back out to find him perched on what appeared to be his side of the bed with his guitar on his lap and a leather bound notebook open in front of him.

Though before she could make out a single melody, he immediately stopped playing the second she re-entered the room.

“Sorry, you can keep… doing what you’re doing.”

He let out an exasperated laugh while she crept towards the bed on the opposite side and made note of the way he quickly hid his journal from her and stashed it into a drawer at his bedside table. Maybe she was overanalyzing things, but it seemed like whatever he was writing down was for his eyes only, and she respected that.

“I was trying to write a song… hasn’t really been working out for me recently.” He leaned away from her to put his guitar down on the floor, setting it upright against the table, and she hated the way her eyes went straight to the small sliver of skin under his shirt that was exposed when he did so.

“Writer’s block?” She asked, slowly making her way up under the covers next to him, still feeling like she didn’t belong even though this had all been Harry’s idea to begin with. He needed someone and so did she, even if he didn’t fully know to what extent. But it felt like somehow she had tricked him into thinking the someone he needed was her.

“Sucks,” he mumbled to himself mostly, still very obviously in his own little work bubble.

“I usually just try to stop doing whatever I’m struggling with, and do something else, something I wouldn’t normally do.”

“You mean with your art stuff?” He asked and she wasn’t sure how he knew about her hobby, if Will had brought it up before, but it made her heart flutter nonetheless, that he remembered that small detail about her.

“Yeah.” She finally looked over at him, only to find him already staring at her and it weirdly made her less anxious about her current position. In his bed. In her roommate’s best friend’s bed. “If you’re stuck, you should leave it alone and write something completely out of your comfort zone. Then when you go back to where the problem was, you have a new set of eyes on it.”

He was quiet, first just listening to her speak, and then really letting her advice sink in because it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about doing, but he made mental plans to give it a try.

“I’m sorry if this is really weird, Y/N,” he began, getting her attention when he changed the subject. “I know it’s hard to believe but I’m actually horrendously alone and I guess when we slept together I didn’t feel so much that way anymore.”

“I get it, Harry.” She sighed, never wanting to fully open up to him, but feeling like it was now or never to get him to stop making it more weird by apologizing. “Makes you feel like… empty.”

“Exactly,” Harry sighed and she glanced at him when he agreed so enthusiastically. “I haven’t been that close to someone in… months,” he rolled his eyes down to meet hers again, “and I guess I just didn’t want it to be like that again.”

The look on her face alone made it easy to tell everything he said resonated with her, like he was saying exactly what she was thinking too. It broke his heart to know that she, in any way, felt like he did, but it also made him glad someone finally understood what he was going through, even if in just the slightest.

“I understand, Harry. I guess I just don’t understand why you’re alone. Can’t you have anyone you want?”

He scrunched up his face, “It’s not that easy.” He huffed, “People aren’t all that interested in me as they are getting loads of likes on Instagram and having lots of money. I mean… I haven’t had a single relationship that didn’t end the same.”

“Still,” she mumbled begrudgingly. He was still Harry Styles. People still wanted him and, even if it hadn’t turned out so well, he’d still been not alone at some point in his life, unlike her.

He raised his eyebrows, a little irritated at this point. “Okay then, why are you alone? Can’t imagine it’s that hard for you.”

She rolled her eyes away from him and hung her head to disguise the embarrassment on her face. There were two big reasons why she was alone, and she was not about to admit them to Harry at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night.

“So what is it then?” He talked for her when he grew irritated with her silence and her inability to see his perspective on things, “Your lack of ability to talk to people? Because you have these massive walls to keep literally everyone out, including me, for the past however many months we’ve known each other?”

She shook her head and sunk deeper and deeper inside herself. This was all a mistake. It had all gone wrong because she opened her mouth and said something insensitive.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Harry.” She looked at him again finally, holding back the stupid tears trying to well up just from the mere thought of being even moderately yelled at, and especially by Harry who she’d never imagined being angry a day in his life. “But if we’re just going to sit here judge each other, I think I should go.”

“No.” He immediately reached across the king-sized space between them to grab her arm before she even considered leaving his bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell like that.” They stared at each other silently for a moment before he continued, “You don’t want to talk about it and that’s fine.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then at his hand around her arm and just how good it felt to be touched. Just to have human contact, even just something as simple as that. And then she felt just as desperate as she had when she agreed to all of this in the first place.

“Can we just go to sleep? I’m tired.”

It started out like it had before. A gap of space between them after Harry had turned out the lamp beside him. After he spent an ungodly amount of time staring out his window and listening to her breathing, and she spent the same amount of time overthinking, they both realized something wasn’t working.

“Harry?” She whispered like she was throwing out a line into a vast ocean.

“Hmm?”

“You were right… about why I’m alone. But… it’s also that no one’s ever really shown any interest in me because, um... ” she struggled, trying her damndest not to cry in front of Harry. “I’m... ugly, you know… so that’s, um...” Her voice was just a whisper she could barely even make out, but it was still the first time she’d said that to anyone before. Sure, she wasn’t facing Harry when she said it and they were in complete darkness, but it was still hard, hard enough to make her hands shake and the tears fall.

He knew it too, the way her voice wavered like he’d never heard before. He twisted his head over his shoulder to look at her, eyebrows furrowed even deeper when he saw the shadow of her hand move across her face to wipe the tears away.

And here she was; in Harry’s bed where she thought her problems would be temporarily solved, and yet she was still crying.

“So that’s why… I feel like I don’t let people in because I don’t want anyone to have to be stuck with me.” She finished and he flipped himself onto his back, still staring at her head like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, that she even thought that way about herself. He was sitting there in shock because, well… he had been wrong. He didn’t understand her at all.

Without a single clue how to respond without sounding like a disingenuous asshole, he went another route rather than opening his mouth to give her unsolicited advice.

“Come ’ere.” He whispered, helping her until she was in his arms again just like before. He cradled the back of her head with one hand as she hid her face on his chest and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. Slowly, she warmed up to him and tucked her own arm around his side as they fit themselves together like puzzle pieces all over again. Except this time, they were both consciously aware of it.

They stayed like that for a while until Harry listened to her breathing even out, and he could hardly keep his eyes open any longer. He still wanted to say a million different things, but knew it might only make it worse because his head wasn’t clear enough to say the right things. So, he just held on tight and waited for morning.

taglist: @afterstylesmadeit @cxnyon-moon @and-im-not-okay-with-it @chrryblsms @whydontharry @harryinsweatersandbandanas @idkthisisjustforfanfic @teddysoldbird @shawnsblue @thurhomish @theasstour @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @staceystoleyourheart @granolagrannie @defineharry @iambabyharry @1142590m @ashtondene @smokeinherperfume @cherryyharryy

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #onlyhuman

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hyperactivelittlebee · 4 years

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Dancing in the Moonlight(Hermitcraft)

@gridoc

This is for ur pirate au, bean! Based off my "bring on the men" ask I did. I also promised GriDoc fluff sooo~

The soft sound of waves hitting the boat did nothing to drown out the sound of blissful celebration. Grian could blame them really- they had encountered SIRENS. They were just happy to be alive and celebrated it the only way they knew how; with bellies full of rum, a good meal, and a night out on the town.

However, this wasn't Grian's way of celebrating a near brush with death- as tempting as it was.

Instead, Grian had stayed back on the empty ship, much more content at having his privacy on the large vessel. He spent time in his quarters, pacing as he tried to wrap his head around the whole encounter. Why had the siren said that to him? Why did he feel such a burning sensation at the sight of Doc falling for the siren?

Surely it was because he didn't want the captain to succumb to such a terrible fate, right? Nothing more than moral dilemma.

Or maybe that was just what he was telling himself…?

His hand reached into his shirt, pulling out a small silver locket decorated in rubies and sapphires. He opened it, staring at the small framed photo of Taurtis inside.

What if that's only what he was telling himself.

That this was only moral dilemma.

That it was nothing more than just the right thing to do.

That he didn't want to save Doc, but had to for his own sake.

Grian swore off love a long time ago. With Taurtis gone, those butterflies he felt in his stomach just didn't feel right with anyone else. Those butterflies did nothing but remind him of something he lost long ago. It had been so long, but moving on just didn't feel right.

Shaking his head in frustration, the blonde snapped the locket shut and shoved it into his shirt again. He made his way up to the main deck of the ship, climbing up the stairs to the rear railing. In the clear night, Grian could see the entire starry expanse stretching and reflecting along the calming endless ocean before him. The moon shone, big and beautiful in the sky, reflecting off the waters below him.

Out here, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long while.

He felt in control of his life.

A familiar tune reached his ears from a nearby tavern, and he couldn't help but smile as the familiar lyrics played in his mind and rolled off his tounge.

"There was a time, I don't know when- I didn't have much time for men…"

Climbing on to the rail, he grabbed hold of a stray rope hanging from the mast, "But this is now, and that was then, I'm learning…" He leaned back to get a better view of the street, making sure nobody was nearby before continuing, "A boy alone, all on his own, must try to have a heart of stone!" The blonde walked along the rail, spinning slightly and clutching a hand of his heart, "So I try not to make it known, my yearning~" Humming, Grian looking down at the boats deck, smiling as excitement started to course through him, "I try to show, I have no need! I really do, I don't succeed…" Preparing to jump, his grip tightened around the rope. Taking a running leap, Grian swung his way through the air, relishing in the way the wind whipped through his hair, "So, let's bring ON THE MEN-!" Letting go, Grian landed on of the deck with a loud thud, "And let the fun begin! A little touch of sin~! why wait another minute?" At this point, he was belting into the night sky, the feeling of being free ever present, "Step this way, it's time for us to play-!" Grian could feel his heart thumping as he danced freely and sang on the deck, the feeling of having wings never leaving him, "They say we may not pass this way again, so let's waste no more time bring on the men~!"

That was the last time Doc went drinking with Ren. He loved the guy, really he did- but this was the third time his first mate had run off who knows where with Iskall and Mumbo.

His footsteps were heavy as he approached the dock, fully prepared to pass out the moment he got in bed. However, as a familiar tune hit his ears, he slowed down and softened them.

"So, let's bring ON THE MEN~!"

Climbing onto the boat, he jumped a little as a familiar figure landed with a thud on the other side of the deck, back turned to him, "And let the fun begin! A little touch of sin~! why wait another minute?" An amused smile crossed Docs lips as he recognized the figure as a certain former navy boy. So, this was what he was doing.

"Step this way, it's time for us to play-!" Not one to ruin such a performance, Doc silently made his way to lean back against a crate of supplies, watching Grian's every movement in the moonlight.

"They say we may not pass this way again, so let's waste no more time bring on the men~!"

The German snorted softly at the chorus, raising a brow.

"I always knew, I always said, that silk and lace in black and red...will drive a man, right off his head it's easy~"

Silk and lace in black and red?

Well, if Doc did see that on the smaller male, he surely would lose it.

"So many men, so little time! I want them all, Is that a-"

Spinning around, Grian met eyes with Doc and his voice broke off, "C-crime-!"

Smirking, Doc slowly clapped, adoring how Grians cheeks lit up bright red, brows furrowed, "H-how much did you see?"

"Enough." The creeper hummed, staring down the human boy with pure amusement, "And my, that really was quite a wonderful performance…"

"Not. A. Word." Grian growled softly, glaring in a way that made Doc shudder.

God, was he slightly drunk?

"Relax, I won't say anything…for a price."

"A...price?"

Doc hummed a yes before holding his hand out in offer, his smirk softening to something more genuine, "Come out on the dock and dance with me."

Sensing the other man's immediate protest, Doc held up a single finger, "One dance. Just you and me, the crews all in the tavern drinking their giddy asses off." Holding out his hand once more, Doc held out hope, "What do you say, hm? Let bygones be bygones?"

Grian held his breath, his heart fluttering in his chest as his eyes flickered between the captain's hand and face; searching for any trace of ulterior motives. Yet all that seem show was a man who was making a small request.

Sighing deeply, Grian hesitantly took Docs hand, "One dance and just one. Any wandering hands or wrong moves and I swear I'll shove you into the water with zero hesitation." While his tone was joking, he could tell Doc had taken it seriously, "I promise, no funny business…"

Walking off the boat, Doc took off his coat, draping it over a barrel before following Grian to the end of the Deck.

As he went to stand beside the blonde, Doc couldn't help but notice how nervous he seemed.

Resting a hand on his bicep, Doc sent Grian a reassuring smile, "Relax..it's just a dance. As much as I adored fighting with you before, this is supposed to be a break from all that. Okay?"

Taking a deep breath, Grian nodded, "Good. Now, ready?" Turning to the smaller male, Doc slid one hand to take Grian's, and the other gently gripping his waist. Grasping the captain's hand, Grian reached with his opposite hand to hold his shoulder.

Slowly, the two began to dance to the quiet music from the tavern, the moonlight guiding their steps as their movements became so in sync they were moving at one.

As time lost meaning to them, Doc's arm slipped to wrap around his back, pressing them together. Their bodies flush against one another, they seemed to get lost in eachother, Grian's head resting on Doc's chest.

Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces as the world around them seeming to lose all meaning.

To Grian, Doc smelt of sea salt, bourbon, and gunpowder- reminding Grian of a victorious battle at sea. His body was incredibly warm compared to the night chill, making Grian not want to let go. The tender way he held him made Grian's head dizzy, and the softness in his eyes made his knees shake.

Those butterflies in his stomach were worse than ever.

To Doc, Grian smelt of lilacs, salt water, and roses- reminding Doc of a flower garden in the spring. His body was shivering from the night chill, and it only made Doc want to hold him closer and allow him more warmth. The way he clung to him with such trust had him reeling and the relaxation in his form made Doc want to scoop him up, lock him in the safety of his cabin, and keep him forever.

"Grian?"

Liftng his head, the blonde looked up at the creeper, a soft, far off haze in his eyes, "Hmm…?"

In the light of the moon, Grian looked almost heavenly. His soft cheeks flushed a soft pink, lips slightly pouted with the corners upturned in a coy smile, and hair a beautifully wind blown mess.

"I-I...Well, I…" Doc's voice trailed off as he began to slowly lean forward, heart leaping as he realized Grian was doing the same.

Too lost in the moment, the two didn't notice they were edging closer to the edge until it was too late. Just before their lips touched, they slipped.

With a shout from both of them, they fell into the icy cold water.

Doc was quick to act, tugging Grian to follow him to shore as they emerged on the beach soaking wet.

Doc shuddered, only mildly bothered by the freeze, "Dammit- I should have been paying attention I-" He stopped as he looked at Grian, realizing how violently he was shaking on the ground.

Quickly, the captain scooped Grian into his arms and ran to the dock again, holding the shivering ball to his chest.

"We have to get you warm, fast…"

Picking up his dry coat, he headed to his quarters, nudging the door open before setting him down on a chair.

He quickly peeled the soaked vest and shirt off Grian before draping his coat over his shoulders. He scooped him up once more before placing him in the bed, wrapping him in blankets, "There. Nice and cozy. Better?"

His face flushed, Grian nodded softly, embarrassed over the fact the captain was so quick to baby him.

"Y-Yea...uh...thanks…" Doc let out a relieved sigh before leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to Grians forehead, "Good. You can sleep here for tonight, I'll sleep on the sofa…" He gestured to the lounge seat against the wall as he walked to the door, humming, "Stay warm, alright?"

"O...okay…"

Just before he left, Doc smiled softly at Grian, "Oh, and Grian?"

"Huh?"

"I'd...love to do that again some time. Dance that is- without the whole falling in freezing water, that is."

And with a chuckle, he was gone before Grian could say, 'What about you?'

Reaching and touching the locket around his neck, Grian felt his cheek grow warmer at each time Docs words played in his head, those butterflies acting up in his stomach again.

But this time…

Maybe those butterflies weren't so bad.

#docm77 #grian #GriDoc #pirateau #hermitshipping

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queermediastudies · 3 years

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Love is Love and it’s the Most Important Thing: The Story of Pat and Terry A Secret Couple of 72 Years

youtube

The 2020 Netflix film A Secret Love stars the secret love of Pat Henschel and Terry Donahue. They are a lesbian couple who were together for 72 years, but their family didn't know until about two years before Terry Donahue passed away from a battle with Parkinson's disease. This film tells the story of how they lived and developed a lifelong partnership together, all while keeping their love for one another a secret, and after 70 years, they wanted to come out and get married. Terry Donahue was a utility player in the All-American Girls Professional Baseball league from 1946 through 1949. During this time, she met Pat Henschel, also an athlete herself. Both Pat and Terry had relationships with men; Pat had three prior relationships that ended in all three death. Pat took this as a sign and fell in love with Terry Donahue. Terry also had past relationships with men, but when she brought them home, with Pat, her relationship with the male was a cover to present herself as straight to her mother and father. Pat and Terry are from Canada but moved to the US to pursue Terry's baseball career. Terry and Pat lived with one another but described their friendship as "strictly platonic friends." It was expensive to live in the US, so they decided to live together. This is how they covered their true partnership with their family. Pat and Terry live through many LGBTIA historical events, and through times where being openly gay was unacceptable. Overcoming the societal norms and values for seven decades, they were finally able to marry and share their love with their family. A Secret Love based on a true story takes the viewers through Pat and Terry's life and their 72 years of love. This film analyzes coming out culture, heteronormality, sexuality, globalization of gay, and the nation and societal history around LGBTQ acceptance in a multinational view.

Terry and Pat became involved in the 1940s when being a part of the queer community was looked down upon. The film shows the famous clip of detective John Sorenson talking to a crown of young women. He says, “and for that reason, I feel there is no cure and because of the complete degeneracy of these people. They appear on the surface to be respectable, but they’re the lowest forms of people.” (Sorenson, 1966). Pat and Terry were afraid to come out because it wasn’t socially accepted. Bernshoff says, “Thus, while society had given a name to homosexuality, it simultaneously worked to erase it, to make it, “the Love that dare not speak its name.” (Bernshoff & Griffin, 03). To be gay or lesbian back then was to be sick and untreatable. In Chicago, there were gay and lesbian bars that were often targets of police raids. “Police raids on gay bars were neither new or nor unusual” (Gross, 40). Terry and Pat didn’t frequent these types of scenes because it was dangerous for gay or lesbian individuals. From Stonewall to Chicago, raids on the queer community were commonplace in the US. Throughout the film, they state how important it was for them to hide their sexuality and attraction to one another. The multinational views on the queer community from Canada to the US were negative; that’s why they had to hide who they were for seven decades.

In 1946 Terry Donahue began playing for the Peoria Redwings as a utility player. This went against gender roles and heteronormativity, as baseball was a man’s sport. The All-American Girls Professional Baseball League (AAGPBL) was portrayed in the film A League of Their Own because they had to teach the women how to look and act a certain way. They had to take specific gender roles and gender nuances to appear as ladylike. A Secret Love uses Terry’s experiences to show how being lesbian, and a woman in the ’40s through the ’70s was difficult. The intersection of gender and sexuality in a heterosexual male-dominated country.

The film desexualizes and normalizes the partnership between a man and a man or a woman. In many queer films, there is a sexualization of queer culture, but in this film, it normalizes it. The director, Chris Bolan, Donahue's grandnephew, succeeded in normalizing and showing how a lesbian couple hid their sexuality from the world for almost a lifetime. Doty talks about how to utilize and display the mass-culture the way of life for gay, lesbian couples. The film uses its transgression of experience to show how media and this film tell the story of gay and lesbian couples before it was socially acceptable and federally legal. Doty says, "how many times do we get the chance to inform people about our particular queer perspectives on film, television, literature, or music during conversations (or to engage someone else's perhaps unacknowledged queer perspective)" (Doty, 04)? This film shows the history of gay or lesbian couples and changes around their way of life and public reception of them. They were treated as sinners or sick people in the '40s-'70s, then finally being able to come out with the support of your family after 70 years. Pat and Terry hid a large part of themselves from view for 70 years; they could not be who they wanted to be.

This isn’t problematic but heartwarming and touching. While it is not an activist piece like many of the other films for this assignment, it shows how hard it was to be lesbian and love someone of the same sex. Since the early 2010’s it has become increasingly normal to be gay or lesbian; this film is an example of that. This film touches on aspects of this class like Stonewall and bars being raided, heteronormativity, and gender performativity throughout their lives. Terry and Pat are a part of the white middle class American and Canada; this leads them to be more relatable for most people in the US. The feeling and images this film drives home is like finding out your elderly family members are gay or lesbian. The association with family isn’t common in queer cinema as there is usually the issue of acceptance. Unlike many other queer films, this family was brought closer because of Aunt Terry and Aunt Pat coming out. These women felt like pioneers in history.

This film related to me because I felt like they were my family. I was reminded of my own family and experiences when I watched this film. When I saw these two women it reminded me of my own family and how we/I would love them no matter what. I was specifically reminded of my late grandma and how much love she showed for everyone and how sweet she was. My family is Christian and some of us are stronger in certain beliefs than others but two of my cousins are a part of the LGBTQIA community and we love them and want them to be themselves around us not hide it. I though this topic and film was so important because these women hid themselves from the world and their families. The coming out narrative is so scary for some that it cost them their families. This film exemplified how if I were coming out that I would want to be received by the people who matter most to me. I enjoyed this film because it showed what Pat and Terry when through for 70 years of hiding their sexuality from almost everyone. This movie reenforced how love is love and it doesn’t matter who you love. The issues we often discuss in class feel younger and more current, but this film takes us through the progression of queer in history.

This film shows the story of Terry and Pat coming out, but it also tells the history of the queer community from the 40′s to today. The film shows how these woman defied society and its views on same sex couples.

References

YouTube. (2020). A Secret Love [Video]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghv3-lpFOcc&t=51s.

Sorenson, J. (1966). Don't Be Gay or Else. Speech, Miami.

Benshoff, H., & Griffin, S. (2004). America on film: representing race, class, gender, and sexuality at the movies by Harry M. Benshoff, 2nd edition. Routledge Taylor & Francis Group.

Gross, L. (2012). Up from Invisibility (p. 40). Columbia University Press.

All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. [Image]. https://www.aagpbl.org/profiles/terry-donahue/363.

Doty, A. (1993). Making things perfectly queer (p.4). Univ. of Minnesota Press.

#a secret love #queer media #pat #terry #netflix #love is love #movie review #lesbian representation

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heartofsnark · 3 years

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This Is Love (Chapter Ten): The Snakes We Don’t See

Notes: Kinda been sitting on the two most recent chapters, since I like started to write some cyberpunk 2077 stuff. So, thats why its been a while, but given how short the prologue for that fic is, I decided to go ahead and update this this month as well.

Word Count: 13277

Chapter Warnings: Child Abuse (excerpts from the book of joseph), Suicide (non-graphic but still), A body horror dream (my favorite) with some symbolism/implications of sexual assault, discussion of religion, and really really way too blunt on the nose foreshadowing

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The church and compound look beautiful in the moonlight, Dahlia can’t help but note as she drives Cassie towards it. The modest white buildings and the silver gate work looking beautiful beneath a blanket of stars. It’s not a steady bustle of activity like it was last time, thanks in large part to the late hour, she’s sure. But there’s a few church members meandering around the outside of the church, beyond the gate. Which, to her dismay is being watched by Theodore. It had to be one of the two members who hate her, didn’t it? Because life can’t just kick her in the teeth once and call it done, no, it has to throw in a few extra hits for good measure. The towering man is glaring at her as she comes to a slowed down stop before the gate.

“Though I doubt it’s why you’re here, service is over, so save me a headache and scram.”

“No can do, I gotta talk to Joseph.”

“Pfff,” he scoffs at her, “you arrest me, ruin service, and then come around demanding an audience with The Father. Gotta hand it to you, nothing else, you got balls.”

“Technically, Hudson arrested you, I wasn’t hired yet.”

“You think that helps?”

“Come on man, this ain’t about me.”

He looks past her to Cassie, still holding onto Dahlia’s back, face ducked down to hide away from his amber gaze. Dahlia can see gears turning in his head and he sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, you can come through, but only ‘cause The Father likes you.”

“Thanks,” Dahlia parks her bike, Cassie handing her back her helmet before the pair walk into the compound.

“That guy at the gate is kind of…a lot.”

“Eh, he doesn’t like me much, but he’s not that bad. Lonny’s probably the biggest d-bag I’ve met here, Jacob and his…friends, if you can call ‘em that, are a bit rough. But, even then, I’m seen more friendly faces than I’ve seen cruel ones.”

A few people recognize Dahlia from the barbecue, giving her a kind smile and a friendly wave as she passes by in search of Joseph. She returns the kind gestures but stays focused on her goal. Dahlia isn’t quite sure she’s ready to fulfill her promise of stepping foot into the church just yet, but if they’re freshly done with service, that’d be where she’d find him.

“Deputy,” a soft angelic voice speaks out, Faith walking through the compound yard towards them, her hair is done up in plaits with flowers twisted in them, “is everything okay?”

“Uh, not really? I was hoping to talk to Joseph? If he’s around.” Of course he’s around, she’s not sure why she’s acting like there’s a chance he’s not here.

“Sure, I’ll go get him right away.”

She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees him, walking out of the church with Faith beside him, she’s never been happier to see a preacher in her entire life. Dahlia looks over at Cassie and sees the raised eyebrow, which is understandable. Joseph is Joseph, strange and weird, shirtless with a myriad of sins and tattoos etched into his skin, and yellow aviators on despite the silver moonlight that covers them all. But at the moment, that moonlight gives him a halo, a saving grace for a shitty night.

“Deputy, I’m surprised to see you so soon,” Josephs greets her,

“Yeah, I’m sorry to bug you, but I…we,” Dahlia looks back at the still timid Cassie, duffle bag held out in front of her lap, “need some help. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“Of course, if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

“Well, Joseph, Faith, this is my friend Cassie, Cassie this is Joseph and Faith,” Dahlia first introduces them

“Hi…” Cassie gives an awkward nod of her head.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Joseph responds with a warm smile, “though I feel there’s more to this than friendly introductions.”

His gaze lingers on Dahlia’s knuckles, still stained with Liam’s blood.

“Okay, so, Cassie’s home life is,” Dahlia pauses and looks to Cassie, searching for words that she might be comfortable with the deputy using, “bad, she’s not safe there. That’s all I’ll say. So, I was letting her stay with me but….recent events mean it ain’t too safe there either.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure this has been difficult on the two of you.”

“Difficult is a word for it; but more importantly, I hear Eden’s Gate takes folks in.”

“Deputy…”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, I know it’s short notice, and I-“

A large warm hand grasps her shoulder and she doesn’t flinch, not this time.

“I’m honored you’d come to me for help.”

And she feels his sincerity in his touch, hears it in every word, and sees it in his eyes. It’s hard to believe how much she distrusted him at first, she curses her past for coloring her view. He’s strange certainly, but he’s good.

“So, I take it you can help?”

“Of course, my child.”

“We have plenty of space at the convent,” Faith chimes in with a soft smile, looking from Joseph to Cassie.

“Thank you, thank you, seriously, thank you so much,” Cassie gushes, relief swimming in her dark eyes.

“We can get you settled in tonight.”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t thank you enough.”

“We’re happy to help,” then Joseph’s eyes turn to Dahlia, “will you be alright though, deputy?”

Joseph suddenly catches her hand in his own, brushing his fingers over her bloodied knuckles, no sign of hesitation at the rough sight. Brows furrowed in concern.

“Oh yeah, it’s not mine, don’t worry, uh,” she catches herself, “that sounds bad, but like dude was gonna torch my trailer so, it was like okay to punch him, I think.”

“Wait, what?” Cassie’s eyes go wide as she looks to Dahlia, she must not have seen Liam with the lighter, only Dahlia striking him.

“Yeah, dude was gonna fuckin’ torch the place, so I blacked his eye. More than fair, if you ask me.”

“Okay, first,” Cassie starts and Dahlia smiles as a bit of the girl’s personality peeks through her fear, “I didn’t know it was that bad. Secondly, I don’t think you’re suppose to talk like that in front of a church and it’s preacher.”

“I also shouldn’t have worn a shirt that said ‘hail satan’ to their sermon.”

“You what?”

“Look, in my defense,” Cassie is covering her mouth and laughing, a welcomed sight, “I don’t think, okay, you think I think and I just don’t alright.”

Dahlia is laughing through her own words, face flushed red at being the butt of the joke, but if it can bring a smile to Cassie’s face right now she’d make a thousand more mistakes like it. Faith’s little melodic giggles ring out behind her own hand. Joseph doesn’t laugh but he does smile. With the tension of Cassie’s housing eased, everyone seems in a brighter mood.

“And despite all that, you still like her?” Cassie asks, looking up at Joseph and Faith.

“I’d get mad but like, fair fuckin’ question.”

“I’ve forgiven sins and transgressions far greater than yours, deputy,” Joseph says and his eyes are intense, kind, but the word sins makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It’s not a fun word, but most religions have a ‘everyone’s born a sinner’ mentality. So, surely she can’t be too upset.

“Your patience is both staggering and appreciated, I assure you,” Dahlia tells him, her smile a bit more forced than it was a moment ago. If he can tell he doesn’t say anything.

“Come on Cassie, I’ll introduce you to everyone and we’ll get you settled, okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Faith grabs Cassie’s hand and leads her away with a giggle, the sigh of the flower adorned woman leading her away in the night reminds Dahlia of her odd dream before. The draw of Faith, the siren pulling someone away in the moonlight. But that’s silly, Dahlia tells herself, they’re climbing into a pickup truck drove by another church member, yelling goodbyes to Joseph and Dahlia with smiles on their face. Yet the image of a siren dragging a victim into the sea pricks at her mind, despite how asinine it may be.

Dahlia shakes her head, wondering why her nerves have suddenly ticked up. She’s over this, isn’t she? Eden’s Gate is good, she reminds herself, one of the few good things in this county that’s actually helping people instead of letting them drift into the cracks. Despite everything she’s heard, they’re good. Her personal issues is just fucking with her, that has to be it.

“Are you certain you’ll be okay, Deputy?” Joseph asks as the truck rolls down the curves of the road, disappearing over the horizon, Cassie gone with it.

“Uh, yeah, gave the guy a hell of a shiner so he should cut the shit for a while. Should be fine.”

“Is it?”

“Fuck if I know, but what am I gonna do, sit around and cry about it?”

“I certainly wouldn’t expect you to, but if something does happen, you know you can come to me.”

“Yeah, uh, it means a lot,” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, his gaze too intense again, “and thanks again for helping out Cassie. It means a lot, I really don’t know if I can thank you enough.”

“You could always attend church, if you wanted to show thanks.”

“Patient but persistent, I see, but, uh, not quite ready to cash in that promise yet.”

“I understand but, I’d be remiss if I didn’t caution you. My patience may be staggering, but the world is not so kind. Time is finite and you window for finding salvation may be closing quicker than you know.” His voice is fevered and impassioned, hints of a southern accent peeking through as his intensity rises, awash in moonlight the glow of it around turns from a halo to an eerie glow.

“Okay, not holding back, are you?” Dahlia tries to laugh it off, religious folks are just like this sometimes, aren’t they?

“I would be doing you a disservice if I did.”

“So…you think the worlds ending?” She asks, trying to keep her tone light, the only other interpretation of her window closing is Joseph’s convinced she’ll die soon.

“You don’t?” He questions, brows furrowed, as if the idea of the world not ending is ridiculous. And…she kind of gets that.

“I didn’t say that,” she moves to lean her back against the church building, standing next to Joseph instead of before him, looking at the stars, “I mean eventually humans are gonna destroy the planet, climate change, corporate pollution, not to mention us just trying to kill each other half the time. And even if we don’t fuck it up, eventually time will, sun’s going to go to the next stage and destroy the earth. So…”

“You sense it coming, too..” He presses his back against the wood next to her, no longer focusing his stare on her but the moon, maybe he sense her unease with his gaze…

“Yeah…I guess, don’t know when or how, but eventually…”

The itch of nerves under her skin is too strong, she digs a cigarette from it’s pack and lights it, smoking against the church building. John warned her it’s forbidden by Eden’s Gate, that Joseph wouldn’t like such an act, but he doesn’t stop her in the moment. Whether it’s another moment of him showing her kindness or just consideration for her not being apart of the church, she doesn’t know.

“Yet, you still put off salvation.”

“Okay,” she exhales a plume of smoke, “I’ll bite, what’d that fix?”

“When the world collapses those who’ve followed the path to Eden, confessed their sins, atoned, and made their sacrifice will be the ones who walk into the garden, into New Eden. A world cleansed of sin and turmoil. The world will be pure again, free of pain.”

New Eden sounds like their heaven, essentially, to Dahlia. So, nothing truly new by any religious standards. Almost every Christian religion has a doomsday, revelation, apocalypse, end of the world and those who do what god wants get to be super happy in some magic paradise, while everyone else burns. Same stuff, new label.

“Well, as much as your concern for my immortal soul is appreciated, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“You’ll come to understand eventually… I just hope it’s not too late.”

She scratches at the back of her neck again, his words leaving a bad taste in her mouth that mingles with the nicotine, it feels dismissive of her… Like he claims to know her feelings and where they’ll end up better than she does. There’s a habit among those older than her to assume they know how the world works more than she does, she chalks it up to an old man thing, and lets it roll off her back. He still helped her, despite his faults.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree, but I do appreciate everything, I’ll have to when I get a chance call Cassie and see how she’s settles in.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be so simple.”

“What?” She turns to look at Joseph now, raising an eyebrow, why wouldn’t she be able to call Cassie?

“While Cassie is staying with us, we do expect her to abide by our rules. There are no cellphones permitted in the convent, I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh,” Dahlia blinks, “guess that explains why not a single person was on their phone at the barbecue.”

“Smartphones and social media have eroded people’s values, they’re more concerned with it than they are their own family.”

“Okay, okay, I get it; the convent have a landline or Satan manage to get through that too?” His expression hardens, unimpressed by her quip, though she can’t help but smile. After a moment, he sighs.

“There is a landline available there, but it’s typically reserved for church matters. If you wish to check on her, visiting and writing letters would be ideal.”

“Got it, I’ll keep that in mind,” she moves from her spot against the church exterior, “thanks again, Joseph. I’ll talk to you, later.”

“Have a nice night, Deputy.”

“You too.”

Dahlia stubs out her cigarette once she’s outside the compound’s gates, climbing onto her motorcycle. She didn’t realize how isolated Cassie might be there, if she’s not even allowed to call her friend. It just doesn’t sit right. But, Joseph’s far from the only old religious man to claim technology is bad. And if Cassie is living with them, it’s natural to expect her to follow the same guidelines as everyone else. It was already asking a lot for them to house her, it’d be unthinkable to expect special treatment as well.

The trailer park is far calmer when she rides through, damage already done, Dahlia sighs at the sight of all the havoc they caused. It’s already well past midnight, but her night is far from done. There’s glass to be cleaned up and windows to be covered until she can get supplies to fix them properly. She could care less about the spray paint and if needed she can sleep through the chill, but she’d at least like to not sleep on broken glass.

She’s parked and locked up her bike, walking up her porch when she hears the crush of steps, someone clearing their throat. Liam stands, hands in his pockets and a mottle of bruises across his eye. His blues eyes look anywhere but her.

“Dude, seriously, just go. I-”

“I’m sorry…,” he mumbles, clearing his throat again, searching for words, “I didn’t know she was in there, I really didn’t. Clyde said she left out and he hadn’t seen her come back, we thought the place was empty and-”

“And? You could have killed her, ignorance don’t cure third degree burns!” She’s taken steps towards him, nearly yelling in his face now, she can see hurt in his face. He may not have meant to take a life, but in one dumb moment he nearly did and he damn well needs to know that.

“I know, I know, I just…no one got hurt, she, she ain’t hurt, right?”

“No, thank fuck, but that doesn’t make it okay? Even if you didn’t hurt you, you scared the fuck out of her, this was suppose to be a safe place for her and you destroyed that!”

“I’m sorry, okay, I… I can’t fuckin’ say sorry enough and I mean it. I just we were drinking and thought we’d see if we could run ya out of here, it got out of hand.”

“You hate cops, I get that, I do and quite frankly you wanna give me hell, have at it. There ain’t anything you can do to me that hasn’t already been done. But shit like that doesn’t just affect me, hell, you could of set the whole damn place on fire.”

“Yeah, I, fuck I nearly pulled a Sharky.”

“I’m…not sure what you mean by that, ‘cause last thing I saw that man do was…very different. But, uh, if you’re doing that too you should stop.” Her stomach churns at the reminder of Boshaw in his jeep, she really was hoping she repressed that.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Liam shakes his head, “but I am sorry about Cassie…I’d like to apologize to her, if she’s around.”

“Fat chance of that man, I found her another place to stay, she’s somewhere safe and far away from your ass.” The convent isn’t particularly far away, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I deserve that.”

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

“Well, I said my piece, I assume I’ll be seeing the inside of a cell tomorrow?”

She chews her lip for a moment, he strikes her as genuine, in both his remorse and ignorance. He wasn’t trying to become a murderer, he only mean to run her out of the trailer park. And at the end of it all, Cassie is safe.

“Nah man, it’ll be fine, so long as you don’t pull this shit again. You do and I’ll be in jail for killing your ass.”

“Gotcha…thanks…I think.”

“Now, fuck off, I got a mess to clean. Unless you care enough to help?”

“Hell no, have fun, narc,” Liam scoffs at the idea and leaves, clear his remorse was only ever for Cassie’s sake. Asshole. She watches him vanish into his own trailer before finally walking into her own to start on her night of work.

That night and next day are monotonous, mess cleaned up and windows covered just as the sun starts to rise over the horizon. Muscles aching and a damp sweat clinging to her skin, she showers and catches a few hours of sleep. When she wakes up she’s off to the local hardware store and buying what she needs to fix the windows, as well as some damage done inside the trailer.

The sun is setting on the next day by the time all the damage is attended to, well everything but the graffiti of PIG across the outside of the trailer. But, she doesn’t have the energy to wash it away. Lounging around her living room after another shower, Dahlia finds her mind drawn back to Cassie and The Seeds.

No phone calls, only letter writing. It seems so unnecessarily archaic in the modern age, though she may mostly be whining because her handwriting is completely illegible. It’s too late to drop in on the convent, plus she doesn’t particularly want to move. After last night, she likes the idea of a lazy night. And with her long at time hard to predict workdays, it may not be possible to swing by for more than a moment until the weekend.

She doesn’t have to write her letter, at least not by hand, she decides as she opens her laptop. She’ll type it up and print it out at the station, then she can send it like a proper letter, to appease Joseph’s hatred of tech.

“Hey, Cassie, Deputy whatever (did I tell you my last name, legit can’t remember?) here. Joseph said you guys can’t like call? I guess? But you can get letters, so given my handwriting, typing it instead. I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re settling in. Maybe this weekend I can visit? I’ll treat you to lunch.”

That sounds alright, she decides, saving the typed letter. She drums her fingers against the table, searching for something else to maintain her attention. The Book of Joseph with her drawing tucked inside of it is still nearby, Joseph’s lecture of last night coming to mind. Maybe, she could write him a thank you letter? He seems like the kind of guy who’d appreciate that, she opens another document.

“Dear Joseph,

That’s how you format a letter, right? Sorry, social media has “eroded” my soul and the art of letter writing is lost on my generation. That’s a joke, I hope it’s somewhat funny, if not sorry. My handwriting is atrocious, so I hope a typed letter still fits into your beliefs, since I’m trying here. I just wanted to thank you in some small way, despite some of our different beliefs, you’ve been incredibly kind to me and my friend. I read somewhere that drawings can be like gifts? So, I drew something for you. I hope it’s a nice gesture and not creepy, but it can’t be as creepy as the portrait in your book and creepy is kind of your thing, so. Also a joke, I promise I’m trying to be funny not mean… I’ll end this now, thanks again, Me, Cassie, and my eroded damned soul appreciate it. “

Dahlia saves the letter to Joseph, it’s messy and awkward, but so is she. She’ll print and mail them both out tomorrow. Hopefully, she won’t have to put her proper name on an envelope to send it. The idea of no one knowing her name is fun, she wants to play into it. The mysterious deputy who no one knows, sounds way cooler than she is.

She stretches her arms out and puts her laptop aside, grabbing the Book of Joseph, the conversation with Joseph has renewed her interest in learning more about his beliefs. Even if they don’t align, even if she’ll never believe in god, the least she can do is try to understand. She made harsh initial judgments and still struggles with her past effecting her thoughts, making what could be nothing into red flags, this is a way to make amends. Even if Joseph isn’t able to see her efforts, it means something to her, growing as a person.

“Not ice cream trucks, not social services cars, not even police patrols.

In any case. In these parts, people kept their noses out of other people's business, even when that business took place on a porch out in the open.

The father thrashed his arms furiously while the boy, young Joseph Seed stood with his head bowed, contrite and seemingly fixated on the floorboards. If he had looked up, he would have seen the kaleidoscopic colors of an old issue of Spiderman flashing by, alternating with the smooth black leather of his father's Bible and the ruddy face of the father himself. He would have seen the grey teeth-few and far between-of Old Man Seed, as the locals called him, or Old Man Seed behind his back, as Josephs big brother Jacob had snickered to him. Dental care was not a priority in the Seed household. The money was needed for other things. So, his father's teeth always reminded Joseph of the rocky crags that pirate ships washed up on in picture books at the library.”

She tries to see them, a young Joseph and Jacob on their porch. It’s both easy and difficult all at once. A part of her can easily see in her mind, the two young boys with freckled faces and bright blue eyes, one ginger and the other brunette. But, connecting that to who she knows to be Joseph and Jacob Seed is more difficult. It’s always weird to imagine old people when they were young, old to her she should specify. To imagine the mountain that is Jacob Seed as a young boy, laughing behind his abusive father’s back. To see Joseph as a little boy reading comic books and pirate stories. The images seem so far removed from the tall intense older men she knows now.

The life they’ve lived is one she knows well, no media beyond the bible, and beatings for breaking rules. But, her own abuser was more hidden, pretending to be a pillar of the community with his wonderful little church while beating her black and blue behind closed doors. Behind a church following service was the most brazen he ever became; it’s hard to imagine a man bold enough to beat his children in broad daylight on his porch. Though, she has no doubt what she reads is true. She’s seen Joseph’s back, his distaste for shirts making every scar a public display, she knows the lash marks well. Her own back marred with them as well.

It makes her wonder, how they could be so different in their takeaways… Joseph if anything has turned to religion, leading his own church and group, taking issue with the sinfulness of modern media. Though, by no means an abuser, it’s hard to debate that he now shares qualities with his father, if only regarding religiosity.

Dahlia once heard that people grow up to be their parents, particularly their same sex parents. Which is an all at once terrifying prospect for most people, but especially for people like her and the Seeds. The prospect she could be anything like her mother, watching passively as her own child is abused, bending to the will of a man and losing herself completely; is downright terrifying. Dahlia is determined to not let that happen, but it’s still a fear. She can see ways they match; both physically and in certain traits. Dahlia wonders if Joseph sees the way he matches his father and if those qualities scare him too. If he worries his faith has turned him into that same monster. She wonders too about Jacob, if his surliness is a part of that, if he sees any of his father in himself.

“The priority in the Seed household, as everyone in the neighborhood knew, was cheap whiskey, which the father drank from dawn 'til dusk. The more whiskey that went in, the more Bible verses that came out -and the more often his children felt the switch.

The cause of the paternal fury was simple: comics were forbidden in the home - comics and books, records, magazines, radio, and television. Only the Bible was allowed.

Once, when the entire elementary school went to see Gone with the Wind at an old theatre in town, Joseph's father had leapt up in rage like a drunken jack-in-the-box, and before stunned teachers and students, launched into a rambling sermon condemning the sins of Hollywood, insisting this Babylon had long perverted the most fragile of minds and was responsible for the downfall of all of America, with Joseph under one arm and Jacob under the other, he stormed out of the room still hurling curses.”

Dahlia doesn’t have many blessings to count, but Monroe never dragged her from school with a sermon. Only making her withdraw and begin homeschooling the moment he learned the public school had the nerve to provide even shoddy sex education. But she’d take a quiet withdrawal from the system over being physically dragged out before everyone.

“This time, when they arrived home, he beat Jacob only, because he was the eldest and thus responsible for his younger brother. At least the brothers had had time to see Atlanta burn. Thus, when Old Man Seed stood on the porch and began sliding off his belt, the child simply removed his T-shirt, folded it carefully, and bent over to offer his pale, delicate back to the worn-out strap of leather.

Joseph's head was turned toward the well maintained- at least by local standards - house of a quiet, gentle widow. He considered it a blessing, if a small one. Facing the other way, he would have had to look at the other neighbor's house, which even by local standards was so run-down as to be hideous to the eye. When they were younger, the widow used to bake them cakes, probably out of pity for them. The children's mother wasn't exactly an impressive chef. She wasn't exactly a loving mother either. But the widow didn't bake much of anything anymore now that she was dying of cancer. Instead, she spent her days in her porch rocking chair, rain or shine, tottering gently. Jacob and Joseph argued over whether the groaning came from the wooden rocking chair or the old women.”

Dahlia closes the book, marking the page at that point, she can’t deny the intensity of the content and the impact it has on her. She can only stomach so much at a time, trauma too close to her own. Talks of a lackluster mother and the kindness of strangers only adding to it all. Maybe one day she’ll talk to Joseph about this, how he can bless those who hurt him in such a way, how he has managed to be so open about it. It all seems to be a level of maturity she can’t imagine reaching, how much work and growth does it take to accomplish that?

She falls asleep that night thinking of just how much work she has left to do, just how far she has to go as a person. How long will it take her to be okay with her past? Thoughts fade to black as she succumbs to her heavy eyelids.

The sun is bright and high in the bright blue sky, deceptively cherry for what her and Pratt are being called out to. Despite shifting opinions on Joseph, she can’t deny that the statue still creeps her the fuck out. As they drive further upward, the sheer scale of the cement monument takes her breath away. How much time and work went into that? Joseph doesn’t seem to have an ego, but to an outsider this downright makes him look like a narcissist. They don’t go fully up the mountain, where the trail forms stone circular steps and rings around the base of the statue. From where they park, she can see gazebos with flowers woven into them that line the open space around it.

There’s a small crowd waiting for them at the base of the mountainside the statue is built on, a section of it just beneath the stone Joseph’s hand is carved slightly down. Ledges with spots to grapple along comes down to the ground. The statue blocks out the sun when they stand beneath it, the visage of Joseph towering over them like a kaiju is both terrifying and hilarious to the young deputy.

The ambulance is already there, body bag being brought inside of it, sparing the deputies from seeing what remained of the person after they jumped. Rocky ground where the man would have hit is painted with a white Eden’s Gate symbol, blood now staining the dark rock and white paint.

Faith and a few Eden’s Gate members are nearby. The youngest Seed sits on a stone, adorned in one of her delicate white dresses, her blonde hair pulls back in a soft ponytail today. Her feet are still bare, as if someone’s blood isn’t mere inches from her, as if a body bag isn’t being rolled into an ambulance. Faith leans back on her hands, humming softly, kicking her feet gently in tune to her little song. Does this even faze her?

“Not much to do here,” the EMT tells Pratt and Dahlia, “another suicide, guy hit his head off the cliff before he even reached the ground, dead on arrival.”

“This happen a lot?” Dahlia asks, looking between Pratt and the EMT. They talked as if this happens every day.

“Kinda, “ Pratt admits, “I mean, it’s easy to access and tall as fuck, people have been jumping off to die since the peggies finished building it.”

“Hope County’s version of The Golden Gate Bridge.”

“That’s…fucked.”

“We gotta get to the morgue, call the next of kin, don’t know if there’s much else for you all to handle.”

“Alright, thanks for the help.”

Pratt and Dahlia wave off the EMT as the ambulance drives away; leaving the deputies with Faith and the Eden’s Gate members. It’s only natural to ask the owners of the statue a few questions, if they saw or heard anything. Faith seems to know this, given her soft smile as she waits for them, this really must be a normal occurrence.

“Hello, deputies,” she greets them as they wander off, “it’s a shame really, that a symbol of hope is used by the hopeless to end their own suffering.”

“I’m sure your heart is breaking, but, don’t suppose there’s any chance you saw anything?’

“No, I’m afraid no one was here this morning or late last night.”

“Of course,” Pratt says, more annoyed than anything and if this is the typical, Dahlia can understand why. There’s not much they can really do, it’s a tragedy, but unless there was another party involved it’s not really a police matter.

But, Dahlia wonders why the statue is so enticing a spot for suicide? It’s tall of course, the fall is a certain death. But, there are so many bridges around as well, not that she’s in that mental state at the moment but she imagines falling into water to die would be more enticing than hitting rock. And it’s odd as well, that the impact spot is marked with their symbol.

“Why is the ground painted?”

“Hmm?” Faith hums out an inquisitive noise, blinking at the deputy’s sudden question.

“The ground here, your church symbol is on it, I was just wondering why? Doesn’t seem like you can or would do much in this exact spot?”

Dahlia’s reminded of a bible passage, one of many she recalls from her childhood. The story of Satan trying to tempt Jesus to jump from a high cliff in Jerusalem, that if he’s truly the child of god he’d be safe, to give a leap of faith. It sticks in the back of her mind, nagging at her, surely that wouldn’t be a thing?

“Oh, I know it’s silly, but we like to put our symbol of hope and faith wherever we can, even in the smallest of places.”

“Uh, this isn’t like a thing, is it?” Dahlia asks before she can stop herself.

“Rook,” Pratt scolds her for the accusatory question. But Faith giggles.

“You really have a vivid imagination, don’t you, Rook? I don’t imagine we’d keep many members if we were pushing them off a statue.”

“Yeah, sorry,” that was dumb, Dahlia realizes the second she hears it out loud, “I think I’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

“Next, you’ll be accusing us of drugging our members,” Faith says, giggling with a soft smile on her face and Dahlia laughs along, yeah, she’s being ridiculous.

“Okay, well with that out of the way, we’ll get out of your hair,” Pratt speaks up, ready to go back to the station, not that there was much for them to do.

“Uh, actually, I did wanna ask you something, real quick, about Cassie,” Dahlia pipes up, before they leave. Pratt raises an eyebrow, looking at Dahlia.

“She’s settling in really well, she already feels like a part of the family, I assure you.” Faith squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, warm in it’s reassurance.

“Thanks, I’m hoping I can visit before too long.”

“Oh, that’d be wonderful!” Faith captures both of Dahlia’s hands this time, grinning and stepping into the deputy’s personal space. Her and Joseph are both so touchy, it catches her off guard.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Faith, but we really need to be headed back now, c’mon, Rook.”

“Coming,” Dahlia calls out following behind a fast walking Pratt, one final wave goodbye to Faith.

Dahlia is fastening her seat belt in the cruiser, Pratt starting up the engine and taking them back down that winding road. There’s a palpable tension that eases with every step away from that statue. Whoever at Eden’s Gate approved it is ridiculous.

“Didn’t know you and Faith were so close.”

“We get along alright, her and Joseph helped me out this weekend.”

“What, you ditch the barbecue to hang out with peggies?”

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “my friend Cassie was staying with me, some shit happened at the Moonflower, they offered to help her out.”

“Since when do you have friends?”

“Hahaha, hilarious. Look, it’s not like I planned for shit to go sideways, why do you even care?”

“I don’t.”

“Sure seems like you do.”

“I don’t, you wanna run around with peggies, that’s your business, but it’s not gonna do you any favors around here.”

“Oh no, are the popular girls not gonna like me if I sit with the peggies?” Dahlia says with mock worry, pressing her hand to her chest. What kind of high school bullshit is this?

“Shut up, I’m fuckin’ serious, the only people who like peggies are peggies. Since when do you like that shit anyway?”

“I don’t like it, I’m not into religion, you know that. Just, I don’t know, doesn’t mean they aren’t chill.”

“Eden’s Gate is not fuckin’ chill, they’re weird and a pain in the ass.”

“They’re definitely weird, you know social media has eroded my soul?”

“What they find out you shared John’s shitty commercial on Twitter?”

“Huh, no? How’d you know that?” Dahlia’s careful to keep herself hard to identify online, her Twitter has no name, job, or location. Though, unless Eden’s Gate is broadcasting their cheesy crap all over the nation, that’d be easy for a Hope County Native too figure out.

“Petunia’s your icon on there.”

“I didn’t realize you could tell the difference in opossums.” In Dahlia’s defense, Petunia looked adorable eating her lunch that day and again, she assumed anyone would just think it was a random opossum picture.

“I know Petunia when I see her, give me some credit,” he rolls his eyes, “you know John’s gonna kill you if he does find out.”

“Well, it’s a damn good thing Eden’s Gate doesn’t use social media then.”

“Ah, yes, because as we all know no one ever disobeys their religion. I for one am still a picture perfect altar boy.”

“Loo-you’re Catholic?” The realization hits her and she looks bewildered at her partner’s profile. Granted, she rarely thinks about anyone’s religion, but for Pratt it seems all the more confusing. He hardly seems religious by any standard.

“I was raised Catholic,” he specifies and she nods her head, “Joey was too.”

“Neither of you are anymore?”

“I really can’t be bothered to give a fuck about it anymore, it is what it is, pretty sure Joey completely gave up on any of it.”

“There’s not a lot of practicing Catholics in this area, is there?” She’s pretty sure Montana is mostly protestants.

“No, the church in Falls End is Hope’s Catholic church, and it’s always been small. Me and Joey were damn near the only kids even.”

Dahlia can’t help but smile, thinking of Hudson and Pratt as kids. She always had the feeling they’d known each other for a long while, both talking about Hope County like they’ve been here all their lives. Hudson is a little older, but not much, so it just makes sense that in this small a place they’d known each other as children.

“How long have you guys known each other?”

“We playing fifty questions or something?”

“I’m curious!”

“No, your turn asshole. You wanna grill me on religion and shit, you get it back.”

“You already know how I feel about religion.”

“I know you didn’t wanna go to church and were a weirdo about it, that’s it.”

“Uhh,” she breathes, he’s right that it’s only fair to answer the same questions he answered for her, “my actual dad was Catholic, my mom was Jewish, then she remarried a fundie Preacher, Pentecostal, so that’s how I was raised, unfortunately.”

“So, you were zigzagged all over as far as that goes.”

“Eh, I mean, before she remarried, neither my mother or dad were like devout or felt they had to raise me a certain way. Like, I think I vaguely remember getting both Christmas and Hannukah when I was three?” She tries to pull up the fuzzy memory of when her mother, back when she was a true mother, helped her light a menorah and her dad hoisted her up to put a star on a modest Christmas tree.

“You believe in anything nowadays.”

“I consider myself an atheist at best.”

“At worst?”

“Well, if god does exist, he’s an asshole and I’d like to break his nose.”

That gets a laugh out of Pratt and Dahlia grins, she knows it sounds silly, but it’s true. How she genuinely feels, she doesn’t think anyone is watching over them, no singular or multiple gods, but if any creator can watch idly by as everyone suffers… Not someone she’d want to be worshipping, quite frankly.

The day winds down with little else for the deputies to do. Beyond the station windows the sky starts to turn pink, sun setting on another workday. Dahlia is fiddling with her phone, walking out of the station.

“You coming to The Spread Eagle tonight,” Hudson asks her, “I know you haven’t really been since that asshole gave you a hard time.”

“Oh uh, yeah, I could tag along.” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, feeling the heat climb up her face. She can see concern in Hudson’s olive-green eyes, which isn’t helping the blush across the young deputy’s face.

“C’mon then, probie,” Pratt calls out, giving Dahlia a playful smack on the shoulder as he passes by.

It’s the usual sight as Stray walks into The Spread Eagle; rock-folk music on the Jukebox tonight, couples dancing or sharing drinks, workers in flannels and dirty boots grabbing a drink after a long day. They slide into their usual seats, the youngest deputy between her two superiors, there’s a warmth to the low lights and wood interior. Mary May’s soft smile greeting them as she serves the rest of the patrons.

“I don't care if it rains!

Let's all go to the bar!

I don't care if there's a hurricane!

Let's all go to the bar!”

“I’ve been stuck on desk duty all day,” Hudson speaks over the music, starting the evening conversation with a groan, “so please tell me you two had something interesting happen.”

“Suicide out at Joseph’s statue, that’s about it.” Dahlia shrugs, nothing else really of note.

“Ugh, if I was near that statue I’d kill myself too.”

“It gives my heebie jeebies the heebie jeebies, not gonna lie.”

“Really, Rook, but Joseph’s your new best friend, remember?” Pratt cuts in to taunt the Junior Deputy.

“I have a finger for you.”

“You aren’t buddying up with the Seeds, are you deputy?” Mary May’s voice rings out as she sets drinks and food in front of the three officers, they hadn’t even ordered yet. Dahlia’s seen her do it with Hudson and Pratt, knowing the two deputy’s order inherently after years of routine. But it’s the first time she’s done it for Dahlia, knowing the youngest deputy’s favorite burger and soda. It’s nice and she’d love to spend a moment appreciating the coziness of it, but the weight of the bartender’s question hangs in the air.

“No,” Dahlia assures her, though a part of her feels guilty, as if she’s compromising loyalties, “they helped me and a friend out, that’s all.”

“Eden’s Gate doesn’t help anyone without expecting something in return, I know you’re new around here, deputy, but you need to be careful around them. They’ll do anything to have another cop wrapped around their finger.”

“Woah woah,” Dahlia holds her hands up in mock surrender, “it was just a little favor, nothing big I promise.”

“You don’t get it, that fami-“

“I think Merle is trying to flag you down for another beer,” Pratt interjects, saving Dahlia from the rest of the lecture.

“Yeah, uh, just be careful, deputy.” With that Mary May leaves them to serve Merle, some man with a mullet, another beer.

“Sorry about that,” Pratt says, “forgot how weird she gets about the Seeds.”

“Can’t blame her for it though, John Seed’s had it out for her family since they came here.”

“I would like to change the subject.”

“Pfft,” Pratt stifles a laugh at her blunt declaration, “alright, we can do that.”

“Well, okay, how’d your break go?”

“Mostly boring, other than when Pratt took me flying.”

“You took her up in the helicopter?” Hudson asks, raising an eyebrow at the male deputy over Dahlia’s shoulder.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“You seriously pulled that move on her?”

“Shut up.”

“Move?”

“Pratt has a habit of bringing girls up in the helicopter, don’t you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know it was fun, though.” Dahlia shrugs, she doesn’t really care if he brings other people up in the helicopter. She’s not really sure how it’s relevant or what Hudson means by it being a move; she had fun with her friend and he cheered her up.

“Hear that, Joey, it was fun. Don’t put weird ideas in Rookie’s head. “

“Oh yeah, blame me.”

“So, anything interesting happen at the station while I was gone?”

“Well,” Hudson smirks, mischief in her eyes as she glances at Pratt again.

“She doesn’t need to know about that.”

“I think she does, the day after you went on leave-”

“I’d like to change the subject,” Pratt cuts Hudson off, mimicking Dahlia from earlier.

“I don’t even know what the subject is yet!” The youngest deputy objects, laughing.

“Well, a certain someone’s mom felt the need to come down to the station and let Whitehorse know just how wrong he is to put her precious son in harm’s way.”

“Oh my god,” Dahlia says, unable to resist smiling, while Pratt’s buried his head in his hands, “your mom came to the station?”

“Yes, yes, laugh it up.”

“You call me a child and you have your mommy checking in on you at work?”

“I didn’t invite her!”

Pratt’s face is flushed bright red while Hudson and Dahlia laugh at his expense, but despite the embarrassing aspect, Dahlia can’t help but think it’s a little endearing. His mom must really love him.

“She worry about you a lot?” Dahlia asks, core aching from laughing.

“Ugh, that’s a fuckin’ understatement.”

“Mama Pratt’s always been a little too worried about her baby boy,” Hudson taunts, reaching over the table to pinch at Pratt’s cheek, only for him to smack her hands away.

“I’m sure that went over great when you went into law enforcement.”

“She still gets furious at Whitehorse for putting us in danger.”

“Us?”

“She wasn’t very happy about me becoming a cop either,” Hudson admits and that makes sense, given what Pratt’s told Dahlia about them being close as kids, surely she’d be close to his mother.

“And if she meets you, she’ll be in Whitehorse’s ear again.”

“Huh?”

“I can hear it now, ‘how could you put that little girl in danger, what’s wrong with you?’” Hudson tries her best to mimic Pratt’s mother, grinning at the ridiculousness of it, and despite herself…the idea of his mom doting on her the way she would Hudson. As if Dahlia could be as close to either of them, even if the idea of being seen as a vulnerable little girl is a bit patronizing.

“Not gonna lie, I really want to meet your mom now.”

“No.”

“C’mon!”

“No, not in a million years, I get enough hell from Joey and Beau, I don’t need it from you too.”

Their conversation continues late into the evening as it so often does, just a few hours shy of staying until closing, early mornings the only thing that keeps them from staying later. Around the same time as they have every other night, they leave and say their goodbyes. Pratt and Hudson heading back to the small set of apartment housing that resides in the little town, while the youngest deputy rides back to the trailer park.

She stops at the mailboxes, in the registration building, rows of them with their lot numbers associated with them. The printed letters for Cassie and Joseph heavy in her pocket. A part of her does feel guilty, mostly to Mary May, but it’s not as if they’re close friends and the bartender can’t expect Dahlia to avoid an entire family because of hearsay. And it’s not as if she’s joining up or spending every moment with them. She shakes her head, stupid feelings, it’s not as if she has to choose sides. She can be thankful for the Seed’s help and still get along with Mary May. She tucks the letters inside her mailbox to be sent out then heads into her trailer, throwing herself down on her couch to sleep for the night.

Hands on her, groping and prodding on Dahlia’s bare body. She screams and fights against them, unable to see whom they belong to, a mystery hidden by the logic of a dream. They feel different, but she sees no difference, each pair ink black as if monsters reaching from the void to defile her. They claw and grab; scratching over her ribs, locking fingers around her throat, squeezing at her thighs, and pressing over her mouth. The hands are everywhere and they smear black across her skin, smears and filth, reminders of their violation. They stain her skin, mark her flesh, and leave the aftermath of their violence on her body.

And she fights. She kicks and she pulls, but it only spurs them to grab her more. Dahlia lashes out at the void that touches her, but it does not retreat. She bites at the ink fingers that push into her tongue, but the digits only press deeper in, sliding into her throat.

She can’t be sure if she breaks away or they let her go, but their touch is gone, Dahlia dropping to her knees as if they were the only thing supporting her. Inky black slick across her skin where they touched her, heavy even on her tongue, finger prints within them.

And she wretches as flowers bloom from the stains they’d left on her. Small blue flowers blossom forth bursting through the flesh of her tongue, sprouting from her throat and gagging her, soft petals falling from her lips. Those same vibrant blue flowers burst forth from her throat where she was choked.

Red flowers bloom out from the flesh of her ribs, stacked blossoms along a single stem cutting through the tender skin, like blades. They follow the curve of the bones within her, just long beneath her breast where rough hands had torn at her skin.

White petals, the most familiar as they recur so often and are a constant sight within the county. They grow through the plush of her thighs, not even blood or black tarnishing them as they push through her skin. They wind and weave as they come through like petal ropes around her .

And her heart staggers a beat as a sunflower grows within it, then through her chest, a vivid yellow. Her eye burns, a pressure behind it as another great yellow bloom grows behind it, piercing the fragile membrane, blood falling from her socket, vision in the eye obscured from the flower that’s taken it’s place.

She’s awash of yellows, blues, whites, and reds. Turned into a cruel art piece, body aching as her skin is open, her lungs choked, her heart stuttering to beat, and body protesting in agony.

And she snaps awake, not jolting from her couch but twisting with a heavy cough, phantom tickles within her throat. She gags on something that doesn’t exist, heartbeat thundering and lungs burning. Dahlia takes a moment to gather herself, a cold sweat still clinging to her skin. Her clock informs her it’s four in the morning.

She pushes back the hair that’s fallen into her face and lights up a cigarette, inhaling nicotine to ease her shaky body and frayed nerves. These dreams have only been getting more frequent and they’re starting to fuck with her. She can’t live with having a heart attack every other night and barely getting sleep.

Once she’s filled her lungs with smoke, let the burning cigarette nearly singe her fingers before she tosses it out. Dahlia throws on the lights, blinking through the way it blinds her after so long of darkness, but she ignores the sleep heavy in her eyes as she grabs her drawing pad, sitting at her coffee table on the floor letting her mind lead her hand.

Sunflowers she knows, the flower iconic enough in identity for her to know it and with the white flowers being so around the county, she could easily be able to figure out what they are. She thinks they’re called moonflowers, given the name of the trailer park and that a field of them surround them. But she sketches them out, along with the other flowers she saw. Four types of flowers on the page. She needs to get them on paper while they’re fresh in her mind. And then in the crux of them all, she draws out the layered ones from her previous dreams.

She plans on looking them up, flowers have significance and meaning, she’s heard that before that people can plan bouquets to communicate messages. She’s never cared about flowers in her entire life, so she has no idea why on earth they’d such a recurring theme in her dreams be.

Dahlia feels more relaxed now that she’s smoked and gotten the images of the flowers on paper. She’ll search for her answers later, after she’s gotten more sleep. Nerves and body relaxed, she curls back up on her couch, letting herself fall into a dreamless sleep.

It’s a few hours past noon the next day, a slow day of just tickets, the young deputy’s head is against her own seatbelt. Her eyes are starting to close despite the amount of energy drinks she’s consumed. She managed to salvage a few hours of restful sleep, but not nearly enough to keep her awake through an already boring day. Her eyelids are impossibly heavy, each blink growing longer and longer.

“Rook!”

“I’m awake!” Dahlia says with a jolt, Pratt’s voice and a shake of her shoulder waking her back up.

“Are you?” Pratt asks while laughing and she pinches at the bridge of her nose, a headache coming on.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“What were doing?”

“Wasn’t doing nothing; just bad dream,” she tells him, shrugging.

“Units near the Orchard please respond,” Nancy from dispatch’s voice crackles over their radio, they’re still in the Valley and maybe five minutes from the giant orchard.

“Deputy Pratt responding.”

“Debbie and Doug called in a robbery, suspect has fled the scene, but they’re still requesting an officer to file a report.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” he hangs up the receiver, “wake up, Rookie, we have to actually work today.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he admits, acknowledging that it’ll likely just be an hour of talking, writing down a report, and then leaving.

They drive past the pumpkin farm, Dahlia unable to resist smiling when she sees Boomer playing with his owners, weaving through the gourds. She’s reminded of her first day, stopping to pet the dog to dispel her own nerves. Then the apple trees filter in, bright red and shining in the light. Each tree is overflowing, a few crates out fill with the fruit, apples that have fallen on the ground.

Pratt pulls up to the orchard’s packing facility past the market stall that advertises cider tasting. There’s a man and woman standing in front of the large open packing facility; the building painted red with green roofing, the open doors showing the crates and machines. The smell of crisp apples hits Dahlia as she gets out of the cruiser, mixing with the fresh air, she feels more awake than she was before. Rarely, but sometimes, the beauty of the county manages to lift her spirits.

“What’s going on?” Pratt asks the couple.

“Someone,” Debbie gives a pointed look at her husband Doug, arms crossed, “left the office key in the stall again, next thing we know, someone cleared out our safe.”

“Hey, don’t blame me.”

“Well who the fuck am I suppose to blame?”

“That fuckin’ church would be a goddamn start.”

The tension is palpable as the couple argues, body language tight and wrought with frustration. Stray can’t tell if Debbie is about to cry or scream, maybe both. Doug looks as if he’d like to rip the earth up and bury himself beneath it.

“Everybody calm down, did anyone see anything suspicious?”

“John fuckin’ Seed and his band of goons were here earlier, no one saw him grab the key, but no one else would have. Son of a bitch has it out for us.”

“Alright, you wanna take me back to the office, I’ll have a look around,” Pratt asks Doug.

“Yeah, no problem.”

“You mind staying out here and talking to me, Debbie?” Dahlia offers, she’s not the most comforting person in the world, but the older woman clearly needs to get some stuff off her chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Doug and Pratt go back to the office within the packing facility, leaving Dahlia alone with Debbie.

“Lets find a place to sit down and just breathe for a minute, alright?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Debbie agree and Dahlia places what she hopes to be a comforting hand on the woman’s back, guiding her into the market stall where she saw benches.

She settles in across from Debbie, who wrings her hands together.

“No pressure and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but if you need an ear, I’m willing to listen.”

“Don’t even know where to start, ever since John Seed set his sights on the orchard, it’s been a nightmare.”

“He been making life hard for you?”

“That’s the understatement of the god damn century, that church has been buying up properties since they got here. The railyard, the old summer camp, the veterans center, the conservatory; list goes on…I use to wonder why everyone sold out to them, but I fuckin’ get it now.”

“They’re persistent?”

“They’re fucking heartless. Me and Doug built this place from the ground up; John Seed made an offer and we said no. Next thing we know; roads are blocked so our shipments can’t go out, they buy up the fertilizer plant and we can’t use it to help the new crops, cargo trucks are toting away product in the dead of night, and now this shit. We’ve been hemorrhaging cash ever since he set his sights on us. Got an attorney involved and all they did was charge us.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you.”

“We had a good year for crops, thought we’d break even if nothing else, then what little we got was taken. I can’t even pay my god damn workers, we’ve had to let go of folks who’ve been here for years because they couldn’t keep working for free cider.”

The woman lets out a breath, body deflating as she finally gets everything off her chest, but her blue eyes are brimming with tears. Dahlia offers her a tissue from her pocket, not sure what else she can do, watching the woman dab at her eyes. Despite the help Joseph and his church has given to Dahlia and Cassie, this sort of behavior can’t be enabled. Theodore was stealing booze from The Spread Eagle, on the order of John Seed, when she first came here. Lonny hasn’t exactly been shy about insinuating he should just be allowed to take her motorcycle. So, it’s not far fetched to imagine them getting greedy. As ironic as it is to attach a sin to church goers.

“They can’t do that shit.”

“But they do, no evidence though, nothing can be done. If the cops even bother to show up, no offense, but a lot of your station ain’t doing their fucking jobs.”

“No offense taken, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you every cops here for the right reasons. But, uh, if there’s something I can do to help, I want to.”

“Short of a miracle, I don’t think there’s much we can do. Take John’s next offer, try to fuckin’ survive.”

“There has to be a way for you guys to keep the orchard,” Dahlia murmurs more to herself than Debbie, at the end of it all the young deputy doesn’t have a dog in the fight. But, her heart does break for the couple and she wants to find some way to help.

“I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

“Ever think of doing any kind of apple festival or something? I mean people do that, sounds nicer than one for testicles.”

“Pssh,” she laughs a little at the way Dahlia wrinkles her nose, “it’d take a lot of work to get something like that set up.”

“I mean, do you really think the rest of the county won’t come together to help, you can do stands, have food, games, charge some money. I mean, it’s an idea.”

“We got stands for the market, don’t know if I can cook for a whole county though, if they even show.”

“Do you think Casey or Chad would help out?” Dahlia brings up the cooks from the Spread Eagle and Grill Steak. Small communities are suppose to come together in times of crisis, that’s the hope at least. Lloyd always told her that’s what he loved about Hope County and Reinette, everyone’s willing to pitch in.

“Maybe… Casey knows the runners of the Testy Festy too, he could help up get vendors and games set up, I…ya think we can actually do this?”

“Way I see it, best case scenario, it gets you through the rough spot, sticks it to John Seed, and you could do it every year for an income boost. Worst case scenario, you go down swinging, having some fun, and with friends by your side,” Dahlia tells her honestly with a shrug, she doesn’t want to give false hope, but even in worst case scenario, it’s worth it to go down swinging.

“That’s,” she smiles, tears clearing, she looks hopeful finally, “that’s hard to argue with, you gonna help?”

“Of course, I can see about talking to Casey tonight even.”

“Deb?” Doug’s voice calls out and the women leave the market stall, Doug and Pratt have come back from the office Pratt raises an eyebrow, eye drifting from the now happy Debbie, to Dahlia. Silently asking her what the hell happened.

“There wasn’t anything that can pin it on anyone, no security footage or prints, sorry,” Pratt tells her.

“I figured… Doug, me and Deputy….” she searches for Dahlia’s name only to realize she doesn’t know it, “…her have been talking, what do you think about throwing together a festival?”

“A festival?”

“Yeah, we could get the county together, might just be what saves this place. I…just…I don’t wanna give up yet. She said she’d help, I think, I think we can do this.”

“We’d need to move fast and a festival take a lot of time to set up.”

“I mean, we get enough people on board, I can’t see why we can have it ready to go by, next Friday, the 10th?” Dahlia cuts in to help, that’d give them a little over a week, short notice but not impossible.

“You planning on helping?”

“Of course,”Dahlia beams, but no reason she can’t volunteer some more help, she throws an arm over Pratt’s shoulder, “we’d both be happy to help anyway we can.”

“What?” Pratt asks blankly and she just gives him a friendly smack on the chest, if he can force her into a church barbecue, she can damn well rope him into helping a local business.

“Well then, I think next Friday could work,” Doug admits.

“We could hold it Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. An entire weekend for everyone to come together, have some fun and maybe save this place,” Debbie tells him, smiling wide.

“Okay, lets do it.”

“Hell yeah.” Dahlia grins, the formerly frustrated and desperate couple are now smiling bright as can be. Warmth is burning in the rookie deputy’s chest, proud that she can help them get those smiles back.

“Yeah…well, guess I can help,” Pratt admits, still glaring at Dahlia in his peripheral, she’s just amazed he hasn’t pushed her off of him yet.

“I’ll try to talk to Casey tonight, if the bars too busy, I’ll try tomorrow. Then I’ll get in touch with Chad, ask around about music, games, anything we could need.”

“Gotta find a way to advertise it.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Dahlia tells them, confident she can put it together, “you guys worry about getting the orchard set up, getting food, cider, prices, and all that figured out. And if you need anything just call down to the station and ask for Rook.”

“Thank you, seriously, both of you.”

“No problem,” Pratt says, though there’s a sigh in his voice, “our probie here just loves to help people.”

“Well, it is my job, speaking of which, you said the church is blocking the roads?”

“Yeah, our trucks can’t even get a shipment out.”

“Do you know where they’re set up?”

“Yeah, the road that leads from Holland valley out to Missoula, if you follow it far enough, why?”

“Public roads legally can’t be blocked,” Pratt explains for her.

“So, we’re gonna pay them a quick visit.”

“Thanks again, we’ll be in touch, Deputy.”

They wave off the couple, saying their goodbyes as they climb back into the cruiser. A beat of silence passes without Pratt starting the engine.

“What the fuck, Rook?”

“What?”

“You know your getting yourself into deep shit, right? Pissing off the church right after they helped you out?”

“Them helping me out ain’t a free pass to do whatever they want. I can get along with someone and still hold them accountable for their bullshit. They have no right trying to railroad Debbie and Doug like that.”

“And you have no right dragging me into it.”

“You volunteered me for the fuckin’ church barbecue.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“We were off the clock, not work hours.”

“What about trying to pressure me into going to the Rye barbecue, while at Redlers, technically on the clock.”

“That was also different.”

“How?”

“’Cause you’re the rookie and I’m allowed to be mean to you.”

“No, that is not how that works!”

“Is too, the entire point of hiring rookie cops is to hassle them, you don’t get to hassle back.”

“Well, too bad, fucker we’re throwing an apple festival.”

“Jesus christ.”

“It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be a pain in my ass,” he says, grumbling as he starts the engine, taking off out of the orchard.

Dahlia sticks her tongue out at him as they wind through the roads. Apple trees become the usual firs and pines, road signs starting to indicate they’re in route to Missoula. The young deputy watches the woods pass by, where the trees meet the blue sky, farmland occasionally breaking the landscape with cows meandering around.

It’s not long before they come to a stop and sure enough, large slabs of concrete are across the roadway. White trucks bearing the Eden’s Gate symbol are slotted behind them, black flags with the symbol in white stream from the back, and sturdier white vans are nearby as well. Members of the church are gathered there, woman with overgrown hair and men with hairy faces, a few she recognizes. All looking at the stopped cruiser with some measure of anger or worry.

“Hey, deputy,” it’s Waylon who greets Dahlia, smiling at her, “what seems to be the issue?”

“Your blocking public roads,” Pratt is the one to answer.

“Oh, see the thing if, the church is having some property worked on nearby. So, we really can’t have anyone driving through here, it’s temporary of course.”

“You can’t do that, though,” Dahlia explains, “if you need to fence off private property, you need to do it along the property line. Unless you have permission from the state, you cannot block public road access.”

“Deputy please, surely you understand.”

“Waylon,” she puts a hand on his shoulder, “you know we get along and I don’t have anything against the church, but blocking the road affects everyone else. If you really need roads blocked off, you need to contact the right people and get permits first, okay?”

“Understood.”

“Okay, then, just clear out and everything will be fine.”

He doesn’t seem happy, none of the church members do, but that’s the rules. She can’t even understand why’d they ever need to block the roads, if she didn’t know any better she’d think they were trying to keep people from leaving.

They drive the trucks and vans away; Dahlia and Pratt even helping move the concrete blockades off the road. Why do they even have those?

There’s still a sour note in the air once the block is cleared and the deputies have pulled away. She hates this weird back and forth; the church helping her but then doing something that gives her reason to doubt them. Wanting to be their friend but needing to put her foot down; wanting them and both the people who hate them to like her. Torn between the two as well as her child; like an unfortunate child in the midst of their parent’s divorce and she’s being forced to choose one.

It’s getting close to evening, when they pull up to the station to put in the report. The usual folks are in the bullpen, Hudson working at her computer with a mug of coffee and Brennan at his desk as well. The faces she’s come to know the best outside of Pratt. He plops himself down into his chair at his desk and Dahlia decides to grab another energy drink from the kitchen first.

She’s managed to rummage through the collection of tana cola bottle to find it, cracking it open with a yawn as she leaves the kitchen.

“…it wouldn’t have been so bad if Rook didn’t volunteer me for some bullshit.”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”

“Jesus fuck,” Pratt jolts in his chair, nearly toppling it over, “that’s it, we’re getting you a god damn bell!”

“Didn’t know you were into that, Staci,” Brennan says with a snicker.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, please, no one’s buying it,” Hudson says, rolling her eyes.

“There’s nothing to buy, Rook is an annoying shit, who just grabbed me and volunteered me for bullshit.”

“You’re such a baby.”

Dahlia reaches out and flicks his ear, laughing when Pratt grabs her hand, fingers intertwining as he tries to push her back. She brings her other hand up, trying to reach out and flick him with her other hand. But he grabs it in the same way, the two pushing against each other, both grinning like children. She’s not even sure what the goal is and Pratt probably doesn’t either. But then his office chair wheels slide back from the force and she’s found a goal, pushing Pratt across the room. No particular reason for it other than the idea of watching him sail across the bullpen makes her giggle. But he won’t let go of her hands enough that she can push him without him dragging her too.

“The hell are you two doing?” Whitehorse’s voice booms out when he walks in to see the two deputies horsing around.

“Being idiots.”

“I don’t know, looks like flirting to me.”

Hudson’s insult and Brennan’s teasing makes red flush up the two bickering deputy’s cheeks. They’re technically holding hands and leaning into each other’s personal space, Dahlia realizes. Pratt suddenly drops her hands, jolting away as if her skin has burnt his, and pushing his chair away from her. Nearly toppling over a trashcan in his haste.

“Yeah why the hell you holding my hand, Rookie?”

“You grabbed my hand first, asshole!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You did.”

“You absolutely did.”

Hudson and Brennan agree with Dahlia, Pratt’s face going from pink to scarlet. Whitehorse rolls his eyes, no doubt questioning his hiring decisions. How any of them still have jobs is a mystery, except Hudson.

“How’d things go at the orchard?” The sheriff asks, adjusting his cowboy hat. He really does look like such a stereotype.

“We couldn’t find any evidence of who broke into the office, they grabbed the key, so I told Doug he should look into changing the locks and investing in some security cameras. They’re dead set on it being John or someone with the church though,” Pratt explains, rolling his chair back up to his desk.

“You know it was,” Brennan scoff, “damn church is destroying the whole county.”

“Now, now, you can’t go making accusations without evidence, I just hope Debbie and Doug can bounce back.”

Dahlia doesn’t miss the roll of Brennan’s eyes and the sneer on his lips, he doesn’t like Eden’s Gate or Whitehorse’s attitude towards them it seems. She’s rarely seen the officer without a smile, but lips curled and leg bouncing, he seems a moment away from flipping the desk in front of him.

“Well, if Rook’s plan works, they’ll do fine.”

“Your plan?” Whitehorse looks at her with a raised eyebrow; her fellow deputies and Brennan all look at her expectantly as well. She scratches at the back of her neck, skin prickling at the attention.

“Oh, uh…well, I figured they could do like an apple festival, be fun for the county and help raise some money for ‘em.”

“That the plan you were bitching about, Pratt?” Brennan raises an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a pain in the ass and the Seed family is gonna be pissed.”

“So, apple pie and pissing off the Seeds, I’m fuckin’ sold,” Brennan sticks his fist out to Dahlia and she bumps her knuckles to his, grinning, “anything I can help with, just say the word.”

“Seriously, see why can’t you be my partner?”

“Hey, rude.”

“’Cause we’d never get Pratt to stop whining about it.”

“What the hell, you’re suppose to be on my side, Beau.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“I’m willing to help out too if I can,” Hudson cuts in between the banter, eyes soft, “I still remember going apple picking there with my family, I don’t wanna see Doug and Debbie lose that place.”

“Yeah…that place has a lot of memories for everyone,” Pratt admits, hazel eyes deepening with nostalgia.

“Still remember the first year you came with us,” Hudson grins, “Mark tried to lift you up to grab an apple and you just started sobbing.”

“Your brother was trying to kill me and I stand by that,” Pratt smiles as he pretends to defend himself.

“When are Deb and Doug planning on having the festival?” Whitehorse asks Dahlia.

“Aiming for the next Friday, the 10th, they wanna see if they can do it the whole weekend too.”

“Lot of work to get done if that’s gonna happen.”

“I know, I’m planning on talking to Casey as soon as I can. See if he’ll help cook and if there’s any testy festy supplies or vendors he can help with.”

“Mary May has a live band that plays once a week, they might be willing to play,” Hudson offers.

“Think they’d work cheap or free? I’d hate to stiff anyone and I’ll pay whatever I have too out of my own pocket, but the last thing we want is the festival costing more than it makes,” Dahlia explains, leaning against the wall as she talks it out.

“If they’re not willing to work any or all of it, we could always talk to Wheaty too.”

“Wheaty?”

“Kid who lives up North,” Brennan points in the general North direction, “he’s been obsessed with starting a radio station for years, he’ll basically DJ anything for free just to show off his vinyl collection.”

“That could work too.”

“Addie would probably help with money for it, honestly, just throw some advertisements up for the Marina.”

“Hell, if me and Staci ask her, she’d probably do it anyway,” Brennan gives a wide toothy smile.

“Gross, but true.”

“Didn’t Grace use to do those shooting competitions at fairs and shit, letting people pay to try and outshoot her?”

“Yeah,” Hudson nods to Pratt’s suggestion, “she hates the attention, but if it’s for a good cause I’m sure she’d do it.”

“I don’t think the Fowler brothers would bring Cheeseburger, since they gotta watch what he eats, but they might be willing to bring down some animals for people to see.”

“Hell, if we could convince Rae Rae to bring Boomer; people will show up just get a picture of him.”

“Pie eating contest would draw people in too.”

“Lorna would probably make pasties for it if we asked.”

Dahlia can’t help but grin at all the ideas and suggestions; a fire seemingly ignited in everyone. There’s a warmth in her chest and a swelling sense of pride that she could get everyone on board. The orchard means a lot to the county, not just Debbie and Doug. And she may actually be able to save it.

“Woah woah, hold on now,” Whitehorse calls out and Dahlia stiffens, this technically isn’t police work, “is anyone writing all this down? Not gonna do anyone a lick of good if we forget something.”

He smiles, blue eyes soft as Hudson grabs a piece of paper, writing down the ideas that’ve been said so far. Whitehorse is giving his stamp of approval and that pride in her chest only swells bigger, thumping against her ribs and making her smile widen.

“Rook.”

“Yes, sheriff?”

“As long as you keep an ear to your radio, don’t see any reason you can’t work on some of this during work, alright?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Good, Debbie and Doug deserve the best and we’re damn well gonna give it to ‘em, that’s an order.”

The sheriff ruffles her hair before he leaves and her face hurts from smiling so much. She pulls up a chair to the desk, sitting with Hudson, Pratt, and Brennan as they keep working on ideas. All four stay past their shift hours; scribbling down all possible ideas, who they should reach out to and who should be the one to talk to them. Dahlia smiling the entire time as they talk late into the evening.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #this is love #joseph seed #faith seed #staci pratt

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snowdice · 4 years

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Big Bang Editing Story [Day 5]

In the same vein as my study session fics, I’m going to be writing a story while I edit my Big Bang Fic. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing final edits for a section of my Big Bang Fic.

This will be a royalty AU and unlike the study fic, I actually have a few plans for it going in, but you can still feel free to send in asks with suggestions or questions to help me along.

Because this story is a story I’m writing to edit, I’m not going to edit it very consistently… What I have done is under the cut.

Also! I have a lot of world building for this story already and I have a role for all of the sides! (Even the ones that won’t show up for a little while.) Feel free to ask any questions. There’s plenty of magic in this AU.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

Chapter 1

“Please?” the younger teenager said as he threw his arms around Logan in a hug. Logan gave him a disgruntled look when a stray arm bumped some of the papers on his desk and one that he’d been using fluttered to the ground.

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

“We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

Logan gave him a skeptical look. They had been having these sleepovers for a decade at this point and in none of them had Logan ever actually slept. On the contrary, Patton usually kept him up long enough that Logan was so tired he couldn’t fall asleep and then the boy himself would pass out leaving Logan to stare grumpily at the ceiling.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

Patton, knowing him so well, saw his tenacity faulter and pitilessly pressed his advantage. “Mama made fresh cookies today,” he said. “They’re the ones with strawberry jam. We could sneak into the kitchen and steel some in the middle of the night.”

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“But sometimes you need to relax,” Patton said. Logan opened his mouth. “Really relax. No super encoded magical books that make me dizzy looking at them. We’re going to play dress up, eat cookies, and read silly books, and that’s final.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Patton hopped off the chair he’d pulled up to Logan’s desk and scrambled a few feet away. “You’d have to pull yourself away from your book to do that,” he said, sticking out his tongue at him.

Logan glanced down at his book. Reading the Pragilium text despite its difficulties had been his life’s work since he was a small child, and it was something he very much enjoyed, but he was tired from his duties and his lessons the last few weeks and not in the way he would be if he agreed to Patton’s sleepover. He looked up at Patton. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, a smile on his face. The book could wait.

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

Patton was a lot more agile then Logan was himself and knew the castle just as well since he had been brought to live here when he was just starting to walk, yet he was clearly slowing his place so Logan would not lose him. They ran through familiar corridors, careful to not slam into the stationed guards as the slid around corners. They ran past the large window that gave the best view of the castle garden and Patton avoided the spiral staircase that would let out near the kitchen where his mother was currently preparing that night’s dinner. Instead, he made a dash through the smaller dinning hall, unused at this time because they had no important guests, and then hung right to bolt towards the wing with Logan’s own private quarters.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“Help!” Patton yelped. His still light tone didn’t worry Logan that something was actually wrong, but it did make him wonder who he was speaking to. That became clear, however, when he noticed his father standing at the end of the hall outside the entrance to his own bedroom. Patton sprinted past Logan’s bedroom and directly at the king.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

“Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

“Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Hmm,” Father replied, reaching out to ruffle his hair and then stepping away from him. “I can always count on you Pat. I have to head to a meeting now. Keep our troublemaker out of mischief for me?”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

“We will,” Patton promised. Father smiled at him and walked towards the entrance of the hall. He paused to press his palm to Logan’s cheek briefly before continuing and disappearing through the doors.

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

Patton glanced around himself. He had, in fact, sequestered himself in the end of the hall. The only possible avenue was into Father’s bedroom and he’d likely locked the door behind him if he was going to be gone to a meeting. Patton giggled when his predicament set in. “Truce?” he offered.

“Not a chance.”

“No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

Chapter 2

Virgil hated this. He really, really hated this. To think he wished he was back in training camp. He yearned for General Landon’s mistreatment like he imagined most children desired their mother’s affection. He tried not to sniff too loudly from his place behind the foul-smelling bags he’d hid behind in the small shed long enough ago that his legs had long since cramped.

He could tell from small window opposite him that the sun had set recently, though it was not quite last light. Soon he would have the cover of darkness and would have to move from this spot. That was almost worse than staying cramped here forever and starving to death in the shed. He felt sick. He felt so sick. He didn’t want to be here.

A noise startled him, and he flinched down further behind the bags as someone pulled opened the door to the shed. A man made a groaning sound and set gardening tools down on the table with a clank. Virgil did not want to imagine all the ways each of those things could kill someone, but his brain didn’t give him the choice.

Virgil focused on breathing as quietly as he could even when the thoughts in his head made him want to pant. The man continued to put away the tools in different places in the shed. Virgil tried to curl even tighter into his already tight ball when he strayed too close a few times.

The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

Virgil froze, and when the man turned to look right at his hiding place, he let out a small whimper. He tried to scramble away when the man took a step closer to him, but there was nowhere to go but to press himself up against the back of the shed, the man’s body between him and the door.

They sized each other up for a long moment. Could Virgil make it to one of the tools if he moved quickly enough? He didn’t know. He doubted it and there was more than a likely chance that he’d reach for a tool himself with his much longer arms.

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

Well…no, not at all. He wished he was here to steal food. How should he respond? What was the most tactical answer? He cast his mind back to his training. There were a few options when faced with this situation, but he didn’t know which was the best one. The most obvious explanation was to go with his cover story and try to say he worked in the kitchen, but this man worked with the garden. There was every possibility he knew people in the kitchen. Another strategy would be to agree with whatever he said and hope he came up with a reasonable explanation on his own… but that explanation seemed to be that Virgil was a thief. Would he immediately be dragged in front of the king or have his arm chopped off or something else horrible? He could try spinning it around on him by asking him questions back and confuse him. He could ask him why he was here or if he was the one stealing food. That would be stupid though, he was obviously the gardener. That would probably just piss him off and make Virgil’s fate worse.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

“Hey kid,” the man said. “What’s going on?” He had crouched down in front of Virgil and the fading light from the window finally hit the side of his face the right way to light up the currently black tattoo on his face. Virgil blinked. He was really glad he hadn’t just lied in that case. He did not comment on the marking or otherwise indicate he knew what it was. That would breed questions about why he knew what the man was. Why was the man a gardener if he was a multrum? It didn’t make any sense.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

“Kid?” the man said again.

“I don’t want to be here,” Virgil said truthfully.

The man’s tattoo shimmered just slightly, and he paused. He settled himself down in front of him. “Well where do you want to be?”

Virgil shrugged.

The man frowned and then leaned back to grab something out of a bucket under the table. “Here,” the man said. An apple was plopped down in his lap.

Virgil stared down at it in confusion.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted. “I wasn’t here to steal though, promise.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it,” he suggested. “It’s from a new hybrid plant that just started growing fruit.”

Virgil cautiously brought it to his lips and took a bite. “It’s good,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks.”

The man watched him eat for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

Virgil was careful with how he responded. “Hiding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “From what?”

Virgil was not fool enough to say.

“Well, you can’t hide in here,” the man said once he realized Virgil wasn’t going to speak. “I lock it from the outside during the night. How about I walk you back to wherever you’re supposed to be. Where’s that?”

Virgil bit his lip. “The castle,” he said.

He titled his head at Virgil. “Alright,” he agreed. “Come on.” The man offered him a hand and he twitched before slowly taking it. The man pulled him to his feet carefully. He reached over and grabbed another apple from the bucket. “Here, have another one for the road,” he offered.

Virgil looked at it in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “T-thanks.” He stored the apple in his pocket and when he’d looked away, he felt a hand descend on his back.

He yelped and jerked away, eyes wide, but the man was just holding his hand in the air where Virgil’s back had been, looking confused.

“Sorry,” he stuttered. “You just startled me.”

The man eyed him. “Sure kid,” he agreed. “Let’s get along.”

Virgil nodded and followed him out of the shed. He waited for the man as he locked up the shed and then they walked side-by-side to the castle. The man never reached for him again, Virgil noticed.

Virgil found himself shuffling closer to him as other random castle workers passed them, using him as a cover. No one looked at them twice.

The man took him in one of the doors of the castle. It was one near the kitchen if Virgil’s mental map was right.

“Can you find your way from here?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “I know where I am. Thanks.”

“No problem kid,” he replied. He nodded at the bulge in Virgil’s pocket. “If you ever want another one of those apples, I have plenty.”

“Oh,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks for the offer.”

He inclined his head and turned back to leave out through the door they’d come through. Virgil watched him go. Well. That was the weirdest interaction he’d ever had with an adult, but at least all of his limbs were intact. He gulped looking around at the strange hall he was in. For now.

There weren’t many people coming in and out of the kitchen at the moment since dinner had long since passed, but he was still cautious as he took the spiral staircase up. Though most wouldn’t question him in the more public areas of the castle, it still never hurt to be safe. He came out in a large corridor across the way from what he knew was a small dinning hall for important guests. It was still fall, but it was getting late enough in the season that there should not be any guests staying for fear winter may come early and snow them in.

He kept close to the walls as he quickly passed through the dining hall, wincing as his shoes clacked softly on the floor and then turned left. He kept his ears peeled for guards and ducked around corners when he heard people coming, but eventually found himself in the correct hall. It was a hall of large bedrooms used for visiting dignitaries, and he slipped into the first bedroom on the left.

He took a moment to gawk at the large bedroom. Most of the furniture was covered in white cloth to keep it from getting dusty when not in use, but he could still imagine how beautiful it was when someone was staying there, how soft the bed and chairs must be, and how pretty the designs on the wardrobe.

He shook himself and turned his attention to the bed. He crouched down and squirmed underneath it. His arms stretched out, searching along the wall at the head of the bed until he found the loose board. From what Virgil had been told, a dignitary from Faumatia had come here in the spring before their membership in The Alliance was known and planted supplies for this. He grabbed the bag and squirmed back out from under the bed. He opened the bag and pulled out exactly what he’d been told would be there: a knife, some dried meat (which he chose to forgo since he still had the apple), and one sleeping potion enough for the guards who would inevitably stand at the entrance to the hall The King’s bedroom was in.

Then, Virgil settled in to wait for a few more hours until the rest of the castle was asleep. He chewed idly on the second apple he’d been given. He felt a little bad; he wondered if the nice gardener liked his king. Would he make the connection between The King’s assassination and Virgil? Would he feel guilty for helping him even if accidently?

He shook off the thought. He had enough to feel bad about without feeling bad about that too.

He waited for hours before he finally decided it was time to move. The clock had struck 2am a good while ago and everyone but the night guards should be asleep. He stood and snuck back the way he came, past the dinning hall and into another area of the castle. The correct hall was easy enough to find with its two guards posted outside of it. With practiced ease, he kept silent to the shadows and snuck up on them. When he was close enough, he pressed his shirt up against his nose and uncorked the potion, tossing it so the gas it made when hitting oxygen hissed and spiraled up their legs. They were down in a moment and Virgil was running past them, holding his breath. He closed the doors behind him silently.

Now, he just needed to find the king’s bedroom. He imagined the floorplan in his mind. There were two bedrooms in this wing: one for the prince and one for the king. He froze. Which was which? He remembered which doors led to bedrooms, but racking his brain, he couldn’t remember which one they’d said was The King’s.

It was fine. They’d both be asleep at this hour. He’d just check the first bedroom on the left and see if it was the prince or the king. If the prince was sleeping there, he’d back out and go to the next one.

Decided, he took out the knife and crept to the first bedroom door. He turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

Confused eyes met his the moment the door finished opening. It was the prince. What was he doing awake at this hour? The stared at each other for a long moment, both frozen. The prince’s eyes drifted to the knife.

Then, something heavy and flat slammed into the back of his head.

Chapter 3

The figure whose head Patton had just slammed a cookie sheet over tottered forward and fell to the floor; the knife fell limply from its hand onto the floor. Patton immediately stepped forward to kick the weapon away towards Logan. Logan stepped forward to grab it and stored it away quickly at the bottom of the chest at the foot of his bed.

He looked back up at Patton. “T-thank you,” he said.

“Um-huh,” Patton replied, still looking down at the fallen figure. It did not seem like it’d be getting up anytime soon. He slowly lowered the cookie sheet.

He cautiously knelt down next to the person.

“Patton, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I just want to see,” Patton said. He carefully shoved the figure over to its back so he could peer at his face. It was a young boy with a pale face and kinda squiggly dark hair that framed his face unevenly. “Oh,” Patton said softly. “He’s just a baby.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.

“He’s like 12,” Patton said with a frown. “Maybe 13.”

“He also had a knife,” Logan stressed, but he did move closer to get a better look at him. “We should call the guards.”

“But...”

“No, Patton,” Logan said firmly.

“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” Patton tried.

“A misunderstanding?” Logan scoffed. “What? Did he accidently sneak past the guards into royal family’s private hallway and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife?”

Patton looked down at the kid. “Well…”

“He’s clearly an assassin,” Logan said. “We need to call the guards so they can deal with him appropriately.”

“Can we at least wait until he wakes up?” Patton said. “I want to talk to him. Maybe…”

“He’s not a feral cat you can tame.”

Patton bit his lip and looked up at Logan about to do something sorta mean. “But aren’t you curious?” Patton beseeched. “He’s so young. Who would have sent him? Who would have trained him if he’s really an assassin? How’d he get past the guards? Don’t you want to know? They probably wouldn’t tell you if we let the guards take him away.”

Patton could see Logan’s resolve breaking. He was weak to his own curiosity and whoever this kid was, was a curiosity. He sighed. “We’ll have to check him for any weapons before he wakes up, and we’ll have to restrain him.” Patton beamed up at him. “We’ll call the guards and tell Father as soon as we’re done or at the first sign of trouble.”

“Sure,” Patton readily agreed.

“Hmm,” Logan said. “Watch him closely for a couple of seconds.” He ducked through the door to his little work area and then ran back with a corked bottle. “Hmm… can I borrow your bracelets?”

“Sure. Why?” Patton asked, already working them off his own wrists.

“This is a binding potion,” Logan explained, taking the bracelets and pouring a couple of drops carefully on them. “It keeps people locked in place. It’s rather strong though and if I applied it directly on his skin, it’d hurt him and be hard to take off. This way, the bracelets will just act like magical cuffs. They’ll hold his arms in place wherever we need them to be.” He waited for a moment and then tapped his own finger to where he’d applied the potion. “It’s dry” he said.

“Help me get these on him,” Logan said. Patton nodded and grabbed the boy’s thin wrists in his, pulling back the dark sleeves so Logan could snap the brackets on him. Then, Logan grabbed both of his hands and moved them above his head, so they laid against the ground. Patton shifted him around, so he was laying prone. “Okay, now we should make sure he doesn’t have any other weapons on him.”

Patton nodded and they both started awkwardly patting at his clothing, feeling for anything that could be a weapon. “He’s really skinny,” Patton said while his hands brushed across his rib cage.

“Strange,” Logan said. “You would think one would keep your assassins well fed.”

“And older,” Patton pointed out.

“It’ll be another question for when he wakes,” Logan said. “He doesn’t seem to have any other weapons on him.”

“Let’s get him sat up,” Patton suggested, “so he’s easier to talk to.”

Logan nodded, and they worked on pulling him into a sitting position against the wall. The boy made a slight sound at being moved and Logan met his eyes. They quickly finished setting him up and settled his hands next to him on the ground to pin them there.

Then, they both stood back to watch. The boy shifted a bit more and then sucked in a sudden breath. He went tense all over the second before his eyes opened. His head lifted to look at them with absolutely terrified eyes. Logan shifted beside him, clearly about to speak, but Patton’s hand struck out to grab Logan’s shoulder. Logan glanced at him and then stood back.

Patton moved forward to kneel in front of him. “Hey there,” Patton said with a slight smile. The boy seemed to try to curl away from him into the wall. Strangely, he didn’t seem to even attempt to pull against his restraints.

“What’s your name?” Patton asked. He paused but the boy didn’t respond. He just stared at him with scared eyes. “My name’s Patton,” he offered, “and that’s Logan.” The boy glanced at Logan, and then looked away, staring down at his lap. Patton waited, but he didn’t move. Eventually, Patton tilted his head so he could get a look at his face. “Oh, honey,” Patton said. “Are you crying?” Patton reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched back with a sharp inhale but there was very far for him to go. “Hey, it’s okay,” Patton soothed. He gently wiped away a few of the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The boy did not respond, and Patton settled back on his knees with a frown. He glanced at Logan who shrugged. Patton bit his lip in thought for a moment. They weren’t going to be able to speak to him until he calmed down. How could Patton calm him down? Patton’s eyes skirted around the room. The book Logan was reading? No. One of the old fancy crowns they’d borrowed from Thomathy? No. Cookies?

“Are you hungry?” Patton asked the boy. He didn’t confirm verbally, but his head did tilt up in interest. “We have some cookies,” Patton said. He stood, perhaps too quickly because he cowered into the wall as though he expected Patton to lunge at him. Patton smiled apologetically and walked over to the plate they’d luckily stacked the leftover cookies on before Patton had used the cookie sheet for different purposes.

With a smile, he selected a mint chocolate chip cookie from the plate and walked back over to the boy. He was slower this time with his movements, but the kiddo still tracked him carefully with his eyes as he knelt back in front of him. “Here,” Patton offered. “Try this one. It’s my favorite.”

The boy didn’t open his mouth. In fact, he pressed his lips even harder together.

“Come on,” Patton tempted. “They’re really good. It’s my mama’s own recipe and she made them herself. One of the only two people who know how to make them perfect.”

Patton glanced over at Logan and smiled. He got a glare back in return. Patton leaned forward slightly like he was telling the boy a secret. “Logan’s the other person who knows how to make them,” he divulged. “When I was six, my mama got sick for a few days and I was really sad. He wanted to cook me my favorite cookies to cheer me up. He had no idea how to do it, but he was determined. He snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night and tried to make them.” Patton laughed at the memory. “He did really, really bad. Logan hadn’t ever cooked anything before, let alone mint chocolate chip cookies. There was flour everywhere and he managed to break three wooden spoons. But, when mama got better, she taught him how to make them. That way, he can make them for me if she ever can’t.”

Patton offered the treat again. “Come on,” Patton said when he still didn’t move to eat it. “What’s wrong?”

Logan stepped forward suddenly and Patton blinked at him. He reached for the cookie and tore off a small piece of it before offering it to Patton. Patton opened his mouth, confused, and let him pop it into his mouth. He chewed it and swallowed.

“Try again,” Logan said stepping away.

Patton turned back to the boy and held out the cookie. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy opened his mouth. Patton let him take a bite. “See!” he said. “It’s good, huh?”

5020

He chewed and swallowed the bite of cookie. “W-what’s going on?” he finally spoke in a low scratchy tone. Hmm, maybe Patton should get him some water soon.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Patton said. “Lo and I were a bit startled by you showing up in his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“You… knocked me unconscious,” the boy said.

“Well you gave us quite the fright there with that knife of yours.”

The boy seemed to shrink at the reminder.

“Want to tell us what that was about?” Patton asked.

He shook his head, shoulders climbing.

“Let us rephrase,” Logan said calmly. “Clearly you were here to assassinate either my father, myself or both. So, the relevant questions are who sent you to do so and why?” The boy shook his head and Logan frowned. “No?” he asked. “Apologies, but ‘no’ is not a sufficient answer.”

Chapter 4

Logan’s statement did not appear to go over well with the small assassin. He went still and curled over into himself as though to protect his more vulnerable areas. Honestly, Logan thought agitated, Logan hadn’t threatened any bodily harm. He’d even prefaced the statement with an apology even though he didn’t feel as though he had anything to apologize for! Just like father had taught him!

Patton shot him a glare telling him he was somehow in the wrong despite the fact that he’d almost been the one assassinated. Logan grumbled and returned to quietly sulking in the background while Patton cooed at the assassin, trying to cajole him out of the ball he’d wrapped himself into.

Logan did have to admit the situation was odd. He was young. He didn’t even know anyone trained assassins so young. His kingdom did have a guild of trained assassins/spies, but one couldn’t even join the military until one was of age (though they could start training at 16 with special permission) and all assassins must have at least a year of military training before being considered. It would be years more before they were sent out on actual missions.

So, where had this young boy came from? Surely, he wasn’t acting of his own violation especially considering his age and temperament. What was his or whoever had sent him’s greater purpose? One didn’t attempt the risky act of regicide without some reasoning. Why did he only have one weapon? Most hired killers would be provided a backup at the very least and more than likely an arsenal. Why was he acting so skittish? It was a strange attitude for a trained killer.

He had piqued Logan’s curiosity and Logan wanted answers.

“There, see?” Patton was saying, hand feeding more of the cookie to the assassin who looked just as startled by this fact the second time around as the first. “How about a compromise?”

Logan eyed him suspiciously. He was willing to let Patton lead since Logan was well aware of his own shortcomings when it came to tact, but his friend also had a bit of a bleeding heart. Logan refused to let him put himself at risk.

Ironically, the assassin seemed to be on the same page as Logan. His eyes tracked Patton distrustfully. “Compromise?” he echoed.

“Yes!” Patton said, unconcerned with the blatant discomfort in the room.

“We’ll ask you a question and you answer it,” Patton said. “Then you can ask a question and we’ll answer that. Then we can keep going back and forth like that.”

The assassin seemed unsure about this, but he slowly nodded. “What’s your question?” he asked.

Patton looked back at Logan and inclined his head. Logan took a step forward. “Who are you?” Logan asked. The assassin hesitated.

“Maybe a more specific question,” Patton suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time and ‘who are you?’ is a bit of a big question. There are so many different answers!”

“Very well,” Logan agreed. “Let’s start with, what’s your name?”

The assassin considered him, looking overly cautious for such a mundane question. “It’s Virgil,” he said after a moment.

“Last name?” Logan prompted.

“I-” he hesitated, looking distressed. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?” Logan asked.

And… he was curling up into a ball again. “Sorry,” he said softly. He started to cry again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, hey,” Patton soothed. “That was good.”

Logan frowned. It was not ‘good’. It had given them basically no information. “Why-”

“It’s Virgil’s turn to ask a question, Logan,” Patton said. Logan almost groaned. This was going to take forever, wasn’t it?

Virgil’s eyes bounced between them. “Why haven’t you called someone to take me away yet?” he asked.

“We wanted to ask you a few questions ourselves before getting the castle guards involved,” Logan answered.

“Are…” he shut his mouth, likely realizing he’d have to wait for his next question.

Logan considered him. “Why do you have no last name?” Logan asked.

Virgil looked away. “I’m an orphan. I don’t know who my parents were, and no one bothered to give me one.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Logan acknowledged. “And your question.”

“Are…” Virgil said. “Are you going to torture me if I don’t answer something right?”

Patton made a little pained exhale.

“Why would we do that?” Logan asked.

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” he replied.

“Where the hell are you from where that’s a question?”

“Why the hell should I tell you?”

“Why the hell would you be defending a place that makes you think that a normal question?”

“What the fuck are you even on about?”

“Okay,” Patton cut Logan off before he retorted in kind. “I think that’s enough of the question game at the moment.” He stood up and walked back over to the plate of cookies.

“He-” Logan started to grouse and got a sugar cookie pushed into his mouth to silence him.

Logan frowned at him around the cookie as he went back and offered the other cookie to Virgil. Virgil turned his head away from it. Logan’s eyes watched the assassin as Patton thought for a moment and then took a bit of cookie off and ate it himself before offering the cookie again. He was a suspicious thing, Logan thought as the boy slowly ate a bite of cookie himself.

It made Logan’s curiosity itch even more, but at this rate he wasn’t going to get any answers. He polished off the sugar cookie and then walked over to sit on the floor next to where Patton was kneeling.

Virgil watched him move and Logan met his eye. “No, by the way,” Logan thought to answer. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Logan tried not to bristle at the disbelieving look on his face. Logically that distrust had nothing to do with Logan personally, but with whatever his experiences were before this.

Logan tilted his head at him. “Why the one knife?”

Virgil blinked at him. “What?”

“The knife,” Logan reiterated. “You were clearly here to use it, but you only have one. It seems odd.”

“Uh…” Virgil said. “I don’t know. That’s all they gave me.”

Logan nodded. “Me or my dad?” he asked. “Or both?”

Virgil clearly didn’t want to answer. “The king,” he said.

Logan nodded and it suddenly hit him exactly what would have happened if he and Patton hadn’t happened to be awake. Virgil seemed to see the realization. He braced himself as though expecting to be struck. Logan felt suddenly nauseous, the idea of a dead father hitting a bit too close to home after…

“And the guards?” Logan asked.

“I didn’t,” Virgil rushed to say. “Just a sleeping potion.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “Good.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Virgil asked.

“We’ll hand you over to the guards,” Logan said. “They’ll figure out what to do with you from there.”

#proofread stories #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas #assassination attempt #knives #implied/referenced child abuse #torture mentioned

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