#between work and church and group events and sleep. most of my day is used up.

[draconicsorceress]

Please find and enjoy below, my first one-shot (smut -shot?) with original characters. I've been writing this forever and it finally felt ready to post!

M!Demon x F!Reader, 4.2k words

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43453942

Tw for explicit sexual content, hints of religious trauma, passing mention of arranged marriage and sexual harassment. NSFW content below the cut.

In the House of the Father

If there was one place from your childhood that you could say was like a second home to you, it was your daddy's church. He was a preacher like his father and grandfather, and like your brother would be one day. You had grown up in the sanctuary, from helping to pass the communion and offering plates to leading worship and children's Sunday school to teaching classes in the yearly Vacation Bible School over the summer. All the members and attendees knew you and your brother, perfect little twin angels with hearts for Jesus.

No one could have guessed the reality.

Your father had been stealing from the church for the entirety of his ministry. He and your mother had both conducted secret adulterous affairs, both also bribing your brother after he had caught them on separate occasions. As for your brother, when he wasn't blackmailing your parents he was bullying and sexually harassing the younger children in the youth group. A roiling shitstorm bubbled just below the perfect, pristine exterior your family showed to the world.

And how did you, the most sheltered and innocent member of the family, know all this?

The demon you were sleeping with had told you all about it.

On your eighteenth birthday, some friends had coaxed you into joining them in the forest to try a ritual meant to summon a demon. You could tell they didn't really believe it would work, but they kept joking about you being the virgin sacrifice if it did. Naturally it did work, producing a demon nearly seven feet tall with blood-red skin and black hair and horns. Everyone but you had run scared, leaving you behind as though you really were the proverbial sacrifice. The demon had approached you, curious at your stillness. You whispered a prayer, something from the Psalms, and he laughed and told you that your God was not listening. Silent with shock, you learned from this terrifying creature that Jehovah no longer gives any heed to any happenings on earth.

Now he is teaching you every carnal pleasure known to mankind.

And because the land on which your father's little non-denominational church rests isn't properly hallowed, his favorite classroom is the sanctuary.

That's where you are now, spread out in front of the podium your father preaches from on Sundays, the skirt of your simple cotton summer dress bunched up around your waist and your lacy black panties clutched in your demon's bitten-short claws, wound around the fingers that grip your hips while his tongue flutters, delves, laves at your dripping pussy. When you moan involuntarily, his mouth abandons your swollen folds briefly to hush you.

"Shh, angel… what if someone's around to hear us?"

You know that there isn't, since you're the closest thing the church has to a cleaner and no events are ever scheduled for Saturdays; but the gravely baritone of his voice imploring you to be silent makes you wetter than you thought possible. Swallowing thickly, you nod.

"Good girl," he purrs, giving another teasing lick up and down your dripping slit with his double-tipped tongue. He moves slowly, as though he's savoring the taste of your wetness. You languish under his sinful caresses, whimpering soundlessly, the tiny squeaks your throat wants to make becoming nothing more than hitches in your breathing.

"God damn it, you're so good," he groans into you before covering your vulva with his almost-too-hot mouth, thrusting his tongue into you as deep as he can before zeroing in on your clit. "I love when you obey me." The words bite out from between his fangs and he seals his lips around your sensitive pearl of flesh, sucking and flicking with the twin tips of his tongue.

Your hips roll against his face and you gasp for air, wanting the finishing stroke but knowing if he gives it to you you'll scream. All you can manage to communicate is a strangled "please" as breath rushes in and out of your lungs, in time with the throbbing of your over-sensitive pussy.

"Please what?" The demon's wicked yellow eyes meet yours, his mouth still working between your legs.

Your poor fried brain struggles to find the words to answer his question. "Please… let me cum," you breathe finally.

He chuckles darkly. "What a good little girl, to beg me so politely," he says around his mouthful of your flesh, sucking sharply on your clit. "Do it again. Use my name."

"Please, Samael, I need it," you hear yourself whimper pathetically. "I need to cum for you."

Growling almost too loudly, your demon attacks with renewed vigor, licking and sucking at you as if in a frenzy, using every trick he's learned you like. His fingers, burning hot as the rest of him, find their way to your entrance and thrust into you. "I can't say no to you, angel," he purrs, the vibrations of his voice driving you to an excruciating edge, and with his fingers twisting in your cunt you come undone on his tongue and light explodes behind your eyelids and you can feel the ecstasy sizzling like an electric current in your veins. You seize his great black horns and press his face into your pussy, and he grazes your mound with his fangs, sending sparks flying off the ends of your nerves. Your back arches up off the floor and your cunt trembles, contractions rippling through your muscles as he continues to work his fingers in you.

You whine as his assault on your pussy continues, driving you to the point of overstimulation. Thighs shaking out of control, you try to drag him off of you by your tenuous grip on his horns, but he doesn't budge. His tongue curls around your clit and sucks sharply. Too sharply. A high-pitched squeal is forced out of you and he claps a hand over your mouth.

"Sh-sh-sh." He comes up from between your thighs, grazing your belly with kisses on his way up to claim your mouth. The lower half of his face is wet and slick with your juices, and you can taste yourself on his lips. "Did I hurt you, angel?" he asks you between gentle kisses.

You shake your head, whimpering softly against his mouth. "It was just… too much."

"Well, you can have a break for a little while. It sounds like someone is coming." One long, pointed ear twitches, listening to something your human senses can't pick up. He presses one last chaste kiss to your lips before dissolving into gray smoke.

Swiftly, you arrange your dress back into place, covering your legs. Your panties are nowhere to be seen; Samael must have taken them.

Your father walks into the sanctuary before you manage to get to your feet, so he finds you sitting on the steps in front of the podium. "You aren't through yet? What are you doing sitting around?" he asks coldly.

"I was just taking a break to pray." The lie falls easily from your lips, sticky with your own slick mixed with demon saliva.

The pastor huffs slightly. "Don't take too long. And don't forget to lock up when you come home.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and to your dismay, continues talking. “Kenny came by after lunch. He wanted to talk to you and I both, but I had to tell him you weren’t home. He was disappointed.” Your father’s slight southern drawl, usually so jovial, is chilling.

“I hope you expressed my regret at missing him,” you lie through your teeth, like the polite lady your parents think they’ve raised. Kenny is a new member of the church, and has been pestering you for the past six months with your father’s encouragement. You avoid him when you can, and this afternoon you were thrilled to take the opportunity to both dodge Kenny and spend time with Samael.

“I did. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe it.”

Starting to get agitated, you rise to your feet. “He comes calling every weekend, is it so bad if I’m unable to see him one day?”

“Sweetheart, I want to make sure you’re taken care of. Your mother and I won’t be around forever.”

You take a deep breath and try to focus on staying calm. Counting down from twenty, you try not to think about Kenny asking your father for your hand. “I’m nineteen, Dad. Are you really trying to marry me off to a forty-year-old man already?”

“We’re not having this discussion tonight. I’ll see you when you get home. Don’t be too much longer.”

He steps out of the sanctuary, not noticing your grimace. After the door falls slowly closed, you return to your task of dusting the pews, abandoned an hour ago when Samael had appeared to ravish you with his mouth. Shortly afterwards, you hear the front door close behind your father.

"I thought he'd never leave."

You whirl around in surprise to see Samael leaning against the altar behind the podium. His lascivious grin turns your insides to jelly and makes your knees weak. "I didn't know you were back!"

"I'm never far, angel. Now, what do you say we pick up where we left off?" He curls one long finger, beckoning you to him.

You feel like you couldn't resist even if you wanted to, and you throw yourself into his strong, hot arms. Your skin practically sizzles where he touches you and you moan against the skin of his neck. You start to kiss a trail down his bare chest, flicking his nipple with your tongue on the way down.

"Ah, angel… is this how you want to repay me for your pleasure?"

"I was thinking something more like this," you respond, lowering yourself to your knees in front of him. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he frees his cock from his black leather pants, letting you brush your lips across the tip. He has the most beautiful penis you've ever seen, long and thick and veiny, symmetrical with a slight upward curve that stimulates your g-spot incredibly. For now you use your mouth, tongue swirling around the head and running gently through the slit at the tip.

He growls in satisfaction, laying his hand on top of your head and urging you to take more of him into your mouth. When you comply, he moans openly. "Mark this, Yahweh," he shouts to the ceiling, his grip tightening in your hair. "This loyal follower of yours, on her knees for me. Serving me, in your house."

Your heart thunders in your chest, your lover's words both terrifying and exciting you. He had assured you long ago that God no longer paid attention to anything said on Earth; but his blasphemous taunts still… well, they freak you out a little. The first eighteen years of your life you had been taught to speak of and to God with only the utmost respect, and now you couple with a partner who hurls insults and obscenities to the sky with triumph in his voice. It's taken some getting used to, to say the least.

His hand presses more firmly on the back of your head and you obey, opening your throat to allow him to thrust deeper into your mouth. He groans as his abs tense, making his hips cant forward and seating himself almost to the hilt between your lips. You clutch at his hips, tracing the lines and ridges of his muscles with deft fingertips. He pumps into your throat, fucking your face for several heartbeats before you tap his thigh, signaling your need for breath. When he extracts himself from your mouth, a long, thin string of saliva keeps your friction-plumped lower lip connected to his glistening cock. You take him in hand, spreading the wetness from your mouth over the entirety of his length before going down on him again, tasting the salt of his precum and the sweet musk of his skin.

"What have you given her?" Samael growls through his teeth. Your vision jerks upward, but you realize he isn't talking to you. "That bastard of a father? A bitch of a mother? No wonder she plays the harlot for the demons of hell; the God of heaven neglects her while devils ravish and please her. Just look at her: fellating me so eagerly, like she's hungry for my seed."

You swirl your tongue around his head once more before releasing him. "My mouth is hungry for you, but my cunt is hungrier."

His eyes sparkle down at you. "Hear her admission," he whispers to God's deaf ears. "Hear her asking me to fill her womb. Will she bear me a child? Only you know, oh omniscient one." His voice drips sarcasm like a poison with those last words. He reaches down to help you to your feet, then lifts you up to sit on the altar. His hips nudge your knees apart as he tugs your skirt up. When his mouth finds yours, he kisses you softly, almost tenderly, as he pets you gently between your legs. One finger, claw short and blunted, tests your opening. He makes a sound that is half growl, half moan when he finds you soaked for him, and he pushes you gently onto your back to climb on top of you.

As your demon lover mounts you, you're acutely aware of where you are: prostrate atop what is supposed to be a sacred altar to God, legs spread for an abomination, a fallen angel, a fiend from hell. The thought sends another gush of wetness through your pussy, and when Samael lines himself up to enter you he slides in with no resistance.

The preliminaries are short, and soon he's fucking you mercilessly, slamming into you as though to crush you between his body and the stone of the altar. You've grown accustomed to his violent style of copulation, even enjoying it. You let the sparks fly through your body, raking your nails down his back as he grunts his growing pleasure against your neck. You hear your name on a soft moan and you run your fingers through his long, silky mane of black hair. His rhythm stutters for just a moment as he murmurs words of adoration and praise in a long-dead language. When he picks up the pace again, he lays into you with more force than you've ever felt before, and you wrap every limb around him to welcome his onslaught.

On a series of particularly brutal thrusts, you hear a loud crack and he stills. "Are you alright?" he lifts his head to ask you, eyes confused and concerned.

You nod. "I'm fine. What was that sound?"

He looks down and his lips curl into his most devilish smile. "Angel, we broke the altar."

Your jaw drops open.

He chuckles at your expression of shock. "To be fair, it was flimsier than I thought it would be. Here, let me rearrange…" He sits back on his heels, grasping your hips and pulling your ass into his lap. Once you're situated, he lines himself up and thrusts into you, flicking your clit with his thumb experimentally.

You writhe desperately, twisting and bucking your hips until he gives you more, again railing into you at a breakneck pace. Rapidly climbing to the summit, you beg him not to stop, to let you cum with him, to cum inside you.

The latter gives him brief pause, and his movements slow. "Are you sure, angel? You know what might-"

"I'm sure," you rasp, rolling your hips to keep the friction going, balancing yourself on the razor's edge. "Please, fill me. I-I want your cum inside me."

His yellow eyes, fixed on your face, darken considerably when you make that plea. His hips began to piston again, changing the angle so he hits your g-spot repeatedly while he thumbs your clit. You will certainly not last and he will be sure of it.

"Say my name when you cum, angel," he demands, his body working yours skillfully. You can tell he's about to push you over the edge, all he's waiting for is your acceptance of his terms.

"Yes, Samael," you simper pitifully. "My lord, my life, my master. I'll do anything you say."

When you feel the pleasure begin to overwhelm you, you become a babbling mess, chanting his name over and over, and he thrusts into you so deep and so hard that your orgasm blinds you, your inner walls gripping and pulsing around the demon's cock. You're still twitching and moaning, just starting to come down from the absurdly high peak when he falters, his face contorted with agonizing pleasure as he comes unwound inside you. The rush of heat within you almost burns, it's so hot; but you relish it, wrapping your legs around Samael's waist to pull him deeper into you.

Eventually his ragged breaths even out, and he moves to extract himself from you. You pout slightly, but you release him from your leglock and allow him to lower your butt back down to the smooth stone of the altar. When he slips from within you, you pull your knees to your chest to trap his semen inside, tipping your hips up just a bit to make it run up into your womb.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice shaky. You've seen Samael post-orgasmic dozens of times, but this was the first time he'd finished inside you. He looks almost vulnerable, the usually very sharp, aggressive features of his face softened with… exhaustion? Satisfaction? Pleasure? You can't quite place the look of it. When he comes around to the side of the altar to stroke and kiss you, you let him. One hand pushes back a few sweaty tendrils of hair from your temples, plastered there by exertion; the other tilts your chin up, giving him easier access to your mouth. A handful of kisses land there before his lips start traveling southward, gently nipping at the soft skin of your neck. His fangs barely graze you, and you wiggle in excitement.

"Exquisite woman," he murmurs into your neck. "If demons could dream, I would worry that I'm about to wake up."

Gently, you card your fingers through his hair, stirring up a subtle hint of the scent of hell: smoke and sulphur. By now you're used to it, even growing to like it by association with being close to him.

When he pulls away, you let him, trailing your fingers across his shoulder and down his arm. He catches your hand and squeezes it gently. "Come, let me help you clean up. I don't want your father to be angry with you for your lateness."

Instead of sitting up when he tugs on your hand, you let your body relax, going fully limp on the stone table. You're not ready for him to send you home yet, and you're determined to drag your feet as much as possible to prolong your time with your lover.

"Angel." The tone of his voice is as though he's talking to a recalcitrant child.

"Please, Samael. Don't make me leave you." Your voice is soft, beseeching, and your eyes hazy and pleading. He's never successfully denied you when you do this.

This time appears to be no exception. He sits on the edge of the altar, still holding your hand. "You know, eventually someone is going to catch on to you. Imagine what would happen. What would your parents think?" He pauses, a sparkle in his wicked yellow eyes, and his tone changes. "What would Kenny think?"

He's teasing you, and you roll your eyes. He knows you don't give half a shit what Kenny thinks of you. "Gee, I don't know. I guess he'll just have to find some other barely-legal girl to pester." You roll your hips again, the blistering heat inside you beginning to cool. "Isn't thirty-eight a little old to be pursuing a teenager?"

“You know very well that isn’t the only reason I won’t have him." Another gentle tilt of your hips. "He's gross and weird, and he looks like his last wife died in his basement. Besides," you catch his eye, "I have the attention of someone much more intriguing, and handsome, and powerful, and sharp, and wicked, and-"

Samael snorts in amusement. "Angel, I am millennia old. You find nothing objectionable about our trysts, yet you reject a human suitor for being twice your own age." He shakes his great horned head. "I am perplexed by human behavior."

He cuts you off with a searing kiss. His tongue plunders your mouth, leaving you breathless when he pulls away. "You are the most miraculous woman in humanity," he growls, his breath feathering over your lips making you shiver with glee. "What I wouldn't give to have you as my own. I would keep you like an empress; attended to by servants and slaves, never to lift a finger yourself. I would parade you from one end of the world to the other, and then through hell itself. How I would relish the faces of men and devils alike, jealous of me and admiring of you."

You feel a blush rise in your cheeks. When the two of you first took up together, he would joke about stealing you away and keeping you as a pet. His tone is much more earnest now, talking about making you his mate, caring for you, providing for you. Your coy refusals remain part of the banter, but it is becoming harder to say no to him.

"Please, cor meum," he whispers as his mouth trails down your neck, nibbling at your collarbone. "Let me make you mine."

You hesitate, and his tongue traces the low neckline of your dress, teasing the gentle swell of your breasts. The no on the tip of your tongue is forced back when you gulp for air. "Not tonight," you say instead, meeting his eyes as he raises his head. You give him a smile that you hope comes across as coy, but you can tell that the effect he's had on you shows in your expression.

Samael's eyes are strangely sad, but he smiles back and nods. "Whether you decide to come with me or not, I'm yours as long as you'll have me." He strokes your hair gently and presses one more kiss to your cheek before helping you sit up and handing your balled-up panties back to you.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" you ask as you slip the lacy undergarment back under the skirt of your dress. You know that you sound all too eager, but you don't care.

The devilish spark reignites in Samael's eyes. "Of course, angel. I wouldn't miss my favorite day with you."

Your cheeks flush with heat as a smile cracks on your face. "In the basement? Ten o'clock?"

"Just like last week."

Something deep in your belly quivers as last week returns to you in a flash. Both of you breathing hard, the hot bursts of his breath contrasting the cool underground air. His searing touch under your shirt, fondling your breasts and pushing you up against the hard concrete wall. He had demanded that you beg for your orgasm, just as he had tonight, and you had complied. You had to bite down on his shoulder to muffle your scream of completion, and he had withdrawn swiftly and roughly to spend his release onto your belly and thighs.

Samael draws you back to the present with a warm hand, gently taking your own and bringing it to his lips.

He helps you down from the altar and walks with you to the door, pausing while you collect your things. At the heavy wooden door, he clasps your hands in his and raises them to his mouth again, kissing the knuckles of each hand with what you would almost call reverence, a combination of mischief and awe in his eyes. You feel yourself blushing and have to look away from his penetrating gaze, casting your eyes back into the sanctuary.

The hideous carpeting, the abhorrent tile, the walls devoid of iconography because your parents insist it's "idolatry," but was in reality the reason Samael was able to enter the building in the first place. Your eyes fall on the altar and you cringe: the flat slab of stone on top is split clean in half, and some of the bricks beneath it are crushed. Dust and pebbles litter the ground around the base. A wet stain hints at the debauchery that took place on top of this supposedly-sacred table of the Lord.

"Quite a number we did on it, eh Angel?" You can hear the mischief in your lover's voice and you turn back to see that his gaze had followed yours.

"I just wish I didn't have to be here when they find it tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be blamed for it."

Samael's eyes turn back to you, serious for a moment, and he snaps his fingers. A sound like rending stone echoes through the building, and when you look back at the altar it's in perfect repair.

Your jaw drops. "I didn't know you could do that."

"For you, Angel? Anything." Samael pushes the sanctuary door open and ushers you through it. "Besides," he adds, mischief returning to his yellow eyes, "we can always break it again later."

***Latin translation: Cor meum - my heart

#my writing #do not repost #not safe for waluigi #this is pwp #demon boyfriend #tw religious trauma #tw religious mention #tw christianity #tw harassment mention #feels

[honeytea8]

✨✨La Squadra Boyfriend Headcanons✨✨

[Alexa, play Boyfriend by Big Time Rush]

Guys, I spend an ungodly amount of time thinking about La Squadra, so here are some bf headcanons for the sexiest group of assassins in Naples. No one asked but I am bringing it straight to your dash anyway! (under the cut for length lmao)

I’m going to start with Prosciutto, who has recently fallen on my radar pretty heavy! 

He’s a good and decent boyfriend, if not a busy one. Not that he doesn’t care about the relationship, but most of his energy was going to Passione things before you waltzed in and so he’ll struggle a bit between his work responsibilities and maintaining his relationship with you, but only in the beginning. 

If you are also a part of Passione, it’s a hell of a lot easier to manage. 

I see Prosciutto as the gift-giving type: lingerie, sweets, perfume, designers, etc. His salary isn’t the best, but he manages it as well as he can just to accommodate you! 

I just can’t get the idea out of my head that Pro was raised by a strict mama, that’s why he can be a bit of a stickler sometimes. He’ll catch you still lounging in bed at nine am, and be like “Why are you still in bed? Get dressed, we’re going out.” Dude!

I’m sorry to say, but Prosciutto is absolutely the ‘lecturing’ type. (He lectured someone in nearly every scene in the anime, Formaggio once and Pesci numerously and Bucci too) 

He will lecture you when you make mistakes, especially because as his s/o, he has high expectations for you and believes you’re capable of so much more. It’s never, ever out of hate. He loves you, and that’s why he chides you a bit lol. 

This does not negate the fact that he doesn't mind when you lean on him for support. He likes when you count on him, because he always comes through especially for you!

Depending on whether you’re in the mafia or not, I totally see him sparring with you, or working out with you in an effort to make you tough. Prosciutto wants you to be able to defend yourself, just in case. If you complain, he’ll tell you, “Better safe than sorry, tesoro”.

Prosciutto will respect you, period.

A good listener, goddamn! He’s up there with Risotto when it comes to who listens to their s/o more! If you have an issue, he’ll hear you out and offer advice if you want it. If you give him advice, he’ll take it into serious consideration. He’s honestly a good partner, can’t stress that enough.

Finally, sex with Pro is an entire event. Romantic dinner, candles lit, wine, the whole nine yards before he gives you nine inches of something else :) (I’m kidding!! Lmao, kinda). 

But as I said, Prosciutto is quite deliberate, and a bit of a perfectionist. He knows what to do and how to do it, you can trust him.

Ghiaccio is next only because he’s my favorite. 

The ice gremlin is probably the most interesting (and hilarious) boyfriend out of the bunch (I say this with only a tidbit of bias). He isn’t funny himself, but funny shit just happens to him. 

Because of this, he will use you as a soundboard when everyone else refuses to listen to him. He’s got a lot to say, so be prepared for his TEDtalks. LMAO!

It will take some perception on your part to notice when he actually expects a response from you, and other times he’s just ranting to get his point out. 

He will correct your grammar when you text, but barely notices when he makes a similar mistake (his brain moves in mph). Please use the proper names like Venezia, Italia, Roma and Napoli when talking to this man; save yourself from the headache.

When it comes to dates, please have mercy on him, he’s a textbook over-thinker! You’ll just have to plan something simple at home for you both to enjoy. 

He isn’t incapable of planning dates, but he’ll want everything to be so absolutely perfect for his s/o and will throw a fit when it ultimately isn’t. 

Contrary to popular belief, I think that Ghiaccio is a pretty attentive partner. He’s super intelligent and I think a part of it stems from his innate ability to read people (I’m referencing the part in the anime where he deduced what Giorno and Mista had come to look for, while going off very little information). 

The more time he spends with you, the better he gets at it. 

His form of affection will be shown through the amount of time you both spend together. When it comes to sex or anything related to that, be gentle and slow as Ghiaccio will likely be a flustered mess. 

As he becomes more comfortable and confident, he will be bolder and just ask out right if you’ll suck him off tonight or not. The man appreciates directness, so don’t bother being coy. “You want me to give you head? Cool, lay down a towel or something.” is what he’ll probably say.

Very practical 👌🏾👌🏾

Melone, good lord, he’s kind of perfect. 

A bit of a doting boyfriend here and there—very much concerned about your health. Expect him to ask if you’ve eaten, or taken your multivitamin. How are your bowel movements?  LMAO

It can become a bit much, but he really genuinely cares. He’s not asking to be intrusive or nasty! If he was, you’d know. 🤣

But I seriously consider Melone to be the one (at least among La Squadra) who is way, way invested in his relationships. He will know every little detail about you; will ask you lots of questions and expects you to ask him just as many. 

This may be annoying to some, but this dude will definitely bring up your horoscope in an argument. He’ll be like “I honestly can’t fathom why you’re being this way, though it’s to be expected from a libra.” 

Peg this bitch so he can shut up.  

Melone is also touchy as hell, but not in a clingy way. He loves touching, and just to tag onto the headcanon about his partial blindness, I want to say that he’s so touchy because that’s how he ‘sees’ you best.

Just know that half the time, he isn’t touching you to be lecherous, even if he genuinely does like the feel of your skin under his fingertips. Melone will even encourage you to touch him back. 

Rub his thigh or back and he’ll be simping.

He is obsessed with your legs, and will paint your toes if you let him. 

LOVES PDA! Melone will also tongue-kiss you in public if you let him!

Notice how I keep saying ‘if you let him’. Give him an inch and he’ll press you for a mile, so if there are boundaries you would like to establish, please do, cuz he sure as hell won’t, just saying!

When it comes to sex, Melone is a dick and coochie sensei. Oral is his favorite thing to do, probably enjoys giving more than receiving to be honest. I’d say he’s pretty much mastered sex for what it is. 

That being said, if he’s ever talking out of his neck, just invite him to put his mouth to better use. He’ll even thank you for your gracious request.

Formaggio is next 💀 

According to my JoJo compatriots from discord, he’s like the Optimus Prime of fuckboi’s so let’s ride that wave for a bit! LMAO

I hope it doesn’t come as a surprise that Formaggio is pretty shameless. He will send you a dick pic on Sunday morning before church and have the audacity to say “Just wanted to bless you real quick”. 

@autumn-kouhai mentioned him giving his s/o sickly sweet pet names and I just have to agree. 

Expect to be hit upside the head with: baby-boo, sugar plum, honey bunches, sweetums. I can imagine them becoming really ridiculous too like “the last piece of red velvet cake” or “cheddar bae biscuits from Red Lobster”

His catch phrase is “Got nudes?”

Send them, and he won’t be afraid to reply with something equally sexy. 

Be warned though, he will stockpile whatever you send him and then be careless with his phone. If you don’t mind Illuso’s snoopy ass seeing your nudes then by all means, have at it. Otherwise, send them through snapchat, so they disappear later. 

As far as La Squadra boyfriends go, he’s the most fun! Y’all don’t even go anywhere because man’s is broke. BUT, Formaggio knows how to have a good time without any need to spend money (my kind of dude tbh) you guys just crank up the tunes, dance, and get lit until the neighbors complain. 

Formi is also the CEO of jokes/memes, and will have you in absolute tears almost always! I literally tell my friends that funny guys are so dangerous, don’t sleep on them! They will make you laugh until your panties drop, it’s magic, I swear. Formaggio has that same energy. 

No matter how bad of a day his s/o is having, rest assured, he will draw the biggest laugh out of you.

Besides his fuckboi tendencies, his most redeeming quality is the fact that he’s super cool and fun to hang with. You’ll literally have a good time, always, because his energy is right! Very good vibes around this man, I swear! It’ll be exactly like dating your best friend, because essentially, he will be your bestie.

Formi has many moments of tenderness that aren’t sexually charged too—moments where the jokes stop and he’ll just rub your back or feet, this is usually when you aren’t feeling well and need some quiet. 

However, Formaggio won’t let you mope all day, he’ll pull out the big guns and call you his “sweetie baby” and when you try to resist he’ll say “What, I’m just tryna show you some love.”

He’s a good dude lmao I’d date a guy like him irl 😭

Pesci stans wya??! Let’s get into this baby boy. 

Pesci is boyfriend material, idgaf what anyone says. 

He is pretty much the least problematic to be with among all of La Squadra, even more so than Risotto (don’t argue with me). 

Pesci is hyper aware of your likes and dislikes and will literally go out of his way to make sure that you’re well and okay. 

Arguments are basically nonexistent and if they occur it ain’t coming from his side. 

I also think that Pesci has a lot of empathy, so when you’re going through something, he’s right there in the thick of it with you. If you’ve seen that meme that goes ‘when my gf is on her period it’s UterUS’ lmao that’s Pesci’s energy 100%. 

Sometimes, he’s more of a lover and not a fight, that is perfectly okay!

However, if someone tries up his s/o, say farewell to Mr. Niceguy. He will defend your honor to his dying breath. And with you in his corner, trust me, he’s not going down. 

A romantic at heart, Pesci will plan little date trips like picnics in the park or boat trips to Capri, actually, I’d like to point out that he excels in the art of date planning. If you’re the adventurous type, he’ll plan outings where you both will be more active, like biking through the city or renting a mop-ed and going sight-seeing. 

Because Pesci has a sensitive stomach, he’s very much considerate of what you both put in your bodies. If you have dietary restrictions or allergies, this guy knows all about it and will cater to you perfectly. 

A true gentleman through and through, he will never force himself on you, ever. In fact, he really doesn’t like engaging in anything sexual when you’re drunk or high, sorry if you’re into that! 

Pesci is the kind of guy who keeps up with your favorite shows.

If ya’ll have similar taste in media or literature, he will immerse himself in it so that he can relate to you all the more.

If there’s anyone who will entertain anime-related discourse, no matter how nonsensical, it’s Pesci. And he isn’t just putting up with it, he’s actively engaging in the conversation so you are always heard and validated. 

He’s an A+ boyfriend, that’s all I gotta say! Haters can stay mad :)

Goddamn Illuso... idk man.

I really feel like you have to have thick/tough skin to handle this guy, for various reasons. 

The first being that Illuso can be a bit mean at first. He’ll push your buttons on purpose just to see what’ll make you tick. Will tease the living heck out of you, always, kind of a bully lmao but not to the extreme, it’s just his brand of humor—and the thing is, he won’t be mad when you dish it right back, so it’s cool. 

Secondly, Illuso has big dick energy!! 

I mean rightfully so, because he is indeed packing! But my word, he ain’t humble about it at all! 

He is not above making jokes about ‘splitting you in half’. In fact all of his jokes have hidden, dirty undertones! 

His affection is shown through speech mostly. Illuso will drop subtle innuendos and provocations, half to see you flustered and half because he wants you to know how much he wants you. 

Illuso isn’t incredibly vocal about his feelings outside of ‘I’m tryna hit that thang’ but you won’t doubt that he loves you because Illuso doesn’t waste his own time. 

If he’s spending his time with you, you can rest assured that it’s because he wants to. 

Illuso is a voyeur and you’ll just have to understand/accept that and move on. 

He loves watching you and will even creep over to your place through the mirror world just to hang or watch you do chores. Loves to surprise you and give you jump scares lmao it’ll make you a tad paranoid but it’s also fun. 

Illuso is prone to random bouts of sweetness; it’s very sporadic, very touch-and-go. 

One day, you’ll wake up to chocolates on your dresser or new shoes, lingerie, or makeup if you wear it. I imagine that if you’re low on funds, he will even help you buy your groceries that week. 

It’ll surprise the hell out of you, but that’s just how Illuso is. He enjoys keeping you on your toes! 

He’s prideful and smug as hell, so he will definitely expect a thank you, because even if he does it out of the kindness in his heart, he also wants to hear that you appreciate him

Same goes for the bedroom scene. Illuso loves making you vocal, it’s his favorite thing in the world, so he’ll make a game out of doing the things that get the biggest reaction out of you. Like I said, it's that big dick energy at work here, smh.

Sorbet and Gelato in a polyamorous relationship with you? Let’s get it! 

We don’t get anything substantial about these two except that Sorbet follows the money, so these are all personal headcanons for how I see and write them. 

Here’s the juice: when it comes to you as their s/o, these two are possessive as hell. You are theirs and that’s that on that! 😭 Don’t ask questions, just go with it.

Sorbet is the chill one of the duo. He can be a bit smug at times, but he’s mostly a laid back dude who doesn’t get bothered by much.

When it comes to you, Sorbet likes to spend quality time with you more than anything, and will ask you to cook for him at your place so he ain’t gotta spend money. Oh? Did I not mention that I kinda think of him as a cheapskate? Lmao cuz I do.

Sorbet will come by your place just to steal your coupons from the mail then head out; you’re not using ‘em so why should he let them go to waste?

Gelato is the complete opposite; personality wise, I headcanon him as a mix between Melone and Formaggio lmao

But it’s not as crazy as it sounds, he’s cute and outspoken like Melone, while maintaining a free-spirit like Formaggio. One quality that I like is that he’s quite devoted to you and Sorbet. If anyone crosses either of you, goodluck to them!

I like to think Gelato’s also just really boujee and high maintenance. He loves to pamper and be pampered. You and him tag-team Sorbet’s wallet and go on spa dates together at his expense (not that he ever really stood a chance)

While Sorbet is cool with just being in the same room as you, Gelato loves hugging/cuddling with you and Sorbet—will definitely fight for the middle spot between the two of you on the couch during movie nights.

He baby, so let him have it lol

In the bedroom, I would salute anyone with the guts to take the two of them on. They both lay down that work, period. 

Sorbet gets his kicks from teasing and edging you (his sadistic side comes out a bit), while Gelato loves when you give him extra TLC. To put it short, they know how to take care of you, so there are no issues there. 

Last but not least, Mr. Risotto Nero himself.

Man, idc on the lowest of keys, he seems a little bit like a grandpa to me

The type to sit at home and do crosswords, has a bird feeder in his yard and plays old Italian hits while washing the dishes. It’s very domestic 💀 (I find it cute, whatever!)

As a boyfriend, I can’t imagine him suddenly being spontaneous or outgoing unless you drag him out of his home/comfort zone.

Be patient with Mr. Nero, and he can come to surprise you

After a while, it won’t be just you dragging him out and about; one day he’ll ask you to come over and you’ll be greeted with a nice, traditional, homemade meal

Pay attention and you will notice him watching your face to see if you like his cooking 🥺

After seeing his fight with Doppio, I must admit that Risotto is very, very observant, almost scarily so.

I can totally picture him pointing out random things about his s/o that even they don’t know

One night, Risotto may come up to you and say “I talked to your neighbor about the dog, they’ll keep it inside now.” And you’re just staring like 😳 how did he know the barking was keeping you up at night????

He’s sweet, and will take good care of you as a boyfriend should.

Very good listener, won’t talk as much but will hang on to your every word, I promise. He could even recite it to you verbatim.

He’s a big dude, that ain’t news, so expect to be swallowed up in hugs and sometimes even picked up (as a tall girl myself, I simp!!!)

Gives A1 piggyback rides, lol

ALSO RISOTTO IS HUMBLE ASF!

Big dick energy, but on low volume 👏🏾 after all, he doesn’t need to do much talking, because a night with him is more than enough!

Listen babe, you better stretch, do some squats, and prep in whatever way you can before Mr. Nero gives you that work. 🤐

Lowkey a freak, but it’s well hidden behind his ‘quiet giant’ exterior

So, who are y'all dating? Personally, I’m going for Formaggio and Pesci hehe

#jojo #jojo’s bizarre adventure #vento aureo #la squadra #prosciutto #illuso #formaggio #melone #risotto nero #pesci #ghiaccio #gelato and sorbet #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra di esecuzione #jojo headcanons #la squadra x reader #jojo part 5

[gogtopia]

after doomsday (~1.3k)

time traveller!Karl returns to the time he belongs in and is faced with the ruins of L��Manberg, having not been here since the day before the festival. (ft some karlnapity)

NOTE: this work takes place within the dream smp roleplay. i do not ship/write fic about the actual creators, only the characters they play

Karl’s breath returned to him all at once as he popped back into the correct place in time, book clutched to his chest. He still hadn’t been able to get used to this time travel thing super well and had been popping into the wrong time over and over. But he had gotten it right this time; he was sitting in Church Prime, after all.

He went to head home, back to L’Manberg, and he lost his breath all over again. Because what laid before him was not the home that he’d left behind. It wasn’t much of anything at all other than a seemingly bottomless pit with ash still floating in the wind. The obsidian structures in the sky painted a sinister picture. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t some random accident. It was an intentional attack on his home.

How long had he been gone? The last thing he remembered before traveling through time was working with Ranboo to fix up the country for the upcoming festival, an event designated to celebrate L’Manberg as a nation. When had all of that fallen apart?

Who had fallen with it?

Karl wasn’t sure exactly where to go at first. He didn’t know who would be left standing if anyone was at all. Maybe they’d be gathered back at Eret’s castle. But, then again, if L’Manberg had fallen victim to an attack like this, the Dream SMP as a nation was probably the most likely culprit. He didn’t want to walk directly into his own execution. He didn’t think that Eret would be so cruel but, given what had become of his home, he wasn’t sure what to think.

He made his way toward El Rapids instead. His other home, though they had never really gotten very far in building it. Sparing one more glance back to the crater where L’Manberg once stood, Karl smiled half-heartedly. At least, after all of this, his Pokimane statue still stood.

As he passed through Boomerville, he was astounded at how many things seemed the same. It was like L’Manberg had been wiped off the map and everything else had simply remained frozen in time. Had he somehow fucked up time with the book?

“Karl!” a voice called out.

He turned to see Lazar peeking his head out of his home. He looked old, but that wasn’t really unusual. The fact that he was alive at all was a good sign.

“What the honk happened?” he asked him.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied with a shrug. “Vikk and I were out on a mining trip for two days and we come back and a whole bloody country is gone. I think H was there but he’s passed out in his place right now. Must have been some festival, I guess.”

Two days. That meant that he wasn’t so far off in time that everybody was gone. Unless… No. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Where is everybody?” he asked Lazar.

“No fucking clue,” he replied. “We didn’t get back that long ago. I assume they’re taking shelter in other places in the server or are off building places in the wilderness. I thought you’d know. Where have you been?”

He thought about the book in his hand and how the pages had been slowly filling. “It’s really hard to explain. But I think that I should go.”

Lazar followed his glance toward El Rapids. “Yeah, go on, mate. If nobody’s around, you’re free to sleep on my floor or something. Just don’t steal any more of my shit.”

“Thanks,” he said with an absent nod before continuing toward El Rapids.

For all that they’d done to secure the validity of El Rapids, it wasn’t much. It was a pretty small plot of land, though they claimed a few other spots to be part of the country proper, and only really consisted of two buildings: the pyramid and a smaller building that he still wasn’t sure the purpose of.

“Hello!” he called out absently as he got closer, hoping for a response and not expecting one at the same.

“Karl?” came Quackity’s voice in response and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’re in the pyramid,” Sapnap added.

They were here. They were safe, and they were here.

He ran into the pyramid, dodging the creepers and spiders that always seemed to reside inside, and made his way into the small redstone room in the center of it, where he found his fiances sitting together on the ground, covered in ash as they patched each other up.

Sapnap was scratched up but looked pretty okay overall. Quackity, however, didn’t seem to be doing as well, with bandages all over and haphazard stitches that were probably done by Sapnap on his forehead. He wasn’t in good shape and would probably have to pay Ponk a visit to get patched up in the morning, but there didn’t appear to be any immediate danger to his health.

He felt like an asshole, standing there without a scratch on him as the men he loved had clearly fought very hard in the past two days.

“Where were you?” Quackity asked and Karl braced for the impact of his yelling for missing out on whatever had happened.

“Were you safe?” he asked instead.

His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, I was safe.”

“Wherever you were, you missed a lot,” Sapnap told him.

“George fucking missed it too,” Quackity complained. “We come back to Sapnap’s base for supplies afterward and he’s fucking sleeping. At least he didn’t get hurt, though. We came back here after so that you’d be able to find us.”

“Did something happen at the festival?” he asked.

Sapnap and Quackity shared a resigned glance.

“Look, L’Manberg is gone, that much is over. And as far as I know, everyone made it out,” Quackity told him. “I know what I think we should do going forward, even if everyone seems to have a different idea about how to approach it. Either way, the ash is still settling and for tonight, we can take a goddamn break.” “And what’ll we do tomorrow?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Quackity said with a shrug. “Regroup, I guess. All I know is that, in the end, we can’t let Dream continue doing this shit. We have to take him down.”

Karl turned his gaze to Sapnap, who he expected to push back against this point of view, even after everything that had happened between him and his friend.

But instead, a fire burned in his eyes. “He needs to know that he’s not invincible. The Dream that destroyed L’Manberg isn’t the guy I became best friends with ages ago or, fuck, maybe he was and I never saw it before. I’m not going to let the entire server suffer just because he used to care about me.”

“And what about George?”

Quackity let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “George doesn’t give a shit about anything. He won’t fight for us, not about the serious stuff. But, at this point, he’s not about to fight for Dream either. I think I speak for the group when I say that we have his back, no matter what, but I don’t know if he has ours.”

“I think, if it came down to a choice between us and Dream, George would choose us,” Sapnap said quietly. “Dream hurt him too. But if he doesn’t want to fight, let’s not force him into the fray.”

“You’ll fight with us, right Karl?” Quackity asked.

And, well, Karl was never much of a fighter in any shape or form. He lacked the physical skill and training that Sapnap did and didn’t have a scrap of the political talent that Quackity was able to weaponize. In the end, Karl was just a guy, but he was a guy that knew who he cared about.

“I will,” he promised.

“So, are you gonna tell us what that book is about?” Quackity asked.

He smiled brightly. “Would it be okay if I told the two of you a story?”

The tension in the air dissipated ever so slightly as his fiances looked at him with soft smiles of adoration.

“Of course, Karl,” Sapnap said. “Tell us a story.”

#mcyt #dream smp #karl jacobs #karlnapity #my fic #welcometomyteddytalk #karl

[thatboomerkid]

Giff -- SpellJammer Race for Pathfinder

Giff -- SpellJammer Race [19 RACE POINTS] for First Edition Pathfinder

Known to the gnomes of Markovia as the nilski konj vojnici, to the Hin plantation-owners of Covington Farms as los mercenarios gigantes del río, and to the human field-workers laboring near New Arvoreen most-often simply as “those big goddamn bastards,” the giff -- as they are called in their own guttural, roaring language -- represent a recently-contacted species of huge, violent, powerfully-built, terrifyingly-focused, and dangerously cagey combatants.

In the little-over-a-century since their discovery by the Hin, platoons of giff have already carved a bloody name for themselves across the wilds of Verdura -- and far beyond -- as unparalleled river-guides, rowdies, strike-breakers, mob debt-collectors, private enforcers, heavy-weapons units, siege engines, bodyguards, and elite soldiers of fortune.

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

original image by the incredible Claudio Pozas, here

Type: Monstrous Humanoid (3 RP)

Ability Score Modifiers: Mixed Weakness (-2 RP)

+2 Strength, -4 Dexterity, +2 Constitution, -4 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom

Size: Large (7 RP)

Giff gain a +2 size bonus to Strength and a -2 size penalty to Dexterity (already included above). Giff also suffer a -1 size penalty to their AC and a -1 size penalty on all attack rolls; they gain a +1 bonus on combat maneuver checks and to their CMD, and suffer a -4 size penalty on Stealth checks.

A giff takes up a space that is 10 feet by 10 feet and has a reach of 5 feet.

Base Speed: Normal speed (0 RP)

Languages: Standard (0 RP); giff speak their own eponymous, curiously poetic language, and most are -- in the modern day -- also conversant in Low Kozah-Talosii (usually spoken with a thick, pompous Verduran accent).

This bastardized dialect, the so-called “Common tongue” favored across Pyrespace for use in international, intercultural, and interplanetary trade, is a degraded mongrel variant of High Kozah-Talosii: the ancient root-tongue of both Arvorean and Brandobarin, still employed by the Church of Yondalla for use in sermons, hymns, and in all official records.

Big Damn Guns: Giff are treated as gnomes for purposes of the Experimental Gunsmith Archetype. (0 RP)

Darkvision: Giff have 60 ft. darkvision (0 RP); giff have relatively poor eyesight while out of water, which is easily corrected with simple lenses -- such as a monocle -- for use while reading. This vision is not poor enough to impart a mechanical penalty on Perception checks or attack rolls made by the giff.

Natural Armor: Giff have +3 natural armor (4 RP)

Natural Attack (Headbutt): Giff receive one natural attack, which is treated as a gore attack that deals 1d8 bludgeoning damage. (1 RP)

Natural Swimmers: Giff have a swim speed of 30 feet and gain the +8 racial bonus on Swim checks that a swim speed normally grants. (1 RP)

Powerful Charge (Headbutt): Whenever a giff charges, it deals twice the standard number of damage dice with its headbutt plus 1-1/2 times its Strength bonus. (2 RP)

River-Sense: Giff can sense vibrations in water, granting them blindsense 30 feet against creatures that are touching the same body of water. (1 RP)

Slow On Land: Giff often select the Clumsy, Easy Target, Magically Inept, Nearsighted, and Slow Reflexes Major Drawbacks (0 RP)

Spell Resistance (Greater): Giff have spell resistance equal to 11 + their character level. (3 RP)

Sporting: The species-wide love of warfare exhibited by the giff draws a sharp line of distinction between “sporting” and “unsporting” combat (see below). (-1 RP)

Sporting combat includes arm-wrestling, fisticuffs, darts, cards, dice, checkers, chess, billiards, cricket, rugby, skeet shooting, tennis, and golf, alongside tests of boasting, carousing, headbutting, toast-giving, swimming, push-ups, and a complex, ritualized sort of thunderous, unarmed mixed martial-art performed solely while stripped down to breeches & undergarments, usually in ankle-deep to waist-deep water, ending in pin or submission, which -- up to a point -- also serves as a type of flirting.

The military mentality of the giff even makes special allowances for a variety of “sporting” duels to the death. Establishing a proper duel requires a huge number of complex ritual elements that -- in the end -- mostly boils down to both giff formally acknowledging that:

Both giff are armed with approximately the same quality of weapons & armor (warhammer, combat knife, pistol, full plate, etc.)

Both giff have equal access to military support, including healing

Both giff have a grievance, no matter how petty

Both giff are suffering approximately the same level of injuries

Both giff have made arrangements for their estate, and for the treatment of their body after death

Once a “sporting” challenge to the death has been agreed-to by both parties, anything up to and including outright murder of one’s opponent is considered fair game.

Several major holidays each year celebrated by the giff include a “violent dueling festival” as part of their celebration; to outsiders, these events have a very bizarre, genteel, 1800s-Victorian-Teddy-Roosevelt-meets-The-Purge sort of feel to them:

“Happy holidays, friend; best of health this year to you and to your kin. And I say, old chap, don’t suppose it’s high time for a kukri-duel, eh, wot wot? Seeing as you got drunk on my finest brandy, made a pass at the missus, wiped your prodigious buttocks with my table linens, and micturated in my hedge-row as of Christmas last, well ... in lieu of an apology, what say I have Jenkins fetch the carving blades, eh? See which of has the moxie, shall we? Cheerio and have at thee then, old sport?”

If this formal challenge to a lethal sporting-duel is declined, the challenger must make all possible accommodations to guarantee the immediate physical safety of the giff she just challenged (at least until such time as the two giff part ways once more): providing the giff with weapons, armor, food, water, medicine, reading materials, a place to sleep, liquor, smoking tobacco, and anything else a gentleman or lady of high breeding could reasonably expect to have access to (even while imprisoned).

In short: if the challenged giff dies immediately after declining a duel, it is considered very embarrassing for the challenger.

For his own part, the declining giff must treat her challenger with the very utmost level of respect ... or risk being guilty of unsporting conduct, a fate far worse than mere death.

Any giff who finds herself about to violate the terms of properly “sporting” conduct instantly becomes aware of the error, just as if she were wearing a phylactery of faithfulness and, at all times, actively contemplating the thought of doing bodily harm to another giff: this behavioral limitation is not built as a trap for players to accidentally stumble into, but -- instead -- as an interesting roadblock to navigate around.

If two or more giff find themselves forced into a position of armed conflict against one another on a battlefield, both groups traditionally retire for at least a day of drinking and sorting-out ranks; on rare occasion, one platoon will join the other; more likely, all giff involved in any part of the operation will quit their current hirings and look for work elsewhere.

Any giff who engages another member of her own species in any type of unsporting combat -- attacking another giff with a weapon, for example, or with magic -- immediately suffers a -2 penalty on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls and saves; she continues to suffer this penalty until such time as she is able to make amends: presenting her victim with a formal written apology, or seeking our her victim’s family to beg their public pardon.

Each month, this penalty increases by 2. Guilt is a poison that grows by degrees, after all: ever-gnawing.

While she is suffering penalties in this way, if the giff is presented with the chance to punish herself – or a non-giff opponent! – while presented with something that reminds the giff of her betrayal, she may find herself compelled to do so regardless of the consequences:

Any time her betrayal is directly brought to her attention, the giff must make a Will save (DC = 10 + her character level + the Charisma modifier of the wronged giff). Failure means that the giff falls into a rage of abject self-loathing, completely focused on her own guilt for a number of rounds equal to the DC, above. Until she has finished with this exercise in hate, the giff can take no action other than to harm the reminder of her failure or enable herself to harm it: grappling a human shipmate who mentioned her old friend so that she might headbutt the human while strangling them, for example, or calmly loading a shotgun so that she might shoot the human dead in cold blood.

Note that the giff, while wracked with guilt & grief, is not required to do anything or harm anyone: she may simply stare at an old photograph and feel sad, for example, ignoring everyone around her.

During the fury of this black tempest, the giff suffers a -2 penalty to her AC.

Once the giff successfully makes amends, either with the wronged party or with the victim’s next-of-kin, all of the above penalties are removed. Entire subsets of giff society -- mediators, arbitrators, and negotiators -- are explicitly adapted to making absolutely certain that any errors in sporting conduct among giff are resolved quickly, and to the satisfaction of all parties. 

Should she fail to make amends before her death, any giff who has harmed another giff in an unsporting way invariably rises again as an undead horror of some kind (often a blood knight or graveknight): reborn as a rotting, lurching mountainside of infinitely destructive hated.

Note that the Sporting Racial Trait is not purely social, but rather acts as a species-wide ingrained psychological virtue: two giff living on Fenris who never expect to see the wide rivers of Verdura again are still bound by the rules of “sporting” conflict; neither could shoot the other in the back any more than either of them could grow wings and fly to the moon.

Undead giff do not possess the Sporting Trait, which is seen -- by living giff -- as the most abhorrent and disturbing quality imaginable.

Note, also, that the desire to behave in a sporting manner extends only to fellow giff: Chaotic Evil giff will routinely massacre unarmed non-giff by the thousands, bellowing with laughter as they do so, and even a Lawful Good giff will rarely think twice before sucker-punching a crude human making drunken threats and impolite remarks at the bar.

-------

Giff Timeline:

1603 A.D. (118 years ago): The colony of New Arvoreen is established on Verdura; giff make contact with Hin (and their human servants) for the first time.

1620 A.D.: First generation of giff who have always known about the existence of Hin, humans, and -- most importantly! -- firearms fully comes of age.

1636 A.D.: New Arvoreen is significantly expanded.

1667 A.D.: Nation of Markovia -- the technological-marvel nation named for its Founder, Monarch and Supreme Leader, Dr. Adlai Markovitch -- founded on Verdua; diplomatic trade established with New Arvoreen.

1669 A.D.: City of New Arvoreen significantly expanded.

1702 A.D.: New Arvoreen significantly expanded; land officially cleared for Covington Farms, soon to be the largest agricultural facility in the system; rates of forcible immigration of indentured humans to New Arvoreen tripled.

1721 A.D.: (current year)

original image here

Giff Ranks: Lieutenant, General, Colonel, Major General, Lieutenant General, Lieutenant Colonel, Captain General, Brigadier General, Field Marshall, Major, Captain, Sergeant Major, Commandant General, Wing General, Lieutenant Colonel General, Staff Sergent, Master Sergent, Master General, Grenadier General; note that “Lord” may be added to any military rank, alongside the designations of “First” and “First Class” (for example, “First Lord Brigadier General First Class”)

Giff military ranks are, effectively, meaningless noise to everyone except the giff themselves: every member of the species is a decorated officer of some complex rank within some elite military company or another, but such ranks are largely ceremonial and may be inherited, purchased, or passed through elaborate, bombastic ritual.

Further, the only thing preventing a young giff from forming an entirely new military organization & immediately naming herself -- of example -- Supreme Acting Field Commander and Secretary General of the Armies and Navies at Wartime is -- up to a point -- her own willingness to do so.

Male Giff Names: Any invented male Hin name.

Female Giff Names: Any invented female Hin name.

Giff Family Names: Any invented male Hin first name

Society

The giff are military-minded, and organize themselves into squads, platoons, companies, corps, and larger groups. The number of giff in a platoon varies according to the season, situation, and level of danger involved.

A giff "platoon" hired to protect a gambling operation may number only a single soldier, while a platoon hired to invade an illithid stronghold may number well over a hundred.

The giff pride themselves on their weapon-skills, and any giff carries a number of swords, daggers, maces, and similar tools on hand to deal with troublemakers.

A giff's true love, however, is the gun. A misfiring weapon matters little to the giff (occasional fatalities amongst soldiery are simply to expected); it is the flash, the noise, and the damage that most impress them.

Even unarmed, the giff are powerful opponents. Against non-giff, they’ll often wade into a brawl just for the pure fun of it, tossing various combatants on both sides around to prove themselves the victors.

Once a weapon is bared, however, and the challenge becomes “unsporting,” the giff consider all restrictions off: the challenge is now to the death.

The giff prize themselves as top-quality mercenaries, and to that end take great pride in owning -- if not always wearing -- elaborate suits of full-plate armor. These suits usually include massive helms featuring hyper-detailed, semi-realistic images of exotic monsters on the crests, inlaid with ivory and bone along the largest plates.

Armor repair is a major hobby among the giff, although great skill at the craft is surprisingly rare.

The giff are deeply suspicious of magic, magicians, and magical devices; their legendary foes, the Five Tiger Princes, are despised for their esoteric abilities as much for their wicked deviltry.

image here

Family

The giff are, for the most part, happiest among fellow members their own race, intermingling broadly with the Ghoran -- whom the giff utilize as an edible, inexhaustible workforce -- and the Tengu: another unofficial “servitor race” of the giff, most often used as messengers and household servants.

Ghoran living on giff lands are stoic: dutifully tending the fields of the giff in exchange for protection from ten-thousand other, vastly more predatory dangers. For all that giff treat the ghoran as disposable -- a ghoran living on Verdura produces one seed each year, and can grow a new member of the species in a single month -- the giff do not want the ghoran hunted to total extermination. That, for the ghoran, is saying something,

Tengu, on the other hand, are deeply prized by the giff as staff, usually in the roles of personal assistants, groomers, decorators, butlers, bartenders, man-servants, attaches, major domos, and maids. Since all giff are “wealthy land owners,” to one degree or another, the true power & prestige of a giff can be accurately measured by the number of tengu he employs.

Giff otherwise consider anything larger than them deeply threatening, yet also complain bitterly -- in private -- about the fragility of the smaller races. Outside their own platoons, the giff are happiest among military organizations with a strong chain of command.

For this reason, giff hold the Church of Yondalla in exceptionally high regard.

Giff especially despise the catfolk: although they don’t speak of it to outsiders, a century ago the giff were on the verge of extinction: hunted for sport and trophy by servants of the Five Tiger Princes, their people nearly cut to nothing and their lands held by only a few remaining families. Since their acquisition of firearms -- and the arrival of the Hin -- the catfolk have broadly retreated.

Every giff -- male, female, and giffling -- has a rank within their greater society, which can only be changed by a giff of higher rank. Within these ranks are sub-ranks, and within those sub-ranks are color-markings and badges. The highest-ranking giff gives the orders, the others obey. It does not matter if the orders are foolish or even suicidal: following them is the purpose of the giff in the universe. A quasi-mystical faith among the giff -- who claim to worship, in a vague way, the Golden General Bahamut, who was killed and eaten by the cowardly Five Tiger Princes in order to steal his strength -- confirms that all things have their place, and the place of the giff to follow orders.

This makes the giff very happy.

Giff platoons can be hired from their sprawling, palatial riverside plantations and mountain hunting-lodges by anyone looking for muscle. The social leaders among the giff are contractors: these specially-trained giff review prospective employers according to ability to pay, then make a recommendation to powerful warlords and famous adventurers among the giff. The leaders, in turn, consider the danger of the job, and whether taking it will enhance their giffdom.

Giff jobs are usually paid in firearms & gunpowder, though they often will accept other weapons and armor. Aboard ship, the giff require their own quarters, and will often request to bring on their own large weapons. They favor fire-projectors and bombards for ground work, and will happily blaze away at opponents regardless of the tactical situation.

The giff require the ships of others because they have -- for the most part -- no spellcasting abilities among them.

Giff of both sexes serve in their platoons, and both fight equally well. Giff young are raised tenderly until they are old enough to survive an exploding arquebus, then are inducted fully into the platoon.

The giff practice equality among the sexes in battle and in childrearing. They live about 70 years, but do not take aging gracefully. As a giff grows older and begins to slow down, he is possessed with the idea of proving himself still young and vital, usually in battle.

As a result, there are very, very few old giff.

#pathfinder #SPELLJAMMER #race #options #1st edition

[frogsmulder]

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 4 Home is What I’ll be Dreaming of

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth,  Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they  finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

6k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

  "Mom?"

 "Dana?"

The image of opening the door to her daughter's frightened face flashed before her eyes as she put the key into the lock of Dana's apartment.

 "I'm sorry, mom, I don't have much time... but I'm leaving."

 "Leaving where? Dana, you're not making any sense."

Margaret Scully stepped into her daughter's world still smelling fresh like the owner had popped out to work that morning. She half expected Dana to appear around the corner at any moment.

 "I can't say. I don't even know myself. The trial– it's–"

 "Fox. I understand."

Running her finger along the top of a cabinet, she rubbed the particles into the pad of her digit– the dust had barely started settling on the surface. She remembered embracing her daughter, Dana clutching back like it would be the last time she would get to. Maggie liked to believe she had more faith than to believe that.

 "Mom, there's something I need you to do for me because I won't be there and I don't know if I'll be back."

She picked up the envelope on the side; held it firmly in her hands as she took a long look at the room; all the idiosyncrasies scattered about, neatly organized on bookshelves and the mantelpiece in the way that was so Dana. Sitting down on the couch, she sized up the task at hand: pack a life into boxes, for everything must go. She opened the envelope– the lease on the apartment ended next month.

She started in the bedroom, where all of Fox's possessions hadn't been unpacked yet. They were stuffed into the bottom of the closet, hidden away like bad memories. Maggie knew what it was like with her husband away at sea, not knowing when– if he'd be back. But she'd had her children, her friends, her church group, her faith. She may have felt lonely at times, but she was never alone. She knew her daughter; knew her tendency to shut people out when she needed them most; her need to prove her strength. She worried for Dana.

Pulling the first box out, she lifted the lid and looked inside. Scraps of newspaper clippings littered the bottom, disguising a picture frame and what she suspected was a case file.

"Oh, Fox," she sighed, returning the lid and his privacy. She was transported back to her own doorstep again, hugging Dana before she left. "You promise me one thing: you look after him."

In another box were all of his university books, editions of the Lone Gunmen magazine; another family heirlooms like silverware sets, photographs, inscribed books, a velvet box, a pocket watch. Maggie sat down on her daughter's unmade bed: the only sign that Dana had left in a hurry. The pillow askew revealed a knot of cloth, the top of William's baby hat. "Oh, Dana." She whispered like when she had hugged her tighter on the doorstep. "And you let him look after you."

Maggie shook her head. She wouldn't do it. All of their things, they were not things to be thrown out. She took the hat and carefully folded it, putting it away in a box, saving the good memories, saving all of them.

----------

 "Mom?"

 "Dana?"

Dana stood dumbfounded on her mother's step, pinching herself with excitement, relief, and nervousness. She rushed into her mother's waiting arms, finally coming home after what had been an eternity. "Oh my God, mom, I've missed you so much!"

The thud of crashing into the embrace jolted Scully, opening her eyes to the bright Mexican sun beating down through the windscreen of the car. Gasping, she bolted upright, clutching her hands by her thighs, before she bolted out of the door. Stood in the bright sunlight, she caught and held her breath. In. Hold. Out. It wasn't the first dream like it she'd had, but she was shocked every time by how real they felt and how tangible her mother seemed. Calmer now, she looked at Mulder in the passenger seat, drifting roughly in and out of sleep. His eyes opened groggily as he slowly stirred, stretched, and groaned. He offered her a warm smile that melted some of the ache in her chest and watered a different, better kind into bloom. When he stumbled out of the car and over the dusty ground to join her, Scully turned away, looking out across the open land. He slipped his hands around her waist from behind, stooping to rest his chin upon her shoulder.

"You had a bad dream again," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Scully leaned her head defeatedly against his. She turned in his arms and buried her face into his t-shirt, breathing in his warm, sleepy scent and sighing. Rubbing her hands up and down his sides, she huffed and pushed herself from the wrap of his arms. "I thought I was home again," she said simply, looking up at him.

"Yeah, me too," he hummed. "Well, actually, we were in the office and you were throwing paperwork at me, telling me you would chew my ass before Skinner could even get to me if it wasn't done on time."

She might have chuckled but Mulder doubted that she would share her dream so freely, despite his effort to tease it out of her. He understood her need for privacy but he wished at times she would be a little less unforgiving, building her walls twice as quickly as he could chisel them away. Resolutely, he stood up straighter, holding out his hand out in invitation. She queried him with her eyebrows, so he flexed it imploringly. "Take a walk with me."

"Where?" she laughed.

"Anywhere, everywhere." He chipped away at her guard with a smile. "This fine foreign land has many fruits to offer."

"Okay–" she took his hand cautiously– "but not too far."

They ambled awhile aimlessly with no destination in mind. Taking each step at a time, it was pleasant living in the moment with no expectations. The liberation of no judgement from the open expanse drew them closer together. Between them, they spoke in silences, admiring the craggy landscape decorated with scraggy bushes. As Scully walked along, her thoughts drifted like the thin, wispy clouds on the breeze, back to her mother and the home she no longer had. She hadn't told Mulder yet, not because she couldn't bring herself to tell him, but because with all that had happened, it had slipped her mind. Everything she had now was all ahead of her and everyone to the side of her, holding her hand and swinging it gently like a pendulum. Life seemed simple when reduced to its basic measures: food, water, shelter, Mulder. She wondered how long she could live on that.

Mulder's voice broke through the cloud of her thoughts like a siren returning her to the moment. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Scully looked at him, surprised that he could see into her mind so easily.

"You may keep things closer to yourself these days, but I know your thinking face when I see it." He said it kindly but the honesty of his words punched a hole through her gut. She tried to tell him these things but she also had to figure them out for herself first. She only regretted that she'd ever hurt him in any way being caught in the brunt of her storm.

"It's been a month." The words surprised her as they tumbled out without her knowing.

He cocked his head. "What has?"

"Us..." she breathed. Scully made a point of looking him in the eye, even if it stole the breath from her lungs to see him focused on her so intensely. "... living like this."

His thumb shakily stroked the back of her hand. "You're counting?"

"I find it hard not to."

Mulder nodded.

She sighed. "I– I couldn't tell you what day it is, but I... I don't know– have the need to keep a tally; a record of some kind." It was like her body clock was scratching tally marks on the walls of her mind. Like she was a prisoner in her own skull. "I do it to keep me sane but does it make me mad?"

"Sometimes the only sane response to an insane world is insanity," he answered.

"That's not helping."

"Sorry." He paused in thought, taking a breath whilst trudging onwards. "I know what you mean... When Samantha first went missing and I was waiting for her to come through the bedroom door, I used to count the nights she didn't."

Curiosity claiming the better of her she asked, "When did you stop?"

"If I'm honest, I don't think I have. I just lost count somewhere along the way; found other days to count. Like when I was in hiding–" He took her other hand and pulled them to a stop, standing in front of her and looking into her blue eyes flickering with worry. Mulder could tell she would take what he was about to say the wrong way, so he tried to assure her with a squeeze of his hands and a loving look. "Every night I would cross off another day until I could see you and Will again... Sometimes that was the only thing that kept me going."

He felt her tense in his hands anyway, saw her eyes mist up as the walls grew thicker, yet she refused to let the tears spill. He steadied her at the shoulders, rubbing tender circles gently through the cloth of her t-shirt. Bending lower, he brushed his lips softly over hers, pulling her from the pain she harboured. Yet Scully remained frozen, unresponsive to the warm life of his lips, the hole in her gut tearing a little more. Pulling away to see her stone-faced, he whispered, "Scully, please don't do this to me. You have nothing to be sorry for."

She licked her lips and swallowed, allowing herself to sink to the bottom and the troubled waters calm over the top. Moving out of his grasp, she continued on their wander as if she could physically leave the memories behind.

Mulder's hand loosened on her shoulder, trailing down her arm as she walked away. A sharp tug drew him from the well of despair. As their hands met, she held on tightly coaxing him to follow, which he did so gratefully. She stopped them after a few paces, placing a hand upon his chest. On tiptoes, she raised herself to meet his lips, returning his kiss with mellow grace, not breaking until she had to breathe.

"Scull–" he questioned but was cut off by the press of her lips back against his, delicately answering him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled against his mouth.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he repeated in a whisper. His hand rested at the small of her back, guiding her as he turned back the way they had come. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

----------

Along the back roads of Mexico, they traveled for some time before they came across a small town. The one street through it was lined with sand-coloured buildings that glinted in the sunlight, some rising tall, others spread wide. All of them looked welcoming and homely and Scully, gazing out of her window, wondered what it would be like to live in one of them. As they drove past, she wondered about the lives of the people who did live in them. Did they argue about who took the trash out? Did the children constantly ask what was for dinner? Did they gather around a television in the evening with their families? It was a life that for the longest time she had dreamed of and at one point had mourned the loss of. Now, she was indifferent to the idea of getting out of the car, hardened by years of abnormalcy, or so she told herself. Home was just a dream; the car was all she had for a life. Yet still a small part of her dared to dream; dared to envy the people in this town of their families and their homely comforts. And at the same time, she feared that normalcy wouldn't be enough for her.

Mulder pulled up outside a storefront, eyeing the swathes of people moving in every direction. Despite its size, the town was full of bustling people going about their daily lives.

"How good's your Spanish, Scully?"

She gave him a withering look. "You know I took German in college."

"Mhmm, and I did French in high school. Where's Monica when you need her?"

Scully followed his line of gaze to the crowds of people. "Mulder, I don't think we should go in together."

"What?" He whipped his head around to look at her. "Scully, we're fine. Nobody knows us out here."

"I still think we'd be better off if only one of us went in."

"But what if one of us needs help?" he questioned quietly, scared by her sudden urge to be alone.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Anyway, you need to drive the getaway car."

Scully left him in the car to his own thoughts spiraling with concern.

It was eerily quiet inside the store. The jingle of the bell above the door and the radio playing quietly in the background only heightened the silence within. Scully perused the shelves, picking up odd pieces like cereal bars, bottles of water, and a packet of sunflower seeds. By the counter, there was a rack of postcards, mostly just pictures of the map of Mexico or the flag with writing she didn't understand. She picked one up and thought of her mother who had no idea where she was or how she was. It would be too complicated to send without revealing their location, she knew that, but maybe when she got home she could give it to her mother like documentation of where they had been.

Scully had always wondered what it would be like to go traveling– her father's worldly trips had partly inspired her and she had been raised with what he called the Scully Adventurer's Spirit. Charlie had started his world trip in Mexico, although his journey had been an entirely legal affair. He hadn't crossed into new territory miles away from border control. Scully turned the postcard over in her hands, reminding herself how far from home she was. Yet strangest of all, she didn't feel like she was.

"Do I know you?"

The voice made Scully jump and instinctively she held the postcard behind her back.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, trying to keep her tone as calm as possible whilst blood pulsed in her ears.

A man, who looked to be in his late forties, had appeared behind the counter with his brow furrowed in concentration and his sight set on her. He rubbed his chin contemplatively. "I know you. You are American, no?"

Scully stuttered, unsure of how to answer. "No, I– I don't–"

"Yes!" he interrupted her. His smile grew with his enthusiasm, unnerving Scully more by the second. "I see you before somewhere, on the television perhaps?"

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Scully left some money on the counter and swiftly weaved back through the aisles. At a brief glance, she plucked a random box of hair dye from a shelf, self-conscious of her entire appearance. If she had to, she would scrub down her skin until she looked like someone else, but first, she had to get out.

The man behind the counter clicked his fingers in recognition. «¡Ah! ¡Cops! ¡Y el hombre lobo con el FBI!» he laughed and shook his head.

Mulder saw Scully burst out of the shop, arms laden with groceries and an expression he couldn't fathom. She crumpled into the passenger seat, quickly stuffing the things into the footwell. "You'd be no good in a robbery," she quipped.

"Scully, what's wrong?" he immediately asked.

She gave him her usual answer, passing him a cereal bar and his seeds. "I'm fine. Let's just get out of here."

Mulder took the food and started the engine, driving away despite the uncomfortable feeling that told him she was hiding something. He didn't want to press her further though, so he bit his tongue and focused on the road.

After a couple of minutes, Scully turned to him, worrying her lip between her teeth. She relented, speaking softly. "There was someone in there, Mulder, he recognised me."

Mulder let go of a breath that he didn't know he was holding, relieved that she had finally said something. "Are you sure? I mean they couldn't have been mistaking you for someone else?"

She shook her head, doubting herself already. "I don't know, he said he'd seen me on TV. Mulder, what if they have our pictures out on the news?"

"I don't think they'd do that. They don't want to draw unnecessary attention to themselves," he reasoned.

"But they could dress it up as something else. Get the unsuspecting populous to do their dirty work without telling them who or why. Mulder, seriously, how haven't we been caught yet?"

"Don't know, but I'm not going to question it either."

"But don't you think it's strange that if they really wanted to find us they could have easily done so already?" She looked at his profile, judging the minute movements of his jaw muscles, saw them flex unconsciously as they did whenever he was forced to admit a hard truth.

"Perhaps we're not as important as they would have us believe," he tried, glancing at her for reassurance. "Maybe they're busy developing a vaccine or ordering their super soldiers into neat, indestructible lines. Everyone's got bigger aliens to fry." He chuckled perfunctorily.

"Mulder, they were determined enough to kill you that they rigged your trial," Scully turned to gaze at the roadside zipping past and said quieter, "I think there's something bigger at play here."

Mulder properly laughed and she stared at him with a frown stitched upon her brow.

"You're doing a very good impression of me, Scully," he chortled.

She smiled despite herself, trying to hide it in a dip of her head. She hummed, having to agree. Maybe she was being paranoid, maybe she should be. The little Mulder voice played in her head, It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. Shifting in her seat, Scully scuffed her feet on the box of hair dye in the footwell. She was reminded of the haunting feeling of being reeled into the snare, the need to change shape and escape. I see you before on the television.

"Could we find a motel tonight?" she asked warily, cognizant of the contradiction to her previous argument.

"Yeah, sure." He reached out for her hand, lacing her fingers with his.  "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I'm fine."

----------

Scully stood behind Mulder at the front desk, listening vaguely to him trying to communicate to the owner of the motel. She stared out of the window at the fading light, smiling as she clutched their only bag of belongings. Resting her cheek to Mulder's shoulder, she heard the muffled sound of his broken Spanish.

«Uno habitación. Uno err noche,» he stuttered earnestly.

She chuckled, remembering of all the times they had booked two rooms just to keep up appearances and Human Resources of their backs. It wasn't that both rooms never got used, more the connecting door left open was an invitation too tempting to resist taking. Mostly, she relished the frequent nights he had slipped into her bed under the cover of darkness and fallen asleep curled around her.

«¿Te gustaría una o dos camas?» The man nodded towards Scully and she smiled politely.

«¿Excusa?»

«¿Una cama o dos?» the man repeated.

«Una cama por favor, señor,» Scully answered.

Mulder muttered, "Feel free to save me from looking like an ass any time."

"I was enjoying listening to you butcher a beautiful language," she teased.

As soon as Mulder was through the door, he flopped onto the bed and sighed contentedly. "One day, Scully, we'll have a place of our own and I will never sleep on a couch again."

She eyed him suspiciously as she rummaged through their bag. Was this where he thought this was going? The end goal a house out in the country with a little wooden porch and surrounded by fields to play baseball in? She tried to imagine it, sitting on the porch, drinking ice tea on a sunny day, a good book and Mulder for company. A cozy log fire crackling in the stone fireplace on long winter evenings. She sometimes thought about the fairy-tale ending but she couldn't imagine herself in that story. Somehow, Scully was always on the outside looking in.

Clutching the box of hair dye behind her back, she stood purposefully. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

Mulder followed her with his head until the door clicked shut behind her. Hearing the water run in the en-suite, he turned over on his side. The creaking of the pipes was oddly comforting and he closed his eyes to it. The mechanical lullaby was, however, annoying enough to keep him from drifting off even though it was the first time he'd laid his head down on a pillow in a month.

A month– Scully was counting. Every day he had woken up next to her and gazed into her clear, blue eyes, she had been counting. He now understood half of what had been wearing her thin, forcing her to guard herself as he'd forged ahead to try and break through. Maybe now was not the best time to pick at her walls. Instead, he promised to find a small window and let in some light. He lay flat on his back, exhausted, and rubbed his hands down his face. Maybe he shouldn't find a window. What if he did find one and somehow manage to block the light out against his own intentions? Perhaps all she needed was space and time to heal. Time away from him and pain he brought with his existence. It was so hard to know what to do when she didn't speak to him. Not about the important things; the things that truly mattered. Not that either of them had been very good at it in the past. It had only ever been drips of conversation at a time, providing a Petri dish for overthinking and false assumptions and doubt. Things that built up like a damn over time until the structure burst and it all came flooding out at once. He didn't want to lose Scully and he didn't want her to get lost.

Restless, he turned onto his other side.

Emily's little face peered up at him from over the side of the bed.

"Jeez, Em," Mulder laughed nervously. "You scared me."

Her young face, too innocent still to be morose, hung dejectedly before him. Her eyes were wide, almost tearful, trying to tell him something he wished he could understand.

"Emily, what is it?"

She simply padded over to the bathroom door and pointed.

"Dana," he breathed, rushing onto his feet and knocking on the door. "Scully? You okay in there?" he called urgently.

"It's open," she replied and he noticed how she avoided his question. Turning the handily delicately, as if he was intruding, Mulder opened the door ajar and peered inside.

"Scully?"

Her t-shirt was crumpled on the floor with a towel next to the bathtub. She had her head hung over the ledge, damp tresses of hair dangling before her face. Various bottles from a box were scattered around in an unorganised mess that was so unlike her.

"If you need to use the toilet, just be quick," she said.

He cleared a path and kneeled down beside her. "Scully, what are you doing?"

Scully turned her head to look at him, dragging her tongue across her top lip in a condescending manner. "Mulder, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Is this why you wanted to stay in a motel tonight?"

"Does it matter?"

He carefully reached for her hands, untangling them from the ribbons of her once red hair. "Of course it matters. Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked down at their hands. "Am I obligated to tell you everything, Mulder?" she quizzed, returning her gaze to him as she uttered his name.

"No," he searched her eyes for some meaning, but it was hidden away in some depth he couldn't swim to. "But you hardly tell me anything anymore. I think I see a glimmer of what you keep locked away in your heart, but I don't know if it's just a smokescreen, Scully, I can't tell."

She pulled her hands away, combing her fingers through her hair again. "I would never lie to you, Mulder," she said candidly.

"That's not what I said."

Huffing, she stopped, resting her arms over the rim of the bath and giving him her full attention. "Then what are you saying?"

He didn't know. He'd lost sight of his thoughts when he'd seen her troubled; only ever her in mind. He paused, taking a breath. "Why do you need to change yourself?" he uttered softly.

"I'm not changing myself, I'm just dying my hair. It's nothing new or special."

"Why now? Why so suddenly?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "I told you: someone recognised me. I can't just shrug that off like it didn't happen because it did. This is our reality, Mulder, we can't wander through it blindly an– and just hope we'll make it out alive!"

She caught her breath, taken off guard by her own sudden outburst. Licking her lip, she composed herself, affecting an even tone. "I'm not shutting you out, Mulder, if you'd just listen..."

He watched her silently, absorbing her words. Eventually, he nodded timidly. "Let me help then," he whispered.

"No, I'm fine," she brushed him off.

But he refused to lose her. "Scully, let me help."

She sighed, giving in. Snapping of the rubber gloves, she handed him the pair: they had been too large for her hands anyway. "I've died my hair before, but this is bleach, and all the instructions are in Spanish," she admitted.

"I think you're doing fine, Scully," he smiled, rubbing the mixture from the tips all the way to the roots of her hair. Once he'd checked everywhere was covered, he sat with her, waiting patiently by her side until it needed to be washed out. Grabbing the showerhead, he made sure that the water temperature wasn't too hot and massaged her scalp. Scully hummed in appreciation as the warm water cascaded over her head and his fingers worked their magic.

"Do you think I should bleach my hair too?" he asked, partly to make her laugh and partly because he knew that she was right: this was their reality. And she did laugh: the shaking of her shoulders accompanied by a small chuckle made him sigh in relief.

"What's so funny?" he teased. "Would I not look cool with bleach blond hair? I could take up surfing."

Laughing again, Scully elbowed him playfully, making the shower spray everywhere. Her giggle was a welcome sound for sore ears, breathing life back into the empty silence that had followed the burst of the damn.

He turned off the water and handed her the towel. She sat on the ledge of the tub, patting carefully at her now blonde hair, eyeing the alien colour curiously. Mulder grabbed another towel and started on her other side, drying her hair with just as much care. He seriously thought about how he should change his appearance, although he didn't want to. He didn't want to look in the mirror and see someone else's reflection staring back, his own image lost and forgotten. Seeing Scully now, she didn't look like the same person he had known for nine years. The blonde brought out the ice in her blue eyes; her stares once hot like fire now cold and hard. He knew it was just a costume to wear; an act to play, but he feared it becoming a warped version of reality. He should find his own costume to don too; if not becoming the obnoxious surfer-dude type, then what other outfit should he assume? Mulder doubted novelty glasses with the big nose and moustache would cut it, not least because he already wore reading glasses and his nose– well...

Absentmindedly, he asked, "What if I grow a beard?"

Scully turned suddenly serious. Her icy, blue eyes, still fiery, melted his heart.

"Don't," she said definitively and pulled him into a searing kiss. Her fingers curled through the hair at the nape of his neck, dropping the towel and bringing him closer. She felt a well of hunger for him build in her like she'd been starved of his touch.

His hands traveled from her sides, down around the shape of her thighs, lifting her from her perch on the bathtub. He pulled her body into his, pressing them together, all the while she stole his lips with fever. With his hands under her ass and her legs wrapped around his waist, Mulder maneuvered them towards the bedroom.

"No. Here," she breathed.

"Dana–"

She rested her forehead again at his. "Please."

Mulder turned around and placed Scully on the corner of the sink unit. Grinding softly into her, he traced a hand up to cup her jaw, locking lips reverently. She tightened her grip, pulling him closer at the hips and binding her ankles behind his legs. She sucked his full bottom lip, ripe and refreshing like a plump summer fruit, biting it and soothing it with a swipe of her tongue. He hissed when she continued down his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and lovebites until she reached the neckline of his t-shirt. Impatiently, she tugged at it and set him free, dropping it by his feet.

Her hands wandered his torso. It was softer than before, leaner and less muscular. There was still tension in his muscles, a defined shape to them, but she could feel the difference. She reached the waist of his jeans, slipping her hands down further, but Mulder grabbed her wrists, making her look up at him. When Scully saw into his eyes, she understood that he wanted to slow down, but there was a fire unfurling through her, setting her body alight and cultivating an insatiable thirst. The last time they had taken things slow, she'd had too much time to think, and she didn't want to think: just feel.

The moment passed between them, eyes locked onto one another, their telepathy flying with the sparks.

Mulder tenderly let go of her wrists and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across the rose flush that tinted it. Scully sighed, leaning into his hand and placing her own on top. He bent down to capture a kiss, his lips soft yet firm with resolution. She responded in kind, opening up to the taste of his tongue, of desperation, of hope, of the sunflower seeds he cracked between his teeth all day. Her fingers wound around his hand, bringing it from her cheek to her hip. She slipped down off the cabinet and he unbuttoned her pants. They fell to the floor with a rumpling sound that seemed to echo off of the tiled walls. She stepped out of them, climbing on top of the unit, tugging him between her legs. A second rumpling of jeans and he was buried inside of her, clutching her closely.

He began to move leisurely, kissing her with indulgence. But his body was strung like an archer's bow, taut with resistance, holding something back. Scully moved against him insistently, one hand scratching at his shoulder, the other twined through his hair. She kissed him like a diver plunging into deep waters; the taste of exploration too sweet not to bite.

"Faster," she pleaded in his ear.

Mulder complied, giving in, releasing built-up tension with the snap of his hips forward. In quick and jarring thrusts he drove into her until it was too much and she came with a gasp, collapsing into his chest. Time seemed to slow. The pulsation of where they were joined throbbed up through him to his ears and pounded through his chest. He heard every lungful of air he took; every small, panting breath Scully puffed. Every plunge pushed him further until he too, gasping for air, broke the surface, floating euphorically on the waves of the ocean.

An indeterminate amount of time later, when it was moving at roughly the normal speed again, Mulder lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arm outstretched and Scully's head resting on it. She was drawing aimless patterns around the scar tissue of where she had shot him. Moby had been rescued from their bag of belongings and the white whale was snuggled in the space between them. Everything should have felt easy.

"Scully..."

"Yes?"

"I– I..." He thought of Emily's face staring up at him. He wanted– needed to tell her about the hallucinations that haunted him but he didn't know if he could place that kind of burden on her. He shuffled onto his side and watched her watch him back. He was about to open his mouth when he saw Emily sat on the bed behind Scully, frantically shaking her head. He itched to make Scully turn over and see for herself the impossible. But there was something in that little girl's eyes, so like her mother's, that made him think of Scully first: how angry she would be if he said he could see her; how broken she would be if she saw her for herself.

"Why did you get those sunflower seeds?" he eventually fabricated to fill the silence, bottling his ghosts up and burying them for another time.

"What?" she asked, understandably bewildered.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he was walking down the wrong path, aware it was still early enough to go back, Mulder sighed and continued, "You didn't have to get them, so I just wondered why you did."

"Because you like them and I saw them." She leaned away from him, questioning him and trying to gauge what was running through his mind. "Did you not want them?"

"No, it's not that. I wasn't expecting it– I didn't ask you to get them..." he continued to ramble.

She silenced him with a kiss, smiling. "You didn't have to."

When Scully pulled away from him, Emily had disappeared and he wondered why at all he was taking advice from his own deluded mind. Mulder looked up at the ceiling again. There were things he needed to get off of his chest, but Emily was right, even if she was only an apparition or a figment: he couldn't tell Scully, not at the moment. Maybe sometime in the future when the moment was right. Yet the longer he left it, the harder it would be to explain what was happening– to explain why it had taken so long to confide in her. The longer he left it, the harder it pressed against his chest; another weight to carry around. The harder it pressed, the more it weighed on his mind; another thought to worry about. The more he thought about it, the harder it pressed against his chest. It was like something inside him wanted to scream when he reflected upon it. So, he didn't. Instead, he pulled Scully closer and lost himself curled around her. Her warm skin against his own grounded him; her scent wrapped itself around him and tied him down. He focused on her breathing, matching his own to the same pattern until he was made up of a tiny piece of Scully that kept him sane and whole.

"Mulder," she mumbled. "Are you okay?"

"Shh, it's nothing," he whispered. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "Try and get some sleep."

#my fic #msr #on the run #fox mulder #dana scully #maybe there's hope #the x files #xf fanfic

[misskittysmagicportal]

I’m A Creep

Fandom: The Messenger Jack x Rin Davies

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: suicide discussion, oral sex, penetration, mention of masturbation, angsty whomp because OOOOF is Jack a Whomp!character

Note: The events of this fic contain spoilers for those of you who havent seen The Messenger.�� It takes place after the end of the movie.  Read at your own risk if you haven’t seen it!  If you want it’s free on Tubi :)

Present Day:

Jack stood beside Rin in the dead of night watching her sleep for just a moment. Only a moment because she roused the instant she sensed him breathe. Sitting up, she quickly reached inside the nightstand. He knew her routine, Rin was impulsive about making sure her leather motorcycle gloves were on before she let him in.

Jack wordlessly pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers. 

Rin lifted her covers and opened her legs to him. Obliging, Jack lowered himself onto her showering her neck with kisses. His tongue and lips trailing down along her collarbone, erection hard against her thigh. A hand found its way under Rin’s t-shirt and over a naked breast where he pinched at a nipple. 

“Jack,” she was breathless. “Stop. Don't touch my skin, please.”

Jack pushed himself up by the arms, “How is this enjoyable to you, duck?” A northern term of endearment. “My thighs ah touchin’ you aren't they?” The moonlight caught his eyes as he teased her with the head of his cock. “What about this, inside you?” Suggestively whispered. 

Rin moaned but held her cool. “It’s not the same. Like you said, that's inside. It's just my.. skin. From my..” her voice trailed off. 

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckkin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed her. Tongue pushing inside of Rin, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered, just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me”

--------

Several Weeks Before:

Rin sat alone at a center table in the middle of the visitation room.  This wasn’t her first rodeo, probably won’t be her last.  She flexed her hands outwards the leather of her gloves cracking and flexing in a satisfying manner.  No one was going to come and see her. Besides, the solitude allowed her to quietly spy on all the other nutters around the room.

Just to her left Rin noticed a pretty redheaded woman and her son as they sat across from probably the most attractive guy ever in an institution.  There was a tenseness to the way he sat, shoulders hunched and hands between his legs.  His hair unruly and a blank stare that wasn’t really focusing on- she came to realize-  his sister and nephew.  Rin knew him from group therapy where he was equally quiet, eyes glassy from a psych med cocktail.  The majority of his speaking hours tucked away in that overbearing therapist’s office.  

“Jack, will you please just look at me?” his sister, Emma tried her best to reach out to her brother. “I.. I think Martin and I made a mistake.” 

Jack only stared straight ahead between Emma and his nephew, Billy. The preteen looked uncomfortable and scared as his mother nudged him softly. “It's ok. Billy tell Uncle Jack.” 

“I did, Mom” , his voice quiet. “I'm supposed to say no. That you should get me help before it's too late.”  Rin watched as Billy folded his arms and laid his head down. “Only I can't. It's all night and day, Jack. I can't sleep because they don't have you.” 

“Best leave him here with me then, Emma.” It was the first time anyone heard Jack speak in weeks. His sister had a posh accent, so Rin was surprised when Yorkshire dripped from his lips. “For good, right?” 

“That's not fair. You are sick, Jack.  You weren't caring for yourself. You.. you got too involved with that murder. You were hurting yourself,” Emma struggled with tears. “I want to take you home.”

“Oh like I'm some kind of fookin dog? Emma you and Martin made it clear I belong here. She's right, maybe it was all dad. That's traumatic you know.” 

“You deserve someplace warm! A home. Please, Jack. I found this in your things.” She slid a newspaper clipping towards her brother. “That's the boy who drowned. Why.. why didn't you tell me?” 

“Loads of kids drown in pools,” Jack stated bluntly with a shrug. “Why should your pool be any different?” 

“I never said it was our pool.” 

“I recognized the address in the article”

“Jack, it's from two years ago.” 

“I got lucky. Ah we doon here? I have walls to stare at. Here Billy you can have this back,” from between his knees he produced a glass paperweight with a scorpion inside. “Tell all ya mates Crazy Uncle Jack sends his loov” 

Jack tried to stand but Emma grabbed his arm. This was Rin’s cue to swoop in. She swiftly moved from her table to theirs. 

“JACKIE!’ I've been looking for you everywhere!” His eyes panicking in her direction. “I'm Wren,” she took her glove off and reached a scarred hand in Emma's direction. “But my brother couldn't say it so you can call me Rin” She smiled brightly. 

Emma tentatively shook Rin’s hand, smiling in turn.  Rin took a moment as her mind’s eye zoned in on what was inside of Jack’s sister.  It was a loneliness, a desperation to take care of her little brother but protect her son from the same fate.  But most importantly Rin felt a small tingling of warmth from somewhere deep inside of Emma’s heart.  It was white and pure and instantly recognizable as hope.  Even though it was tiny it was growing and starting to spread, and Rin knew Emma was eager to share that with her brother.

“Wow,” Rin blurted, “I wish my brother was as invested in me as you are.  You’re a good person, Emma.  Trust me,” she winked.  “Woman’s intuition.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and studied the crazed looking woman standing between her and Jack.  The scars on Rin’s hand raised some alarms, but Emma ignored them.  She omitted a relief and let go, “Well thank you.  Can you talk some sense into my brother?”

Moments later, with the visitors gone, Rin sat down in Emma’s place.  “Thank you is a start,” she teased Jack. 

He rolled his eyes and slowly turned in her direction to face her dead on.  The intensity of his eyes took Rin by surprise.  “Thank you,” the sarcasm poured like a waterfall.

Rin took off her other glove.  “Now, Mr-”

“Jack is fine.”

“Jack.  Tell me,” Rin feigned a German accent, “Und why do zey sink you are crazy.”   

He blinked slowly.

“You got sectioned.  What bullshit excuse did they force you to believe?  Because it seems like Lovely Emma is desperate to get you out, and we know how hard that is.”

Jack took an impossibly deep breath, “Schizo-effective disorder with some dissociation, post traumatic stress disorder, non-suicidal self injury disorder and depression.”

“Fuck me, that's a trail mix of bonkers. Now ask me” 

Jack closed his eyes. They were shut for so long that Rin was certain he had fallen asleep having given in to his meds. His hunched, thin body sort of folded a bit in on itself. A moment of possible self-soothing when he started to sway. 

“Jack?” Rin's tone fell quietly with concern. She poke his arm carefully avoiding touching the skin. “Darling what cocktail did these quacks put you on.” She was an expert after all these years; if the drugs were working, no way would he be this much of a zombie.

Green blank eyes hidden behind enviable eyelashes attempted to focus “Seroquel. Clozapine?” His words start to slur a bit. “Fine. How fucking barmy are you?”

“Well,”  the young woman softened, “I have suicidal ideations with self-injury tendencies myself, severe clinical depression, a bit of the old borderline personality disorder and wait for it..”  she practically whispered a few inches from Jack’s face, “total emotional attachment to partners.”  

The skin around Jack’s eyes crinkled as he squinted just enough to indicate his hazed brain was trying to process everything Rin just unloaded. His lips parted to speak but he paused resulting in a gobsmacked expression.  “You’re barking.”

“Says the sexy scarecrow with journo clippings of dead boys.”  Rin pursed her lips and crossed her arms, “Why are you really in here Jack.”

“I’m fucking mad.” It was matter of fact.

“To quote the Cheshire Cat, we’re all mad here, love.  Look at me,” she held her hands aloft to display gnarled and prominent scars covering both hands in their entirety.  “I developed a gift or two by primary school.  See I can touch a person, and I know what they are feeling.  Except it.. It goes deeper than that.  I can PICTURE their true selves.  It’s a bit overstimulating, but no one can lie to me.  Not really.  Doesn’t do much for my sex life.  Or lack of one really.  Honestly, you put a cock in your mouth only to find out the guy you’re with is fantasizing about slitting your throat and wanking in your blood.”

Jack shook his head, “Jesus christ.”

“Well yes! My parents were religious zealots, right?  They got wind of my gifts.  Tried to use me in the church, but I rebelled.  Long story short, darling Mumsy and Papa decided if they may be stuck my hands in boiling grease I wouldn’t be able to use it anymore.  It’s not in my hands though.  It’s in my skin,” Rin smiled almost pleasantly. “Sometimes I get a bit over the edge.  I stop shielding myself from the pure air around folks, I suffocate in it.  Then,” now she held out her wrists, “I have my little accidents.”

Jack’s mouth hung agape.  His brows furrowed in confusion, “You are off you’re fucking nut.”

“That’s all relative.  Now, you can tell me why they REALLY sectioned you.  What power or ability are they masquerading as mental illness, or I can find out my way.”  Rin shrugged. 

“Why the fuck do you care?  I’m sleeping at night.  I have food and a bed and a shower.”

“Und electro-shock zerapy, und coma inducing psychopharmaceuticals, und most importantly you has lost your voice und a chance to harness your ability correctly.”  that mock German accent again.  “You shouldn’t be here, Jack.  Emma certainly doesn’t think so, and neither do I.  You’re special.  Or that bitch shrink wouldn’t have made you the living dead.”

Jack snorted followed by a rather loud.  “Just fuck off. Fuck off.  Fuck off.  FUCK OFF!” he screamed in Rin’s face.  Not once did she flinch, arms crossed again in a challenge. Disgusted by her, Jack kept bellowing his words thick with anger and cotton from the meds, “I DON'T BELONG OUT THERE EITHER!  I DON'T BELONG IN HERE!  I DON’T FUCKING BELONG ANYWHERE. HE’S DEAD.  SHE’S DEAD.  EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE OF THE CUNTS IS DEAD!  DEAD DEAD DYING!  JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” 

He shot up out of the chair to leave, but Rin caught his large hand.  Skin to skin, hands so small together they barely covered just his one.  Instantly her body stiffened as she gasped for air.  Tears immediately stung her eyes as she crammed them shut.  There in her mind was just a large body of water.  Ocean waves crashed overhead as she sank far below the surface.  Dark, cold, horrifying that sensation of being drowned.  Rin choked on the last bit of oxygen in her lungs and started to suffocate.  The hand she held brought her mind’s eye around to opening under the water to see Jack floating near-motionless in front of her.  It took all of her strength to push against the tide towards him where she held his face in her hands.  Death and decay flashed above them, the dead peering down from boats just waiting for Jack to return to the surface.

Rin strained to convey that tiny bit of hope Emma had passed along to her earlier as she pressed her forehead into Jack’s in the icy deep.  There was no reason in particular that she was drawn to him.  Not in the hospital or here trying to save him from drowning slowly. Was he attractive, undoubtedly, but that wasn’t all or it. Maybe it was now that she knew he was a messenger, a harbinger of death.  That was itself a form of an empathic gift.  Or it was just compassion. 

Suddenly Jack’s eyes burst open.  In that languid way your body moves underwater, he pushed her away.  His arms and legs thrashed around in a panic as if he only just realized he was allowing this place to kill him.  There was an instant loss, and Rin’s inner self slammed into a brick wall.  The physical Jack had severed the connection between her body and his.  To resurface that suddenly forced Rin gulping in blessed oxygen that she never really lost.  It was an illusion, where the two of them had been.  He really had shoved her back though, she realized that now.  Storming out of the visitation center, Jack left Rin alone to cry.

--------

Several days later

Rin lounged against the wall outside of Jack’s room with her gloves firmly in place.  Patients weren’t SUPPOSED to fraternize outside of the common rooms, but Rin had been here a few times before.  She knew which orderlies and nurses to finess, and which to avoid.  In this case Jerry was the giant, affable St Bernard of a man that kept watch in this particular hallway.

“Wren back so soon?” he teased. “What are you doing hanging around the human handbook for the recently deceased?” 

“Delightful, Jer.  How is he?  I mean really.” Rin hooked her thumb in the direction of the room.

“Easiest patient I’ve dealt with on account of he rarely speaks, pops his meds and keeps to himself.  Gave us a bit of a row when he first got here, but I like the guy.  I don’t know what to believe though.  His sister’s been sniffing around administratives.”  The orderly shrugged his massive shoulders.  “Heard you took quite the piss on visitation day.”

“I didn’t take the piss!” 

“Did ya do your handsy thing,” Jerry made jazz hands.

Rin’s eyes almost rolled back in her head, but suddenly there was a figure in the doorway which caused her to jump.  “How about we don’t talk about the nutter like he isn’t 10 feet away and only 27 years old?” Jack insisted.  His arms crossed and shoulders sagged in their usual way.  

“Can we talk?”  

Before Jack could truly answer, Rin had already pushed past him and sat down on his bed.  His mouth hung somewhat agape before he eventually joined her.  Jack attempted to sit close, just for some human contact, but the young woman beside him shied away.

“Right,” a retort.  “You’ve started being just as bloody fucking annoying as they were.”

Startled, “Who?”

“You know those.. Schizo delusions I’m here for.”

“The dead?”

Jack’s green eyes narrowed and Rin knew there was a sarcastic remark just sitting there waiting to be released.  Instead he curled his posture as if he was trying to fold in on himself.  Make himself smaller, less noticeable.  “Dissociations sparked by my father’s suicide.”

“Psycho babble bullshit jargon.  Congratulations, you’ve become a parrot.”  Rin waved her hand, “Jack has anyone ever-.”  There was a hesitation.  

“Has anyone ever what? Go on, enlighten me then”

Rin started stripping her gloves off but thought better of it.  A sense of foreboding, of drowning and clutching her chest for hair flashed across her mind.  The loneliness emanated from Jack without her touch. That empathic conduction of her skin.  Reaching instead to place the soft leather against his cheek, her thumb brushed his bottom lip.  Her eyes searched for him in that moment where time stood still before a mouth replaced a thumb.  

To not only Rin’s surprise but his own, Jack didn’t recoil.  His body relaxed as instinct took hold. There was a fervor in hands that got tangled up in hair.  Tongues fought each other as arms made their way around bodies in an embrace.  They held one another tight, the desperation apparent.  

The spell broke when Jack laid Rin down on the bed and let his warm mouth trail down her neck. He was awkward and hungry like a teenager.  He fumbled around her chest to attempt massaging her breast. 

A snort came from Rin simply to hide the panic of rushing water when Jack’s lips came into contact with her skin.  Maybe hers found it easier to beg off that inner eye from opening, but now she didn’t have a choice.  They weren’t as deep with the surface just rippling only a few inches away.  

Before she started to lose oxygen again, Rin began to squirm.  “ Stop.  Please?”

Jack sat up and faced forward as if nothing had transpired.  His cheeks flushed and a hand tugged at his tee-shirt embarrassingly then stuffed between his legs. He blinked a few times as he breathing calmed. 

“I only came to ask you if anyone had ever shown you affection.  Held you.  Emma.. Emma”  Rin inhaled deeply as she forced Jack to hold her glove hand.  “I know she sort of longs to hug you.”  Back on his cheek to make him look at her. “Obviously I got my answer,” she laughed. 

Jack silently replied by pushing his forehead into Rin's.  They laid down again this time with their heads on his pillow legs and arms tangled up in each other. Jack nuzzled the edge of his nose into the skin behind her ear; her breath caught. Then the couple seemingly melted together.

“Jack you seem less-” fingers twisted up in his curls.

“Like a walking coma patient?” hand gripped the thick of her thigh.  Then reaching a shelf above Rin Jack seized one of those creepy glass paperweights housing a floating tarantula. Turning it over underneath to show a tiny white envelope. “I started hiding my meds. Pass them along to my sister when she visits.”

Just under the surface of the water, still struggling for air exploded before Rin's eyes. Perhaps she had passed something between Emma and Jack. Was it her own faith that was transmitted to him? That first touch that woke him up after all this time. 

The next few weeks became a game of trial and error. Of how little or much Rin and Jack could consume of each other.  Kissing was no longer an issue once the meds began to wear off, lips and tongues and mouths. It felt more like standing ankle deep in a bathtub. Warm and comforting; it was Jack that was overpowering.  

Eager to make up for a very long very lost amount of time. He stumbled along Rin's body uneasily because of how little clothing she removed at first. Not that he was in a rush to reveal what was underneath his oversized shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t the one recoiling when the stimulation overwhelmed.  

“I'll take off my shirt. Touch me here, but where the fabric of my bra is. Tease the nipple with just your fingertips. No that's.. maybe under? Touch them. Oh God. Now your mouth. Right there.  Are you.. you took your shirt off too?” (She marveled at how defined, muscular Jack's body seemed despite his slight stature)   

Jack took initiative now and slid his fingers inside of Rin. He pumped them a few times guided by her ``Oh.. maybe you can touch me.. Do you feel.. It’s like a bud or a kernel.. Here let me.. It’s just right.. OH GOD.  Right like.. ”   And she would ride his hand and fingers that circled that bud.  

Rin would cry out in surprise.  Her body exploded in ecstasy. They weren't drowning anymore. Just swimming, bobbed under the water and surface. It was the sense-memory of suffocating, coupled with the dazzling pleasure of Jack's warm tongue as it teased her nipples, his strong fingers teasing her clit at the same time. His hot skin meshed with hers washed out by fear.  She apologized as they scrambled to arrange themselves. 

“Don't think I'm going anywhere for quite some time, my love.”  His words changed with the possessive my in lieu of the once meaningless sentiment. He would steal a chaste kiss from Rin whose cheeks flushed to match his own as he made that familiar adjustment between his legs.  In the future, Rin would come to him without a bra but reluctant to take her shirt off when Jack kept on never minding.

Jerry became an ally of sorts. He always had been on Rin's side after she read him her second section. It wasn't difficult to get him to believe in Jack's abilities. Staff has whispered down the corridors that Jack had suddenly found himself aware of a suicide attempt.  That dead reporter Emma mentioned, his fiancé had taken more pills than Rin ever fathomed any number of her attempts. (She had a flare for dramatics: slit wrists) Jerry mentioned Jack had a tantrum the likes of a toddler screaming the name Sarah whatever over and over, pounding his fists into his head to make whatever haunted him. Sure enough, this Sarah was found nearly having bled out and foaming at the mouth. 

“How would he even fucking know, poppet? Not unless Jack really was chatting up her dead fiancé “ As if that was all he needed, Jerry turned his back and caused distractions all the nights the Empath and her Beautiful Broken Man longed to be together.

It was stunning the way Jack learned to manipulate the system.  Only Rin, and reluctantly Jerry, knew he pocketed his meds.  Safely tucked away in those ugly arachnid globes in the pockets or purse of Billy and Emma.  He started talking more in group therapy and far less in private sessions.  Engaged in conversations with his sister and nephew, true ones that resulted in a simple smile or a laugh free from a facetious tone.  To the staff and doctors those fucking psychopharmeceuticals worked.  To Jack’s sister and nephew and whatever Rin was to him, there was a slowly lifting weight making the air around him lighter. Yet Rin kept her hands to herself.

More trial and error.  In the midst of fervent kisses, Rin took Jack in her hand.  A stroke or two was all she got in before he spasmed and came.  The mortification that flashed in his eyes as he curled in a fetal position between her and the wall while she whispered reassurances in his ear.  Touching him, caressing him and eventually taking him into her mouth became easier and longer with practice and patience.  

They laughed into each other’s mouths before Rin let her tongue trail down over his stomach. Anxiously Jack took off his pants and boxers, lying backwards.  He held the back of her head, moaned and twisted as she licked and sucked on him. His hips bucked and thrust upwards.  

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

Present Day, Again

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed Rin. Tongue pushed inside of her, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered,  just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me?”

Rin took a moment to think.  He wasn’t drowning anymore.  She could push that old feeling out of her third eye and bury herself in new ones.  She took a hold of her shirt and tossed it on the floor.  She took the erection that twiced against her thigh and held it just outside of her pulsating and ready sex.  With hands that sunk into her vunerable skin, Jack buried himself inside of her. 

That fire from Emma all that time ago poured from Jack’s body into hers.  It pushed back the water as he pumped rhythmically into Rin.  Building into a frenzy quickly, his pelvis crashed into hers before she could really come around to what was happening.  It briefly conquered the fears from before; caused hot tears to spring to her eyes that flowed uncontrolled down her cheeks.

In his fervor, Jack noticed and bent to kiss them away.  The gesture she had made that first time, a thumb brushed across her cheek and lower lip as he slowed his pace. Wren,” he took to calling her that tentatively.  “What is it?”

Before she could answer, Jack became distracted by something in the corner of the room.  Eyes passed between Rin and whatever it was that she couldn’t fathom or see.  She took his chin and focused it on her as they crashed together and apart again in another wave of building friction. It was too late though, he had abruptly pulled out and away from her. 

“NO!  STOP!  LEAVE ME ALONE!  CAN’T I HAVE ONE MOMENT OF FUCKING HAPPINESS WITHOUT ONE OF YOU LOOMING OVER ME LIKE A FUCKING PERV.”  He used fists to beat out a rhythm on his temples as he scurried to the corner of his bed with knees up to his chest.  

In the frenzy, Rin had been knocked to the floor.  Jerry had rushed in, he was never too far away just in case.  In a whirlwind, he picked Rin up with one hand and with the other attempted to intervene between Jack's fists and his head.  What could either of them do?  If attention was drawn to the room, surely the doctors would realize Jack had gone unmedicated for weeks.  Jerry’s eyes wide gestured towards Rin’s hands.  She shook her head, but Jack carried on.  

“Go on Jenny Wren, there has to be something your hands can do.  I’ll lose my job and you’ll be separated.  They’ll put him back in the Zoo.”  He was already yanking her arms forward and trying to remove her gloves before she could consent.

Rin knew The Zoo. It being rooms that could be monitored with two way mirrors.  You got a bed and a blanket.  They controlled when the lights came on and when they turned them off.  No privilege, no real structure.  They fed you, bathed you, and gave you “playtime” when they said.  No matter how you suffered from mental illness no one deserved that. She would never forgive herself.

“JERRY LET ME DO IT MYSELF!”  Rin bellowed if only to out yell Jack and his fit.  “Make her go away!  LEAVE ME ALONE” he cried underneath her.  Her hands free, she flexed them a few times before joining Jack on the bed.  She clutched his forearms and struggled to get a grip enough to pull them away from self-harm.  “JACK!  YOU HAVE GOT TO FUCKING STOP, MY DARLING.”  She slid her hands over his temples before he could punch them anymore.  She used the heels of her palms and pressed.  

It was immediate, the way her mind opened to him.  This time he was floating along the tide in a boat surrounded by what Rin could only guess were dead people.  They grabbed and tugged on Jack’s clothes.   Rin sat on the other side from him between two oars; she used one to swat at the ghosts who tried to pull them back in.  But there, walking along the surface, was a beautiful young woman.  Blonde hair flowed in waves down her back.  Sarah.

“You said we would be together, Jack.”  She was angry.  “That’s what you told him when he warned you I overdosed.  I survived that attempt, but not the second one.  Where is he Jack?  Why isn’t he here waiting for me?”

Jack stood up and the boat began to dangerously rock. Rin took his hand and he squeezed it in return.  He bellowed at the dead woman, “YOU SURVIVED AND HE MOVED ON.  I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU BEING FUCKING STUPID, SARAH.  WHAT I TOLD YOU WAS MEANT TO EASE YOUR GUILT.  HE LOVED YOU.  YOU WERE SO LOVED.  HE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT YOUR MISTAKES.  YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME ALONE.  ALL OF YOU.  I’M FUCKING DONE.  MOVE ON.  GO SOMEWHERE ELSE.  I CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE OF MY KIND.  AND FUCK OFF BILLY TOO, MATE.”

“Jack?”  Rin spoke softly.  The hands gripped her tight in place of him.  They started to pull her in with him because he was useless now.  He stood up to them for possibly the first time in twenty years.  They would take her instead then.  

Jack seized Rin’s body before she could go over in his place.  He held her fast and tight and shielded her from them.  “NO.  You don’t fucking get ANYONE I love.  Not Billy.  Not Emma.  Not Martin.  No Wren or Rin.  AND YOU DON’T FUCKING GET ME ANYMORE.”  He took the oar up in his free hand and swung it around the bodies in the water.  He jabbed it forward like a sword at Sarah still pacing the side of the boat.  “GO, SARAH.  HE’S WAITING FOR YOU.  I PROMISE THIS TIME”  Jack insisted and pleaded.

Then it was so silent it deafened both Jack and Rin as they clung to one another in the boat.  In a flash and explosion, they separated and landed back on the bed in the room in an institution.  Jerry panted and pawed at the two of them dazed and uncertain.  Jack blinked a handful of times with no recollection of what just took place in his head and Rin’s.  They never knew or remembered Rin had learned.

Jack scoured the room for any sign of Sarah or anyone else.  He rubbed his eyes a few times then sighed heavily.  “I.. I want to go back to my room now.”  It was matter of fact.  

Jerry nodded and helped him back into his clothes.  Jack stumbled a bit but managed to kiss Rin sweetly before being led away and down the hall.  Rin knew Jerry would probably give him something to help him sleep at least for the night and probably into tomorrow.  She was afraid Jack had woken up a second time.  Not just from his nightmare of the last twenty years, but whatever happened between them.  It was a price she had to pay sometimes when she helped.  There was something Rin longed to say earlier.  What made her cry was an ember somewhere deep inside of Jack that he had never experienced before.  For the first time in his life, he had hope.

#robert sheehan #jack #the messenger #robert sheehan character fic #jack x rin davies

[wildcreationmagic]

NozelxOcReader

Captain’s Requests ch2  (part 2/2)

The Captain’s return and you help prepare a thank you meal in appreciation. Afterwards you’re given a formal invitation to join the Magic Knights.

Captain’s Request chapter 2 (part 2/2)

You roll over and sunlight streams in through your window onto your face making you squint as your eyelids flutter open. With the sun pooling in it has to be at least midmorning, apparently yesterday was more exhausting than you thought. Or at least eventful. Pushing yourself up you decide it is best to get ready for the day, slightly surprised your family hasn’t gotten you up as you dress for the day. A green v-neck sleeveless top with a  white undershirt for modesty. Over the top a lighter green wraps around from hip to under your chest with the remainder of the other top hanging down in front and back like a loincloth or high slit dress. Meanwhile your pants are leather with the leather looking like layered wraps a few inches down your thigh to your feet with the strap wrapping around the arch of your foot. Putting on a pair of simple boots you open your door the makings of a mouthwatering meal wafts to your nose. Curiously you go into the kitchen finding your mother who smiles at you.

“Morning (Y/n). Sorry for not waking you, I thought it would be better to let you sleep a little after yesterday.”  Catching her peering into the oven you raise a brow at it but smile thanking her.

“Thanks mom. What are you cooking for, we aren’t expecting anyone are we?” Grabbing an apple you bite into it as the sweet, crisp juices move along your tastebuds. 

“Well, the Magic Knights are back in town it seems like, and I was thinking you could invite Miranda over for a good home cooked meal. She’s been at the Capital five years? Seven? And besides she hasn’t visited in ages, it’s been well over a year. If she comes you could invite her Captain as well or the others.” Listening as she speaks you raise a brow in response.

Swallowing another bite you tip your head. “Mom, they are going to be busy I’m sure and probably not in Carney long-.” 

“Exactly, so once you finish that I want you to make some buns and go catch Miranda.”  Bustling around the kitchen she takes out a batch of buns she already made and grumbles. “(Y/n), you have to do this. I can’t get this right, and if we are having Magic Knights over we can’t have these!” As she flicks one you watch nervously when it makes a solid thump. 

Polishing off the apple you throw the core away and push up your sleeves starting to wash up before starting on the dough. Bread flour, water, butter, oil, honey, salt and most importantly yeast. Mixing for a good while you take it out and start kneading it until you place it back into the bowl with a towel over it. Setting it up out of the way letting it rise undisturbed. Rinsing your hands again you look over to your mother, who is currently working on seasoning some other dish. “I’ll go into town now mom. I’ll be back to help and finish the bread soon.” 

Getting a nod that was good enough for you. Leaving you open your grimoire and use your transformation spell, shifting into a hawk taking off towards Carney. In this form you notice things easily missed as a human, and from up high you can practically see all of the town including the church up on the hill. Eyes spotting Miranda and her Captain you give a shrieking whistle diving down towards her. Turning her head up towards you she doesn’t duck or so much as move a muscle out of the way.

 Yami letting out a puff of smoke speaking before you even turn back. “Oh hey Blondie. Sunshine your friend’s here.” 

Halting your dive a few feet from Miranda you pull up shifting back and smile at her as she narrows her eyes. “What? You know I wouldn’t hit you.” Grinning a little you get hazel eyes narrowed at you making you chuckle.

“Uh huh. Sure.” Shaking your head you give her a little hug pulling back glancing between her and the Captain. About to speak as a yell is heard from inside the church making you all turn.

Another puff leaves Yami’s lips as his eyes shift to the church doors. “What did that idiot do now?” Rolling out the double doors Finral lands face first in the grass kicking up a surprising amount of dirt.

“Let that be a lesson to you, you flirtatious little scamp! This is the house of God and you should be ashamed of yourself!” Seeing Sister Marletta in the doorway you cover your mouth with a hand. 

“Sorry….Sister.” Croaking out face down yet the rest of you politely greet the sister while Miranda apologizes for her squadmate’s behavior. The two reminiscing a bit while Yami stares Finral down.

“Okay, what the hell did you say?”

Explaining himself Finral had asked why Sister Marletta devoted her life to God being so young and having so much promise. Ouch. Yami shaking his head. “You damn idiot.”

Clearing your throat a bit you look to Finral. “Well Sister Marletta has been with the church for a long time. Over 20 years, Miranda even was in a church group with her where Marletta looked after the children for the day.”

“Huh, that explains why Sunshine is so friendly.” He states as Miranda is apologizing and catching up with the sister yet. Meanwhile Finral sits up holding his head and you walk over to help him while waiting for Miranda. 

“You alright?” Helping the man up he blinks staring at you and is clutching your hand between his own in moments.

“Ah! Thank you for being concerned for me my lady, but as a Magic Knight this is nothing I assure you!” He still grips your hand and you want to pull it away as he continues. “A kind and beautiful woman as you must have a lucky man at her side no?”

Blinking you haven’t experienced anything like this in your life so it catches you off guard. “Uh, no. No I don’t.” Behind you Yami tsks and inhales through his teeth as if you made a mistake giving a shake of his head.

Your expression turns from confusion to annoyance rather quickly as Finral speaks again. “Oh how unfortunate, but perhaps we can call this fate?! I don’t have anyone either, would you be my girlfriend?” Eyes closed he nearly sparkles at you in delight as you see the other Captains behind him walking up.

“No.” Right now you could give Nozel a run for his money with the distaste on your features. “Besides that I don’t have time to waste dating anyone.” Yanking your hand away you give an annoyed huff leaving two of the three Captains behind Finral amused, and Yami busts out laughing behind you. 

“Well dang if that doesn't sound familiar I don’t know what does.” Grinning Yami eyes Nozel while snickering as the Silver Eagles Captain stares him down clearly not amused. Turning to Yami you see Miranda was by him again and looking about ready to beat Finral making you raise a brow.

“Were you flirting with her?” Shaking his head frantically, Finral denies it and gives a startled scream while Miranda comes at him. 

“I’m your superior!” 

 “Say Blondie.” Attention shifting back to Yami questions you a little. “What did you come out here for anyway?”

“Well my family wanted to invite Miranda over for dinner, you’re welcome to come as well Captain Sukehiro, and your other squad member- Finral correct?” Turning your head you are a little nervous addressing the other Captains. “Captains you’re welcome as well, there is more than enough. Of course if you’re busy I understand, but it is a small way of thanking you all.” Your friend stopping mid assault of Finral he ragdolls more than relieved and Miranda looks to Yami.

“Food? Hell yeah, I’m staring! Julius didn’t let us eat before leaving!” Stomach growling Yami sighs, placing a hand on it wincing.

William blinks looking intrigued while Fuegoleon smiles with his arms crossed, and much to your surprise they accept. Nozel however scoffs. “Of course you would have time Foreigner. Your squad ranks the lowest while we on the other hand have more important matters to attend.” 

Hand on his heart Yami acts hurt with Nozel’s words just irking the royal further and Fuegoleon places hand on his chin. “Well, the Wizard King did tell us we are excused unless a major emergency appears. Besides that if we are needed we all can be contacted immediately. I think it would be nice to take Miss (Y/n) up on her offer.” 

William nods as well, “Indeed. It would be rude to turn down her offer after all.” Nozel’s head swivels at the other two in disbelief as his features twist into a scowl.

“C’mon Prissy Pants. Besides, you could stand to lighten up a little bit, and in any case no one is leaving unless I give you permission to use my ride.” Yami’s thumb pointing at the spacial magic user while Nozel’s gaze narrows. 

A little worried you speak up eyes flitting back and forth between the two Captains. “If Captain Silva would rather return to the Capital that is fine. I don’t want to inconvenience any of you.” Feeling Nozel’s stern gaze you dare a glance and cast your eyes sideways slightly.

“Hmph, well at least you understand. Unlike some fools.” Glaring at Yami the Black Bulls Captain rolls his eyes in response.

Fuegoleon rumbles over the group, his voice commanding the attention of everyone including yourself. “Nozel if we are needed we can leave, but this is the least we can do after (Y/n) helped us. Besides it seems like she was hard at work already.” Chuckling a bit at you while your cheeks heat a bit. Slightly embarrassed you smelled like baked bread and other homemade goods in front of them. Yami mutters about that being the reason he was so hungry and Miranda scolds him about always being hungry.

Listening to the chatter around him Nozel crosses his arms watching the Crimson Lions Captain, just what was the lion planning? Eyes narrow in suspicion he doesn’t say a word as he simply has to go along with this madness.

“Hey, mans gotta eat!”  Flexing a bit you shake your head, did they always act like this? You worried they would have been strict, but the only one who was so seems to be Nozel Silva. Not that it is a bad thing it just means he is serious about his work and takes pride in it. 

The gentle tone of William Vangaence making you look at him. “You can expect us there.” You’d almost forgotten he was there, he's been so quiet! Giving a warm smile you return it gently. 

“So, Blondie. When can we pop over?” Butting in Yami seemed more impatient than ever to get some food as you glance at the sun for a moment.

“Two or three hours. I’ll come get you when we’re finished with everything.” Gazing at the sun longingly Yami sighs.

“Sunshine, can’t you make that thing move faster or something?” In response Miranda scoffs muttering that she wasn’t the Wizard King. 

Shaking your head you gaze at the other Captains thanking them silently, and your grimoire flies open again as you shift taking off into the sky.

Even though you can’t see it you can feel a certain eagle’s gaze on you until you’re out of sight. 

~

Finishing the last of the cooking you dart out of the house and fly back to town while looking around Carney for the Captains. You spot them in the central square so you circle once, and glide down turning back to your normal shape in the green glow of your mana keeping your features hidden until fully shifted. All eyes turning to you as Yami grins. “Finally! Let’s go get some food!” 

Chuckling you nod speaking lightly to ease any tension. “I hope you can enjoy yourselves Captains.” To which Yami scoffs.

“It’s free food and besides when you flew in earlier the damn smell was like a bakery!” A blush rises to your cheeks at the praise and you clear your throat a little glancing away.

Unsure how they wanted to get there you are about to ask when Yami whirls on Finral who gulps understanding. He seems to want to retort back, but refrains, and opens a portal gesturing for you to go first. You step through followed by Nozel who lifts his chin, seeming more than happy he doesn’t have to waste his magic transporting Yami. Fuegoleon, William and Yami follow. Along with Miranda and finally Finral in tow closing the portal.

With your arrival your mom bustles out from the house smiling and giving a greeting to the Captains. She obviously is excited and you could swear she has fixed up her hair since you left. “Captains nice to see you, we will be eating shortly. Just a few more things to get ready.” Striding over to a small pile of wood she grabs and places several pieces around a large log making the others raise the brow while Yami scratches his head.

“Uh, so we're using logs to sit?” Blushing you realize how silly this must seem to the Captains and rush to explain. Especially since a pair of violet eyes seem outraged with the suggestion as Captain Silva’s head turns sharply in your direction.

“We’ll not exactly, my mother uses Transmutation Magic. She can turn one thing into another such as water to wine.” Rubbing the back of your neck nervously, your voice is shaky in your embarrassment. “The house is a bit small for this many people, I apologize. But we will do our best to ensure you’re comfortable Captains.” Thankfully your words appeased Nozel since his shoulders ease a little. 

Your mom meanwhile is oblivious to what just happened as she gives a wave of her hand as her grimoire flips open. Flicking a finger her mana flows over the items as her magic morphs the items in front of your eyes. From the large log in the middle is a long ,and elegant wooden dining table with a polished top the smaller logs into matching polished wooden chairs with ornate carvings on the back. 

Behind you the Captain’s watch intrigued while Yami lets out a long whistle. “Damn that’s pretty nifty.” 

Nodding solemnly Fuegoleon crosses his arms smiling while glancing over at your mother’s handy work. “Indeed, it is clear where you get part of your abilities from.” You glance away a bit embarrassed at the Captain’s praise, and it doesn’t help that the other Captains seem to agree. Even Nozel was regarding you with a rather appraising gaze. 

Thankfully Yami breaks the tension. “So which one of these chickens are we eating?” Eyeing the hens striding around the yard you glance between them and the Captain shaking your head.

“None of them.”  Blinking he looks back past the house into a pasture a way off pointing.

“Okay, which one of these cows are we butchering?”   You sigh shaking your head unsure what to make of the Captain right now.

“None of them either.”

“What? Well what are we eating then!? It better not just be plants, I know I smell some meat there!”  Leaning back an arm comes out to ease Yami away from you and you smile softly at Captain Vangaence. 

“Thank you, and we have it prepared already. My family stores the extra in Carney and we get it as needed. Besides we don’t kill or butcher the animals ourselves.” Receiving a simple ‘oh’ you shake your head again. “Captains you can go ahead and sit. We’ll bring everything shortly.” Smiling, you start to head towards the house while the Captains take their seats.

Nozel at the head of the table, to his left Fuegoleon with the chair next to him empty and Finral filling the next one over. On the other side across from Finral is an empty chair once more, then Yami, Miranda, and finally William across from Fuegoleon. Returning you give everyone a glass along with a glance from the corner of your eye as your sister takes a seat by Yami across from Finral. Like you she has blue eyes and blonde hair, although her’s is much lighter in tone. Unfortunately for you though she is several inches taller. As if you don’t look short enough with Yami or Captain Vermillion even your sister and mother are taller.

Pouring water out for everyone you are extra mindful around Nozel, but thankfully he seems to pay little mind to you or anyone else. Coming back up and finally pouring your sister a glass before yourself you overhear Yami prodding at your sister with a few questions. Oh boy. 

“So you’re the older sister huh?” Inwardly you shake your head, she has chosen the worst spot to sit. Then again sitting across from Yami wouldn’t have been any better.

“Yeah.” Glancing up from her book seeming mildly confused and bored as she returns back reading intensely. 

“Hm, so how old are ya?” You go and get some plates setting them out coming back to Yami still pondering. “So you’re 29, huh that’s how old Nozel over there will be in a few months. Fuegoleon also turned 30 not too long ago...” 

You don’t like where this is heading but seeing your dad walk up you gasp seeing his forehead. With him bleeding you excuse yourself, your sister making a face with the blood unable to look while you run up to him. He is always getting hurt it seems, shaking his head shrugging it off as nothing you scold him. “No, it isn’t alright. You could have been hurt badly enough you couldn’t walk back and you never told anyone which field you were in” 

“I’ll be okay. I got my little nurse to look after me.” Chuckling as you scowl in response you get him inside to clean up shaking your head.

The eyes of three other Captains on you as you do, there is no doubt you can assess and take control of a situation. Something they all noticed yesterday and something a Magic Knight needs to do should the situation call for it.

 Returning you find your sister is arguing with Yami, and she is not happy with him. As a result you’re not happy with her. 

Sharply saying her name while meeting her eyes. “That’s enough. Even if you don’t agree with what Captain Sukehiro says, at least be polite about speaking with him. If you wanted to leave the conversation you could have excused yourself to help our father.”

“I’m the eldest, I don’t have to listen to a child.” She snaps back and it is quite ironic.

Voice staying level and say her name calmly while meeting her gaze yet. “Then start acting like it. If you don’t like it you can go inside to eat. No one forced you to come out here.”

With her nearly growling at you it is hard not to be embarrassed in front of the Captains. Her eyes boring into you with hate, quite fed up with you and you know why. She never has liked you or paid you mind unless it was for you to do something like her. Any Other time or when you get attention from your parents, like last night from helping the Magic Knights she probably heard a fair bit of praise from your parents. 

An apologetic gaze from you to the Captains earns a smile from William and Fuegoleon. While Nozel looks at your sister dismissively with a slight turn of his head. Yami snuffs out his cigarette glancing at your sister from the corner of his eye, seeming to be in disbelief she is nearly the same age as him. Miranda on the other hand looks ready to murder and you hold up a hand giving a nervous smile to try and defuse her.  Finral who has to be across from your sister seems like he would rather be anywhere else and that he regrets his decision to sit there.   

Seeing your mother come out you rush to meet her halfway and take the items from her. “I’ll take these mom.” Thankful for the distraction you rush back over setting the baskets of fresh buns on the table one for each end. Still trying to clear the awkward air you speak gently. “The rest will be out shortly, careful with the bread it just came out a few minutes ago.” 

As if nothing happened you smile and shift gears ready to please the others, even if your sister is being especially rude. The only reason she came out was likely just for the food, or your parents told her to come out and interact.

 In no time though you have placed all the dishes and Yami grins. 

“All right, this is what I’m talking about!” Helping himself he piles his plate high with mostly meat you notice and you begin to hope that enough food was made for everyone. It never occurred to you that Captain Yami may eat as much as he did, along with that Captain Fuegoleon wasn’t exactly a small man either. You’ll just have to wait and see.

Only seating yourself once they begin to eat as you give yourself an average serving on your own plate. Thankfully there is enough for everyone and then some. Taking a small piece of meat, some cooked fresh vegetables, and various other dishes you had made with your mother. 

With everyone eating you earn a few compliments on the meal causing a blush to rise on your cheeks. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Ignoring the glare and eye roll from your sister on the praise you’re getting she finishes quickly. Getting up, leaving her plate and going inside making you sigh. “I apologize for my sister’s behavior, Captains.” You murmur softly while standing, abandoning your own meal for now to get her plate and bring it inside.

Beside you Fuegoleon smiles a little shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have to apologize for the mistakes of others, but thank you for your concern. You’re a kind yet strong woman.” Picking up your sister’s plate you give a shy smile. 

William picking up from the other side of the table. “Agreed, most people would have lost their temper in that situation I believe.” Beside him Miranda mutters that she would have, making you chuckle shaking your head.

“Don’t worry I’m used to it. Excuse me a moment.” Turning towards the house you head inside just as your mother pops out to check on the Captain’s. Leaving you to quickly scrub the plate and wash your hands trying to hurry back.

“(Y/n), are you making sure everyone is comfortable?” Inquiring your mother gives you a look and you nod smiling. “Good, Captain’s I hope everything tastes okay.” She sees Miranda and gives her a smile. “Good to see you again Miranda, hope you’re staying safe and out of trouble.” 

Smiling your friend nearly seems like she is plotting something as her eyes shift side to side. “Safe yes, though I can’t make any promises on not being in trouble.” 

Shaking his head Yami grabs Miranda and has her in a headlock. “Haha. What are you talking about? You are the trouble you idiot.” 

Despite Yami’s lack of answer Finral pipes up. “It is wonderful ma’am thank you. You’re a wonderful cook!”

Laughing a little your mother shakes her head. “I didn’t do all of it, a fair bit was (Y/n). She made the bread, seasoned the meat and several other things.” 

Hearing this praise you blush deeply and hide your face in embarrassment. “Mother…”

Trailing off you nearly groan as Fuegoleon chuckles a bit looking at your mother. “You should be very proud of your daughter. She did excellent and she was quite the help yesterday.”

William echoes the praise while Yami grins and says he could go for some more meat. A voice surprising the other Captains and you greatly.

“It’s palatable.” Even though it is a simple remark the fact makes you happy even Captain Silva seems to be enjoying himself.

Yami laughs with a mouthful of food. “Haha coming from him, that's high praise so I’d take it!” 

Nozel however doesn’t take kindly to the remark as his brow twitches and eyes are closed. “Can you at least try to act like a Captain and not humiliate the Magic Knights? You’re acting more outlandish than usual Foreigner, although considering your Squads reputation it isn’t surprising.” 

Fork raised to his mouth, Yami swallows another mouthful still chewing. “What was that Prissy Pants? I couldn’t hear you over my chewing.” 

Mauve eyes twitching irritated Nozel turns his head away refusing to give Yami anymore attention. “Tch.” 

Thankfully somewhere between that interaction your mom was back inside, and just as you’re about to sit at the table you sigh hearing your sister from the house. Seeing what she wants as you inwardly sigh and scream. You really shouldn’t leave them for too long. It would be rude, but all Hell would break loose if you don’t do this for your sister. Because you are being too ‘lazy’ if you don’t. 

Stepping outside again you apologize gently with a troubled smile. “I have to get something from the basement for my sister, I’m sorry.”

None of them are too bent out of shape though, thankfully, and Yami raises a finger. “Hey you got anything to drink than this water? Like some beer or something?”

Brow raised you shake your head a little. “We have a couple bottles of wine, but those are my sister’s.” Sighing Yami seems defeated until Miranda pulls a bottle out of her infinity pouch. One time she visited a year ago you swear she had even a kitchen sink in that thing, and it isn’t ever any bigger than a coin purse.  Turning your back you smile hearing the faint chatter from them as you head inside and down to the basement.

Once in the basement you have to use the light, but it seems like the magic powering the switch ran out. It seems like you’ll have to go in blind, stepping off the last wooden stair onto the stone you give a startled shriek as light suddenly bounces off the walls from behind you. Whirling you face the source eyes wide only to see Captain Vermillion!

Hand on your beating heart you take a breath. “Captain Vermillion, I-I’m sorry. You startled me!” His own normally regal and stoic face being one of shock at the moment. Turns into a warm smile relaxing you.

“No, I must apologize to you. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you’ve done so much for us I’d see if you could use some help. It appears so.” Purple hues gliding to the flipped switch that still isn’t working and you give a slight smile.

“It seems so, thank you Captain. I appreciate it, shall we?” Nodding at you to go ahead you do. The main part of the basement being open with in the middle on the back wall being a short hallway with a doorway to another smaller room on each side. One a storage room for canned goods and the like. While the other is covered in a large woven area rug with a small couch and bed along with a few other things to make it homey. In the corner near the door sits a small heating stove for extra warmth. Going into the one on the left you head to the back of it and crouch down in front of the wooden wine rack. Checking a couple bottles until you find the right one.

Behind you Fuegoleon’s voice is a warm and welcoming reminder you’re not alone down here. “Did you come down here because your sister asked you to?”

Glancing back at him you nod. “Yes, she is a bit much at times, but she is my sister so of course I’ll love her no matter what. Though I do think I warned you yesterday she hates me.” Chuckling a little he closes his eyes with a warm smile, you weren’t forced to do any of this. You’re just a kind person even with the harshness of your sibling. Slowly standing you have the bottle in hand glancing up at him. 

Curiously Fuegoleon asks to see the bottle as you blink and nod handing it to him. The man holding it up inspecting the label, lips parting about to speak. “Is this made in Carney? I think I remember seeing this around the Capital when I was younger, before the trade between here and the Capital was cut off.” About to answer him, his eyes widen in surprise when a small form hops on the end of his nose. Your own eyes wide as well while you try not to laugh. 

A small jumping spider had hopped off the bottle and onto the Captain’s face, turning away you try to not giggle. “Ah, hold still a moment.” Amused as well he nods and you use your communication spell. “Spider can… you please get off the Captain’s nose please?”

“Huh? What’s a nose?” Turning the spider faces down at you, explaining to the little arachnid it turns back and hops in surprise seeing Fuegoleons purple eyes staring down on it. “Oh- I’m sorry!” Voice small and high you smile and it hops back to the bottle while you hold out your hand to take it from him. Glancing at the cork where the spider sits. 

Both of you looking at one another laughing at what just happened.

Babbling back to you and Fuegoleon the spider tells how she was stuck down here forever. Glancing down you speak up softly to her. “I’ll put you outside alright, just when you see my sister hide or you may be squished.” Agreeing you take off the spell and you walk up the steps with the crimson haired Captain explaining a little of your magic when asked.

“Smaller animals like spiders aren’t very talkative normally, when they do it is limited and like trying to keep the attention of a child. While animals like birds, can be gossips and spread or hear information to one another. Thankfully bugs really don’t talk or have anything to say, that way I don’t have to feel bad about swatting them.” Both of you giving a grin.

“Interesting, so in a way it depends on the animal's intelligence?” 

Pondering you shrug. “In a way I guess. You can go on ahead, and thank you again.”  

“Of course.” In a few strides he leaves the house cape fluttering behind him.

Stepping outside a moment you put out the spider and she starts spinning her web while you go to bring the bottle back to your sister. Returning to the table as Fuegoleon has seated himself already and Yami looks at you. “Oh, there’s the happy couple. Fuego says it was about a spider on his nose or something? I don’t know. Say blondie how many kids you want?” In shock you gap at Yami.

“What are you..? Captain Vermillion helped me yes because the lighting didn’t work. As for your question I’ve never thought about it. I don’t even have someone I’m with.” Face a million shades of scarlet you shake your head. 

“You kidding me? It doesn’t matter how many she wants, have you seen those hips? She could pop them out like that!” Snapping her fingers Miranda speaks in a bit of playful jealousy which just embarrasses you further.

“Miranda! Captain Sukihero!” Sitting abrupting you take a drink to try and hide your burning face. There is nothing more you want right now then to dig a hole and bury yourself! 

Holding up his hands Yami leans back a little. “What? I’m just trying to help, I mean your parents gotta have someone to give them grandkids your sister won’t.” So that is what had your sister so steamed when you returned while setting the table.

“Foreigner this is hardly a matter you should have any input. Besides that I think it is safe to say you’re nearly drunk.” Eyebrows slanted down with his eyes closed and arms crossed Nozel scowls. 

William has a hand on the brow of his mask as well sighing almost embarrassed for you.  “Yami,was that necessary?” Shifting his head a little he glances at Miranda beside him. “Please don’t encourage him.”  

 Even Finral seems embarrassed, and only Captain doesn’t even blink as he seems to be pondering something else entirely.

While brewing in your own embarrassment you hear your mother come up. “(Y/n) did you offer the Captains any dessert yet?” Head popping up you shake your head explaining you had to get something for your sister and she sighs. “Well you sit here and relax a bit, you’ve already done a lot today. Is everyone alright with apple?” With no objections your mom serves all of you and you finally lift your head a bit more hoping the treat will dissipate any lingering awkwardness from the latest remarks.

Said dessert is a simple fold-over apple tart with a powdered sugar glaze drizzled on top. Simple yet tasty. At least you hope as they try it, William’s lips turning up in delight, Nozel goes for a second bite, Fuegoleon seems to enjoy his quietly and Yami eats his almost whole. Seeing Miranda’s face you laugh a little. “I reminded her you don’t like apples, so we made a pear one for you.” With everyone happy your mom goes back inside and you sigh relaxing when asked more sensible questions by William.

Swallowing your bite so you don’t speak with your mouthful you gesture to a nearby apple tree, nearly hidden around the corner of the house. Chatting with almost everyone and answering questions when asked it is easy to forget you are speaking to high ranking Magic Knights. Clearing everyone’s plates you glance at the sky. 

“I hope you could relax a bit and enjoy yourselves Captains, especially with the treatment you received in Carney yesterday. Hopefully in the future people will be more welcoming, especially since someone from there is a Magic Knight as well.” You give a smile to Miranda as Fuegoleon also stands drawing your attention. His eyes on you intensely.

Clearing his throat worry passes through you for a few moments hoping you didn’t do anything wrong. “(Y/n),”  having your full attention he continues. “As the Captain of the Crimson Lion Kings I’d like to invite you to join my squad. You’re strong and determined. That is exactly what I’m looking for in my squad.” 

All you can do is stare in a bit of shock and awe. Did he really just ask you to join the Magic Knights, and the Crimson Lions at that? Before you can think too deeply on it a cold voice breaks through.

“She will not be joining your squad Fuegoleon.” Attention on Nozel his piercing eyes meet your own and you don’t feel intimidated for once. Instead he seems to be addressing you almost like an equal. “The Crimson Lions would be a waste to join. You’ve shown to be useful and that your magic is powerful.” Chin lifting his eyes nearly stare into your soul. “I’m giving you the privilege to join the Silver Eagles. I would hope you accept and not waste the opportunity.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on there you royal jerks! Who says you get first dibs!? Besides it’s obvious she’s going to join my squad!”

Mauve eyes shifting to Yami, Nozel stays composed. “Why would she do something so foolish as to join the worst squad in the Magic Knights?” Stating this Nozel almost seems to take pride in the fact he practically outed Yami from the running. 

On the other side of Miranda, William watches the exchange in silence until Yami notices the Golden Dawn Captain’s interest. “Oh no you don’t Goldie! Don’t tell me you’re getting in on this?!” 

Giving a smile he nods at Yami. “Well, her magic is useful. It would be a waste not to have her in the Magic Knights, whatever squad she joins would benefit greatly…” trailing off the masked man chuckles a bit as Yami stands up shouting.

“It’s bad enough I have to compete with these two, but you too? Nuh uh! Besides I got something you three don’t!” Gaining their attention Yami holds Miranda up as she yelps and fights being held up like a kitten by the scruff. “I don’t see any of you having her best friend on your squad. So it’s obvious I have all three of you beat- even Goldie and Prissy Pants here. No offense Fuegoleon, but you’re not trying to be underhanded about this.”

Still held by her Captain Miranda seethes. “Yami, I will burn everyone else at this table along with you if that’s what it takes to let me go. Just because I’m short doesn't give you a right to manhandle me!” Little sun bursts of heat come from her body and Yami drops her like a hot coal. Leaning down and puffing out some smoke on her face.

“As your Captain, Sunshine, I don’t think I give a damn what you think. I’m not losing to Goldie here or Nozel! Not my fault Fuegoleon jumped the gun before I could ask.” Arms crossed watching Yami, Miranda adds a little more heat as his cigarette catches fire making him look down at it. “Now that’s a problem, but Sunshine you don’t help me and it’s toilet duty for a week.” Grinning with the still burning cigarette in his mouth she gulps, and her cat-like expression turning to one of pleading. 

Eyes turn back on you as you fidget under the scrutiny, but finally you sigh closing your eyes. Quiet for a few moments and speaking surprising everyone meeting their gazes. “Captain’s I’m honored you’re even asking me, but I have to refuse. I’m not interested in joining the Magic Knights”

You can’t even take in all their reactions before Yami leans over and is in your face rather loudly. “What the hell do you mean you refuse?! Are you crazy? Sunshine, knock some sense into her will ya!” 

Finral raises a finger up chuckling nervously. “Uh, Captain Yami Sir? I don’t think that is making us look very good-.” 

“Shut up Finral!” Squeaking as he is scolded Finral shrinks back into his seat squeaking out a ‘yes sir’. 

Shaking your head you give a bemused expression with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Following your gaze back at the house they get their answer why. “You saw my father earlier, he is getting older and I can’t leave him to do everything himself. My sister sometimes helps, but I can’t exactly rely on her, and my mother doesn’t always know what to do. I’m honored just having been asked, but I’m sure you can find someone else better suited to the Magic Knights than me.” 

Before anyone else can voice their opinion Fuegoleon, who has been quiet again until now, speaks up. His voice rolling over everyone. “If helping your family is your main concern there is another way you can help them out. No matter what squad you join you’ll be paid monthly wages, and you’re free to send that to your family. Just part of a month's wages would secure your family for some time I imagine.” 

Giving a gentle smile you are grateful for him trying to accommodate you. “That would be nice, but it isn’t exactly about the money Captain Vermillion.” With a troubled smile you explain. “This farm has been in the family a few generations and is practically all my father knows. Even if we did need money he would keep on doing this because it’s the life he’s grown up with. The best I can explain it is with you being Magic Knights you do your jobs even if you get hurt. Because you’ve dedicated yourselves to it and it is what you think is right. The same is true here.” 

Between the mixture of gazes you notice how hard Fuegoleon is thinking and Miranda catches your attention. “(Y/n), can we speak inside please?” Not even giving you a chance to reply you’re dragged inside and you huff in confusion as the door is shut behind you leaving the two of you in the kitchen. “What are you doing?!” She hisses out at and in response you recoil a bit holding up your hands in defence.

“What?” You nearly squawk out at her in confusion, taking this chance to do a few dishes glancing at Miranda periodically.

“Why did you just tell him no? Now he is gonna be pushing you to answer!” Glancing out the window at the Captains you turn back to her confused.

“Captain Vermillion? He doesn’t seem pushy at all.” 

Scoffing she crosses her arms shaking her head. “He is a leo honey trust me, he may be a good man but he gets what he wants. That man isn’t going to give up until you’re on his squad. Besides that you got three of the best squads gunning for you, they aren’t going to stop until one gets you.” 

Still in disbelief you shrug. “Well I gave my answer, and that is that. There isn’t much I can do. I meant what I said.”

Nodding she sighs at you while watching you scrub the dishes. “Well you could at least tell him you’ll consider it. That way they all calm down a little, besides I really don’t want to be on toilet duty when we get back to base.” 

Flicking some water off your hands you chuckle washing them off and drying them. “Alright, if it will calm you down. I’ll tell them I need some time to consider before deciding anything.” Arms crossed you raise a brow at her. “Is that better?” 

Going to the door with you she nods. “Better.”

As you come out with Miranda four pairs of eyes focus on you intensely. The most intense being Captain Silva’s and Captain Fuegoleon’s. Captain Vangaence’s is mostly relaxed and waiting while seeming friendly. You can still swear his presence is oddly familiar yet you’ve never met him before yesterday. And Yami, well… he is giving off a look that practically says join or die. 

Heart pumping loudly you let out a shaky breath breaking the silence. “I’ll consider joining one of your squads.” Yami grumbles sitting back, William and Fuegoleon smile gently. 

Nozel meanwhile seems satisfied with your answer for now. “We expect you to think about this carefully, depending on which squad you join could decide your future.”

“Get off your high horse Prissy Pants.” Yami grunts and looks at you. “Besides before any of you even can get your letters out I’ll have mine sent already.” Grinning his eyes slide to Finral who sighs. Since when did he get turned into an errand boy? Oh yeah, since he joined Yami’s squad.

Softly William’s gentle voice puts a stop to any arguing with his simple question. “As of now which squad would you say aligns with your interests the most (Y/n)?” 

Caught off guard you look at Captain Vangaence thinking for a moment glancing down. “I’ve… never really thought about it before. Until now I’ve never considered joining the Magic Knights, but perhaps the Crimson Lion Kings.” 

Upon hearing this Fuegoleon raises his head nearly triumphantly while Nozel scowls at you. William smiles thoughtfully and Yami doesn’t seem any happier than Nozel. The eldest Silva stands up gazing cooly at his fellow Captains, eyes landing on you one last time as he speaks. “We’ve spent enough time here, the Wizard King asked us to ensure that there were no further abnormalities and we have.” Eyes sliding to Finral, the spacial magic user stiffens up getting the message.

“Y-yes sir!” 

Yami doesn’t get to say anything as William stands as well signaling they were indeed done. Fuegoleon nodding while he turns back to you full of pride. “I’ll give you some time to think this over. No matter what you decide it’s been a pleasure to see you at work.” Unsure what to say you shyly smile nodding, there is nothing else to say as they start to gather up.

“Thank you again Captains.” Smiling you are in good spirits as Fuegoleon turns towards you a moment.

“Don’t forget my offer now, be expecting a letter in a day or so. Consider that your formal invitation to the Crimson Lion Kings.” Grinning at you it is too contagious not to smile back and nod. 

Watching the exchange a pair of sharp eyes watch the two of you. “Don’t be so sure she will be joining your squad Fuegoleon. You’re not the only one who wanted her.” Surprised by this you glance to Nozel, but he was already turned away from you heading towards the portal Finral has made.

A thought crosses your mind as he is about to be the first to step through a new portal. “Captain Silva!” Stopping the royal Captain keeps his back to you while you’re barely able to get out the rest in your nervousness. “I’m sorry about how I spoke to you yesterday, that was uncalled for and I shouldn’t have been so rude.”

Back still towards you he does however turn his head to regard you over his shoulder, giving you a nice view of his regal profile. Mauve eyes studying you closely for a moment and his lips part as you wait in nervousness.

Interrupting him however Captain Yami pushes Nozel through. “Ah, get in there Mr. Royal. Can’t keep you from your duties after all!” Grinning at you the Black Bulls Captain gives an almost military salute. “I’ll make sure my squad has a room for ya Blondie!” Miranda follows shortly after Yami, and gives a wave while rolling her eyes with you at her Captain’s words.

Captain Vangaence and Vermillion nod leaving as well as Finral who winks. Once they are gone you shake your head smiling in disbelief and amusement. Turning away you head into the house to finish washing dishes as today's events play in your mind. The most prominent being the proposals from not just one, but four Captains each wanting you to join their squad. 

You never thought something like this would even be possible, but perhaps if you really did the Crimson Lion Kings would be a good choice? Your ideals seem to align well and you get along with Captain Vermillion well enough, although Captain Silva wants you as well. Intimidating as he is, it still was still a shock hearing him want you after your first encounter… and Captain Vangaence seems kind enough even if he was quiet. Miranda’s Captain though, you aren’t going to even think about that. Considering the letters you’ve received detailing what has happened with them. Joining any of the squads would be helping your family out that significantly would be a big help to make their lives easier. Of course with how busy the Captains are you really don’t expect them to make time to send a letter to one commoner girl in the middle of nowhere.

You’ll just have to see how things turn out.

~

Turning sharply Nozel glares at Yami as lights his cigarette, the seemingly near permanent scowl clear on his face. “Foreigner just what do you think you’re doing?” 

Gently puffing the cigarette as the end lights up he blows out some smoke watching his fellow Captain calmly despite the irritation from the other. “You were about to ruin it back there for all of us. She apologized for how she spoke, but it wasn’t good enough right?” Mauve eyes narrow saying nothing, it was clear he didn’t like you telling him off the day before in the first place. “She apologized, but didn’t take back what she said about you being wrong. Would you rather that or someone who goes back on their word?”

“What I do is my business, you have no right to interrupt, and I will not tolerate a commoner talking with me so familiarly despite knowing my ranking as a Royal and Captain.” His fellow Captains close their eyes while Fuegoleon lets a small smile play on his lips.

William gives a gentle shake of his head. “Even if you didn’t like how she initially spoke she was helpful you have to admit that.”

Grinning at the royal Yami decides to add a little more. “Besides that, what happened to her magic being ‘useless’?” Grinning with his cigarette between his teeth at  Nozel the other scowls back giving a scoff of dismissal.

“The first use of magic she displayed was hardly useful, along with that feathered pest that follows her about.” 

Head tipping William smiles. “Well that ‘pest’ as you put it, did provide us the information we needed through her spell. I’d call that fairly useful.” 

Arms crossed and head nodding Fuegoleon adds to what the other three Captains say. “Indeed, even without the other spells she has quite an impressive amount of mana. I’d dare say it can rival royalty like ourselves Nozel. She would have potential even without the other spells. Joining one of our squads can only grow her abilities more.” 

Eyes like daggers the Silver Eagles Captain turns his back on the others starting to walk without another word. To him it is ridiculous, all this fuss over you a common girl, but Fuegoleon is right. Your abilities are what made you stand out, your mana control isn’t sloppy and the type of magic you possess has proven useful. The only thing that bothers him is how much he has been obsessing over the idea since Fuegoleon first showed interest. You’re a commoner, nothing special. If you don’t join his squad he simply will move on, but the thought of that doesn’t sit well with him.

To Nozel there is no question on what squad you should join, but he wasn’t going to give that lion the chance to pull ahead of him again with such useful magic. That Foreigner wouldn’t be a problem, but William Vangaence may prove more difficult than it first appears. 

Beside him another’s footfalls echo on the cobblestone, it seems that Fuegoleon is returning to his squad as well. Glancing to the side their eyes meet and Nozel makes it a point to show he isn’t letting up on this.

 “Is everything alright Nozel? You almost seem bothered by something.” The grin in his voice grates Nozel’s nerves to no end as he scoffs looking ahead once more.

“Don’t be ridiculous Fuegoleon.” Tone nearly scolding the silver haired royal isn’t going to let on to his rival that anything is on his mind. Saying nothing more the two walk in heated silence back to their squads in the Capital. Each thinking on how to convince you their squad would be the best choice.

~

Finished with the dishes you sigh and stretch glancing outside. Today was simply exhausting, and as you step outside the house flipping open your grimoire. “Wild Magic: Protection of the Pack.”  From your spell three large wolves form, shaking themselves and nose against you. To anyone else it would be intimidating having three nearly lion sized wolves so close, but you know them. Their eyes blazing the same green as your mana, as if they are an elemental type magic you command them silently to stay and guard the house tonight. They may be separate beings able to think, but they are made of your magic acting like any other spell under the will of the spellcaster. 

 Giving each a few moments of attention you head back inside, feeling safer knowing your family is protected tonight. 

#reader x nozel #oc x Nozel #Black Clover #black clover nozel #black clover fuegoleon #black clover william #black clover yami

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

disney’s ‘the hunchback of notre dame’, early 2000s kid nostalgia, and other midnight musings

“What the fuck, Stina? I thought this was a blog for book reviews!” you say.

“Books, amongst other things. Hence the -ish suffix,” I say. “And all my mediocre ‘reviews’ are hit-or-miss in terms of engagement, so I’m pretty much free to post whatever the fuck I want.”

I toss my head. My hair whacks me in the face.

The first time I watched Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame was been circa 2006, in the ‘movie room’ of my preschool, huddled around a CRT TV with the rest of my five-year-old classmates. Not much about the film particularly stood out to me at the age.

Fast-forward fifteen years later; I’m cooped up in quarantine, hundreds of thousands of miles away from that first viewing. I’m living my best life, rejoicing in my introverted tendencies and having a laugh at the expense of all the suffering extroverts. I haven’t moved from my bed all day, except for the bare necessities, and I’m bingeing YouTube videos. All is well.

I discovered Lindsay Ellis’s channel quite recently- embarrassingly enough, through her videos on Omegaverse and the whole Addison Cain fiasco. I stumbled down the rabbit-hole of her channel, and here I am, a few dozen videos later, and I find her one on this film.

Which, of course, led me to want to re-watch the film, with the eyes and mind (supposedly) of an adult. And it went far beyond and above my expectations.

The film is dark, much darker than the average Disney film of today- not just thematically, but the graphics too. Except for the first parts with the Festival of Fools and the last scene, the rest seems to have a dark filter put over it all. Obviously, given its themes (I’m pulling these out of my arse; I’m a STEM major and I have zero to no knowledge about film) of freedom and equality, acceptance of those different from us, corruption and lust- all that good shit, in other words- you can’t exactly have sunshine and rainbows. But it’s such a stark contrast from what I’ve been accustomed to from Disney; Frozen has Hans about to decapitate Elsa, but the background remains bright and light; Simba sobbing next to Mufasa’s body in The Lion King is heart-wrenching, but a few scenes later, we have an anthropomorphic meerkat-boar duo singing about eating bugs and farting and all that classy stuff, so it’s not as traumatizing.

The themes are a lot more on-the-nose than a lot of other kids’ movies (forgive me if I err, I am aged and forgetful)- cue la Esmeralda saying, “What do they have against people who are different, anyway?”- you get what’s essentially the same ‘accept others regardless of their differences’, ‘prejudice is bad’ morals from, say, Zootopia, but having given the main characters fursuits makes it less obvious than in this movie.

(Or maybe I’m just a dumbass. I have no elaborate notes for this; I’m high on sugar and deprived of sleep so I might be spewing bullshit.)

Admittedly, the resolution is a bit… unrealistic. The citizens of Paris = sheep, essentially; they go from throwing fruit in Quasimodo’s face because the guards started it, to helping defeat them. Maybe there’s something about mob mentality in there, but I find it hard to believe that people who showed up to watch Esmeralda burn to death were suddenly totally cool with not getting what they didn’t pay for. But then again, this is a Disney movie, and you can’t make kids too cynical too early on. Let them have their innocence and ‘people will be with the heroes in times of peril because humanity is inherently good!’ before they realize that humanity kinda fuckin’ sucks.

The characters are some of the most human from those I’ve seen in Disney (other honorable mentions: the main characters of The Emperor’s New Groove, Moana, Tangled, Anna from Frozen). Quasimodo’s the main character (lol DUH, will I ever say anything not obvious?), and he’s so lovable, but not without flaws- he’s biased against gypsies in the beginning because Frollo’s the literal scum of the earth. To borrow from the K-pop fans’ dictionary: UwU he’s so pure!

Esmeralda sparks a bit of controversy because she’s another POC leading lady from a Disney film of the 90’s (a list including Jasmine, and, sigh- Pocahontas) who’s markedly more sexualized than the white Disney princesses. It’s not something I particularly noticed nor cared about until I saw it being brought up- I mean, the woman shows a bit of cleavage and then dances for a couple of seconds- but. I’m just putting that out there.

She’s an empowering heroine without having to belt in in your face (not me making a dig at Naomi Scott’s Jasmine from the Aladdin live action film), and I also love how her role in taking down the Big Bad doesn’t have to do with her ‘power of seduction’ (the scene in the animated Aladdin film where Jasmine kissed Jafar truly traumatized me as a kid).

Phoebus is… well, he exists. Kind of a Regulus Black archetype, but not exactly. The guy on the bad side who turns good and all is forgiven. Well, at least it’s not the ‘her love made him a better man’ trope. And he is a good guy. Even if he did spend a considerable amount of his adult years on the side of the bad guys.

Systemic oppression? Nah, it’s one or two corrupt baddies. But again, it’s a Disney film, we need everything to work out for the good guys in the end.

Let’s get the gargoyles out of the way. To reference Lindsay Ellis’s video (she’s a lot smarter than I am and breaks this down better than I ever could): yes, the comedy’s oft ill-timed and inappropriate… for an adult audience. And the primary demographic of Disney films, especially princess ones (obviously Esmeralda isn’t a princess, nor does she marry into royalty, nor is she included in the group of princesses in the dumpster fire that is Ralph Breaks the Internet, but I had a book imaginatively titled ‘Disney Princess Stories’ as a kid that included Esmeralda’s story alongside Belle’s and Ariel’s, so I’m calling her a princess), are kids. And kids love fart jokes.

Additionally, I have a theory-that-is-not-really-a-theory-but-a-pretty-obvious-thing-that-happens that the gargoyles are figments of Quasimodo’s imagination, and the, at times crass and ridiculous things they say are just the voices in Quasimodo’s head (THIS IS OBVIOUS, STINA, YOU HAVEN’T STUMBLED ACROSS A STARTLING NEW REVELATION); maybe what he imagines normal townspeople to act like.

And then we have Judge Judy Chrissy Teigen Frollo. This dude is the embodiment of pure evil. He’s bigoted and rapey and abusive and one of Disney’s most successful villains- even better than Mother Gothel, who previously held the crown. It’s rare that a villain genuinely terrifies me, especially a cartoon one. Frollo, unlike your typical fairytale antagonist who wants power/fame/fortune/to overthrow Olympus, is far more sinister; driven from deep-rooted hatred instead of plain greed. He’s so much closer to people in positions of power and authority even in the modern world, and that element of reality makes him so much better as an antagonist instead of a literal sheep who hates carnivores (seriously, Disney, enough with the twist villains- they’re not working out).

Also, Hellfire slaps. In fact, the entire soundtrack does.

Speaking about Hellfire, I love the contrast between that and Heaven’s Light; how Esmeralda is viewed by Frollo (an object to possess, “Destroy Esmeralda, and let her taste the fires of hell; or else, let her be mine and mine alone”) as opposed to Quasimodo (someone with free will, “I dare to dream that she might even care for me”).

Another argument brought up, and admittedly one I had as a child was, ‘but if the whole point of the movie is acceptance and love as opposed to lust, why didn’t Quasimodo get the girl?’ Which, years later, I realize is an extremely misogynistic way to look at it. As Princess Jasmine said four years before The Hunchback was released, she is not a prize to be won. Quasimodo is Frollo’s antithesis; he lets Esmeralda choose, and she chose Phoebus. And Quasimodo accepted that, because he is good and kind and sweet and loving. Severus Snape, take note.

On a sidenote, I’m always kind of caught out of left field when the plot in films moves really fast- I’m really not a movie-watching type; I prefer to read, and books usually indicate how much time passes from one main plot point to another, and there are little slice-of-life, filler parts that tie in to character development and moving the plot forward, but at a snail’s pace. So, whenever I’m watching a movie and it’s one important event after another, I usually haven’t had enough of a refractory period to process it.

Let’s pretend that I segued smoothly into the next part of this (already tedious and long drawn out) review.

The Hunchback is the darkest film I’ve ever seen come out from Disney. Re-watching it as an adult made me pause every so often and wonder why the hell I wasn’t traumatized by it as a kid. I mean, the whole movie kicks off with Frollo about to throw an infant down a well. And then there’s that horrifying shot of the stone renditions of the Israelite kings on the church walls. Frollo falls to his death into fire. I mean, good riddance, but still. I guess it’s because the kids’ shows of today are awfully censored and polished so kids don’t have nightmares forevermore.

Update: tried to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame 2. Exited just as fast as I clicked on it. Disney sequels really ain’t shit (yes, I’m looking at you, Frozen 2).

#the hunchback of notre dame #disney #disney princess #victor hugo #disney movies #esmeralda #quasimodo #phoebus #frollo #frozen #frozen 2 #lion king #movie review #aladdin #lindsey ellis #zootopia #emperors new groove #moana movie #moana #tangled #2000s kids #90s movies #90s kids #90s cartoons #disney renaissance

[houseisekai]

House Isekai: Shadowbringers -Interlude 1

House Isekai Shadowbringers AU Masterlist Here

—

Interlude: Konosuba Gang

Directly after the events of Act 1: Finale...

As House Isekai moves to Derdriu after escaping Church Forces at Garreg Mach, they decide to camp for the night and rest before continuing their journey.

Finally having a moment of calm, Sitri decides to speak with one of the very first members of House Isekai...

—

[No Greater Sorrow - Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers OST]

Sara stopped the group and turned around to do a quick head count.

All the students were accounted for. Blue Lions and Black Eagles not too far behind.

...Then there was Lahabrea and Sothis, keeping an extremely far distance from everyone. She was hoping they’d keep it that way.

(Sara) “Campin’ here tonight boys and girls. Wouldn’t do us good to get ambushed when we’re exhausted.”

Everyone nodded and moved into the woods nearby and cleaned up a spot.

(Ainz) “We will create protection spells in case anyone is watching.”

(Futaba) “Leave scanning the area to me and Fuuka!”

(Mitsuru) “Understood. Us Persona users will secure the area then.”

(Akira) “Roger. Let’s get going.”

(Dimitri) “Suppose we can make the area comfortable to sleep in then.”

(Edelgard) “Seems fine to me.”

(Megumi) “ We will help as well.”

(Kazuma) “Guess we’ll get a fire goin’.”

Everyone had their assigned roles and got quickly to work.

The Phantom Thieves hopped into the trees and disappeared into the night as S.E.E.S, Class VII followed on foot.

The Denizens of Nazarick began casting spells and aiming it above the campsite.

Lahabrea and Sothis set their own mini camp away from everyone.

Sitri noticed Lahabrea staring at her, then quickly looking away.

(Sharon) “Miss Sitri?”

Sitri turned around and saw Sharon with her smile as Doomguy laid Byleth gently on the floor and began patrolling the area.

(Sharon) “Would you like to get some rest?”

(Sitri) “As much as I would, I don’t like everyone doing work as I do nothing. I will go help Kazuma and the others with the fire.”

She took one last look at Byleth before Sharon bowed at her.

(Sharon) “Rest assured, Byleth will be in good hands.”

(Sitri) “Thank you, Sharon.”

Sharon went back to Byleth and took out some strange device and looked over him. Knowing she was not being any help by standing, she went after Kazuma.

...

(Megumin) “Hm...You know I just realized I can’t really see at all.”

(Aqua) “I can see just fine.”

(Kazuma) “Then hurry up and find some good firewood, would ya? Place is creepin’ me out.”

(Darkness) “If there are beasts here, I will intercept it!”

(Kazuma) “Listen we are NOT getting killed because you want to fuel your sick feti-”

Snap!

(Megumin) “W-WHO’S THERE?!”

Aqua turned around reaching for her staff before easing up.

(Aqua) “Oh, hi Sitri.”

(Sitri) “H-Hello...”

Sitri brought up a torch and looked at the four.

(Sitri) “Would you like some help?”

(Kazuma) “Sure. Though, shouldn’t you be resting?”

(Sitri) “I could ask the same for everyone. You all have been working and fighting tirelessly.”

(Darkness) “Hah, this is nothing, Mrs. Eisner! Byleth took us through worse!”

(Kazuma) “Pah, bullshit! He never trained us for all out war!”

(Megumin) “Kazuma! S-Sorry Mrs. Sitri, he can’t really control his language.”

Sitri couldn’t help but laugh.

(Sitri) “It’s quite fine. Jeralt wasn’t exactly the type of person to filter himself either.”

As she walked over to the group she began thinking to herself.

(Megumin) “If...I can say something, Sitri. We all knew Jeralt during our year at the Academy. He was a good man, and a good father. He talked about you almost every other day.”

(Darkness) “Indeed. I wish he was here to see you now.”

(Kazuma) “You uh...have our condolences.”

(Sitri) “...Thank you. It brings me some level of peace to know how he was...”

She looked up at the night sky longingly.

(Sitri) “Just like all those years ago...”

(Aqua) “By the way, why did you follow us out here of all people? Any reason?”

(Sitri) “No, not particularly. I’ve just had a few questions I’ve been wanting to ask.”

(Kazuma) “Hm? ‘Bout what?”

(Sitri) “Well, I think that floating girl to start. Everyone called her Sothis, but if I recall correctly Sothis was an all divine goddess.”

(Aqua) “Psh, divine my butt! She’s a little gremlin!”

Aqua had a smirk on her face, which confused Sitri.

(Sitri) “Gremlin?”

(Kazuma) “Eh, don’t mind the useless goddess here. She started a lotta bullshit between then two.”

(Aqua) “DID NOT!”

(Megumin) “A-Anyways, we don’t know the true story ourselves. But...from what I heard from other members of House Isekai, she was a true friend.”

(Kazuma) “Not was, IS, a good friend.”

(Sitri) “I’m not sure I understand then. You all seemed so hostile to her.”

(Aqua) “It...may not make any sense but she isn’t OUR Sothis. The Sothis we knew infused herself into Byleth during the encounter with Jeralt’s killers.”

(Kazuma) “Though that’s a story you need to hear from your son and not us. Anyways, only a select few of us could see her during the Academy. We didn’t know the true nature of her, but all we know is that she was with Byleth when it all began. Preeetty sure we were the first ones to meet her actually.”

(Sitri) “You were the first to arrive in Fodlan? Oh, by the way I think I may have found some wood.”

(Aqua) “Yeah, first us, Class VII, then Megumi, then everyone started pouring in.”

(Darkness) “Hm...No, too damp. It wouldn’t light properly. And yes, we were. The four of us were in Kazuma’s mansion when we suddenly found ourselves flung into a battle at Remire Village. It was there we rescued Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude alongside Byleth and Jeralt.”

(Sitri) “So he became a mercenary like his father...”

(Megumin) “Very good one at that! When we first met him, he didn’t seem to have too much emotion. Though overtime he became a great teacher!”

Sitri smiled as she continued looking.

(Sitri) “...Thank you for taking care of him.”

(Darkness) “If anything, I feel like that we should thank you, Sitri. We don’t know the full story, but you sacrificed yourself so that your child could live.”

(Sitri) “It’s something any mother would do for her child. Though I can safely say I had no intention of...being resurrected, I am happy to see my son alive and well.”

Her smile quickly faded when she started to think again.

(Sitri) “But...Why did Lahabrea resurrect me? He appears to be my son but-”

(Kazuma) “Frankly, I think we should be careful of that asshole. I don’t know what’s going on with him exactly, but I KNOW he doesn’t have our best interest at heart.”

(Aqua) “Right? Plus she resurrected her using some dark magic! That can NOT end up being good!”

(Sitri) “...”

Minato walked past them, not even facing their direction.

(Minato) “Could try and NOT talk like Sitri isn’t even there.”

(Kazuma) “Oh piss off, Arisato. Like you’re one to give me a lecture about manners.”

(Minato) “Hmph.”

(Sitri) “Um...Pardon my rude manners but are you all always this...um...-”

(Kazuma) “Dysfunctional?”

(Aqua) “Aggressive?”

(Darkness) “Violent?”

(Megumin) “Insane?”

(Sitri) “...Well I was going to use nicer words, but considering our first meeting was launching my body into the air and strangling each other-”

(Megumin) “Yeah, most of the time.”

(Kazuma) “House Isekai says you get used to it after a while.”

(Sitri) “I...suppose that’s true. I guess it’s not entirely set in since I’ve only awoken just a few days ago.”

(Aqua) “Alright, these ought to be good. Everyone got something?”

Everyone held up some wood and started to walk back to camp.

(Kazuma) “Oh hey, you finally weren’t useless.”

(Aqua) “Shut up, NEET.”

Sitri looked puzzlingly at them. She could tell they cared about each other, but why were they so...mean?

As they continued to walk, they saw Lahabrea sleeping underneath a tree nearby the camp with Sothis nowhere to be found.

(Aqua) “I got a real bad feeling about him...”

(Kazuma) “I’ve noticed him staring at us, including Sothis while we were walkin down the road.”

(Sitri) “Perhaps there’s a reason he looks like my son?”

(Megumin) “It better be a good one. We haven’t had the best experience with impersonators if you haven’t noticed.”

(Darkness) “Not to mention your resurrection appears to play a key role in all of this as well...”

Sitri looked at her hands and furrowed her brow.

(Sitri) “...Am I?”

(Kazuma) “Well, once we get to Derdriu and meet up with Claude I suppose we’ll get our answer. No use bustin our brains trying to figure shit out so early.”

(Aqua) “Oh hey, you finally said something intelligent-”

(Kazuma) “Fuck off.”

Sitri giggled.

(Sitri) “I guess you were right, you do get used to this.”

(Darkness) “That was....alarmingly fast.”

(Megumin) “Oof, whatever I’m exhausted. Let’s hit the hay yeah?”

(Sitri) “Oh um...”

The four turned around and faced Sitri, eyebrow raised.

(Sitri) “Thank you for taking care of my son.”

[This Beautiful Cruel World - Attack On Titan OST]

They all smiled and raised their arms in unison.

Without another word, the four went to their spot to sleep.

Sitri smiled and was about to sleep when suddenly a pain flashed in her head.

“…I can’t believe I’m missing her.”  

“...do me one favor in case I go down for good this time? Protect everyone else. You’re the only one I can rely on for that.”    

“Do not hesitate to call upon me or the others should the need arise. We will take care of you in these times…”   

“Edelgard, what did you do…?!”

Sitri shook her head once the pain was gone.

(Sitri) “What was that...?”

She looked at the four who were setting up their beds, yelling at each other with profanity.

There was no way they had said all those things at her once.

...So why did their voices sound clear as day, and what was going on?

Her eyes glazed over to Byleth, who was finally put to rest with Megumi, Sara, and some of the other staff and House Reps looking over him.

She then turned to Lahabrea and frowned again.

(Sitri) “What have you started, my son...?”

INTERLUDE: END

Your dream is where your heart is

It’s something more fragile than life itself

No matter how many times you throw it away, you still find it

So rest in peace now

Your wish is violated by your pulsing urge

and as much as you forget about it, you recall it again

In this beautiful and cruel world

We only ask “why” we’re still alive…

Ah, what are we going to protect

with our strength and weakness? If reason no longer exists

TO BE CONTINUED IN:

#House isekai #House Isekai Shadowbringers #House Isekai Shadowbringers Interlude #crossover #fanfic #writing #sitri eisner #satou kazuma #darkness #dustiness ford lalatina #megumin #aqua

[ambitionsource]

Who in the a class is in some kind of therapy?

what a question LMAO. but honestly, a very fair one indeed. while discussing this, es and i ended up basically dividing it into three groups (if someone isn’t mentioned, it just means none apply)

Is In Therapy Currently

Isadora || as we know from the canon of S3, isa is currently in therapy to work through the grief of valerie dying as well as like... the built up abandonment issues, anxiety, and struggles she has articulating or processing emotions lmao. it also helps her learn better methods to work with her autism

Farkle || i mean... we all watched S1 & 2. we know why he’s there LMAO and by god does he need it. it’s good that he’s improving though!!

Chai || she officially started therapy after the events of S1 while she was abroad because evidently her parents divorce really fucked with her emotional state and coping mechanisms -- as well as having sort of emotionally distant parents and having to navigate the world on her own. basically, money =/= nurturing. but yeah i think she realized what she did with tormenting her classmates wasn’t Healthy perhaps and so she sought out the resources to fix it on her own. her parents certainly weren’t going to be much help

Clarissa || clarissa has been in and out of therapy here and there since she was little, mainly for managing OCD. usually she’s fine and her appointments are infrequent (monthly at this current rate), but she tends to go back to her therapist when circumstances get very stressful, like the events of S2 (she mentions going back to therapy in a scene with charlie and haley in 210)

Not In Therapy Currently, but Has Before

Riley || though not by choice, riley went to therapy for a stretch of time in the aftermath of her bullying experience freshman year. by the start of S1, though, she’s on the tail-end of it after a whole summer full of it. she also had stints in family therapy when she was little when cory and topie were having their first bouts of marriage problems, but she doesn’t remember all that obviously. she’s thought about going back for herself because of all the divorce strain, but ultimately opted against it bc she didn’t want to go through cory or topanga. she mainly sticks to talking to eric if things get too overwhelming and using the coping mechanisms she already has

Darby || miss darbs spent some time in therapy in late elementary school due to having issues socializing with her peers. i think she’s always been a bit awkward and desperate to please, so that can get messy with kids cause kids are mean. she was also definitely bullied at that age for being really tall and so i think her parents put her therapy out of genuine concern just with the hopes that like, she’d be able to develop some coping mechanisms and have a safe space to get advice if they didn’t have the answers. and in some ways it helped, other ways no -- her friendships aren’t the healthiest still (as she’s the doormat), but i think she holds her own BETTER with the plastics having gone to therapy than if she never developed those emotional tools at all

Has Not / Is Not but Really Fucking Should Be in Therapy

LUCAS || this is like the most obvious blinking lights sirens wailing example ever. he is a walking textbook for endorsing therapy. between the domestic abuse, mommy and daddy issues, self-esteem in the subbasement, lack of life purpose, inability to read others well emotionally, inability to process his own emotions, the physical aversion due to his trauma, his kleptomania, his risk-taking behavior, his habit of lying, the fact that he has canonically walked off for days at a time with no warning, explanation, or safety net, that he sleeps in a fucking technician’s booth, he used to free-climb buildings SOMETIMES IN THE RAIN, no sense of self-preservation, intrusive thoughts, inability to express appreciation or affection in a normal non-stressful way...... this man is a therapist’s dream and nightmare. they could spend YEARS unpacking him. but will he ever go to therapy? no. because he a) doesn’t think he needs it, b) can’t ask for help ever, and c) could never afford it. and at this point, d) if his dad heard he was seeking help like that he would shut it down instantly. anyway, he’s the biggest case here. underline him in red

Charlie || charlie is a great example of someone who is like coping... sort of... not really... it Looks like they’re coping but they aren’t really and they really need help. like yes, charlie has stability in certain areas of his life that others don’t, and he’s extremely self-aware of his privileges, but i think that’s part of the problem. he’s convinced himself he doesn’t need or shouldn’t get external help because there are people who have it so much worse than him and he doesn’t... he doesn’t really need it, does he? he’s fine. he’ll be fine. and even if he did think about getting “help,” i think his first instinct -- and advice from others -- would be to go to his church leadership, which is not a suggestion made with ill will but just isn’t helpful considering half of his trauma is tied to his relationship with god and the church and faith. he needs a more objective space to unpack all of that, and obviously church itself is not the answer. i think that charlie will be able to work through a lot of his initial issues on his own with time and patience with himself (something we’re in the thick of right now -- we’re just barely in the acceptance phase), but he should really go to therapy in the future just to like... work through all of the long-term trauma he endured from his upbringing and bridgette’s exile and the dueling psychology of church vs sexuality. like... that’s gonna take some time to unravel and he needs to be in the right place to pursue that on his own. will he, i dont know, but i think when he does a certain heaviness he’s been carrying his entire life will finally like... lift. and he’ll be able to breathe better

Asher || so asher is a bit of a clusterfuck LMAO like he’s diagnosed officially with generalized anxiety disorder but he never saw a specialist, his mom diagnosed him since she’s a psychologist. the complexity here is that because of that... well, they say you should never let family be your personal doctors and i think that’s true for mental health professionals too. like emily basically gave asher the generic coping rundown when he was really young, and then he went on to develop his own coping mechanisms with, at least, a very fundamental understanding of what’s wrong with him. but he kind of developed his own complex about it all too, bc i think emily took pride in him being able to figure it all out and be so capable with his own mental health without ever going to therapy and he kind of internalized that, as well as having internalized a lot his mom’s perspectives and opinions as a mental health professional in a way that its like... well my MOM said that, so i feel kind of some type of way about it. so its all really complicated and twisted in his head and he just doesnt bother to unpack it (something, ironically, therapy would probably help lol). the thing about asher is that for all intents and purposes, he does cope well and he is really in tune with his own mental state. it’s just that he could seriously benefit from having an objective party help him untangle some of his neuroses i think and it would take some of the constant stress off his shoulders, but he’s honestly too stuck in his ways at this point to go. that being said, he’s a vocal advocate for therapy and its benefits -- just not for himself

Nigel || as discussed a bit in the ask i answered about him, i just think nigel carries way too much pressure on himself and he could benefit from someone helping him work through things instead of carrying all his stress on his own -- even if its less complex than some others. he’s like same range as clarissa.

Maya || maya has no issue with self-esteem, but i think she could still benefit from someone helping her actually unpack her issues over her dad and why she is the way she is. a therapist who specializes in narcissism would be a good fit for her -- not because she is one, but she does have... certain quirks where i think having that specialization can help unravel her motivations and actions a little more easily

Missy || she’s just a fucking mess. she shouldn’t be redeemed but i think therapy could really do her a favor and maybe make her less terrible and psychopathic towards people who aren’t like her. maybe

-- Maggie & Es

#a class #answered #Anonymous #ask and you shall receive

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth,  we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule,  go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to  be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64  I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68  I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70 I Chapter 71 I Chapter 72 I Chapter 73 I Chapter 74 I Chapter 75 I Chapter 76

                                                   Chapter 77

Timoteo had passed on to the third realm, one evening while they were enjoying from some homemade gelato from Galdi. The angels didn’t have to explain anything, with their approach, both just knew. Timoteo tearfully had to say his goodbye, and Feliciano gave him a tightening hug, wishing him the best journey, comfort with the Aces and a good cycle into reincarnation. Timoteo hoped that he could find the four stances, that he could have the universal alignment, save Ludwig and their world.

 He was taken into the most darkened path that day…and Feliciano hasn’t seen him since. New people came, others continued to leave on, yet Feliciano didn’t find another person with who he could share a good connection as he did with Timoteo.

 He spent his times lonely, thinking and plotting. In one part, it was thinking words for what the four stances could be. He took to writing them on a hidden wall, carved with the little magic he had allowed himself to use. He had a hundred and fifty written, reading them over and over, trying to find the proper pair to the kingdoms.

 In another part, it was wondering how he could get Ludwig back. Yes, he knew where was…but he didn’t know how to get him out from there. The only way he could think of…had the chance of destroying him as well.

 Then…the point and focus of everything…how was he going to use all of this to defeat Khaos.

 He would groan and lay his head in defeat every night, more dejected each time he returned to the Galdi household. He had a corner there to himself, to try and pretend rest, sometimes sketch or wonder on answers. It was also the same place of reunion and planning, always someone there to plan the next event. He didn’t mind it, it actually helped to ease him if his mind was in too much turmoil, the speech always enough to lull him to sleep.

 For the weeks that passed, that was his routine. This night in particular, he arrived to three ladies chatting joyously over the table. They were too festive, smiling and laughing in a way that Feliciano just couldn’t ignore. He let the smiles spread to him too as he tried to peek over, Giulia covering the parchment before Feliciano could read out something definitely.

 “What are you doing?” She asked playfully.

 “The real question is,” here Feliciano took a chair to join them in their sitting, “what are you three doing?”

 Giulia sighed as the other two gave approval to let him know. “You do sleep here, so we can’t really hide anything well.”

 “Not to mention you always get loud.”

 The other chuckled while Giulia glared. “Very well, your majesty. We are making preparation for this month’s square festival!”

 “Already? It’s only been-”

 “In a couple of days…it will actually be a month since the last one,” one reminded.

 “Only…a couple of days…” Feliciano was startled, silenced into realizing how much time had passed…his time in the second realm almost over. The stress was evident, the girls having to speak on to keep Feliciano from succumbing to it.

 “You know…this is a pretty private and very tight group…the island just doesn’t let anybody work on the preparations,” one smug, earning just the right playfulness to arise in Feliciano.

 “Really?”

 “Yep! Not even…Queens of Hearts or…whatever!”

 “You three have been here pretty much the same time as I have. What deeds have you done to be granted such tittles?” Feliciano chuckled.

 “Bossiness, surely,” one admitted, Giulia gasping in insult, earning large laughs in the room.

 “Feliciano, we’re only messing around. Come, sit with us, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of great ideas to add.”

 Feliciano sighed…debating if to indeed give to this while he had a wall he was carving that needed more words…a space that needed more thought…all while a ravaging war was taking apart his world. He shouldn’t indulge…he should be…but this was a chance to be creative, a moment of his past, to do well and grant these people a day of joy…for many their last before they pass on…including his own. He was persuaded for happiness, taking a pen, and looking through the list, adding or adjusting, chatting along with the ladies like the worst turmoil wasn’t happening.

 So focused he was…sometimes he would forget to go to the wall, all those thoughts on stressful words vanishing in his excitement for feast. He joyed in these coming days, trying fabrics of heavenly approach, foods of the delicacy of his old world and company of gold. It was like this world had become his, under this spell that made him forget all, dancing and laughing all the excessiveness he couldn’t on those last months of sorrow. And oh what a feast, what playful aura that made him even join the children in running all across the square, being part of that very image of dream that had welcomed him the first time he came here. Many toasted and danced, congratulating Feliciano on his part of the celebration. Truly a pride that reigned him as he ran and skipped all throughout with all the splendor of his people. Nothing could extinguish this, nothing could-

 “My sun, my moon, my land, my love…”

 The tune disturbed all, the melancholy of a woman reigning strong despite the felicity in this square.

 “Wha-what?” Feliciano awoke along with what felt like a strong hit on the head. But in his awakening, he could only focus on where this song was coming from. No one seemed disturbed, they all went along in their enjoyment.

 “…the sky has all fallen…”

 There it was again, no one heard it, no one reacted, only he startled and searched for anyone in the crowd who could be shouting it.

 “…the kingdom weeps their king’s farewell…”

 He had to look for it, he had to know where it was coming from, what it was, who it could be. What if they had answers? What if they could say more to the meaning of this song that had haunted him for so long without explanation or story? What if it was Augusta? Romulus? No matter, he settled off, in confusion to the children, halting their game wandering where the Queen was going, deep in the streets of their town, away from this jubilation.

 “…and a queen breaks at her lover’s parting again…”

 It yet continued to sing seeming to come from every corner, but no matter how quick Feliciano tried to reach it, it was gone, back to trying to reach its distance, ever moving and evasive.

 “…but in your defend, all will join and fight for our future…”

 Feliciano was growing out of breath, he was frustrating and ready to shout out. “Where are you…where are you?” He ended up whispering to himself as he rounded another empty corner. Nothing yet showed itself, but he knew the coming lines to be the last, to be the end.

 “…so the heavens will bless in your rest our perfect peace…”

 “No…” and just like that, the melody was gone, as if it was never there, the silence he met at this edge of the island haunting. Feliciano wanted to burst in this miss…what he thought a closeness to an answer…an answer…oh no, the answer! He groaned realizing the wasted time, reminded of a mission that he laid forgotten, forcing his hand unto his eyes to somehow keep the tears that wanted to flood.

 How could he just let it all fall? Go on and ignore that his world needed him.

 Something, something, there had to be something he could do quick, in whatever time was left, in whatever- someone was coming. Out from the distance…small, no details to be clear yet, a very entrance like the one he had made when he first arrived. He had thought only one…but then he saw a second, a third, a fourth…many…many began to come forward.

 “What…” he whispered to no one but himself…trying to make sense, wondering who they could be and what was their meaning. Feliciano walked slightly forward, standing on the waters as they walked toward, Feliciano distinguishing their realm gifted wear, Heartian, Italian…they were all passing spirits, newly arrived here. There were countless, spreading across like something large had been spilled over, even the sailors and rowers finding difficulty to move between them. They were all lost, wondering, trembling, some held hands, some comforted and felt in that welcoming bliss, others only decided to follow the person who was most ahead, a woman who had been transfixed by the form of the island, her pace quickening the more details she noticed. And then…there was the Heartian Queen, standing singularly, present and still as the majesty of a fresco in a church. That was the pulse that rushed her forward, ignorant to all as she stood before him, trying to believe him there, baffled, stuttering, yet her entire being showcasing questions.

 “Sua Maestà,” in the end was the only thing she could say, trembling and eyes watered…betrayed.

 Feliciano took her hands, comforting and trying to instill the trust she had lost and the welcome he could give. They stood in silence together, for Feliciano had no words, and the ones he had were nothing worth of an apology that she could forgive.

 He decided on asking, bracing for the blame, but an answer he needed. “What is going on? Why are so many of you here? What has happened?” Despite so many, Feliciano told them in ease, careful, his hold still as dear as he awaited.

 The woman breathed, remembering with pain to then answer: “Destro is in Italy.”

 Feliciano startled and trembled, a suddenness that could have dropped him to the floor if it wasn’t for the hold the woman kept. He was shivered with a cutting pain, as if the reckoning told in those simple words was scratching on his skin.

 “What…? No! Last time I was there, he was…he was still in Clubs, only reaching the Heartian border…the defend should have been good…he shouldn’t have reached Italy…he shouldn’t have-”

 “But he has!” She ended up shouting. “Your majesty…you have been gone for more than a month and in that time Destro has swarmed the entire southern Hearts Kingdom. Greece, Iberia, Croatia and Turkey are all gone! Italy was well on its way to join the rest. They’re evacuating people to Scandinavia in the hopes it can remain the last stronghold…but it has not been quick enough…” she gazed to all there…those who didn’t have time…didn’t have the right defend or the soldiers weren’t enough. “I know there has been calls to evacuate Germany…for when Italy falls…”

 “…he’ll be in Germany…he’ll reach Berlin…”

 “In a matter of days!”

 Heavy breathing, a storming realization, turning away to handle these strong words of his world, his home, his kingdom, his cities, dead or on the verge of dying. More the weight of his duty pressed on, blaming, shouting at his incapability of avoiding this. His province, his people, dying, and soon his family and even his body in the castle will be ready to be engulfed in true finality.

  All, no matter how far the threat still remained, could feel the rumble, hear the screeches and even smell the smoke that was coming to their reach.

 “Everyone out?” Lukas asked who the inhabitants of this beautiful red building had been. Bricks of old, red flowers coating well its gorgeous façade…it hurt to know that soon it will be gone.

 “Yes, that’s all,” a man came to take the lantern Lukas offered, one infused with strong protective spells that would cover the group he was granted.

 “You may follow the rest. Keep with everyone, stay with a hold on your loved ones and chosen belongings. You will leave the city walking but transport might come to those who are sick and weakened. Keep faith! Scandinavia will be the refuge we need,” Lukas repeated once again…and once again the people only responded with a darkened nod, turning, dejected, looking more like they were walking to an end than actual safety. They began to join with other groups, each shinning with their own red lantern, the only color…everything else just seemed to blacken and grey with the miss of its people leaving, left to the demise of  the wrath of a monster.

 “All this street is empty,” Tino announced, hurrying to Lukas’s side.

 “How is João dealing with the roundabout of Prenzlauer?”

 “There’s still three buildings with inhabitants deciding what they should bring with them, even with the insistence. Not to mention they are running out of lanterns.”

 “I’ll let Abasi know we need his people to make more. You go and help João. We’ll see what we can do about Mitte afterwards.” And they rushed off between the large masses of movement, with carriages, others crying and refusing, and the bright red lights.

 Up from the heights of the castle, Renata and Arthur looked as a plentitude headed off through the northern route, between hills away to the safety they hoped Scandinavia could remain. The red lights alighted them, a shield they hoped was enough to stand and protect them all. They could see only small parts of the city remained and how they hoped they hurried.

 There was a far-off blow, a large cloud arising to the sky, mixed with red, flashes of white, and then a shriek that had Arthur and Renata leaning down and covering their ears. From the smoke, they could see but a small image, still vanquishing the outskirts of the city, but the fact that they could now see Destro from the comfort of the castle was provoking and fearing.

 “Ready to start formation!” Herakles came hollering, heavy breaths and panic clear. Renata would never get over the new scars of war on him, so much petrified shout in the expression she had met and knew as calm and comforting.

 “Then go and start!” Arthur shouted, exasperated, shaking and surely ready to fall apart if it wasn’t for the fact that he was being counted on as a big part of the formation. They all began to leave, joining Herakles in his hurriedness.

 “Has Augustino been taken out of the castle?”

 “I’m sorry to inform that he is still here,” Herakles refused to look back, focused on getting them through the halls.

 “What? He should already be out of the city!”

 “He denies everything. He has shouted, cried, even began hitting some of the caretakers. Right now, he refuses to leave Antonio and Lovino’s side.”

 “They can’t accept to leave him here!”

 “But they had made their decision.”

 “No! Absolutely not!”

 “They’re-!” By now Herakles turned to this distant aunt of his, Renata seeing now clearer than ever the reddened veins in his eyes, seeming to pierce at his sight. “-they’re…still hoping Feliciano can come through.” There was a tremor, the castle shaking, some stone cracking and dust falling upon them, but yet they continued this exchange as if nothing, standing and menacing. “Feliciano is supposed to be entering the third realm today and tomorrow we have to awaken him, with or without the power of the alignment. No matter what happens, tomorrow is the decisive point that will tell us if we will all survive or die. No matter what, Antonio and Lovino had come to the decision that they will remain and face whatever happens with their son in their arms…better here than dying somewhere he doesn’t recognize or without his family.” And Herakles was off before Renata gave more to the discussion…to the realization that this was the reality, this was the last resort, the last place.

 She gazed down to her hand still glowing pink, now cracking more in age as it was hitting its toll. Oh…how she hoped Feliciano had found something…that he could come be their savior tomorrow at the evening that was planned to arise him.

 She couldn’t stand there longer…she had her place in the formation and she had to hurry to it, as everyone around her did.

 Soldiers, from all over the kingdom, even others, kept a standing outside the castle, gaze focused and ready to inflict at the first spot of Destro. Many already had their weapons up, some already had magic blazing in their hands and others practiced commands. The interior of the castle was propped with all kinds of defenses, having no other choice but to have offered servants aiding in the guardship and defense. They too, had old weapons pointed, had to practice spells they never thought they would one day use and many of the household leaders were practicing their shouts in harsh war command.

 Renata reached the pool, the royals and other chosen servants as well with their own positioning and weapons.

 The last stance, the last wall before Feliciano, still suspended in the water, the body beginning to look cold, colors vanishing.

 “Renata, you stay at the very back with your family!” Wang Yao shouted, all moving aside to give her place. It was with her husband, her son, his husband, and her little Augustino, well cradled in all their holds, scared, trembling and crying, but despite this, despite the bruises, the scars, the traumas, the three older men kept their own tightening on their weapons, knowing that if they were to go, they were to go with a try in fight. Renata found her place in the huddle, holding them all dear as if they were to say goodbye now.

 “Remember to keep faith still! We have a day! We have to believe Feliciano can come tomorrow with exactly what we need!” Kandake reminded to all in a chant, yet coated in fear as they moved back, as if Destro was in the very castle finding his way between to reach right to them. It seemed like it was the actuality with this new shake the ground took. Yet no messenger came as it was meant to be planned. They still had a chance to keep their ground, together and strong.

  The stances… the stances… he had to know the stances now! What if he wrote all the words somehow? What if he brought them with him? Maybe he could convince…something or someone in the third or fourth realm. Perhaps reading them all aloud, shouting, tearing, crying…it was when he noticed he was heaving and shaking to this new group that came.

 “Sua Maestà,” one tried to reach and comfort.

 “I have to…I have to…” his mind still went on in a reverie, stuck in the need and desperation. It was with the touch of this nearing man that he was made aware of his standing and who stood by him.

 No…despite everything he had to help these people, he had to get them settled. If there was something he could do, if he was abled, he could push through, he could go on with his duty even at the worst heaviness.

 “Please, all of you, follow me. You are now in a safe place. There is currently a feast that I’m sure all would love for your part in it. Come, come with me!” He hurried, keeping himself kind and offering, one all could follow, fall finally into the ease and beauty of this place, more so as they traversed these enchanting alleys, reaching the alight of the square and what it was offering. It could have been a joy, could have been the welcome that all there knew they had to give to all the new that came…but then after one, came two, came four, came six, that alley Feliciano came from bursting with a large array of people that easily soured and planted worry in all. Nevertheless, many came to offer their welcome, but also to ask, to fret, the square in the end turning to a place of worry and agitations.

 “Feliciano, what’s going on?” Giulia came, demanding and shocked.

 “Destro was in Italy.”

 “What?!” She already settled in the hysteria of all, some who heard in the surrounding joining her as well in the disarray.

 Feliciano shushed and tried to soothe her to even breathing, “we can’t let ourselves panic now. Focus on helping others calm, answer their questions to the best of your ability and help them settle like is the norm!”

 She managed to find her peace, nodding, and already settling on what she considered the command of a queen. It was enough now to keep everything at bay, all distracted in the conversation to really notice how Feliciano was slowly moving away. He had some time, he had some peace and loneliness, he could head that instant, memorize all the words, find a way to write, find a way, find a way- what was supposed to be his leap was cut by the large presence of an angel.

 “Oh! You’re here! Good! These people need a lot of help to settle. Please, more angels must come and-”

 “I’m not here for them.”

 Feliciano dropped.

 “You shouldn’t worry, my brethren will come to do their part, but my own…is to take you to the next step. Please…come with me.”

 And like this his time was cut short…he was to say goodbye, he was supposed to go to the last steps of this process and yet he felt empty, incapable to face the reserve, still with questions and wonderings on how exactly he could obtain this. For a moment he wondered on fighting. He still possessed power, he was an Ace, Augusta’s chosen, he could… he stared to the potence of this angel, tall, shinning, armored and with a spear that could well stand at any fight. These angels were chosen to keep well a balance in death that Feliciano knew, by nature, he had to head to…as his grandmother created. With a nod, trying to calm whatever anguishes boiled in him, he decided to follow.

 As all others, Feliciano was brought to one of the many alleys, moving on and on in its depths like this was but any other stroll he had taken to think of words for stances. The angel at one point moved behind him, and Feliciano, still confused by where he should go, settled on only moving forward unless the angel spoke a word. On and on everything moved around him, but no difference, no portal, no transport to the next realm.

 “The third realm is only a hall, shaped by the magic that lays between all worlds. Once there, you should focus on only moving ahead, no matter what occurs around you.”

 “What…what happens?” Feliciano thought he could ask.

 “You transform. You take an image granted by the Aces, for what is to be your spirit and soul in the heavens. It is granted in attacks that might seem like they are to hurt you, but they are indeed only changing you. Do not worry, no matter how harsh or intimidating it seems, it is not meant to cause any harm.” Silence befell, still the same walls and canal at his side. “Your only there a matter of minutes, alone, and on your own you find the entrance into the fourth realm.”

 “How long am I there then?”

 “It is different for everybody. In your case, I assume not long, perhaps only a day or even a couple of hours. If you are meant to return to the living world…you can’t pass the gates to the heavens. If you do, the connection to your body is severed and you can never return.”

 The street began to get as grim as the words, Feliciano shivering.

 The angel’s step suddenly halted, Feliciano’s own stopping in question. The angel then pointed to the canal, which began to ripple and produce an image downward. It darkened, away from the aquamarine waters Feliciano had gotten to know in his stay. It was a tunnel, under the water with a pathway that Feliciano didn’t know if he could walk upon. The angel motioned for him to step forward, commanding and defending so he wouldn’t try any escape. Feliciano was obedient, nodding and beginning a hesitant step into the canal, his feet sinking into the water, but not as deep as shown.

 The ground came to him like a ramp, leading him deeper into this darkened tunnel that slowly enveloped him unto the next stage.

#Feliciano and the king of hearts #fatkoh #f&tkoh #gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fanfic #gerita fic

[mrlnsfrt]

Character is not Transferrable

This post is part two of my Watching, Waiting, Ready series. You can find part one here.

We began by looking at Matthew 24:36-51 and there we found two parables.

The first parable taught us that the second coming of Jesus will be unexpected. Matthew 24:42-44

The second parable taught us that we have to be more than merely passively waiting. We have responsibilities, things to do as we wait for Jesus to come again. Matthew 24:45-51

The third parable will be discussed in this post and we will learn that we must be prepared for an unexpected delay. Matthew 25:1-13.

Groundwork

Let’s clarify a few things before jumping into the interpretation of the parable of the 10 virgins.

The Messiah is the Bridegroom - Isaiah 54:4-6; 62:4-5; Ezekiel 16:7-34; Hosea 2:19 (God/YHWH portrayed as Husband)

Jesus refers to Himself as God in His parables - Matthew 13:37-39

Jesus is the Messiah and also the Bridegroom - According to John the Baptist John 3:27-30; according to Jesus Himself - Matthew 9:15; Mark 2:19-20.

The Parable of the Ten Virgins

“Then the kingdom of heaven shall be likened to ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. - Matthew 25:1 NKJV

The parable begins by letting us know that this story will teach us something about the Kingdom of heaven. Next, we are introduced to ten ladies, described as virgins. Each one has a lamp and all of them are going out to meet the bridegroom. At this point in the story, there is no distinction between these maidens.

Now five of them were wise, and five were foolish. - Matthew 25:2 NKJV

We quickly find out that there are two kinds of maidens. Half of them are wise and half are foolish. At this point, we still have no idea what differentiates the wise from the foolish. They are all very much similar at this point in the story, we have no way of telling them apart, but we now know that there is a difference, these ladies can be divided into two groups, some are wise and some are foolish.

Those who were foolish took their lamps and took no oil with them, but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. But while the bridegroom was delayed, they all slumbered and slept. - Matthew 25:3-5 NKJV

Now we know the difference! The foolish virgins are virgins and look just like the wise virgins, they are also waiting for the bridegroom, just like the wise virgins. The only difference between the two groups of virgins is that some brought a vessel filled with extra oil, while the others did not. This seems like a very small detail. It is difficult to appreciate the difference extra oil would make at this point in the story. Another similarity among these maidens is that they all fell asleep.

So far we have ten virgins that are similar in every way except five of them brought a vessel with extra oil. All ten are virgins awaiting the bridegroom and all ten fell asleep.

The Delay

Something unexpected happened. The bridegroom is late! Well, he can’t really be late, it’s his party, rather he is taking longer than the maidens expected. The maidens wait as long as they can but eventually all of them fall asleep.

The Midnight Cry

“And at midnight a cry was heard: ‘Behold, the bridegroom is coming; go out to meet him!’ Then all those virgins arose and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise answered, saying, ‘No, lest there should not be enough for us and you; but go rather to those who sell, and buy for yourselves.’

- Matthew 25:6-9 NKJV

At midnight, the middle of the night, the darkest part of the night, there is a shout, the bridegroom is coming! The maidens did not expect him to come so late, but they had their lamps with them and they light their lamps to go meet the bridegroom. They had been waiting for him, they all knew he was coming, however, the foolish virgins were not prepared for the delay. At midnight they realized they are not as ready as they had hoped to be. They had hoped that it was enough just to have the lamp, to be a virgin, and to know that the bridegroom was coming. They had not brought any extra oil. It is not that they forgot, it is not that they couldn’t, they just didn’t think they would need it. The wise virgins had brought extra oil, after all, the bridegroom did not have a set time, they knew he was coming, but they did not know when he would come. But they had extra oil on them in case there were any unexpected delays. However, their extra oil could not be transferred or shared with those who were unprepared. The foolish virgins had to go out and try to find oil at midnight.

The Door was Shut!

And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the wedding; and the door was shut.

“Afterward the other virgins came also, saying, ‘Lord, Lord, open to us!’ But he answered and said, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, I do not know you.’

- Matthew 25:10-12 NKJV

The bridegroom came and those who were ready joined him in the wedding feast. However, those who were not ready did not go in. After the bridegroom and the five wise virgins went into the feast the door was shut. The other virgins finally return, there is no mention of whether or not they found any oil, but they show up and ask the bridegroom to open the door to them, but he tells them that he does not know them, and there is no room for negotiating here.

How tragic, that these five virgins looked so ready, looked prepared, they knew the bridegroom was coming, they had their lamps, they even came to the door and asked to go in, but it was too late. Once the door was closed it was impossible to go in, just like once the midnight cry was heard and the bridegroom showed up, it was too late to get oil. The preparations had to be made ahead of time.

Watch!

“Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming. - Matthew 25:1e NKJV

Here we have a repetition of the main theme in the three parables we have looked at so far in this series. (read about the first two here) Watching then must involve not only being aware that Jesus is coming but also being prepared for an unexpected delay. If everything had gone according to expectations all ten virgins would have gone into the wedding. The delay is what separated the wise from the foolish. It was the unexpected hardship that revealed the difference among the virgins.

Practical Application

The foolish virgins did not forget to bring the oil. It was the delay of the bridegroom that revealed they did not have enough. The foolish virgins were unprepared for the delay and so shut out in the end. The wise are referred to as wise because they were prepared for the possible delay of the bridegroom. Regardless of when the bridegroom came, they would be ready. The only difference between the wise and foolish is that the wise were prepared for a possible delay and the foolish expected to meet the bridegroom but were unprepared for a delay.

Can your faith handle unexpected challenges?

One application that is evident in this parable is that the faith of some can handle unexpected events while the faith of others cannot. Some, when they experience hardship, cease to believe. Their faith cannot handle unexpected turn of events, cannot survive an unexpected delay. The delay is a time of trial that places their faith under stress. We can interpret this to be a trial that reveals if those who claim to believe in Jesus truly trust Him and His promises.

Like the church, for a while, there is no difference between the virgins. Think of the virgins as church-attending Christians. All of them know scriptures, they all know that Jesus is coming one day, many are even eagerly looking forward to that great day.

But there is a delay, a time of trial, and a time in which their faith is tested. When the midnight cry is heard not everyone is ready. This is when many realize that mere intellectual knowledge of the truth has no noticeable impact on the soul and no power to sanctify the heart. Unless the Holy Spirit is working in us, our character will not be transformed.

The foolish virgins are not hypocrites as we saw in Matthew 24:48-51 (blog post here).

They have regard for the truth.

They have advocated for the truth.

They are attracted to those who believe the truth.

BUT

They have not yielded themselves to the working of the Holy Spirit.

They have not fallen upon the Rock (Jesus Christ) and permitted their old nature to be broken up.

The foolish virgins are “Christians” who are content with superficial work. A superficial faith that has never been tried and tested. Essentially, they don’t know how to trust God when it matters most.

So they come to you as people do, they sit before you as My people, and they hear your words, but they do not do them; for with their mouth they show much love, but their hearts pursue their own gain. - Ezekiel 33:31 NKJV

But know this, that in the last days perilous times will come: For men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying its power. And from such people turn away! - 2 Timothy 3:1-5 NKJV

Preparedness cannot be shared nor transferred.

The foresight and preparedness of the wise virgins cannot benefit the foolish virgins when the bridegroom appears. Being surrounded by people who have a solid and vibrant relationship with God will not save you. Though it is beneficial to have people who can be an example for you, you must make your own decision. Your walk with Jesus is a personal matter, you must invite Him into your life and heart, you must learn to trust Him.

Many “Christians” like the foolish virgins are sleeping with a false sense of security, and when they are startled by hardships they become aware of how weak their faith is. They now begin to ask others to supply their lack but this is impossible in spiritual matters. No one can make up for another’s spiritual deficiency.

God’s grace is freely offered to everyone.

And the Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!” And let him who thirsts come. Whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely. - Revelation 22:17 NKJV

But no one can believe for another, and no one can receive the Holy Spirit for another.

Character is not transferrable. No one can impart to another character because it is the fruit of the inner work of the Holy Spirit.

“even though Noah, Daniel, and Job were in it, as I live,” says the Lord God, “they would deliver neither son nor daughter; they would deliver only themselves by their righteousness.” - Ezekiel 14:20 NKJV

‘Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,’ Says the Lord of hosts. - Zechariah 4:6b NKJV

The Door is Shut

It is in a crisis that the character is revealed. The sudden and unexpected calamity that brings you face to face with death will reveal whether your life is sustained by grace. However, at this point, it is too late for the needs of your soul to be supplied. Your character is developed by all the small choices you make over the years.

“Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven. Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’ And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’ - Matthew 7:21-23 NKJV

Some look like they love and serve Jesus, but never made preparations for the coming kingdom. They like Jesus, but they love the world and its comforts. They claim the name of Jesus, but never truly made Him the LORD of their lives. After the door is shut it is too late to try to get serious about your spiritual life.

This reminds me of the story of the flood. After the door of the ark was shut, it was too late to want to get in. Those who waited for it to start flooding before they decided to go into the ark found out it was too late. God had already shut in those who had walked in by faith. Those who were inside the ark would be safe from the floodwaters.

On the very same day Noah and Noah’s sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth, and Noah’s wife and the three wives of his sons with them, entered the ark— they and every beast after its kind, all cattle after their kind, every creeping thing that creeps on the earth after its kind, and every bird after its kind, every bird of every sort. And they went into the ark to Noah, two by two, of all flesh in which is the breath of life. So those that entered, male and female of all flesh, went in as God had commanded him; and the Lord shut him in. - Genesis 7:13-16 NKJV

We cannot keep Jesus at arm’s length while here on earth and expect to be fitted to His companionship in heaven.

Call to action

The time to prepare is now. This is not about salvation by works, this is about developing a real and vibrant personal walk with Jesus. This is about being filled with His Holy Spirit and allowing Him to cause us to reflect His character.

People are losing their knowledge of the character of God.

God has been misunderstood and misrepresented.

A message from God must be proclaimed, and this message must be illuminating in its influence and saving in its power.

In our world full of suffering people need a glimpse of God. Does your life reveal what the grace of God had done for you?

How did Jesus live his life?

how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power, who went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with Him. - Acts 10:38 NKJV (bold mine)

And He was handed the book of the prophet Isaiah. And when He had opened the book, He found the place where it was written:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, Because He has anointed Me To preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives And recovery of sight to the blind, To set at liberty those who are oppressed; To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.”

Then He closed the book, and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all who were in the synagogue were fixed on Him. And He began to say to them, “Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”  - Luke 4:17-21 NKJV

What does God as of His people?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, And that you bring to your house the poor who are cast out; When you see the naked, that you cover him, And not hide yourself from your own flesh? Then your light shall break forth like the morning, Your healing shall spring forth speedily, And your righteousness shall go before you; The glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. - Isaiah 58:7-8 NKJV

I know that these words are challenging. Where does anyone get the notion that the true Christian life is smooth and easy? Self-denial is hard, helping others is not always easy and straightforward. Caring is extremely difficult and even painful. But my friends, look around. There is so much suffering in the world. So much hate, anger, and fear, and anxiety. Would it not be nice if there was a group of people willing to aid in relieving and softening life’s hardships and misery?

Jesus calls us the light of the world in Matthew 5:14, and then He adds

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven. -Matthew 5:16 NKJV

Jesus does not tell us to strive to shine. We do not shine because we try so hard. Jesus invites us to LET our lights shine. Just remove whatever obstructions are keeping your light from shining. Even better, invite him to remove them for you. Are you willing to let your light shine? Because if you are in the habit of letting your light shine, you will also be in the habit of carrying extra oil with you. And even if Jesus delays his coming, even if you were to fall asleep, you would have nothing to worry about, because you have been living your life in harmony with Him. Continually relying on Him to fill you with His Holy Spirit so that you might have the wisdom and power to reflect His character in this suffering world.

If you would like to read more about this parable I strongly recommend Christ’s Object Lessons chapter 29 “Meet the Bridegroom” (you can read it online for free)

#Parable #Jesus #Matthew #Second Coming

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Four): Through The Gates

Notes: We’re inching closer and closer to the Seed’s arrival, I know it’s a slow burn to the game events, but I’m enjoying building up to it and hope it will make the impact of it all just that much more meaningful. 

Word Count:  9098

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, Belligerent Drunk Man, Drug Overdose, Pratt and Dahlia being dumbasses

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

A tall bearded man is on her porch; leaning against the railing. The familiar snake tattoos that curl down his forearms give him away; Lonny. The Eden’s Gate member who showed at the station to give her and Whitehorse a hard time. What is he doing at her trailer? There’s no reason for him to be here.

“Can I help you?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she steps up onto the porch.

“Just figured I’d stop by, make a friendly visit to the new deputy,” he expression is somewhere between a smile and a predator baring its teeth.

“And, how exactly did you figure out where I live?”

“Small place, loose lips, word spreads fast.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, now, if we’re done with this ‘friendly’ visit-”

“Word spreads especially fast within our congregation, when someone starts arresting our members.”

“Maybe, your congregation members shouldn’t commit crimes?”

“The law of man matters little compared to the law of god.”

“Well, I get paid to enforce the law of man, so unless god starts signing my paychecks, I’ll be sticking to that.”

“Greed isn’t a pretty sin.”

Goosebumps prickle and creep up her skin at the word sin, making her throat tight, as the word settles over her. Memories of her stepfather claw at the back of her mind, phantom pain of beatings past making her body ache, the guilt and shame of being a sinner pitting in her stomach. She digs her nails into the palms of her hands and grits her teeth.

“Yes, so greedy, as you can tell, I mean just look around, ” she gestures around the dilapidated trailer park, “the used needles a foot away from the kiddy slide cost me extra, but I think they really bring the place together.”

“Charming.”

“I do try.”

“Look, I’ll make this stupidly simple, for you,” Lonny creeps closer, nearly standing on her, glowering down at her, “don’t step on our toes and we won’t step on yours.”

“Is that so?” She grins and literally steps on Lonny’s toes, crushing her boot down as hard as she can, until he finally grunts in pain and takes a step back.

“Don’t make a problem out of yourself, deputy….” His dark eyes flicker around, until finally landing on the shed behind her trailer, “that where you keep your bike?”

“Maybe, maybe not, whats it to you?”

“You know, a little generosity goes a long way to mending relationships, deputy. That motorcycle of yours would be a nice little gift to the flock and most importantly, me.”

“Get bent.”

“It’s important that we all do our part, deputy. That everyone gives a little, so that we all can flourish. As we inch closer and closer to the brink; that becomes even more important. What’s yours is mine, so,  which is more important, keeping your motorcycle or helping others?”  

He’s in her space again, hand reaching out and squeezing her shoulder in a pseudo-friendly gesture; that not even almost friendly smile on his face again.

“I’d sooner watch the world rot than give up that bike. Now, get the fuck off my property.”

She shoves his hand off her shoulder and marches into her trailer; slamming the door shut behind her. Dahlia could scream, could tear apart her entire trailer in rage. Where the hell does that guy get off? Demanding her bike; the motorcycle she slaved over. Her and Lloyd rebuilt that thing from nearly scratch after his son wrecked it; left it abandoned in their shed, a muddle heap of metal left to gather dust. She helped rebuild it; just a project at the time, something to keep busy while she was waiting to see if she got accepted to the police academy, meant to stave off the anxiety. And when it was done, perfectly functional and shining like it was brand new, Lloyd told her to keep it, she deserved it.

There’s not a lot of things Dahlia’s felt she earned; feeling every success has been a fluke, a mistake, a moment of luck. But, she earned that bike. She nearly fought Lloyd’s son when he visited that holiday season; trying to reclaim the bike now that it was fixed and she refused. Lloyd sided with her; because she earned it. Because she put the work and hours into it. And she’ll be damned if she’s going to let some bearded zealot barge in and demand she give it up.

The more she learns about Eden’s Gate, the less she likes them. Stealing booze, trying to take her bike, trying to scare her. She needs a cigarette; she decides and pulls the pack from her pocket; only to find it empty. Damn it. Dahlia starts digging through tossed aside pairs of pants and jackets; she has to have a half empty pack somewhere. She grabs up her duffle bag, still mostly unpacked other than what she’s worn or used this week, rummaging through the pockets for a pack of cigarettes.

A crumpled piece of something brushes against her hand and she yanks it out; only to find a scrunched up white pamphlet. She straightens it out a bit and groans when she reads the front; Eden’s Gate, We Love You surrounding a cross like symbol. Why is this group all over everything?

Giving up on finding a cigarette somewhere in her mess; Dahlia changes into some comfy clothes and plops herself down on the couch, turning the small tv on as background noise more than anything. She finds herself fiddling with that pamphlet again, placed aside before she changed.

Dahlia opens it; if this damn group is going to haunt all her days here, she might as well read their crap. It seems to be fairly standard religious fare. Casted out? Rejected by society? Try Jesus. Take a leap of faith, wash away your sins, confess, atone, and become stronger by joining their family. There are mentions of how corrupt the world is and how it’s all going to end; nice appeals to fear mongering, always have to appreciate that approach. Every word of the dribble reminds her of darker days, of her step father and his asinine sermons. The type of people who’d probably make a PSA about how Dungeons and Dragons is satanic, Harry Potter should be burned at the stake, and Pokemon is an evil atheist agenda to push evolutionary theory on kids.

The leader; man bun guy, calls himself The Father. Those goosebumps and bad memories come back. She knows assuming that all strongly religious people are like her step-father isn’t the best practice. But mentions of sin and calling himself something regarding father, just… doesn’t help.

He calls his siblings heralds; a sister and two brothers.

Her eyes glaze over as she absorbs the same crap she's had spewed at her for years, thoughts of making a donation to planned parenthood in their name pass through her mind. She doesn’t know for certain if the group is pro-life, but one can assume. The picture on the second page of the little pamphlet catches her eye and she sputters out a laugh.

Who the hell runs the PR for this church?

First the creepy statue, then the serial killer-esque drawing on him to open their book, and now a family portrait so awkward she might cringe herself into a coma. Three men and a woman; siblings according to the text. Man bun is in a chair in the middle; not even making eye contact with the camera. The woman, Faith, the siren she’s seen at the hotel and accidentally grabbed outside the diner is on the floor beside the chair. She looks annoyed, like a teenager being dragged to an awkward family dinner. Behind them are the two brothers. One with slicked back dark hair in a coat that appears to be covered in planes; which is… a look. And the other a mountain of a human compared to his sibling; ginger hair with the sides shaved, in camouflage, holding a red rifle.

It all looks ridiculous, from their expressions to their poses. Whoever thought this was a good way to market them is the epitome of human stupidity. Dahlia crumples the little pamphlet and tosses it into the trash; thankful for a laugh to cap off her night. She spends an hour or so watching tv, drifting off to sleep on the couch as she’s done every night.. Eyelids growing heavier and heavier with each second, until black blankets her mind. 

Her bladder wakes her up during the middle of the night, causing her to turn and flop around, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stares at the ceiling contemplating if she has to pee bad enough to warrant making herself physically stand up; the effort feeling herculean in the bleary twilight hours of the night.

“What if I told you, you could be free of sin,” a male voice drifts from the tv and she groans; this shit again?

She sits up on the couch, sliding down onto the floor with the clumsiness of her sleep leaden body. On her tv, at four am, amid commercials for sexy single phone lines is an infomercial for Eden’s Gate.

One of the brothers; the one with slicked back hair in the plane coat, John Seed as the text on screen tells her. He dramatically talks about how all you have to do is say Yes, the power of Yes, walking around what looks like a red carpet covered in flowers; terraces laced with them around him, a crowd gathered around as he talks.

Is he the reason for the Hollywood style YES sign in the valley?

The crowd around him starts to chant the word yes; he’s saying ‘yes, I will be saved’, ‘yes, I will confess’, ‘yes, I will atone.’ And he gestures upwards; revealing a lit up sign of the word YES and she bursts out laughing; her stomach aching and her bladder upset with her for it. Once her laughter subsides, she does what any good decent young adult would do. She rewinds  it to the start of the infomercial, grabs her phone from the table, and records the cringefest to post online before finally going to the bathroom.

She goes back to sleep after,  still cracking up about this dumb religion and their dumb advertisement.

Dahlia wakes up around noon or so the next day, checking her phone while still curled up in the couch.  The post of the religious cringe has gotten some traction; someone making a reaction gif out of the guy gesturing to the yes sign. Jokes about how the guy must get off on the word yes, how insane it must have felt to be working on this, ‘imagine having a grown man in a plane coat telling you to chant yes while he dramatically touches his own tit’. The internet truly is a beautiful place sometimes.

She stretches out her muscles and decides to call the clinic, the one she gave  info about to Tweak. Dahlia wants to make sure he actually reached out and didn’t just use her good graces to avoid trouble and call it done.

“Hey, I’m Deputy Hale of the Hope County Sheriff’s department, I referred someone to contact your clinic about rehabilitation. I was calling to see if they contacted you.”

“Of course, could I have their name?”

“Aaron Kirby.”

“Yes, we did receive a call from Aaron Kirby, he’s been placed on our waitlist as our drug counseling services are currently at capacity and we can’t take on any more clients.”

“Understood, thank you.”  

She sighs; she can’t fault him for that. Hopefully, they’ll be able to get him in soon. Dahlia stretches, making her back pop, now what to do with the rest of her day. Maybe it’s Lonny trying to take her bike or maybe it’s the mention of those Clutch Nixon stunts yesterday; but she has an itch to go riding and do some stupid shit.

A quick shower and change of clothes; then she’s grabbing her helmet.

Music reverberating in her skull, the rev of her motorcycle engine beneath her, the wind whipping around her, and she’s healed from everything if only for a moment. Dancing and riding her bike are the only things to do this for her; or maybe it’s the music itself that does. But when her blood is pumping, her ears are ringing, and her throat is raw from screaming along to the songs; nothing else matters.

She’s not lonely as she takes a sharp turn right at the chorus.

She’s not sad or pathetic as she cruises down the road, passing cars.

She’s not a disgusting sinner as she takes one of the paths that goes through the woods.

She’s not rejected, worthless, and tossed aside as she hits one of the many ramps across the county, catching air before hitting the ground again.

Everything is pure chaos and adrenaline in her veins; no room for guilt or doubt or

Deer. Big deer, in the road, it isn’t moving.

She hits the brakes; the sudden jerk of a stop, pushing her body forward, losing her grip and being ejected forward. Dahlia hits the ground in a heap, head rattling but thankfully not split on the road. She forces herself to roll over on her back, body aching in protest. Her eyes close and she takes deep breaths, trying to gather herself.

Something fuzzy pushes against her hand, glancing down to see the large deer sniffing at her. It’s no worse for wear, so that’s good at least. She forces herself to sit up, body protesting,  and she peels her helmet off. The deer shuffles back a little but when she extends a hand it tentatively presses against it. She scratches its nose.

“You’re very lucky you’re cute.” She digs around in her pockets, finding a pack of crackers, she always has food on her if she can help it and she offers the deer a cracker. It eats from her hand. Maybe she’s just trying to avoid moving her bruised body, but she spends a few moments finishing the little pack with the deer before finally forcing herself to stand.

Her motorcycle is in good shape, a little scuff on the side, but nothing she can’t buff out if needed. Dahlia’s baby remains the most stable part of her life. She rides it back to her trailer, a bit more carefully. She’s managed to burn through most of the day with her reckless bullshit.

She calls Lloyd and Caroline that night; telling them about her first week, skirting around details that might sadden them. Going to the F.A.N.G Center is reduced to just going there, nothing of being overwhelmed and leaving. No mentions of Pratt tricking her when she talks about Peaches, just an old lady with a cougar Dahlia got to carry. No mention of being left out everytime Pratt and Hudson go to the Spread Eagle. No mention of Lonny, the threats, the religious group that seems much more involved with the community than she originally thought. Everything is fine, perfect, ideal.

The pain of her little crash has mostly faded by the time she shows up to work the next day; uniform properly on when she comes into the station bullpen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Hudson calls out and Dahlia can’t help the heat crawling up her face at the attention. Her forearms and some of her upper chest that’s exposed are covered in bruises; mottling blues and purples.

“Oh, uh, I had a little bike crash yesterday.” She shrugs.

“Jesus christ,” Pratt grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Rook, you need a hobby,” Dahlia starts to say something, but Hudson continues, “one that doesn’t injure you.”

She likes to dance, but dancing completely alone isn’t as much fun, not awful but not as fun. And there's not exactly dance clubs in Hope County. Hmmm. Unfortunate. She shrugs, if her hobby kills her, it kills her.

During patrol, Pratt and her don’t talk about the F.A.N.G Center, they don’t talk about him being angry at her. An awkward cloud hanging over them as they patrol. She doesn’t even bother to ask to give tickets when they pull people over; already knowing Pratt won’t let her and not wanting the conversation. An emergency call to what’s called Sergey’s place breaks up the monotony, suspected overdose.

She digs her nails into the leather of her seat as Pratt flips on the sirens; what if it’s Tweak? Doubts of if she did the right thing running through her head. She wanted to help him; but if he ended up just being put on a waitlist and overdosing right after, how much good did she do?

Sergey’s place is a wooded area filled with abandoned train cars where homeless people and drug addicts gather. Dahlia rushes to where she sees a group of them gathered around; screaming and crying coming from the center.

“Clear the way, so we can help,” Pratt tells them, the crowd dispersing, a woman is seizing. Her entire body jerking and drool pooling from her mouth; another woman holding her close, crying over her.

“Did she take anything?” Dahlia asks.

“We were shooting up and then she was on the ground, I, it’s all my fault, I-”

“Understood, we’re gonna do everything we can to save her.”

Dahlia holds the seizing woman as still as she can, getting out the syringe of narcan that's kept in patrol cars. She plunges it into the woman’s arm, forcing the medicine into her system, watching as her seizing slowly starts to lessen. Removing it, she notices the large bruise and cut on the woman’s forehead.

“Dispatch,” Pratt radios in, “we need an ambulance out to Sergey’s place, confirmed overdosed, head trauma, female early twenties. Junior Deputy Hale has administered a dose of Narcan, over.”

Dahlia stays with the woman, to make sure she doesn’t seize again and hurt herself further. Meanwhile, Pratt clears the way and helps get the ambulance into the area when it arrives; the woman being taken away on the stretcher. They find out the one who was holding her was her sister, allowing her to go with her to the emergency room, while Pratt asks some questions of those who were around. Nothing suspicious; just an overdose, no one to blame.  

The younger deputy sighs and a hand clamps down on her shoulder; gently squeezing. Pratt is next to her and she raises an eyebrow at him. 

“We got here quick, she should be fine.” 

“Maybe, lets get going.” 

The conversation is still more than a little stilted as the day goes on; but it isn’t quite the awkward silence of before. Pratt making little comments and saying things, while she nods or hmms along.

Later in the afternoon, when they’ve stopped back at the station, for lunch and paperwork regarding the overdose. She yawns and stretches her arms, standing up from her desk to get coffee. Maybe she needs caffeine or maybe she’s just tired of sitting in one place; but either way she’s up and moving. 

She rubs a hand down her face as she enters the kitchenette where the fridge and coffee machine are. Dahlia grabs her mug; one that was bought for her by Lloyd and Caroline. It’s a little embarrassing, the picture of a black cat with the message, ‘horrible and adorable.’  

Warmth presses in close to her back, looming over her. The smell of Pratt’s cologne hits her just as a large hand plucks her mug off the counter. Pratt holding the mug high above her head. 

“Hey!” She tries to grab it from him but can’t reach, Pratt grinning as she makes the effort to stand on her tiptoes but still can’t quite get it. 

“Something wrong?” he smirks, “you can’t reach your kitty cat mug?” 

“Can you go five seconds without being an ass?”  She turns to face him, glaring at his shit eating grin, the mischief in his eyes as he crowds her and holds the mug just out of reach. 

“Hmmmm, no. Can you go five seconds without pouting?” He reaches up with the hand not holding her mug hostage and cups under her jaw to squish her cheeks together and force her lips to pout out; laughing at her. 

She smacks away his hand, making a grab for her mug, knocking against his chest in the attempt before he jumps back. 

Dahlia whines and he just laughs, dodging her again as she tries to take her mug back. Her fingers can barely reach his face, let alone high above his head where he’s holding her mug hostage. She clambers to grab a hold of his bicep; trying to pull herself up high enough to grab it, laughing at the ridiculousness of trying to essentially climb her coworker to get her mug.

“Jesus christ, you fuckin’ spider monkey!” He nearly falls over, but catches himself and switches the mug to his other hand, placing it on top on the cupboards.

She glares for a beat, still hanging off of Pratt’s arm before letting go. Dahlia can’t even reach the top shelf in the cupboards.

“I’m actually going to strangle you.”

“Something wrong, Thumbelina?” He taunts and ruffles a hand through her hair, the gesture far more rough and teasing than when Whitehorse does it to comfort her.

“Yeah, my coworker is an ass.”

“Not my fault you’re short.”

“If I get dirt on the counter, you’re cleaning it.”

“What do you-” he bursts into laughter when she box jumps up onto the counter, grabbing her mug. The deep rumble of it makes her smile, it’s ridiculous, but he’s left her no choice.

“The hell are you doing, Rook?!” Whitehorses’ voice cuts through Pratt’s cackling and she jumps down with a yelp.

“Pratt did it.”

The older deputy straightens up, after nearly bending over doubled from his laughing fit. Whitehorse pinches the bridge of his nose, Dahlia swears she can see the migraine forming in his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Pratt defends himself,  “she managed that all on her own.”

“I, I just...no feet on the counter, that's where food goes, for fucks sake, ” Whitehorse looks from Dahlia to Pratt, “and no whatever you did.”

With that the sheriff leaves; weary of their bullshit. Dahlia jabs her fist into Pratt’s ribs, hard enough to jostle him but not enough to truly hurt.

“You got me in trouble!” She yells, sounding every bit a kid who just got ratted out to the teacher, and Pratt only snickers.

By the time Dahlia manages to get her coffee, her face hurts from smiling. The ache of happiness followed throughout the day, until Hudson and Pratt cap off the night with another day of chatting at the Spread Eagle, Dahlia left to go home alone. 

The next day a call comes in from Adelaide Drubman, Hurk Sr’s ex wife who owns the marina as Dahlia’s been told. She’s seen advertisements around for the older woman’s real estate business, telling people to call Addie. The woman pictured on the signs of those advertisements is a fair representation, albeit maybe a little more airbrushed, of the woman standing before them when they arrive. Older with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, a red bandana tied in her hair. She’s all sly smiles and winks when she sees the two deputies walking towards her.

“Well, hey there, hon’,” she greets them, the southern Montana accent one of the strongest Dahlia’s heard since she’s arrived here.

“Hey, Addie,” Pratt replies in kind and Dahlia gives an awkward wave, “what’s wrong?”

What’s right, Dahlia can’t help but wonder as she looks at the property, clearly abandoned and dilapidated.

“Well, I think some squatters might have moved in on me, sweetheart. And, apparently threatening them with my gun is illegal, but having y’all run ‘em off with yours is fine. Go figure.”

“Yeah, the law is pretty picky about that kind of thing,” Pratt says with a laugh.

“I mean, I’m not complaining , at least I get a  chance to see some young pieces of ass in uniform.”

Dahlia chokes and coughs; heat flooding up to the apples of her cheek. That was blunt. Really blunt. Pratt doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, maybe he’s just used to this. Despite her embarrassment, she’s smiling. Something about Adelaide is comforting, warm and friendly, the kind of person who doesn’t know a stranger. Dahlia remembers the gross curmudgeon of an old man that use to be her husband.

“Speaking of which,” Adelaide continues, looking at Dahlia, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, honey.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m new at the station.”

“Our probie junior deputy.”

“Adelaide Drubman, pleased to meet ya.”  

“Uh, this might be impolite,” she pauses, rethinking for a moment, but she needs answers, “but were you seriously married to Hurk Sr?”

“Un-fucking-fortunately.”

“Did you lose a bet?”

Adelaide starts laughing and Dahlia can’t help but smile, the sound absolutely heartwarming.

“I’m serious; lose a bet, piss off a witch and get cursed, broke a mirror and had seven years bad luck… It’s gotta be something, ‘cause that just don’t add up.”

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing,” the older woman tells her, “word of advice, don’t let anyone tell you you gotta stay with a man just ‘cause he knocks you up.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Good, keep that mentality, save you years of suffering.”

“Okay, enough chat, let’s go check out the place,” Pratt says, nudging Dahlia to get a move on. She sticks her tongue out at him as they walk into the rundown house.

There’s trash strewn around, thankfully no needles or sign of drug users here. Adelaide must have a lot of trust in whoever she has cleaning these places up for resell. They pass through rooms, looking for anyone who’s not meant to be there, knocking on doors and calling out. Most of the house is cleared through and the two of them head to the attic, a good place for any squatters to hide.

The stairs creak under her feet as she takes them two at a time, moving ahead of Pratt in minutes. She hears him grumble, he tells her to slow down, but she doesn’t.

It’s dimly lit, some abandoned furniture and old antique crap littering the area; blocking the window that might have let in even a glimmer of sunlight. She flicks on her flashlight. The light illuminates the dust that hangs heavy in the air, drifting across her vision. Something rustles, a box shuffling across the floor.

“What was that?” Pratt asks as he finally joins her in the attic.

“I don’t know, yet.”

Scratchy noises echo through the room and she walks towards where she saw the box move. She crouches down and shifts the boxes out of the way, finding nothing but a dusty floor beneath them. Then something presses against her leg, a soft sniffing noise. 

“Oh my god!” She gasps as she looks down at the cute opossum staring up at her; baby pink nose sniffing at her jeans. A white face, tawny gray almost black body, with big soft dark brown eyes, its wiry whiskers curling at odd angles. 

“Is something wrong?!” Pratt yells out and comes rushing over, feet stomping across the floor; the heavy thuds making the opossum hiss and creep backwards. 

“You scared it, jackass.” 

“I,” he looks down at the hissing opossum, “I thought something happened.” 

“Shhhhhh…”

Dahlia reaches out; tentatively brushing her fingers against its narrow snout, feeling the short slightly rough fur. The hissing stops and it sniffs at her hand, letting her scratch up its face to the top of its head. It relaxes into her touch and she scratches behind its ear. 

“You can’t pet every animal, you meet, Rook.” 

“Watch me,” she says before scooping the opossum up in her arms, holding it close to her chest. A tongue licks over her cheek, the marsupial content in Dahlia’s arms. 

Pratt shakes his head and leaves the attic; Dahlia following him down the stairs. Adelaide is waiting outside the home when the two deputies exit. 

“Good news, Addie-” 

“I acquired a baby.” 

“Jesus fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face at her interruption, “there’s no squatters.” 

“’Preciate ya coming out to check and taking care of the opossum problem.” 

“I fail to see the problem.” Dahlia’s new friend is trying to climb up her head, licking her scalp. 

“You really gonna try to sale this mess?” Pratt asks, rolling his eyes and ignoring the younger deputy’s new pet. 

“It’s my best chance of making any profit anymore; those fuckin’ Seeds are buying up any place thats actually worth a damn thing.  Flipping run down places is the only way to even hope of making money anymore. You know those bastards even tried to by the Marina.” 

“They’re gonna own the entire county before we know it.” 

Deputy Pratt shrugs his shoulders and Dahlia chews her lip; unsure if she likes how casually they talk about the local religious nutjob owning the county. The older deputy doesn’t even seem bothered by the thought; the idea of them buying everything just thrown out as blasé as one would say the time of day. 

“I swear to god, I can’t figure out what I wanna do more; punch John Seed’s face or ride it.” 

Dahlia raises an eyebrow at the older woman; she’s unsure what that means…but it sounds vaguely inappropriate… Her nose scrunches, brows furrowing as she tries to reason through this. Riding…like sitting on someone’s face? So, oh… Heat flares up Dahlia’s cheeks as the meaning hits her; definitely inappropriate. Very inappropriate. She covers the opossum’s ears, as if to protect the innocent being from the filth, meanwhile her own ears are burning. 

“Addie…” 

“I know, I know,” Adelaide waves her hand dismissively, “but you know what they say, the pussy wants what it wants.” 

“Not sure that’s the saying.” Pratt laughs

Dahlia raises an eyebrow before looking down at the opossum in her arms as if the little critter could answer her unasked question. Instead, its doe eyes just stare up at her. What cats have to do with Adelaide wanting to fuck John Seed is beyond Dahlia’s comprehension.

“You alright over there, hun?” 

“Don’t worry about her,” Pratt dismisses Adelaide’s concern, “she’s probably just wondering what cats have to do with anything.” 

“Oh lord.”

“How did you know?” Dahlia whispers, wide-eyed at Pratt, only getting a throaty laugh in response. 

“How old are you again, sweetie? Pussy, vagina, cunt; what’s between your legs. Well, maybe not yours, I ain’t got a chance to check y-” 

“I would like to change the subject!” Dahlia blurts out; face feeling like it’s been set on fire and no doubt a vivid flush a red. Adelaide’s little grin and Pratt’s laughter only serving to make her face more crimson. 

“Well…if we’re on the subject of faces I wanna ride, the Ryes are having their barbecue next Saturday, you and Hudson gonna make it out?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“I’ll be seeing you then, Pratt, and hopefully you too, junior deputy. I gotta call my remodeling guys.”

They say goodbyes and wave off Adelaide, going back to the patrol car. Dahlia cuddling her new opossum friend as she goes. This is her baby now and will comfort her through humiliation at the hands of Hope County’s sex perverts. 

“What are you doing?” Pratt asks, when Dahlia opens the car door. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Fuckin’, put the opossum down!”

“No.” 

“You’re not bringing that thing into the car.” 

“I’m not abandoning my child.” 

“It’s literally a wild animal.” 

“It’s a opossum, not a bear, calm your tits,” Dahlia tells him firmly, opening the door and plopping down with her critter in her lap. Pratt groans and jumps in the driver side. 

“So, what, you’re gonna take it home and make it a pet?” 

“No.” 

“Then what?” 

“You know how some stations have like animals and stuff?” 

“You mean K-9 units, trained dogs? You wanna train a fuckin’ opossum?” 

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” she rolls her hand flippantly, “I’m not gonna train her, she’s perfect the way she is.” 

“Have fun getting the sheriff on board with this, that thing could be rabid for all you know.” 

“Opossums don’t carry rabies; like they physically can’t have rabies.” 

“Okay, fuckin’, opossum expert.” 

Dahlia spends a mile or two, just watching out the window at the world passing by as she scratches at her new friend’s ears. Passing by a sign for Rye and Son’s Aviation, she remembers the conversation with Adelaide. 

“Who’re the Rye’s?”  She turns her head towards Pratt, head cocking to the side in curiously. 

“Huh? Oh, they’re a couple who live not too far from Falls End. They have these big barbecues that basically the entire county shows up to; everyone brings some food, it’s a whole thing.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“You should come.” 

“I don’t know them.” 

“It’s open invitation, you live in Hope County, cook some food, show up. It’ll be fun.” 

“Just like the F.A.N.G Center?”  She raises an eyebrow 

“Well, if you don’t freak out and run off halfway through, yeah, things can be fun.” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at Pratt. 

Side eyes and double takes are taken at Dahlia as she walks into the station carrying a opossum. Dahlia just nuzzles her face against the top of the opossum’s head as they reach the office, plopping down in her chair and propping her feet up on her desk. Pratt walks past with his lunch and Dahlia grabs a handful of apple slice off his plate; making the older deputy stop and glare at her.

“Can I help you?”

“I gotta feed her.” Dahlia shrugs, letting the opossum munch on one of the slices of fruit.

“Feed her your lunch.”

“My lunch is an energy drink and a twinkie.” She ate the last of the lunches Caroline sent with her; an empty fridge and a sink full of Tupperware waiting for her at home. 

“How the hell are you still alive?”

“The world’s too cruel to end my misery.”

“Jesus fuck,” he rolls his eyes, “calm it down, Hot Topic.”

“What are you doing, Rook?” Heat zings up Dahlia’s cheeks when she hears Hudson’s voice and sudden fear that being the weird opossum girl might not be what she wants.

“Is that a fuckin’ rat?” A guy next to her, dressed in the standard officer uniform asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Feeding...opossum…Who are you?”

“Rook, this is Brennan, he’s one of our officers, Brennan this is-”

“The rookie deputy, I know, I’m officer Beau Brennan, nice to meet ya,” he says, extending a hand and she moves the opossum to properly shake it.  Beau Brennan, possibly the most southern sounding name she’s ever heard, especially this far up North.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“But, uh, Rook,” Hudson looks at Dahlia, “should you really be bringing a wild animal into the station?”

“Maybe not...she’s friendly, though.”

“So, Joey questions you and she has a point,” Pratt swings his hand in an angry gesture, “but I do it and I get mocked?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why don’t you tell Joey, how you want the opossum to be the station pet?”

“Do you?” Joey raises an eyebrow at Dahlia, the younger deputy’s face turning a deeper shade of scarlett.

“...yes..”

“If you want the thing so bad, why not just take it home as your own pet?”

“That’s what I was asking!” Pratt butts in.

“Five seconds ago, you were asking how the hell I kept myself alive, you want me in charge of keeping something else alive?”

“She’s got you there,” Hudson looks back to Dahlia, mirth lighting up those olive green eyes, “what's her name gonna be?”

Dahlia suddenly has no coherent thought in her head. Just cricket noises as she realizes she’s never actually named an animal in her life. Every time she’s ever had a pet or something close to one, she just refers to it by species or someone else names it. The cat’s name is cat, dog’s name is dog.

“....Opossum…?”

“Not how names work,” Hudson pets behind the opossum’s ear, “Petunia?”

“Petunia, it is,” Dahlia flusters to say grinning, she’s actually okay with this, Hudson doesn’t mind the weird opossum girl.  

“Why are you encouraging her!?”

“‘Cause it’s annoying you.”

“I think the girls have you outnumbered, Staci.”

“Staci?” Dahlia looks over at Pratt, is that his first name? She’s never actually heard it before. His face completely falls, hazel eyes harsh and angry.

“Shut up.”

“Your name is Staci, oh my god.”

“Spelled with an ‘i’,” Beau adds, grinning as Dahlia starts cackling.

“Oh my god, you have a sorority girl name!”

“Laugh it up, you know when Whitehorse comes back, you’re gonna have to say goodbye to your new friend.”

“Eh, it’s Rook, so he won’t mind much,” Joey says, shrugging her shoulders.

“Huh?”

“You don’t know?” Brennan raises an eyebrow at her, “everyone knows that the sheriff is soft on you. Been hardly a week and it’s like he’s adopted you.”

Her cheeks hurt from grinning, Whitehorse sees her like his own child? She knows she’s lucky to even have gotten the job; let alone the way he’s been going the extra mile to make her feel at place here. But knowing he may see her like family lights up her heart. The sheriff already reminded her of Lloyd before, but hearing that cements the comparison.

“Dear god, if you were a dog, your tail would be wagging,” Pratt-Staci, grumbles as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It's cute,” Brennan defends her, “we don’t even need a canine unit with her around. Ow!”

Brennan jumps when Dahlia kicks him in the shin, hard enough to bruise she’s hoping. Hudson and Pratt laugh. Petunia is content and nuzzling into Dahlia’s neck as the four shoot the shit, the topic of the Rye barbecue coming up. Hudson and Brennan both plan on being there as well.  Dahlia finds herself sinking deeper into her chair, holding Petunia closer. Taking her phone from her pocket and checking the notifications on John’s little video. Other than someone claiming he looks familiar and another person saying he’s hot; it’s mostly more taunts. 

“What’s going on here?” Whitehorse’s voice cuts through the chatter, the sheriff coming through and spotting the gathered deputies and officer. His eyes landing on Petunia within a second, “Rook?”

“Yeah?” She scrolls past someone using a gif of John’s light up yes sign as a reaction gif. 

“Why are you holding a opossum?”

“She likes being held.” She doesn’t bother looking up from the phone. 

“She?”

“Her name’s Petunia.”

“You can’t have a opossum.”

“She’s the station opossum.”

“Rook,” Whitehorse sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, “just go put her outside.”

“So, she’s an outside station pet?”

“I don’t care as long as she’s outside.”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Dahlia says, finally looking up and grinning ear to ear. Whitehorse shakes his head and just waves her off before going into his office, no doubt looking for some Tylenol or Aspirin at this point.

“That’s it,” Pratt lets out a heavy exhale, shaking his head at Dahlia.

“Told ya, soft on Rook.”

“I’m gonna take Petunia outside, to her new home.”

“Do you think she’ll stay around?” Hudson asks, as her and Pratt follow after Dahlia, towards the little lot of land behind the department.

“If I keep feeding her, she should, right?”

“I’m gonna have to start bringing two lunches, aren’t I?”

“Nah, you don’t wanna overfeed her.”

“Hilarious.”

The wind is blowing just a bit; breezing by and shifting the grass around them. The sun starting to set as the evening arrives. Petunia licks her cheek and then runs up on Dahlia’s shoulder, little hands grabbing at her skin as she clambers up onto her head; curling up like she belongs there.

“Pffft,” Hudson sputters out a laugh, “look this way, Rook.”

Dahlia faces Joey, grinning with the apples of her cheeks flushing red. The older deputy has her phone out and snaps a photo of Dahlia with Petunia perched on her head. She’s not sure why the moment is worth catching, but she’s glad it was.

“Send that to me, if you don’t mind…” Dahlia asks as she puts Petunia down in the grass.

“No problem,” she taps away and Dahlia feels her phone buzz, “and don’t worry I’ll send it to you, too, Pratt.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Didn’t have to.”

Dahlia sits down on the ground, petting Petunia as the sun sets. As always Hudson and Pratt leave that evening for the Spread Eagle, she catches Brennan talking about going to the Hollyhock Saloon with some fellow officers before she leaves. Everyone has their friend group, their routine. And it’s time for her own; going home to an empty trailer. 

And an empty fridge, she remembers. Oh god, she has to go shopping doesn’t she? It’s a break in the monotony but she’s not sure it’s a welcomed one. She also has to do dishes at some point…and laundry…  Adulting sucks. 

There’s a little family owned market in the Henbane River region; just a bit more to it than the general store in Falls End. The fluorescent lights irritate her eyes as she pulls off her helmet to look around. Never the cooking type; Dahlia’s hoard comprises of things that don’t require more than a microwave to prep. Frozen meals, snacks, and absolute garbage pile high in her cart as she scours the shelves for more. This might get her through for a week. 

Her phone buzzes, another Twitter notification, she’s sure someone else reacting to the Eden’s Gate commercial. She tugs her phone from her pocket; just like she thought a Twitter notification, but the message beneath it catches her eye. A text from Hudson, where she sent the photo of Dahlia and Petunia. The young deputy hasn’t gotten around to opening it; mind preoccupied. She opens the message. 

Dahlia doesn’t take pictures of herself and has never been particularly enthralled with her own appearance. But, she likes this photo of her. Petunia is perched on her head, dark eyes warm and soft. The evening sun setting behind Dahlia illuminates her in golden light; dark hair mussed, brown eyes lighting up amber where the light hits, and a wide grin on her face. 

Beneath the photo is a message from Hudson captioning it; 

‘cant tell who looks better here’ 

 Heat makes it way up to her hairline. Is…did Hudson call her cute? She’s comparing Dahlia to Petunia, a opossum, both Petunia specifically and opossums in general are cute. So if Hudson’s saying Dahlia’s looks are on par with a opossum; does Hudson mean she’s cute? But, not everyone thinks opossums are cute… Some people think they’re gross little trashy goblins, does Hudson think she looks like a trash goblin? She seemed to like Petunia, but just cause she was nice to the animal doesn’t mean she thinks opossums are cute. Dahlia leans her forehead against the freezer section for a moment; letting a turkey meal cool her flushed face as she forces herself to not agonize over this. 

A few deep breathes and a concerned passerby make Dahlia straighten back up, getting her bearings before heading to self-check-out. She quickly rings up her items and bags them, leaving the market with her grocery bags in tow. 

“Leave me alone…please…”  A soft demure voice whispers, a woman about Dahlia’s age stands beside the road a man towering over her with a beet red face. The smell of liquor coming off him on the wind. His hand is wrapped tightly around her wrist, her skin indenting under his grasp as she tries to fold in on herself to avoid his touch. 

“Wh-what, you scared daddy Joe’ll call you a sinner for spending some time with me?”

The stench of alcohol wafts off his breath with every drunken slur; even at a distance, the smell churns her stomach.  She drops her bags on the cement and makes a beeline towards them, she needs to keep this from escalating, or someone will get hurt. 

“Leave me alone!” The girl’s voice shakes as she tries to pry herself from the man’s grasp. 

“Fuckin’ peggie whore!”  

“Hey!” Dahlia yells out and runs as his other hand starts to raise and pull back. 

She gets between them just in time to feel the crack of his hand striking her face. An ache and echo of pain rings through her jaw; a metallic taste where her cheek scraped the inside of her jaw.  Glassy eyes widen, the man shocked at the interruption. 

“Wh-who-”

“I’m a deputy with the Sheriff’s Department, and unless you want some jail time for assault, I recommend you get the fuck out of here.” 

“Pssh,” he scoff, whiskey scented spittle spraying into the air, “li-”

“I’m giving you to the count of three to get out of my sight, sir. One,” she leans into his space, glaring him down and sneering as she counts, “two, th-“ 

“F-fine, fine, fuckin’ bitch.”

He makes a dismissive hand gesture as he grumbles a curse, but he stumbles away, leaving the two girls alone. Dahlia rubs absent mindedly at her cheek before turning towards the girl; a peggie, he called her. One of the followers of Eden’s Gate. She’s beautiful, five or so inches taller than Dahlia, with long black hair falling in waves down her shoulders. Delicate fine facial features, the deputy can’t help but feel the girl’s face might have shattered has it been struck.  Like the handful of peggies she’s seen, traces of tattoos and markings are on her. ENVY etched across her chest and a delicate tattoo of vines with blue flowers curling up her forearm.  

“Are you okay?” Dahlia asks her. 

“Oh yes, yes, I’m fine, but are you?”

The girl reaches out, fingers nearly brushing over Dahlia’s cheek. She instinctively ducks back, avoiding the touch. Strangers touching her is never something she’s been fond of, though she can’t imagine many people are. 

“I’ve taken worse from better; I’ll be fine.  You be careful and have a safe night, ma’am.” Dahlia nods at her and makes the quick walk to her abandoned groceries and bike. 

She stoops down and begins to collect the food that fell from her bags. A pair of slender hands join in, helping gather up a bag of microwave meals for her, the girl offering it to Dahlia once it’s secure. 

“Thanks,” Dahlia murmurs, taking it from the stranger, stashing her groceries in the little storage space under her motorcycle’s seat. 

“It’s the least I can do…I’ve never seen you before.” 

“I started here about a week ago.” 

“Really, that’s incredible…The Lord placed you here at the exact right time.” 

“Nah, I just needed groceries,” Dahlia shrugs, “well, hope you have a nice night.”

“Wait,” she knots a hand in the deputy’s shirt, “I’m Layla…” 

“Nice to meet you,” Dahlia offers, Layla’s dark brown eyes are darting around, avoiding eye contact. 

“I…was on my way to a sermon at Father Joseph’s church and-”

“Look, Layla, if you need my help just say the word. But, if this is the beginning of a conversion spiel; save your breath and my time, ‘cause it ain’t happening.” 

“I don’t feel safe, going there alone, right now. What if he comes back?” Her arms cross over herself, the thin cardigan not doing much to protect her from the night chill. 

“Oh, uh, you don’t have anyone who can go with you? Aren’t religions like, community things?”

“I was gonna walk there by myself, but…” 

“Fuckin’ hell, where is it?”

“Up the north bridge, one of the island’s in the middle of the county, it isn’t far.” 

“Here,” Dahlia shoves her helmet at Layla, “I got one helmet and if anyone’s brains are splattering on the road, I’d rather they be mine.”

Layla pulls the helmet on over her head, body still shivering. Dahlia shies and shrugs off her leather jacket; it’s only going to get colder on the ride there with wind whipping around. She hands it to Layla who smiles and takes it, pulling the worn black leather jacket on. Oversized on Dahlia and still marginally so on Layla. 

“Thank you,” Layla murmurs as Dahlia straddles her bike, then climbs on the back. Dahlia takes in a deep breathe when arms wrap around her midsection, Layla pressing in close to the deputy’s back as she starts the engine. The familiar nature of the touch contrasting with the fact they’re strangers. 

As Dahlia makes her way up to the bridge, Layla lifts the visor just a smidge so that she can whisper directions in the deputy’s ear. Once she’s past the bridge coming from the Henbane, the roads have fencing and barbwire, making it nearly impossible to go from the road into the woods on the island. She rides down the winding road, taking a left turn off the paved road onto a beaten path, rounding the corner she sees it. 

A cold sweat builds on the back of her neck, heart dropping into her stomach. It’s a collection of small white buildings, dark roofs, with Latin scrawled across some of the buildings; Luxuria, Acedia, and more she’s sure. All of it on a large piece of land, within she can see picnic tables, bundles of white flowers, where they might gather for picnics or barbecues. She pulls her bike to a stop just a distance from the white gate; Church of Eden’s Gate etched in the upper arches. 

People are all around, getting out of white trucks and cars, greeting each other with hugs and waves; throwing side eye glances at Dahlia when they notice her. Dogs are barking somewhere; she doesn’t know where from. Layla clambers off the back of Dahlia’s bicycle, pulling off her helmet and handing it back to her. 

“Sister Layla,” a deep masculine voice rumbles out, a familiar man standing by the white gates. Tall with a thick dark beard, his deep dark eyes are focused on Dahlia as he speaks to Layla. Theodore is what the other man called him that day when Dahlia caught them stealing from The Spread Eagle. He looks a moment away from ripping the deputy’s head off her shoulders; his shirt dipping in a way that exposes the way PRIDE etches across his chest, crossed out as are all sins the church members wear. 

“Brother Theodore, this is-”

“The new deputy, we’ve met, why is she here?” 

“I was just getting ready to leave, don’t worry.” 

“What,” Layla’s eyes widen and she grasps Dahlia’s arm, “you can’t.” 

“I can’t…?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow and shoots a pointed look where Layla’s grabbing her, making the girl let go. Layla’s trying to rope her into this shit, isn’t she?

“You came all this way Deputy, why not just come in, listen to the sermon.” 

“Not happening, I already told you, not my scene. Just give me back my jacket, so I can leave, okay?” 

“But,” Layla chews her lip, gears in her head turning, “how am I suppose to get home?” 

“I saw at least thirty people go in that church, I’m sure someone will be willing to give you a ride home.” 

“Oh, uh, I-” 

“Brother Theodore, Sister Layla, service will be starting soon!” Someone calls out from within the compound. 

“I have to go, I’ll be right back, Deputy!” Layla rushes to say and then runs off towards the church, Dahlia’s jacket still on her shoulders. 

“Hey, wait!” Dahlia jogs after Layla, hurrying through the little compound, but the woman vanishes into the steepled church ordained in cross symbols. 

She stops, just before entering the door and takes a step back. The crush of boots in dirt echoes beside her before coming to a stop, the looming of someone nearby. Body heat lingering near her side as she looks up at the cross on the topmost steeple of the church. 

“You going in?” 

“No.” 

“Have fun out here,” Theodore tells her, moving to press a heavy hand against the church door. 

“Those dogs,” she starts, listening to the barks ringing out around her, “they friendly?” 

“Why don’t you go find out?” He leaves her with a smirk, walking into that church. 

Dahlia lets out a harsh breath and pushes her hand back through her hair. A breeze pushes through, her t-shirt and thin uniform shirt does nothing to keep out the chill. She’s not leaving without her jacket; her wallet and phone all in the pockets.  Music echoes from inside the church as she plops down onto the ground outside it, balancing her helmet on her knees and resting her chin on it. 

If your soul has grown weary, and your heart feels tired… 

She fidgets with her helmet, chewing her lip. Please let this Joseph guy be short winded, she just wants to leave. The entire place sets her on edge, makes her skin crawl and she wants to hide away. 

Let the water wash away your sins…

A cool breeze passes by, a soft whipping sound mingling with the singing. She scans the night sky, searching for her favorite and only known constellation, she has a feeling she’s going to be here a while… 

#far cry 5 #fc5 #this is love #Dahlia Hale

[merrysithmas]

i would give my left foot to just hear SOME of the hcs you have about the member's of boris' gang's relations/interactions to & with theo PLEASE

-Myriam and Theo became BFFS bc of Art and Class and Taste, this makes Boris so mad bc all they do is text and WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT but also happy at the same time

-Myriam is part Mongolian by way of Russia, part Polish. She's bi. Boris helped her drag away the body of a man that she blunt punched with brass knuckles in an alleyway for harrassing her and another woman at a club in Warsaw. Boris saw it happen and ran over to help but was startled to a stop when she defended herself so viciously. The man died. Myriam was an up and coming wedding planner in Berlin before that -- now she works for Boris, stony mien and organizational skills on steroids handling mass illegal imports/exports and fielding his contacts under the guise of wedding organization.

-Dima is always having some kind of emotional issue with his girlfriend Milena who isn't super domineering or anything, but Dima is just like this sensitive puppydog of a man (he does yoga and likes working the ceramics) (he's also an expert in martial arts and can snap a man's spine -ex Ukrainian military - in one move) so he's always coming to Theo's apartment in NY or to the house in Antwerp unannounced while Theo is still in his pajamas, and he's crying and asking for advice about Milena who says he's "never there for her" and THEO totally out of his ballpark with women is like holyshit i dont KNOW dude, but is so used to it at this point he just wordlessly pulls out the kitchen chair and starts to put on the coffee, listening to Dima's 2.5 hour story about their latest argument like the group therapist and occasionally offers him tissues

-Shirley T (hacker wunderkind) still lives with his (single) mom who gets VERY UPSET if he is out all night long and Boris often has to go over to the house and charm his mother into not having a meltdown (which always works because he always brings money like a latter day Slavic Robin Hood) and is then is also always invited to say for dinner. Shirley T's mom actually likes Theo even better than Boris and asks Boris about Theo every dinner. But she exclusively speaks Polish and whenever she sees Theo he is totally lost but nods along politely anyways, she loves his shiny American clothes and is shocked at how tall he is, insists on asking him things and Theo has no idea what to say except a few broken Polish words which delights her. And somehow Theo always ends up being dragged to Orthodox Polish Church mass with her and Shirley T (which he doesn't totally mind if its very few and far between as he gets to observe the art and architecture). And he and Shirley exchange bored glances at key moments of irony.

-Cherry, a Bulgarian, is like the Wolverine of the group. Stoic, smart, gets shit done. Boris cheerily teaches him Americanisms and English turns of phrase. He not-so-secretly loves trash American television reality shows and like the Bachelor and takes them DEAD seriously and often references them in every day life in the vein of wise proverbs. He frequently asks Theo for his input on these cultural milestones and Theo is like at a loss because to him its so low-brow but honestly Cherry's seriousness and blunt culturally-removed nonjudgement helps Theo lighten up and he's collapsed exhaustedly beside Cherry on the couch at the gang's HQ to watch Ice Road Truckers and Say Yes To The Dress several times. Cherry is also best friends with Anatoly since they were kids. Cherry is their information guy. He rarely talks so people say anything to him.

-Anatoly is the slinkiest and seemingly outwardly most untrustworthy of them all. He and Cherry got in big trouble as kids when they stole what they thought was some weed they could resell from a local dealer (who happened to be an associate of Bobo Silver). What they stole was actually a kilo of coke. Boris, hearing the two of them were fellow Slavic kids, took it upon himself to find them, reason with them, wrangle the coke back, offer them protection if they worked for him and learned the business, and returned the coke to Bobo's guys, putting his own neck on the line in a bid to get them off the hook so he could start his own side hustle. They were the first members of his gang. Anatoly is Lithuanian and spoke little English at first, he quickly took to Boris for essentially saving their lives (and eventually making them fucking rich) and considers himself to have a life-debt to Boris. Boris can always trust Anatoly to run an errand without question or use harsh immoral tactics. He's a bit of a livewire. Anatoly feels a kinship with Boris because he once had a favorite cousin when he was a kid who was brutally injured (and died from those injuries) because he was gay, a hatecrime -- an event which sickened Anatoly but he could do little about as a child and feels immense guilt over. Seeing Boris dominate the eastern crime scene makes him feel proud and cools some of that aching spite. Anatoly is Anarchist ally of the year and throws tear gas cannisters at Anti-Gay protestors while wearing a balaklava on on the weekends. He keeps telling Theo to marry Boris.

-GYURI! loveable cook, Boris' stalwart driver, tea-maker, ex-con, likes to knit (good for his neuropathy from a prison nerve injury), sometimes mans the bar at the HQ, always there to pick up dry cleaning if Theo is running late ("it is no problem i said"), drives Theo around at night if he's having panic episodes or can't sleep or is depressed, and talks to him quietly from the front seat -- just enough. A big loveable uncle. Always brings nicely cooked dinners at Christmas -- gets along well with Hobie the one time Hobie comes to visit Belgium and exchanges recipes for poached pears. Could break a man in half with one hand. Babysits everyone else's kids.

-Nina (aka pseudonym Katya) a childhood friend of Boris', his only childhood friend from "home". She was a Russian living in the Ukraine under a somewhat official capacity, who at a young age was accused of a crime she committed (but only bc she had to at the threat of her own life) and was given a harsh sentence -- essentially made an example of and torn from Boris as a child. She is about ten years older than Boris and had a sisterly dynamic with him. Years later, released from custody on condition, she hears of his crime syndicate and tries to find him, she feels guilty for associating her tarnished name with him -- but Boris will have none of it, happy to see her, a tearful reunion. He sees to it that she obtains a new name, new birth certificate, and can be free of her past. He considers Katya his family, the only person who understands the harshness of that time in his home country. She loves Theo and dotes on Boris like a little brother. Katya is the first person Boris ever comes out to in an accouncement type-way (not like with his gang - all of their open secrets, unjudged, a party of misfits). She accepts and loves him like he accepted and loved her - and gave her a home when the world abandoned her. She works as a barmaid at the HQ.

just some!

#novabyers #ask #the goldfinch #boris pavlikovsky

[aprilgrayrobin]

Judgment XX

Part 1

When I was sixteen, I came home from school one day and my mother gathered my little sister and I in the living room with an enormous sense of urgency.  Her face was full of fear and sorrow as she presented us each with a backpack, and told us that everything we would need to hopefully survive could be found inside. A change of clothes, running shoes, thermal blanket, protein bars, tablets to disinfect drinking water, basic first aid supplies, iodine tablets to prevent the body from absorbing radiation, and a bundle of cash in small bills.

She informed us that the very next day, according to the prediction of an evangelical pastor, the rapture would take place. In Christian theology, this is the second coming of Christ to Earth and the event that signals what is commonly conceptualized as “the end of the world.”  As a Christian, my mother believed that she would ascend to heaven. As “non-believers,” my sister and I would be left in the rubble… which is to say some vague, resource-scarce dystopian landscape of smoky skies and fights to the death in abandoned grocery stores aisles.

My mom was ready to go. She was ready to leave this world, and move on prematurely to the afterlife. But this was not a new thing. She had been ready, with barely one foot on the ground, for as long as I can remember.

As a young child, I recall tornado warnings that would send us running to the basement with sleeping bags, ready for the worst. The world ending wasn’t always about Christ’s return, see. More broadly, for my mom, I think it was about retreating from reality. It was any excuse to hole up and defend her nuclear family from threats semi-real to fully imagined.  She hoarded (and still, I believe, hoards) supplies as a regular practice--cleaning products, canned goods, bulk grains, batteries--and invariably most of it would expire before it was ever put to use. But it soothes her, my mother, and abates the anxieties stoked by Fox News, InfoWars and fire-and-brimstone preachers delivering end times prophecies to the day.

It is hard to share this. Despite the harm she caused me, and the fact that we do not speak, I have love for my mother. I see her paranoia and her attempts to feel safe in a world that is fundamentally not safe.  I feel sad that she can only conceptualize safety as being more prepared than her neighbors, and keeping it all to herself. I want to share this, though, because in being raised by someone perpetually readying herself for the apocalypse, I developed a readiness of my own.

I am thinking about the Dean Spade lecture on mutual aid, “Solidarity Not Charity,” that I attended this past fall. There was a moment when he was speaking about the idea of safe spaces as being not only an impossibility, but a concept that actually detracts from effective organizing. I want to quote him as saying, “If I get my safety from making you wrong, that’s authoritarian.” He described being at a meeting where people were planning for a common goal, and someone saying something hurtful and offensive. Rather than immediately kicking the person out, he said, what could come of recognizing that you had a common enemy (capitalism, the police, etc) and educating them. The “safety” that would allow him to respond to that situation in the latter way was generated by “having enough, and being held in community so that we can tolerate discomfort.” it is this definition of safety that I have been orienting towards.

Part 2

Recently someone asked me what kind of witch I am, and I told them “a political one.”  I say this because the witch hunts of early modern Europe are one of the main origin points for our current conception of what a witch is. Although the Wicca of second wave feminism claimed those executed as “witches” to be ancestors of a Pagan religious tradition, in reality many if not most of them understood themselves as Christian. According to Silvia Federici’s extensively researched thesis, the people executed as witches were killed for the threat they posed to the newly enforced order of economic and social relations— early capitalism. In medieval Europe, most people practiced some form of what we would call magic. Charms for love, money and protection were run of the mill. It was only the magic of those who existed in opposition to the patriarchal capitalist order--the unmarried, disabled, unhoused, and destitute--that was labeled diabolical. Those Christians became heretics, and heretics became witches. The practice of magic alone did not, and perhaps does not, make someone a witch.

I am a witch in part because I was baptized in the Presbyterian church. I am a witch because I am a dyke who loves God (in a polytheistic kinda way). I am a witch because I survived an upbringing that nearly killed me, and I have committed my life to fight to destroy the societal structures which give rise to the interpersonal violence that I endured. I am a witch because of the non-hierarchical way I strive to relate to life in all its forms— plant, animal, human and non-human, living and dead. I am a witch because I believe that what we can imagine, we can bring into being.

In March of 2017 I was preparing for a spring equinox ritual with a group of witches as part of a Wheel of the Year class offered by my teacher, Miel Rose. On the seasonal theme, we wanted to cast a spell for moving back into embodiment after a time of being numb... For embracing the movement of spring after the dormancy of winter.  In the week between our planning meeting and the day of our ritual, I found out the man my sister was dating, Rafael, an undocumented man from Guatemala, was detained by ICE in Pennsylvania.  I remember feeling utterly powerless to free him from the jaws of the evil machine that is our immigration system. I went into ritual thinking about our intention for greater embodiment and movement. It wasn’t complete, I realized, as a spell to support our own transformation. We needed to cast a spell for freedom of movement for all people, all beings.  And so we did.

On the bike path in Northampton, under the South Street overpass, we chalked in huge letters

A WORLD WITHOUT CAGES IS POSSIBLE.

And we chanted and hummed and visioned and sent the truth of that world we could feel in our bodies out to be picked up and passed on by others.

After ritual, I wrote these words in my journal:

"I WILL FEED MYSELF BECAUSE I LOVE THIS WORLD AND I AM OF THIS WORLD AND I DESERVE TO BE FED

Let it all come up into the (sun)light

Learning to be vulnerable, slowly Learning I won’t be punished for it Learning it’s ok to make mistakes, to be wrong, to fuck up That I can and will be held

Real change is slow and sometimes it hurts but sometimes it’s a steady drip till the water flows in full."

We were unsuccessful in our legal efforts to free Rafael from detention and prevent him from being deported. Witnessing his journey struggling against the system--attending his asylum trial inside the prison where he was being held--further radicalized me and moved me to political engagement in a new way. Fast forward a couple of years and I’ve been blessed to organize as part of the Trans Asylum Seeker Support Network to get transgender and genderqueer asylum seekers across the U.S./Mexico border, out of ICE detention, and set up with sponsors and support in western Massachusetts. This work has drawn me into a web of community I had previously only dreamed of (and cast spells for). We believe it is possible and necessary to abolish the police, abolish prisons, abolish capitalism. As a collective, we treat each other with kindness and encourage honesty in everything we do. We recognize that we need each other, and we act like it. What an immense gift to be surrounded by people who believe that a world without cages is possible, and to be fighting for it together. The more I connect and build with radical left activists, the more I realize we could have an entirely different world.

Part 3

And that is what I am sitting with in this moment. Everyone is calling it the apocalypse, and I don’t think that’s heavy handed. The word apocalypse comes from the Greek apokalupsis, from apokaluptein meaning ‘uncover, reveal.’ The whole world is seeing what was behind the curtain that is the mythology of capitalism.  There are extreme losses occurring in this process. Death abounds. This is heavy. And. In the shadow of death there is preciousness. On this, I think, my mother and I agree. Everything is cast in a softer light. The finiteness of life becomes more real. There is possibility for deep change, because the ultimate change looms so large. We feel the urgency of how totally unsustainable the current order of economic and social relations is. The working class is fed up, and recognizing that they have power.

I re-read the Revelation to John (aka the Book of Revelation) recently for the first time in years. I believe that the end of the world described there cannot be separated from the description of the downfall of the Roman empire. I choose to read it slant. I choose to queer it. I choose to cultivate a relationship with this apocalypse moment that centers weaving webs of care alongside on the ground organizing to bring about the downfall of our current empire. For me, it is the only way through.

#survivor #solidarity #liberation #anarchism #revolution #revolutionary #magic #spellcasting #apocalypse #prepper #theology #radical christianity #mutual aid #open borders #abolish capitalism #freethemall #covid #covid_19 #covid2019 #covid2020 #coronapocalypse #corona #stayhome #getorganized #essay #prose #tarot #tarotreader #queer #lgbtq

[s-hylor]

50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked Before

tagged by the amazing, adorable @bardingbeedle

tagging: @quandongcrumble @laglemon and anyone else who wants to do it.

What is the colour of your hairbrush?

I don’t use one anymore, cut my hair way too short for that, but I do have a couple of easy detangle hairbrushes because my hair was always so easy to knot when it was longer, and they both look like penguins. Hence why I bought them.

Are you typically too warm or too cold?

Depends on the time of year. I do feel the cold less than my dad, if that counts for anything. 

What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

Driving.

What is your favourite candy bar?

Cadbury Flake or Cherry Ripe. 

Have you ever been to a professional sports event?

Went to see the Adelaide Crows play back in 1996 I think it was. I can’t remember who they played. I am pretty sure they won though. 

What is the last thing you said out loud?

“Yes it is a big rabbit.” to my sister.

What is your favourite ice cream?

Coffee, or Rum & Raisin. Also Hot Cross Bun flavour, or Golden North’s Christmas Pudding Ice Cream. I just like ice cream. 

What was the last thing you had to drink?

Iced coffee. 

Do you like your wallet?

Yes. Very much. It’s Civil War Steve/Tony themed. 

What was the last thing you ate?

Ginger nut biscuit. It was meant to be for Jenny, but she was mean to me, so I ate her biscuit. 

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

Last weekend, no. This weekend I ordered two hoodies from the Just A Story Podcast merch shop. I couldn’t decide which one I wanted. So I got both. 

The last sporting event you watched?

Probably a T20 Big Bash cricket match? Sometime last year. Because dad insists on watching them even though he doesn’t like that version of cricket. I have barely watched TV let alone sport since I moved back down to the farm. 

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn?

Anything that gives a sweet and salty combo. 

Who is the last person you sent a text message to?

Group chat to my sister and her partner. 

Ever go camping?

Yes. A lot. I spent 6 weeks camping last year while travelling through the Northern Territory and Western Australia. I love camping. 

Do you take vitamins?

Barocca. So what ever vitamins are in that? I just like the flavour. 

Do you go to church every Sunday?

I only go to church if I am staying with people who go to church. Or when school forced me to. Or funerals. But they are rarely on sundays. 

Do you have a tan?

I have a “farmers’ tan”. 

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?

Both. Both is good. 

Do you drink your soda with a straw?

No. I do drink milkshakes with a straw though. 

What colour socks do you usually wear?

Black, black-ish, black with coloured toes and heels. Or white with coloured toes and heels if sports socks. 

Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

Never intentionally. I have gone over the speed limit occasionally when I’m not paying attention. But never for long. If anything, I drive under the speed limit. There was a reason one of my co-workers at the mine site called me “driving Miss Daisy”.

What terrifies you?

Something bad happening to someone or something I care about. Pets dying. 

Look to your left, what do you see?

My sister’s cat, Polly, sitting on my sister’s lounge. Looking grumpy. 

What chore do you hate?

Most of them. That’s why they are called chores. I still do them, but I don’t like them. 

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?

Normal everyday thing. 

What’s your favourite soda?

Pepsi Max. Or soda water. 

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thrus?

Go in. Because I hate driving through drive throughs. They all seem way too narrow/tight for my vehicle. 

Who’s the last person you talked to?

My sister.

Favourite cut of beef?

Whatever cut gets turned into corned beef. I eat more corned beef than any other type of beef. I live on a sheep station/farm. Ask me about mutton. 

Last song you listened to?

Hyperfine by G Flip

Last book you read?

The Bodies of Men by Nigel Featherstone. 

It’s a WWII story, about Australian soldiers. It’s gay. Everyone should go read it. 

Favourite day of the week?

Tomorrow. Because I get to go back to work. I’ve missed the plants. 

Can you say the alphabet backwards?

I can barely say it forwards. 

How do you like your coffee?

Black. 

Favourite pair of shoes?

Most worn and most frequently bought are Blundstone boots. Beauty of work boots. 

The time you normally go to sleep?

Between 9:30 and 11. 

The time you normally get up?

Now that I’m starting back at the plant nursery, 4:30. While I was stood down, and before that, around 6am. Unless I want to write, then around 2:30am. Depends.  

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets?

At the station, we get better sunsets, because the hills block the sunrise. At the farm, it’s in a valley, so the hills block both, so both are about equal. 

How many blankets on your bed?

Two. One duvet with an Avengers cover, and one red, black and white patchwork quilt my grandma made, inspired by the mining town she spent most of her adult life in. 

Describe your kitchen plates

Melamine, brownish, with flowery patterns. They’re just what is in the caravan. 

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage?

Don’t really have one. I barely drink. But I used to liked the ginger beer my Grandpa used to brew. It was potent. 

Do you play cards?

Cards Against Humanity. Unstable Unicorns. And several card games played with a normal deck of cards that i can’t remember the names of. 

What colour is your car?

Pearl white. It’s white, but sparkly.  

Can you change a tire?

Change it. Mend it. Put it back on again. Much better at motorbike tyres though, because I have more practise with those.  

Favourite job you’ve ever had?

Trainee at a plant nursery. So, the current one. That I get to start again tomorrow. 

How did you get your biggest scar?

A cow kicked a gate into my head. I now have a scar that runs from my hairline to my eyebrow on the left side of my forehead. Busted me open to the skull. Not that anyone would tell me that at the time. Doctor did a great job stitching it up though, so it isn’t as visible as you’d expect.

What did you do today that made someone else happy?

I gave the sheep stock lime and salt today. It’s like lollies for sheep. So I made 800 woolly someones happy today. 

#tag thingy #tumblr tag things #about me