#Rook must not see any of this. none of them will hear the end of it

[breezy-cheezy]

Sometimes, someone will reach out to help you, someone you’d least expect...

First of these is a sketch my friend @forwantofacalling did after a mutual brain rot....I lined and colored and screamed at it, and here we are :> Jamil and Azul are friends ok it’s rocky but they are-

Annnnd second one is inspired by my friend @insertsomthinawesome ‘s art, specifically this piece! Vil was the third character in her training camp so I raised my little hand like “what if” so!! (Also did you know cats purr to help healing? Comfort?? Leona caught purring to help a cub Riddle, Vil’s not sure what to do with that info LMAO)

Please don’t tag with any pairing tags, all of these pieces are platonic in intent. Thanks!

[sol-saggitarius]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫.

❝ The memories we make together will forever be locked within my heart. ❞  

Pairing: Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1717

Warnings: none!

Author Note: this is purely self indulgent JGHGFJJ- HELP ITS LONGER THAN MY ROOK ONE. also this is definitely not proofread so sorry for any errors-

Synopsis: The biggest formal at NRC was just around the corner and you’ve been trying to stay away from it. However, that’s not going to end up being the case.

The biggest formal of the year was fast approaching and every Night Raven College student was scrambling. Well, most of them. You however, were an exception. 

Formal events like that were never your thing, you’ve only attended them when you were essentially required to do so. Otherwise you stayed home and skipped the event entirely, only hearing bits and pieces from your classmates. Even though you were transported to another world you still couldn’t escape these events, thus you had planned to skip like you always did, opting to stay at ramshackle. However, as your luck had it, no matter where you went on campus there was always a talk of it. Inherently there was nothing wrong with some conversation about this kind of event, but it was getting excessive. At least for you. 

“WHAT?! You’re not going?!” Deuce had exclaimed as he heard your answer to his previous question.

“No… I’m not? I just don’t like those kinds of fancy and formal events. I’d rather spend my night doing things I actually like doing.” you casually shrugged.

“What a loser!” Ace jumped in, laughing jokingly.

“Haha, yeah keep laughing Ace, it won’t sway me.”

“It’s like, literally one of the biggest events of the year, I don’t see why you’re so casually skipping it like this.” 

“Well, like I said, it’s just not my thing. I don’t like the idea of dressing up and mingling.” 

“Oh how bad can it be? Just some people, I mean if it says anything Deuce and I will keep you company if you’re so afraid of it haha!”

“I’m not afraid of people or the event itself. Sevens, what do I have to say to shut you up.” an irritated tone arose in your voice.

“For one, you could just go. I mean sooner or later you’re gonna go back to your world right? So why not just go for the experience and memories. Like Ace said, we’ll all go together so what’s there really to lose?” Deuce said, a hopeful ping within his voice.

“You do have a point there. I mean, as long as I don’t have to spend hundreds of thaumarks for an outfit and put on copious amounts of makeup, then maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Alright, deal.” Ace then put out his hand, waiting for you to shake on it.

“I just really hope I don’t regret this.” you sigh, taking his hand in yours and shaking it.

Over the next few days, things had surprisingly gone as normal as it could. It felt like something was off. Classes had just ended and as you were making your way out of your class, you had bumped into someone. 

“Oh dear me.” The ever so familiar voice had spoken, placing their arms around you as a means of support. “You really must be careful where you’re going, my tater tot.”

“Vil! I’m so sorry- I guess I was just a little distracted.” you stuttered out, still composing yourself from the encounter.

“No worries, make sure you don’t make the same mistake in the future. I wouldn’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.” he let go, the warmth that had enveloped you suddenly gone. You had felt cold.

“Yeah, of course. Um, well if you’ll excuse me then-” Before you could make your escape, he had gently grabbed your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

“First, I wasn’t finished, and second, what made you so distracted that you weren’t aware of your own surroundings?”

“Er… I suppose I just felt like things have been too normal I suppose. I can’t really explain it. But I promised Deuce and Ace I’d go to that formal event. I’ve never been too fond of those types of things so I wanted to opt out, but they weren’t having it and goaded me into going.” you exasperatedly sigh, recalling the conversation.

“Going with Deuce and Ace hm? I see…” His voice lowered.

“Something the matter, Vil?”

“No nothing at all. I just remembered something important. I must attend to that, but in the meantime, don’t let that event get to you. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” with that, he gently patted your head and left.

At this point the dance was only a few days away. The atmosphere of NRC was as chaotic as the cultural fair or even the winter break. It was quite intense and you were getting caught up in the middle of it. Whether it was being accidentally shoved in the hallways or getting an earful about the event from other students. You had promised to Ace and Deuce that you’d go, well more like shook on it but it was the same either way. You had owed it to them at the very least. So at one point you had gone into the local town and scoured the selection of possible outfits. You had found a few but they were all way above your current price range, so those were no doubt out of the question. With that, you’d surmised that the best option would have to be making due with the current clothes you possess. Which so happened to be your uniform. 

A heavy sigh escaped your lips when the night of the formal had come. You had just finished tying the tie to your uniform when you suddenly heard a knock from the front door. Initially you had thought that it was either Ace or Deuce, or both, but when you got to the door and opened it, there was instead Vil with a mysterious box in hand. 

“Vil what are you doing here?” you asked with a bit of disbelief in your voice.

“Just as I thought.” He said, making his way towards you in haste. “Here, come with me. You are not wearing that to the formal.”

Without room to argue he drags you towards your room. 

“You can’t go to the formal wearing your school uniform.” he scoffed.

“It’s the only formal thing I have. I tried going into town to see if I could get anything better but…” a frustrated blush appeared on your cheeks. “But… I didn’t have enough to afford it.”

He sighs, “Well you’re lucky you have me. Here, have this. It’s an outfit to wear.” He hands you the elegantly wrapped box. “Come out when you’re done, I’ll be waiting for you in the living room.” 

With that, he leaves and closes your door, leaving you flabbergasted and confused. Once the initial shock leaves you, you carefully open the box, making sure not to rip anything. What you saw was an eloquent outfit. It looked far beyond what you could ever pay for, not to mention it was very… out of your comfort range. Funny enough, when you had unfolded it, it looked like a design within the same family as what Vil was wearing. Did he just get an extra? Is this some kind of prototype piece that he got from modeling it? Thoughts were swirling around your head as you tried to make sense of what was in your hands. There was no way he was trying to say something with this was he? When you had finally come back to reality you quickly, but carefully, put on the outfit, making sure you put it on right, before you left for the living room.

“Vil, I’m not so sure about this.” a hesitant tone coating your voice.

When he had heard you, he turned around towards the staircase, his eyes fixated on the way you had looked. “See, you look so much better.” He got up and straightened out the small wrinkles you had failed to get out previously.

“Why did you give me this? Was it some sort of leftover prototype outfit that you needed to get rid of?”

“Of course not. It was part of a matching set.” he let out a small chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “A matching set to what I’m wearing. I saw it and thought you’d look beautiful in it.” 

“Wait- Repeat that again?” 

“I said, I saw this and thought the set would look good on us. Does it not?”

“So… You’re telling me you got a matching set so that you and I could wear it together to this formal event?” you had felt like your soul was about to ascend from your body.

“That is what I said. Sorry to spring this idea upon you so suddenly, but this is my way of asking if you’d like to go to the formal with me.” he holds out his hand, waiting for you to take it.

“Oh wow- Ok- This is a lot-” you stammer out. “What will people say- Vil asked me to the formal… Um ok- I um…” 

Vil lightly laughs at your confused state, gently grabbing your hand to try and calm you down. “Again, I know it’s sudden, but ever since you had said you were going I couldn’t help myself. To be quite honest, I had expected you to not go. You’ve never seemed like the type of person to go to events such as these. Well, of your own free volition. So it took me by surprise.” 

“I see… Well I mean- I really didn’t want to go. But actually, maybe I’m kind of glad I’m going.” a blush creeped across your face as you looked down at his hand in yours.

“Oh? Really?” He smirks, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “Why is that?” 

“If I have to be honest, it might be because if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have been able to go with you.” 

“So it’s a yes?” 

“It’s a yes, Vil.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. We should get going now, otherwise we’ll miss the formal.” a smile gracing his ever so beautiful face.

“Yeah, ok, let’s go.” a flushed expression present on your face.

Before you two had left, he pulled you forward into his arms and gave a small peck on your forehead, of course making sure not to smear his lipstick. 

“I’m glad you said yes my dear tater tot. Now I can show you off to everyone at the formal and show them that you chose me.”

“Vil, you and I both know that it was you that chose me first.”

[zackcrazyvalentine]

I ONLY SENT YOU SIMPING AND BRAINROT SCENARIOS TILL NOW SO HERE I COME WITH AN ANGSTY ONE

what if ever since mc came into twisted wonderland they’ve been slowly absorbing magic ? like their body started to adapt themselves to the logic of these worlds and its just accumulate inside of them

so they’re absorbing magic but the problem is they also absorbs the blot and since they don’t have anything to clear it it just stays stagnant .

life goes on grim’s overblot is over , but then mc fainted .

well i mean who wouldn’t be tired after such battle ? multiple persons have been injured so that isn’t really that worrying right ?

well mc isn’t waking up

one day , one week , and still no sign of mc waking up .

everyone is desperate for them to wake up but nothing works . none of the potions crewel and vil worked , sam’s friends on the other side don’t have any solution , and no matter how many dark spells lilia knows it surely doesn’t help him in any ways. heck crowley even put aside his pride and asked help from rsa’s headmaster

but one day they did wake up , but something wrong . their once bright eyes were replaced by lifeless orbs , as if all the light had been sucked from them .

grim has never so guilty in his life but tried to look on the brighter side of things ! he tell them about how ace and deuce are still as stupid as ever , how riddle went off on floyd again or the way epel mocks vil behind his back when his lessons are too harsh !

but even as he looks so happy , he can’t help but feel this immense void in his heart

“hey henchmen ... when are you coming back ?”

they don’t respond when you talk to them , when you touch them , they just stare into the void .

Anon..... oh, anon..... WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO MY HEART ?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

I can tolerate and soak up that good angst of the boys feeling guilty for something that happened to MC......BUT GRIM?!?!?! MY HEART, DID YOU HEAR IT SHATTER?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

THIS IS ANGST SO MUCH ANGST

[Anon's explanation about MC's state]

-- -- --

MC is like doll now, only breathing and staring into the void. Sometimes, they follow a request or order given by someone.

Heartslabyul's tea parties aren't as merry as they used to be. MC just sits there, staring at their cup, occasionally taking sips when Riddle suggests them to try the warm drink. Ace and Deuce can't even crack a smile in the Prefect's presence, not when they're a hollow husk of their sassy self. Cater and Trey feel uncomfortable crossing stares with MC, they rarely look up from their cup or slice of tart. Deuce, more often than not, finds himself crying at night after the parties

Riddle is trying his best every night, searching through his mother's old books back home for a possible remedy... The pages are wrinkled from the many tears he's shed while reading, heart aching for their friend.

--

Ruggie feels his chores heavier than ever. It's because MC is no longer coming to lend a hand as they used to. The bags under his eyes became more prominent with how late he stays up, looking up at the ceiling as he keeps mourning for MC's lost soul.

Jack is seen more often in his wolf form, howling at the moon... Anything to shed his tears and scream his sorrow out in a less noticeable way. He often struts over to MC while they're sitting outside Ramshackle, and pushes his furry head into their lap and hands, wishing HOPING to one day feel their delicate hands pet him again.

Everyone can see how Leona secludes himself to his room, people have begun comparing him to Idia.... But, unlike what they think, he's not sleeping. On the contrary, he's staying awake, tearing through many books from his homeland about occult magic and resurrection. After all, only someone with enough money would be able to buy such forbidden knowledge.

He won't let his herbivore live on like this, not if his country knows a way to bring them back.

--

Azul could feel himself thread the edge of insanity. Would it kill him to go through a second overblot? ....would that be better than living on without MC's company?

He will search far and wide through all of Wonderland's oceans and lakes, lagoons and swamps, for a Unique Magic holder than can revert back the blot... or time.... He will give his everything away in a contract to have such magic as his

Jade and Floyd can see the deep cracks in Azul, he's turning into an unfit leader.... It would be best for them to take his role

But they don't want to, for their hearts are cracked like his

Floyd is easier to go on rampages, and Jade is so indifferent to the word outside of his hobbies. If it weren't for their collective love for MC, Floyd would have tried hurting them to see if that wakes MC up.

They never felt so empty and unamused

--

Kalim's heart physical aches whenever he sees Grim and MC. He's tried, tried all he could

Singing, dancing, playing music, throwing million parties, hugging them, whispering how much he loves them right on their ear... but nothing

He may not be the smartest, but the white haired boy is perseverant and eager to learn: he spends his days in the alchemy room along with Vil and Crewel, researching the poison that is a magician's blot

Jamil never felt so useless, mind clouded with many "if only" scenarios that make him blame himself for MC's situation

If only he hadn't overblotted, if only he hadn't sent them flying off to the ends of the earth, if only he had noticed the poison clinging to their soul sooner.... If only....

Why didn't he realize the blot developing in their body? It was only natural, after spending so much time in Twisted Wonderland without any buffer for the magical energy on this place

If only he could take their place...

--

Vil never left the alchemy room or Pomefiore's underground laboratory. He spent every day researching how to revert MC's ailments

He only ever left the labs to go into Ramshackle and help the Prefect prepare for the day. Whenever he got to putting on their makeup, Vil can't help but cry at how hollow and dull they look, when they used to be such a warm and radiant soul

Rook was on the same boat, taking his science club duties more serious than ever. He would search in every single ecosystem for any plant, mushroom, hunt down any animal, organ that was needed for even the slightest help for MC

And Epel.... All he could do was scream and punch his pillow, cursing fate and how sick the world is. What did an innocent, magicless person from another world do to deserve this?!

He will often go sit besides MC and carve apples for them, of their favorite flower, their zodiac sign, their favorite animal, and those carvings they loved most of his

...but the fruits will always rot, just like their once beautiful soul

--

Idia, who was already barely seen outside, hides deeper in his room

The internet is a place full of information, knowledge... Forbidden knowledge

The shut-in and his little brother are always monitoring EVERY SINGLE portal on the internet, be it on the surface or deep DEEP down in the depths

But what tortures him the most.... Is his very own room This is the place he mad many memories with MC in, every corner of his room echoes with their laughter and gentle voice Like a ghost haunting him from now until forever

Ortho is left to wonder how fickle a human's soul is, their body so fragile But was this really in their fate? Or was it an unexpected outcome not even destiny could foretell?

"I miss you... I want to play more. Wake up soon, [Name][Surname]-san" A strange wavering in his voice was heard, followed by a knot in his throat.

--

Diasomia dorm is always under a storm cloud, green lightning striking the ground surrounding it

Fae have magic beyond a simple human's comprehension, even more so dark fae There MUST be someone in Valley of Thorns that will heed the Prince's call for aid

"The story of old..." Malleus muttered one night, snapping even the sleep-prone knight into attention. "Calls... for True Love's kiss, after the princess was cursed."

Lilia can feel his heart ache for the young dragon. "These are very different situations, Malleus." Yet the bat utters no words

Sebek understands what his precious Lord is getting to. "I shall ask Grim to leave the door open tomorrow night."

Silver nodded along his fellow guard, "If there is anything we can procure, do not hesitate on asking for it, Malleus-sama"

Vanrouge sighed, "It doesn't hurt to try." "Steady heart, goal clear in mind. Do not waver in your actions, my Prince, hesitation never helps when working with curses."

The disheveled royal finally straightened up, eyes red and puffy from how long he's cried and how little he sleeps. "Sebek, go to Ramshackle. We must try it out... now"

--

Grim dealt with the worst blow

It unsettled him to live with such a different MC. Even the Ghosts were unsettled and hurting from what happened to their friend.

"But I will keep sleeping on your chest, ye hear?! As long as I keep hearing your heartbeat, I will guide you back with my warmth and my blue flames! Just.... just make sure to follow my path, yes?"

"[Name]... we miss you so much... don't leave yet, not yet, not like this..."

"Follow my flames, like I always followed your light... Please?"

-- -- --

My heart was shattered right as I was all happy and giggly about Disney savvy MC stuff.... B O Y, WAS I NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT

SO NOW YOU COME SUFFER WITH ME

[shroudcore]

Speak now, or forever hold your peace. (II)

Summary: You crash the wedding with Grim and Ortho. Unlike the others, proposing isn’t on your mind. You come with a very different approach. 

An angstier take on Ghost Marriage. Idia x GN!reader. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story. (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

If the students of NRC thought they’ve seen Eliza at her angriest, they were wrong. The fury she displayed now was incomparable. While Idia fawned over your dramatic anime-worthy entrance, the new interruption was getting on her last ghostly nerve.

“Guards! Seize them!” she roared. Immediately, the ghosts went into action. Idia held his breath as he watched the obedient ghosts charge at you, Grim, and Ortho. He hoped you didn’t barge in with no plan. If you didn’t come equipped with useful items, you would end up like everyone else. 

Chubby, determined to get rid of the intruders that caused distress to his beloved princess, was eager to get rid of you. (”Simp”, Idia muttered) However, eagerness wasn’t enough against an opponent equally as determined. As soon as he got too close, an unknown force threw him backwards to where Eliza floated, shocking the princess.

“Chubby! Are you alright?”

Idia, on the other hand, was elated. 

“Th-that’s so OP!” he exclaimed. He knew you heard him, because your gaze flicked to him for a split second before looking away. Embarrassed, Idia shut his mouth. He’d expected at least a smile. 

After Chubby’s failed attack, other ghosts attempted to face your group. They only met the same fate. Confused, they could only pay their apologies to the princess and watch on in helplessness. Just what did you have up your sleeve? Who did you get such an SS-tier item from?

“Princess, it’s impossible to stop them!” the last of Eliza’s guards told her. For the first time that night, she looked afraid. 

Grim guffawed, while you smirked. A familiar look. It was always there before you jumpscared an enemy, or before you checkmated a poor opponent. Idia might have thought it was kinda hot. At the moment, he was oblivious to his gaping mouth, and how wildly his hair blazed. What were once lightly blushing tips were now an alarming red—a level of ferocity never seen from him before. 

“You can’t touch or hurt us!” boasted Grim, a devious smirk on his face. “We had some he—mprfgh!” He was abruptly cut off by Ortho’s robotic arm covering his mouth. Idia’s brother shook his head at your noisy dorm mate. 

“Release my big brother now!” he demanded. Idia grimaced, but didn’t feel too worried. As long as Ortho was with you and your anti-ghost protective shield, he would be safe. 

As expected, the ghosts were affronted. 

“How dare he order the princess like that?”

“You ought to be punished for your insolence!”

“To intrude on a royal wedding and speak disrespectfully! 

“Send them to the gallows!”

One talked, and one talked over the other. Soon, all that could be heard was an unintelligible susurrus of disembodied voices. One ghost had enough of it, and shouted to Eliza: “Princess, the kiss! Do what must be done!” 

“NO!” You and Ortho yelled at the same time. You continued to walk towards the makeshift altar as your two companions followed close behind. Ghosts rushed to block your path, but you pressed on as your invisible shield threw them back. It looked absolutely badass. Well, anything you did was cool to Idia, anyway. 

 “Out of my way!” You commanded, strong and unwavering. He’d seen you annoyed and angry before, but never up to this point. It basically radiated off of you that a danger warning could be floating above your head. 

“S-so intimidating... “

“So scary!”

Sure, this wedding crasher looked like you, but something was different. An unexplainable sinister aura wreathed you tonight. Was it your glare, or was it that regal suit you wore? Idia must have been too distracted by you, that he only noticed now how your cape seemed to drag shadows with it. You were a villain... much like one of the villains from his video games! And something else that was familiar. 

Whatever it was and wherever it came from, there was a menacing presence in the hall tonight. 

All were silent, except for the wind whistling through the hall. If one listened more carefully, they would hear drowned-out cackles. But it is just the wind, right?

“Wh-who are you?” Eliza finally asked. The ghosts who were ashamed at being unable to seize you began to form a protective ring around their princess. Eliza herself, Idia noticed, was starting to curl in on herself—her presence shrinking the closer you approached. “What do you want?”

“The groom,” was all you said, staring her down as if eyes alone could exterminate the ghost in front of you. 

“Idia?” she asks weakly, glancing at her tied-up groom. Idia said nothing and did nothing but look at you, attempting to telepathically communicate his panic. You barely even looked at him. 

“He’s mine.” 

Hold up—?

More gasps and chatter. They sounded less like whispers and more like the buzzing insects he heard whenever he snuck out at midnight. The world spun. Idia stared at you open-mouthed. 

If he were asked to describe his state of mind at this moment, it would be similar to a loading screen. Suddenly, everything you did together played back in a 1.75x supercut sequence. 

Mine. 

Mine. 

Mine.  

“Wh-what?” Eliza sputtered. “What do you mean?” 

You answered her, voice losing the steadiness it possessed just moments ago. “You have the man I love.” 

Wha… 

KDJAFCKSAJHDKACBSXCJSIEUDS?

Idia.exe has crashed. Reboot? 

~~

The audience’s reactions were varied. Some students on the floor were amused by the spectacle and could have used some popcorn (and a comfortable position) during these times. Some were horrified and disappointed by the idea of the prefect being in love with Idia Shroud the shut-in. Some were much too confused to feel anything. 

“Pardon…? What did I just hear?” Azul asked the floor.

“Puppy love,” Lilia wept, sniffling very loudly. “You know, this reminds me of when I was young...” 

“Whaddaya mean when you were young?!” Floyd snapped. His irritability had spiked up even more when you arrived. His position prevented him from witnessing the events. Everyone on the floor could feel his bad mood rolling off of him in waves. 

“Hey! Watch your tone when speaking to Lilia!” scolded Sebek. 

“... Are they acting?” Leona mumbled. 

“Oh, this better be an act.”  said Vil.  “... though it does not seem to be.” The last part of his observation remained unheard by anyone else, except for Rook. 

“I believe we are witnessing a genuine love confession,” added the Chasseur d’Amour himself, voice soft as he sighed dreamily. “Engrave this moment into your memories, everyone! We are fortunate to witness it…”

But no one shared his enthusiasm about the situation. The others expressed their displeasure by groaning and complaining. “... well, even in this state we are in?” he added as a follow-up. 

~~

Reboot. 

You once fell asleep on Idia’s shoulder after finishing a movie. It was something you both only watched to make fun of, but you were apparently too tired to give your top-tier jokes and meme references. The contact sent his heart into overdrive as he froze, begging for option boxes to appear and help him. The flames of his hair blazed so brightly that it woke you back up. It was embarrassing, and sometimes he would remember it late at night and cringe. 

It was happening again, but worse. Any moment now, he was sure that he alone could burn down the cafeteria, if not the whole school. This was stupid. Why did he get that worked up over an obvious act? A mere ploy to get the ghosts to release him?

Reality catches up and deals him triple attack damage. Crowley probably put you up to this. You were probably annoyed that you were forced to do this, weren’t you? That’s why you couldn’t even look at him. It had to be the cruelest joke that fate ever threw his way. 

“I can’t say I don’t understand you, Princess,” you tell Eliza, forcing a smile. “Idia is perfect, is he not?” He felt your eyes on him. This time, it was he who couldn’t quite meet your gaze. Looking down at the floor was all he could do; it couldn’t judge his blushing face. Only when the warmth in his cheeks faded did he feel it safe to look back up again. 

“You see him, don’t you, Princess?” Your voice began to falter, losing the confidence and authority in it that scared the ghosts. “He’s so much more than what everyone else thinks! We agree on that, don’t we?”

Eliza’s face softened, nodding. “Yes. I’ve seen how these people insult him!” she tells you, gesturing to the ‘failed princes’ on the floor.

“But we’re still different,” you stepped closer, but still far enough so that your invisible anti-ghost forcefield wouldn’t activate. “You don’t want to marry Idia, you want to marry your fairytale prince.” 

Eliza appeared to be genuinely confused. She looked around at her companions, before turning back to you. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in love with your ideals, not the person himself,” you explain. “You only chose him for his appearance. Am I right? His personality, likes and dislikes, and possible flaws don’t matter to you.”

Eliza seemed deep in thought. While she was silent, you release a bitter laugh and threw your hands up.  “I mean, do you even know what his favorite candy is?”

Pomegranate drops. You asked to have some, but he refused to give you any. He wouldn’t tell you why, but he let you assume it was his favorite and didn’t want to share because of that. 

That wasn’t it, though. Maybe he’d tell you once you were both out of here. 

“You’ve never stayed up until 4am just to join him on a raid!” You waved your hands wildly, lost in your rant. Whether Eliza understood you or not, you seemed to have stopped giving a damn. 

“Weak!” he teased, noticing your drooping eyelids and reduced concentration. Deep down, he felt bad for keeping you up late.  “Look, it’s fine if you need to rest.”

“Nah, let’s finish this. What are you going to do without me?” you replied, smirking.

“You don’t even have 4-hour conversations with him on Magicord VC like I do!” 

It lasted up until 3am. You two were laughing at memes. He could hear a groggy Grim complain in the background about the noise. 

“Alright. Here’s a question, princess. How much would you risk for the man beside you right now? Bet that’s where we’re different...”

Eliza’s gaze darted back and forth between you and Idia. Even the other ghosts were silent, waiting for your next words. 

“... because if you ask me, I would risk everything! That’s why I’m here wearing this stupid suit!”

It’s not real. It’s not real. The emotion behind every word was a punch to the gut. If you kept this up, he might need a healer soon. Ever since he realized he was falling, he tried to quell the sparks of hope you ignited whenever you did something nice for him. All that hard work was gone. Each word you uttered was gasoline. 

“To think that if I arrived minutes later… th-that I would never see him again!” A sob escapes your throat, your intimidating persona crumbling.

No, don’t do that. Idia wanted to reassure you that he was still there and he was okay, but he couldn’t. It’s part of an act. It’s part of an act. 

“So please… just let him go.” The front you wore has completely dissolved. There you were, reduced to a sobbing mess in front of a ghost princess and the students of NRC. 

You weren’t the only one. All traces of anger or fear have vanished from Eliza’s face. Instead, she put her hands over her mouth. The princess had been moved to tears. Finally, she turns to Idia. “Idia, they seem to l-love you very much… ”

“That’s right.” You wiped your tear-streaked face and pointed an accusing finger at the ghosts. “And all of you! Are you going to enable her forever? Encourage her shallow ideas of what love should be?” 

They all looked down, unable to meet your eyes. 

“You have no right to just snatch him up and claim him as yours,” you told Eliza with an unfaltering resolve, despite your tear-covered face and your crumbled front of strength. “Did you never think… that there could have been someone waiting for him to return?” 

“I-I never meant to!” Eliza cried. “I was so blinded by my own happiness. I never thought… never even considered…” 

“Princess, it’s alright. We all make mistakes.” Chubby told her, trying to be reassuring. 

“Tell me, intruder. How else am I going to find my prince?” she asked you with no trace of hostility. You stopped for a while, staring at her. 

You must not have expected the question. Idia saw you look at him—it was the longest time you’d looked at him all evening. Clearing your throat, you began to explain. You fumbled a bit, scratching the back of your neck and tugging at the hem of your coat as you explained what a perfect partner should be. 

As you spoke, Idia was enthralled by your voice and most of all, the knowledge you possessed about love and romance. He hadn’t seen this side of you before. How did he ever think that a hundred dating sims could make him a romance expert?

“Is that so?” she sighs, bowing her head. “I understand now. I’m so sorry… for causing you so much grief.” 

She turns to her companions, giving them a sad smile. “There’s only one thing to do. Everyone, we must stop this wedding.” 

Idia wanted to fall to the floor in relief. At least a few exhausted sighs and weak cheers could be heard from the wedding “attendees”. You fell to your knees, exaggerating your gratitude. 

“Thank you, princess!”

“But Princess… what about your happily ever after?” Chubby interjected. 

“I can’t tear two lovers apart!” Eliza wipes a few of her own tears, then turns to you. “I was deeply moved by your words. I dream of having a lover like you,” she sighs dreamily, probably imagining her future lover already. 

While the students of NRC rejoiced at this victory, Idia’s heartbeat quickened in fear. What if Eliza decided to take you for herself?

“Princess…” Chubby muttered, sighing. Eliza only gave him a reassuring smile. Phew. Idia relaxed, grateful that she doesn’t have the idea… yet. He didn’t know what to do if that thought became reality. 

Eliza turns to address the hall with a smile. “I have decided.” Everyone waited with bated breath for her announcement. Idia squeezed his eyes shut and silently urged her to announce their departure already. 

“Idia and I will not be married anymore. She smiles wide, and clasps her hands together. “However, there will still be a wedding!”

Your smile faded. “What… what do you mean, princess?”

She beams. “To make up for my mistake, I will make sure that Idia and his lover are married tonight!” 

~~

To be continued.

Tagging: @teashopwritingzz @twistedcrumbs 

Well, that was long. To think that I was planning for the story to be a one-shot! Once again, keep an eye out for Part 3. Thank you for reading! 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you to @venelona for commissioning this piece from their amazing au, Check & Mate! Take a look at their @undertale-check-and-mate​ blog if you’re interested in the aesthetic & super cool worldbuilding~

“I have no idea how I beat you before, Papyrus.”

Frisk stared at the scattered chessboard, her brow deeply furrowed, finger rapping repeatedly against the tabletop in her frustration. Papyrus, opposite her, sat in his smart black and white chequered uniform... the picture of a winner.

This was just a casual game between friends. Of course, Frisk approached it with just as much fierce competitiveness as she would any other, but it was still nowhere near as high stakes as the official first match she’d had when she first met Papyrus. She moved her bishop, taking a pawn, saying the move aloud as Papyrus did- he was encouraging her to do so while in practise, to familiarise herself with the board and the options she had at hand.

“THROUGH YOUR OWN TALENT AND SKILL, OF COURSE! BISHOP TO F7.” He said, moving it with a gloved hand and taking the bishop she’d just pushed- he’d baited her with a pawn sacrifice. She groaned, puting her head in her hands, running her fingers through her chestnut hair... How the hell did I miss that? “SOME DAYS, WE PLAY BETTER, AND SOME DAYS WE JUST CAN’T WRAP OUR HEAD AROUND THE BOARD. THOUGH WHETHER MY DEFEAT WAS A FLUKE OR NOT, WE SHALL HAVE TO SEE WITH MORE GAMES... SHAN’T WE?”

“At this rate, fluke or no, Undyne is going to get me in two moves.”

Papyrus was fantastic to play against. He was a true enthusiast; he knew openings Frisk didn’t even know existed, he could adopt any play style or development or combination, he had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the game and through it all he had brilliant sportsmanship. After her first match with him in the snow, where she’d beaten him in a pulse-jumping game, the win/loss ratio between the two of them had been almost 50/50 and playing him was her no.1 method of efficient practise... especially considering her goal of beating every monster in this strange undeground world at chess. 

...

Papyrus was the complete opposite of his brother.

Sans the skeleton was the only monster, the only monster, who hadn’t challenged Frisk to a game when he met her- something that immediately wildly threw her off. “i’m way too lazy,” he’d said, with a wide and casual grin that almost fooled her into believing him. Black pants and sleeves, white gloves, a white shirt and shoulder-covering cape with black trim... and the most ridiculous long chequered double-tie she’d ever seen with a small bone-shaped lapel pin.

I don’t know how he manages to look good in that. But... he does.

... There was something behind his tiny eyelights, stupid grin and lazy demeanour. She saw it the second she shook his hand- he was observing her. He was smart... he was the interesting kind of smart.

... So why won’t you pick up a chess piece?

It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part, to say the least. Frisk had been asking him borderline nonstop. Curiosity about his true aptitude, combined with her determination to beat everyone (which included him), created a storm that couldn’t be subsided- but at this rate she’d be dead of old age before he moved a pawn, seeing as he seemed to be totally immovable in his resolution to not engage her.

... Which only spurred her on even more. Of course.

“nah. i’m terrible at chess. wouldn’t know a knight from a rook from a raven. i’ll leave all that hard work to the professionals.”

At that moment, he was reclined on his couch, apparently totally ignoring the casual match going on a few feet away. She had yet to see his eyelights glancing over to their table...

...

But her suspicions were mounting.

Looking over the board, her finger finally stopped tapping- Frisk spied an opportunity. 

...

“... Hm...” Her eyes narrowed in mock thought, and she had to try pretty hard not to immediately look over at Sans and make herself too obvious as she ‘wondered’ aloud. “... If I... rook to e1...”

... It was a total lie. She wasn’t going to make that move- it would leave her king completely open for Papyrus to move in and sweep up a pawn, checkmating it with his queen and ending the game there and then.

...

Sans went still.

Frisk spotted it, a hawk seeing a bunny twitch; he’d moved his skull a fraction of an inch to the side. He’d given himself away.

... He ‘wouldn’t know a rook from a raven’, huh?

“... Actually, no. Pawn to g5.”

///

Papyrus had to leave, eventually- heading to his training for entry into the King’s royal guard. He’d beaten Frisk, that time, catching her out with a knight and cornering her... but of course, being Papyrus, he was boastless and jeerless and merely congratulated her on a ‘FANTASTIC’ game with a handshake and a bright smile before he went.

His departure left Frisk alone in the house. 

With Sans.

...

... She reset the scrambled board, lining everything up and turning to look over her shoulder at the skeleton still silently reclined on the sofa. Even when lazed back with his lapel pin wonky, he somehow managed to look sharp in his outfit.

“Heeeey Sans....” She said, voice sweet and sing-songy, thick lashes fluttering. She even adopted a ‘cuter’ position- crossing her legs and resting her cheek on the back of the chair. “Y’know. You should come play with me.”

“no.” He didn’t even open his sockets, speaking in that calm and collected baritone, with a little teasing lilt in return for her playfulness.

Ugh. She quickly gave up on the cute position, sitting forward. “C’mooon...”

“you’re too far away. i’m so lazy. can’t.”

... Well. 

Not to be deterred, she prised her fingers under the entire board and hefted it up, carefully getting down from the table to carry it across the room. She placed it on the coffee table just in front of the couch and kneeled on the floor, eyes and smile glinting.

The sound of the board hitting the tabletop (and a few pieces rattling and falling over) was enough to make him actually crack open a socket, clearly curious- the pinprick eyelight observed her with that lowkey sharpness she really couldn’t take her eyes off of.

“... Look, I’ll even open, since you’re so lazy.” She picked up a white pawn. “Pawn to d4.”

...

... Sans sighed. He opened both sockets, and sat up in his seat... her heart jumped into her throat and she sat up straighter too; could this be it? Had she broken him with her pestering? Was he finally going to play a game with her? His eyelights were so intense, so unreadable as he looked across at the board. His gaze lifted to her... Sans smiled, leaning forward...

...

He flicked his king over.

“oh no.” He said, sitting back, sockets closing again. “you sunk my battleship.”

...

Frisk sat on her heels, throwing her head back and letting out a dramatic and loud world-weary groan that would’ve worked just as well coming from someone three times her age, smacking her hands against the tiny coffee table and jumping all the loose chess pieces. It made him snicker from his position on the sofa- absorbed in how cruel the world was and how her suffering was never going to end, Frisk completely missed the tiny fond look he shot her.

“You’re a total liar, y’know.” She wanted to throw something at him, but she just settled for crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at his stupid smug face seeing as the nearest throwable objects were all furniture. “You know how to play, I saw you listening in to the game earlier.”

“dunno what you’re talking about.” He was making the couch look... awfully comfy. How he was practically sinking into it... and she’d been sat at the table for what felt like hours while she played against Papyrus.

... She abandoned the board to come and sit heavily beside him, frustrated at once again being thwarted. Frisk knew he wasn’t going to admit his lie; and she wasn’t even going to try to get the confession out of him, it’d be like trying to get blood from a stone. But she at least had that knowledge... none of his dodging or thwarting could take that away from her.

“You. Are such a pain.” She grumbled.

“course.” He replied, in that wonderful voice of his. “s’my job.”

...

“So...” Frisk felt her smile widening. No rest for the wicked. She moved closer to him on the couch, shuffling over the cushions... juuust until her knee was touching his. “You like jokes, right?”

He glanced at her, cool calm & unaffected. “i sure do.”

She fully grinned at him. “Tell me a chess joke. I know you have a few rattling around in that skull of yours.”

“... you wanna hear a chess joke? when i have so many other brilliant puns? i’m hurt.”

“Go on.” She propped herself up on her elbow, voice lowering a fraction. “Just for me?”

He sighed.

(But... his smile grew a tiny bit.)

“... yesterday, i threw chess pieces all over my brother’s head. you should’ve seen the rook on his face.”

...

That was actually kind of brilliant. She snickered- she’d been expecting something much, much lower in quality, and was pleasantly surprised.

“Do you know what chess pieces look at when they have private time?”

“hm?”

She winked exaggeratedly. “Pawn videos.”

... He rolled his eyelights, smile mirroring hers in its wideness nonetheless.

“I wish I could become a doctor.” Frisk dramatically placed her non-propping hand on her chest, as if delivering an emotional soliloquy, enjoying the fact that she was melting him. “Alas, I must become a chess champion- for I have an incredibly chequered past.”

“so awful it’s on par with my usual jokes.” He snickered. “you’re lucky pap isn’t here.”

“Hey. What’s the most costly chess move?”

“that’d be the check, of course.”

“... Do you know any chess pickup lines? I can’t say I have any.” She said, coquettishly, leaning in closer to him- he didn’t reciprocate much, just turning to look at her a little more.

“dunno if it’s appropriate. also don’t know if i’m your type.”

That made her giggle. 

“... Well. Y’know what my type is...?”

“hmm?” He cocked his head.

“People who’ll actually play me at chess.”

...

His face... 

... Fell.

...

“do you ever quit?” He said, more akin to a snap than just a normal question. 

In quite literally an instant it completely shattered the aura the two had created. The sudden transition and frustration in his voice caught her totally off guard- she blinked, taking her head off her hand and sitting upright, losing all the closeness she’d gained from leaning in.

“Wh...”

“i’m not going to play with you. get over it.” His eyelights had gone whip-thin, and... oddly icy. “stop bugging me all the damn time and get something better to do. it’s not going to happen. just get back to ‘practising’ so you can run off and get beaten by undyne.”

...

What the hell?

...

A tense silence stretched between the two of them that got progressively more and more uncomfortable.

...

Frisk turned away from him in a manner that, from anyone else, would’ve been a resignation- but from her felt more like a jab right back at him- a ‘I’m not going to deal with this shit’ declaration with nothing but her face. She wasted no time moving herself off the couch, picking up the chess board carelessly to settle down at the table instead, across the room and by herself.

Several pieces rattled and fell over on both sides when she put the board down on the table. But she didn’t care.

...

“... uh... hey. wait.”

The wind was out of his sails- his tone had lost literally all of its previous bite. But she didn’t look at him, her brow furrowed and jaw set, far less willing to drop it than he apparently was.

“... frisk.”

...

Okay, fine. Whatever. She graced him with an upset glance- her posture was defensive, usually warm and amicable (either that or ruthlessly determined) expression twisted into something pretty unpleasant.

She just... didn’t get why he’d suddenly bitten like that. He had yet to seem upset at all by her asking him about chess, the worst he’d looked was entertained, and he could’ve just... told her if she was bugging him, right? Instead of lashing out like that with no warning when she thought they were having fun.

...

... He was sat totally upright, looking at her, leaning against the arm of the sofa like he wanted to push through it.

“... i’m... i’m sorry.” His eyelights were tiny, smile low. “i didn’t mean that. i just got mad.”

...

Frisk turned back to the board, righting the black king. “Okay.”

She didn’t see his cringe. 

“... you’ll beat undyne. i’m sure. you’re even more determined than she is, which is saying something.”

“... Mhm.”

Both of them could tell she didn’t think his second, meeker statement was the one he really meant. And he didn’t like that at all. “i mean it,” he insisted, louder.

Shuffling sounds- she wasn’t fully paying attention to him, moving some other pieces back into their proper positions, making sure the knights were facing forward. 

“... I know you do, Sans. Thank you.” 

She didn’t believe him. But he seemed oddly insistent on getting her to say he did... so she’d just agree, and they could drop it.

...

“you asked about chess pickup lines, right?” 

His voice was a lot closer than she expected it to be, and it almost made her jump- she narrowly avoided flinging the bishop she was holding when she turned to find him separated from her only by a chair. How the... how did he move so silently? He was righting the black queen, for her.

“... Uh...” She mumbled. He wasn’t the only one who’d had the wind taken out of his sails- she suddenly couldn’t find it in her to make a joke. “... Yeah.”

“would it be inappropriate of me...” He held up his hand, a familiar white piece between his index phalange and his thumb. “to call you good-rooking?”

...

...

Frisk couldn’t help it. She snorted, at that- it was so dumb... the perfect kind of joke to alleviate a mood. The small ungainly sound seemed to have a positive impact on him- his shoulders unwound, smile lifting at the corners just enough for the curve to seem genuine again.

“is that a king in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

Her snort became a proper giggle, which he apparently liked even more. Okay. I know I’m supposed to be mad, but this is too good to pass up. “I-I dunno. Looks more like a pawn to me.”

“... wow. i’m... wounded.” 

His eyelights were larger, softer... his body language had opened like a book. She looked up into his sockets, posture loosening too, unconsciously mirroring him until she’d gone from clenching her arms to only holding her wrist. “Sure you are.”

...

Both of them seemed to realise, at the same time, just how close their faces were. 

Frisk turned away first, her cheeks suddenly tingling and pleasantly warm- she pursed her lips and finished resetting the chessboard. Today was already proving to be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. Sans’ face was also gently coloured, a small dust of blue making an appearance on his cheekbones... but he didn’t turn away.

“... c’mon, let’s just watch some tv or something. i’ve said ‘chess’ and ‘rook’ so many times i’m starting to forget what they mean.”

“... Pft... okay. ... Sure.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

happy new years! i hope this year brings many blessed gacha rolls! may i request an imagine set in an hanahaki au? with jamil being affected because of his feelings for a gn!reader (who believes their relationship is nothing but platonic)? the ending is up to you of course! i really like the angst you write, i always reread your previous works (my favorite is L'Ouverture-- the line "His heart in exchange for Yuu’s" always gets me)

I rolled SSR Dormitory Uniform Rook on a key recently, so I’m starting off the year with some good gacha luck! o v o)9

Oh...!! I’m so happy to hear that, dear reader~ I, too, have pieces that I refer back to and reread when I need a little pick-me-up, or just to appreciate the writing! I’m glad that some of my works have found a place on your heart for that purpose.

You can read L’Ouveture here!

I wrote another Hanahaki piece (reader has Hanahaki; ft. Leona), which you can read here!

Imagine this...

Jasmine.

Why did it have to be jasmine?

Its aroma, cloying and heady The petals a pristine white, like the feathers of an angel. Sickeningly sweet and pure...

Jasmine was everything that he was not--and yet they were what sprouted in his lungs. What he gagged on each time he found himself struggling to catch his breath. What was slowly stripping his life away.

Its intoxicating perfume filled the great banquet hall, mixing with the desert heat that flooded in through open windows, the aromas of their waiting dinner, the din of music and chatter. Somehow, the jasmine floated above it all, magnifying to a dizzying extent.

His body shuddered, and he doubled over, arms cradling himself--as though it would stave away the flower stalks shooting up his throat, the pain shooting through his chest. A hand scrambled for his mouth, to mask the white petals he knew would spill out.

“Jamil, are you feeling okay? You don’t look too good.” Kalim had one hand on his friend’s back, and the other hand clutching a golden goblet. “Should I call my family doctor? I bet he could get’cha patched up fast!”

He gathered the petals in his palm, closing his hand into a fist and hiding it behind his back. Jamil bent into a bow, his hair forming a raven curtain.

“I am fine. Please, do not concern yourself with me.” He attempted at his usual monotone, his voice slightly raw. “Focus on the banquet. Eat, drink, and be merry.”

Kalim glanced to his goblet, then back to Jamil, and vigorously shook his head. “I can’t. Not when you’re not having a good time too. What’s up, Jamil? You can tell me, can’t you?”

“It is none of your business, Kalim.”

“I’m the host of this party, and as the host, I’ve gotta make sure that everyone’s having a good time!”

His dorm leader slapped him on the back--hard. The remaining wind in Jamil’s lungs went sailing out of him, along with a stray jasmine petal. A piece of pure white flickered in the corner of Kalim’s vision, and his expression darkened.

“Hmm? Jamil...” His dorm leader broke out into a wide grin. “Have you been eating flowers? You gotta be careful with those! Not all of them are edible, so you might get a little sick. If you wanted to eat flowers so much, I could’ve asked Trey to candy some for us!”

“... You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I should have known better,” Jamil agreed, the lie easily weaving through his teeth.

“Do you need to take the night off? I can send someone to your room with stomach medicine later, too! And some leftover food from the party so you don’t miss out on too much.”

“That would mean leaving you unattended to, Kalim. What if there is an attempt on your life during the time that I’m resting?”

“You worry too much! I’ll be okay. There’s too many potential witnesses around.”

“You say potential witnesses, I say potential accomplices.”

“You really do worry too much,” a voice called out. A familiar face revealed itself from a sea of guests.

Kalim brightened, while Jamil paled.

“Oh, you finally made it! I was starting to think you’d never show up!”

“I wouldn’t miss your parties for the world, Kalim. I just got caught up at the buffet table serving myself.”

“I see, I see! Makes total sense! Can’t party on an empty stomach, right?” He boomed with laughter, the punch in his cup sloshing around. “You won’t believe this--but Jamil actually ate some flowers earlier, so he’s not feeling great now. Be sure to not eat any of those decorative flowers on the food!, too”

“I’ll be careful,” they vowed, before passing a worried glance over to Jamil. “But are you alright?”  

The fistful of jasmine petals behind his back tightened. Within the depths of his lungs, a tingling, burning sensation had started once more--the beginnings of new buds. Jamil clenched his teeth, doing his best to force the flowers down.

“I am managing.”

It was not a lie, but it was not the truth either--it existed on the cusp of both, at the edge of dusk and dawn.

“Well, I hope you feel better soon. Try to catch up on some sleep,” they suggested. “Actually, why not just leave the party and rest for the night?”

“I’ve been trying to tell Jamil to take a break, but he just won’t!”

“Ah, that’s not good. You should consider listening to Kalim.”

As though I have not already spent my entire life doing that.

“I must tend to my duties. It cannot be helped.” Jasmine clawed up his throat, turning his words scratchy. He clamped his free hand over his mouth, wincing.

“Jamil... You should really do what Kalim said. You look like you can barely stand. If you’re worried about him, I can stick with Kalim in your place.”

“Ohhh, good idea! That should work out for everyone!”

They beamed at each other, eyes twinkling in conspiracy.

Of course--of course they were dismissing him in favor of one another. 

Kalim has always been the golden child. The one everyone favors.

What a privileged life he leads, having everything he desires served to him on a silver platter.

They deserve each other.

Jamil’s stomach lurched, a new feeling making itself known in the pit of his belly. Jealousy-hot and molten, like the searing sun.

The flowers trapped in his throat seemed to singe his flesh from the inside out. Jasmine pushed up, erupting into his mouth, past his lips, into his hand. White petals peeked out from between his fingers, a few fluttering to the floor.

He doubled over, retching.

“Jamil...?” They stared at him in shock. “What is--”

“Jamil--” Kalim put a hand on his shoulder--but he jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice was low and menacing, matching the hiss of a snake. No--a viper.

But the petals kept coming, jasmine sticking to his lips and filling his nostrils with a flood of its perfume. Pain tore through his flesh and bone with each new flower that blossomed. Beholding a deadly beauty.

He heaved and heaved, until there was nothing more to spit up. Then, trembling violently, Jamil hauled himself onto his feel. He cast a cold look at Kalim and snapped into a bow.

“Excuse me.”

“Jamil--”

He stormed out without another word. Past the party goers, away from his tempestuous thoughts, beyond the double doors--

Into the silent night.

The sky was clear, blanketed by stars and a dusting of sand. Only a sliver of the moon hung above, a wink of light against the dark.

White, like jasmine.

He reached out, cupping the moon in his hands. Slowly closing his fingers around it. Reaching, reaching...

... For something he cannot hope to have.

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Twelve): Evil Comes In Disguise

Notes: This one is shorter than others but it felt like it took me so much longer, I blame Cyberpunk 2077 for stealing my one braincell for a while. Also, I have a tendency that the longer it takes me to write something, the more insecure I feel about it, so I ended up cutting this chapter a bit shorter than I originally intended. But I think it works and I hope you enjoy!~

Word Count: 8686

Chapter Warnings: Talk of physical assault, hospitals, POV switches, Joseph visions, me trying to write police investigations/interrogations to minimal success and struggling to write Jerome for the first time properly. 

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

And the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and ticks. Every second feels like an eternity. Every moment of silence seeming to stretch on for hours. Her nerves fray with each one, worry blooming like a flower in her chest. The tension palpable as the three deputies and Sheriff wait to hear what will become of the town pastor. Dahlia’s mouth starts running before she can stop it; to distract herself or her distraught friends, she doesn’t know. 

“How long have you all known Pastor Jerome?” 

“Oh, Jerome’s been in Hope for…fifteen years or so,” Whitehorse tells her, thinking a minute over the exact timeline. 

“He took over the Falls End church when I was thirteen,” Hudson adds, “so yeah, fifteen years.” 

“Wow,” Dahlia can’t help but exclaim, astounded by just how long they’ve all known the pastor, he’s been with the county for more than half of Hudson and Pratt’s lives. 

“St-,” Pratt swallows his words then starts again, stuttering, “still remember my mom making me give my first confession to him…I was terrified I was gonna go to hell, get kicked out of church, break my mom’s heart.” 

“What did you do?” 

“His mom caught him looking at porno mags,” Hudson rats him out, laughing. Whitehorse cracking a smile and Dahlia snickering. 

“I was eleven, shut up,” he tries to defend himself through his own laughter, “yeah, Jerome thought it was funny too, told me everything was okay and then it was.” 

Rook can just imagine it, Pratt as a kid, terrified that god’s going to smote him for looking at a tit. There’s a bittersweet quality to the four smiling and laughing at the memory; the anxiety and fear still looming but it’s a little easier to breathe. The weight crushing down on them is a little lighter than it was before. 

“If he makes it out of this, we need to go back to church,” Hudson tells Pratt after a beat of silence. 

“We do, don’t we?” 

“Officers?” A man in a doctor’s coat calls out to them, the same one who stitched her head back together before. 

“Is he okay?” 

“We stabilized him; we got the bleeding under control and it looks like we won’t have to transfer him after all, he should be fine to recover here. We’re still monitoring him, but things are looking up.” 

There’s a sigh of relief; maybe just from Whitehorse, maybe from all of them. She can’t even tell. Things are looking up, Jerome is likely to live and none of them will lose someone who clearly means so much to them. 

“What exactly is it that happened, doctor?” 

“Someone out in the valley called 911; the heard scratching at the door and when they looked he was collapsed on their front step. That’s all we know at this point, but as I told you, this was clearly an assault. The bruises, the bleeding, it all matches with brute force assault and with the severity we do believe it was multiple people who attacked him.” 

“Who the fuck would wanna hurt Jerome?” Hudson asks, more to herself than anyone else. 

“You’re all free to stay in his room, so you can question him when he wakes up, but I don’t know how reliable his memory will be with what he’s been through.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” 

 The four go into the hospital room and Dahlia clenches her jaw when she sees him. Bruises mottle and color the friendly face she’s seen around the county; a myriad of red and purples across him. One eye swollen, stitches and bandages in places where the skin broke. They were trying to kill him; that’s all Dahlia can think. This was an attempted murder, his body is hidden under a hospital gown and blankets, but she can see from his arms that the damage extends over his body. A IV gives him a steady drip of fluids to keep him stable, a heart and oxygen monitor letting the staff know he’s staying that way. 

“Jesus fuck…” Pratt whispers under his breath. 

Hospital coffee and more stories of the pastor pass the time as the four settle in; the time Jerome comforted an emotional fourteen year old Hudson when she spilled communion grape juice on her white dress. Whitehorse talks about how often he’s visited the church to talk with Jerome. 

Hours pass of the four talking, Dahlia downing five or more paper cups of coffee across the time. And then a cough sound rings out, a shift of fabric, the pastor slowly waking up. Whitehorse calls out for the nurses; the deputies shifting in their seats as he comes to. 

The nurses flood in, checking on Jerome’s vitals, ensuring he can comfortably sit up in his bed. He’s an older man, not as old as Whitehorse, but probably as old as Jacob or Joseph. Mid to late forties. With short dark textured hair and a dark beard.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse asks when the nurses are done checking on the Pastor. 

“John Seed,” The pastor begins, and Dahlia clenches her jaw, “he and members of Eden’s Gate kidnapped me, he tried to force a confession from me and when I didn’t comply; they beat me and left me in the woods. I tried to get help the best way I knew how, but I passed out before I could speak to anyone.” 

Dahlia doesn’t have time to think, to ruminate on what this means, what might be going on; Whitehorse telling her to grab the evidence collection kit he brought in. There’s not much to be collected, but their best bet of getting any conclusive evidence is swabbing Jerome’s fingernails. There’s nothing to get fingerprints off of, no weapon, no duct tape, no bindings. No bodily fluids exchanged, thankfully for Jerome’s sake. But, if he fought back, grabbed at his attackers, there’s a chance the blood under his fingernails could belong to them. That he managed to gouge their skin deep enough to leave a trace. 

“Sorry, this might hurt a bit,” Dahlia gives a gentle warning when she sees the broken and bloodied state of his nails, gently swabbing blood from under them, making sure to collect from each finger before dropping it into a vile. 

“I think I’ll make it,” he manages to say, a slightly dry laugh, his voice deep and resonant.

“I know you will, but still don’t wanna add to it.” 

“Jerome, you said John Seed, did you recognize anyone else?” 

“Lonny, Theodore, and Patrick were the only ones I know I saw…The way John talked he was doing it because of Joseph, that he ordered it… Eden’s Gate is getting worse every day.” 

“Don’t worry, Jerome, we’re gonna do everything we can, Hudson, take the sample back to the station to see if we can match it to anything already in our database.  Pratt, Rook, want you to start pulling the peggies in for questioning and getting DNA. Start with Lonny Stevenson, Theodore Rossi, and Patrick Michaelson. No arrests, not yet, just questioning. We’ll handle the Seeds later, alright?” 

“Understood.” 

There’s a heavy tension in the cruiser as Pratt and Dahlia climb into it. Jerome is alive,  there’s a weight to what he’s told them and to their duty to get justice for him. Pratt’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and shoulders wrought with tension. Pastor Jerome has been an important figure in his life. She can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. She thinks of how much worse she might feel if it were Lloyd or Whitehorse in that hospital bed, someone she were close to. Dahlia squeezes Pratt’s shoulder as they drive, hoping her empathy shows through the touch. Even as strangers, her stomach is in knots, though it may be because of her…connection to the accused. 

Despite their constant encroachment on boundaries, stepping on the line but never quite over it, Dahlia had maintained her hope that the Seeds and their flock were good at their core. That’s why she turned Cassie into their hands, but everyday there’s something new. And this is the worst yet. If they’ve truly done this, if they’re ordering full out assaults on people, that does a lot more than just cross the line. 

One of their three main suspects, outside of the two youngest Seed brothers, works at the Green-Busch Fertilizer Plant, an Eden’s Gate owned business. And for possibly the first time since she began working in Hope County, Dahlia is the one leading the charge as they get out of the cruiser, Pratt not trusting his own voice. 

“Patrick Michaelson,” she calls out and a man steps out, “we need to have a word with you down at the station.” 

He’s generic by Eden’s Gate standards, too long hair and a scraggly beard. His arms are covered, so she can’t check for scratches or bruises along them. 

“I in any trouble, deputies?” 

“Just need to ask some questions; Theodore Rossi or Lonny Stevenson here? We need a word with them as well.” 

“No, but I could ring ‘em for you?” 

“We’ll chat first, then you can call them from the station, alright?” 

“Whatever you say, officers.” 

The last thing she wants is for them to have a chance to put together a story and alibi before they start questioning them. They allow Patrick into the back of the cruiser, he seems to be maintaining his cool. And the tension in the car only strengthens as they take him back to the station. Dahlia watches him in the mirror along the way, waiting for some sign of anything to peek through, for a sleeve to ride up and to see scratches from Jerome’s nails, something. But nothing of the sort happens. 

Dahlia has never actually had to interrogate or question anyone, she realizes once they’re at the station and having Patrick take a seat. She doubts he’ll give them much information. If he’s innocent, he won’t have anything of interest to tell. If he’s guilty, he won’t want to tell them much of anything. Getting a DNA sample is what’s going to be the most important thing, if they get some conclusive evidence, something that links one of the Eden’s Gate members to Jerome’s assault the rest will come much easier. 

“Coffee?” She offers, as she pours black coffee into three paper cups.

Patrick murmurs a small thanks before he drinks from the cup before they start asking him questions. Hours pass of trying to ask the same questions in slightly different ways or tones. Dahlia trying to stay friendlier in her tone while Pratt is terser, due to his personal connection. But getting more than a ‘I was at home, last night,’ is like trying to get blood from a turnip. He refuses to give a DNA sample as well. 

“We about done here?” Patrick asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

“Fine,” Pratt grumbles, “I’ll walk you out and you can ring Lonny and Theodore for us.” 

Dahlia taps her fingers against the table as the two men walk out, breathing a sigh of relief when Patrick leaves his coffee cup. It takes a few minutes and then Pratt comes back, he collapses into his chair and groans, she can feel the stress radiating off of him. 

“Well, that was a waste of fucking time,” he grumbles. 

“How you figure?” 

“How you figure anything else?’ He looks at her incredulously, like she’s grown a second head and breathed fire. 

“Left his cup,” Dahlia pokes at the little Styrofoam cup, “our property, we wanna swab it for DNA, our business and don’t need anyone’s consent for it.” 

“I’ll run it down to evidence, you brew another pot for the next two.” 

“On it.” 

Pratt runs that down, the cup bagged and labeled with Patrick’s name, she’s sure. Lonny and Theodore aren’t far behind. And their questioning goes much the same. They don’t give particularly direct answers and refuse to give DNA samples. Theodore avoids talking as much as he can, mostly opting to glare at the deputies after his first insistence that he has no idea why he’s here and has no obligation or desire to talk. But, he does at some point break his sourpuss expression to take a drink of coffee. Lonny is cockier, more aggressive, making snide comments but he drinks coffee at some point too; so that’s all that matters.

By the end of it all, three cups are sent down to evidence to be swabbed for DNA to be tested against the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails. If it’s from any of them, they’ll know by hopefully the end of the day. Evidence based cases are rare around here, so the forensic team stated they can fast track it, hopefully

Pratt and Dahlia rest in the bullpen office, Hudson joining them. There’s a somber air to the entire office. Hudson’s leg bounces with nervous or angry energy, Dahlia isn’t sure which. Meanwhile, Pratt is wringing his hands until the skin rubs raw. Their worry is palpable as they wait for either more information or direction. The oppressive silence has started to weigh on Dahlia’s shoulders, she’s tapping her fingers against a table. 

“You know,” Dahlia says after too long, “you guys can go see Jerome if you want, I’ll call if any info comes in.” 

She knows they’re worried about him and want to be there to check on him. There’s no reason for them to sit here and suffer when she can just let them know when the analysis comes in. 

“We’re not gonna leave you to man the station by yourself,” Pratt dismisses her out of hand, as if the idea that she can be left alone is ridiculous. 

“I think I can manage for an evening, anything happens, I know how to reach you all.” 

“I’m going,” Hudson declares, “I trust Rook and I’m driving myself crazy here.” 

“Thank you, Hudson…” Dahlia says with soft smile, Hudson actually trusts her and isn’t acting like she’s a child. 

“You coming?” Hudson asks Pratt, looking at him expectantly. 

“I’m not leaving Rook here alone.” 

“I’m an adult, you know that, right?” 

“If Eden’s Gate was willing to attack Jerome, who knows what else they’ll do. And you’re already on their radar, were before this.” 

“What, you think they’re gonna storm the station?” 

“Who knows anymore.” 

“I don’t have time to listen to you two bicker, I’m leaving,” Hudson tells them before walking out of the station. 

Dahlia chews her lip once she’s left with Pratt. This is already a stressful day and not the time to let her wounded ego guide her behavior. But it is wounded. She’s not a child, young sure, but not a child and by no means incapable. Pratt has been coddling her and trying to limit what she does since the beginning of her job, she thought it was lessening, but… Does Pratt seriously not think she’s competent enough to be left alone for a few hours? Is she that unreliable? Incapable? Does he think that little of her? 

She doesn’t lend a voice to these insecurities or anger; not the time or place. 

“Don’t pout,” Pratt says after a few minutes.

“I’m not.” 

“You are, I can physically see you pouting.” 

“Even if I was, it’s not important.” 

“Seriously, Rook? You wanna be a brat right now?” 

“Seriously, Pratt? You wanna be a patronizing dick right now!?” Her voice is harsher than she intended. 

“Deputies?” A voice calls out, one of the workers in their piddly little forensic department poking their head into the open office. 

“Yeah?” 

“We got a match for the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails.” 

“Who’s our guy?” 

“Patrick’s matched, we couldn’t find any traces of Lonny or Theodore’s.”

“I’ll call Whitehorse,” Pratt says before getting out his cellphone, “figure out what we’re doing next.” 

Dahlia only nods, not trusting herself after her outburst. Her fingers still tap tapping against a desk as Pratt speaks to the sheriff. She can only hear Pratt’s side of the conversation as he explains what they were just told and agrees to whatever Whitehorse is telling him, before he hangs up. 

“So, what’s our next move?” Dahlia asks, voice cracking more than she’d like. 

“Arresting Patrick and questioning the Seeds. He wants a lighter touch with John and Joseph, his words, not mine.” 

“Lighter touch meaning…?” 

“They can be questioned together if they want, given a day and the chance to come in on their own terms. Whitehorse doesn’t want us ruffling their feathers unless we get something conclusive on them.’ 

“I’ll never get why he wants to walk on eggshells around them.” 

“Because they’re nuts and got a good hundred or more people who’ll fight for them.” 

Dahlia shrugs, she gets that, she guesses. But its still hard for her to wrap her head around that the men she’s met could order an assault on someone else. A part of her is still holding onto the hope that Patrick just acted on his own, that John and Joseph had no idea. But, Jerome says John was there. And John’s not exactly a face he could confuse with someone else… 

“C’mon, let's go get Patrick.” 

He’s at his house at this late hour, knocking in the door of his little farmhouse. Patrick answers the door, face souring the moment he sees the officer. His lips are sealed, not speaking a word to the deputies as they read him his rights and bring him into the station. He refuses to speak for a long while, even as they book him and try to ask him a few more questions. 

“I wanna call my lawyer.” Is all he says after an entirely too long drag of silence. 

“John, your lawyer?” Pratt asks. 

“What of it?’ 

“We need to have a chat with him too,” Dahlia informs him, “so we’ll be happy to call him for you.” 

“Fine.” 

Dahlia stretches out her back as her and Pratt leave the interrogation room, this day has been her longest yet, but they seem to be getting somewhere. She looks over to Pratt. 

“Want me to call up John or you wanna do the honor?” 

“I will, they like you too much.” 

“Have zero idea what you mean by that, but alright.” 

Pratt grabs the station phone and rings up John’s number. Dahlia chews her fingernails as she waits, biting away at them and chipping her nail polish in the process. When she runs out of nail that goes past her fingertips, she chews at the skin. Mind racing as Pratt talks to John, she feels like her thoughts and feelings are tearing into two directions. What she wants to be true and what evidence supports. The older deputy hangs up the phone and Dahlia looks up at Pratt expectantly. 

“John says him and Joseph can be here in a few hours, chances are Jacob will be with them.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Anytime either of them have been questioned, Jacob’s there, just to look mean I guess.” 

She nods, thinking of what she read so far in the Book of Joseph, of the abuse in the Seed family. It doesn’t shock her at all that Jacob has a protective streak, that he wouldn’t want his younger brother’s far out of sight. She does find herself wondering why Faith isn’t following alongside her siblings as well. Her fellow deputies didn’t seem to know much of her at all, Hudson not even knowing what she looks like. Hell, the youngest sister hasn’t even been mentioned yet in the Book of Joseph. Though given the hefty age difference, perhaps she wasn’t born yet during the memory Joseph chose to open it with? 

Dahlia takes a seat while they wait for the Seed brothers, graciously accepting the cup of coffee that Pratt offers her. Her leg taps as she drinks at it, listening to the clock tick away as she waits for the Seeds. Her fellow deputy sits next to her and she can tell the day has been wearing on him. She doesn’t know why, what it is that pushes the impulse forward, but she thumps her head onto his shoulder. A soft form of contact, comfort, whether it’s an offering to him or a selfish desire of her own, she isn’t sure. 

But Pratt responds by leaning his head towards her, over top of her own. His hair tickling at her skin and his scruff scratching at her skin. She can’t help but smile and press in a little closer, just appreciating his presence in this quiet moment after such a drawn-out day. 

“Shit!” 

Pratt’s sudden yell jolts Dahlia awake, her skull knocking against his. She blinks sleep from her eyes, when did she even drift off? How long was she sleeping against his shoulder? Her hands and the bottom of her jeans are wet; the cup of coffee and it’s contents now on the floor as well as her shoes. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath, she must have dropped it when she fell asleep, “sorry.” 

Dahlia goes and gathers up paper towels, cleaning up the mess. She didn’t even realize she was that tired. 

“Don’t sweat it, shit has been crazy around here lately, I nearly dozed off myself.” 

“You telling me this ain’t typical.” 

“God, no, county’s usually more boring than watching paint dry. Lately, feels like county’s gone nuts.” 

“Eh,  I prefer the crazy, keeps things interesting at least.”

“Deputies,” the on shift desk worker pops their head into the room, “the Seed brothers are here.” 

“We’ll be there in a second.” 

Dahlia finishes cleaning up the mess and sighs, that weight back on her shoulders. It’s way past their usual shift hours and the day as a whole has been a lot. But they may finally be getting to the root of what happened. They’re getting some justice for Jerome, Patrick is a damn near guaranteed arrest. They just need to get to the bottom of John and Joseph’s involvement. She took this job to help people and that’s what she’s doing, Jerome has a right to feel safe in this county and as much as she hopes the Seeds are good, if they’re hurting others, it needs to be shut down and now. 

Mess cleaned; Dahlia and Pratt go out to the waiting room to greet the Seeds. John and Joseph look relatively cleaned up. Though John always looks some version of prim and proper. She’s positive she’s never seen the youngest sibling in a shirt that wasn’t a collard button up and she’s certainly never seen his hair in any state other than slicked back. His shirt of choice today is purple, no vest or trench coat, just the buttons left undone to show the sin marked across his chest and the sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos across his forearms. 

Joseph is wearing a shirt which is an accomplishment for him, a stiff white button up done up to his throat and a black blazer over it, nearly overkill in the heat of August. Perhaps he only wears clothing in extremes, either half naked or completely covered. His greasy dark hair is pulled back as usual and despite the late hour, his yellow aviators are on. 

And then there’s Jacob, black tee and jeans with his typical camo shirt tied around his waist. Dog tags, key, and rabbit’s foot hanging from a chain around his neck as they always do. 

They’re superficial observations, what the brothers wear, but she can’t help but take in the stark contrasts of the brothers. Joseph trying to look more put together and less crazy, John in that same state but every day, and Jacob genuinely not seeming to give any sort of a fuck. 

“Deputies,” John is the one to greet them, grinning and Dahlia folds her hands behind her back, trying to still her body and straighten her back to present a confident front. 

“John,” Pratt returns the acknowledgement with a nod, “I-“

“It seems you have one of our flock members contained on the bas-“  John cuts off Pratt. 

“We actually would rather speak with you and Joseph before we discuss that case,” Dahlia cuts the youngest brother off in turn, not letting him dominate the conversation or set the tone for this. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes, I assume, you’re both comfortable with answering some questions for us?” She cocks her head to the side, trying to stay nonthreatening, not that her five feet of being could ever be threatening. 

“Of course, that would be no problem at all,” Joseph is the one to speak next, giving her a smile, eyes soft despite the circumstances. 

“Actually,” Pratt cuts in, a twitch in his jaw, “I’ll be asking those questions alone.” 

“You’ll what?” Dahlia levels a glare at her partner, ready to throw him through a window, but unable to do so. He’s pushing it, he keeps pushing it. 

“I think it’ll be best if I conduct the interrogation alone.” 

“Oh, do you?” 

“You girls need a minute, or can we get this shitshow on the road,” Jacob says, the deep rasp of his voice cutting through the spat. And she doesn’t miss the clench in Pratt’s jaw at the emasculating choice of words. 

“Come on back; sorry for the trouble,” Dahlia says, a tight lipped smile as she leads the Seed brothers to the interrogation room. She’ll deal with Pratt and his overprotective bullshit later. It’s a quick walk down the hall and she politely opens the doors for them, she thinks she sees Jacob rolling his eyes. 

“Go ahead and take a seat, we’ll be just a moment,” Dahlia tells them, giving a small nod when Joseph thanks her. She lets the door shut behind the Seeds and turns her gaze back on Pratt. 

“Rook-”

“What the actual fuck, Pratt?” She keeps her voice low, but her tone is terse, how could he try to strong arm her out of the interrogation. 

“Look, you’ve spent a lot of time with them, regardless of if you’ve wanted too or not. They’re fixated on you and you’re just too close to them to be interrogating them.” 

“You’ve known them longer than me! You’ve known them for years! This is a rural county, it’d take me longer to meet all the cows here than it would the people!” 

She wants to wring his neck, he’s entirely too protective of her and for no real reason. More now than ever she realizes she made the right call not telling anyone about the mute “angel” Eden’s Gate member who swung on her or the vandalism of her trailer. Pratt already barely wants to let her handle ticketing people and now he doesn’t want her interrogating suspects. It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult woman, she needs to be allowed to do her fucking job. 

Dahlia is done listening to this nonsense, she decides, and makes a beeline back to the interrogation room. Pratt isn’t going to stop her from doing her damn job. She opens the door, her coworker trailing behind her, as she steps into the interrogation room.

The Seed brothers are sat at the table. Jacob’s legs open wide, sat relaxed in his chair, completely disinterested by most appearances but he still watches the deputies from the corner of his eye. She’s reminded of a predator lulling prey into a false sense of security before it strikes. 

Joseph sits between his elder and younger sibling. His elbows on the table, hands politely folded, not a hint of anxiety in him either. Seemingly calm, but his gaze is intense on the young deputy as she enters, never straying away from her.  He never looks over at Pratt, the other deputy’s warning that they’re fixated on her ring through her mind. 

John is sitting back in his chair and his gaze is just as intense, but there’s more manic energy behind it. In him in general. Perhaps he’d look calmer, more serene like his brothers, if not for the constant bouncing of his leg, the movement starting to  shake the rickety table. 

“Sorry about that,” Dahlia starts before Pratt can find a way to force her out of the room, “would either of you like any coffee or anything before we chat?” 

“No, thank you. We’ve done this song and dance before, deputy, you can’t sneak dna off of us,” John dismisses her off with a sneer. 

“Okay then, no coffee, understood,” she rescinds her off  as she sits down at the table across from them, Pratt sitting next to her. 

“Look, let's cut the bullshit,” Pratt speaks up, “a person was attacked, beaten badly. We got evidence, won’t say what, that connects one of your church members to the attack. And its being alleged that he did so on Joseph’s order with John supervising the whole thing, and...you’re just hear for window dressing I guess.”  He gives a dismissive look to Jacob at that last part, no doubt his attempt to give a little revenge jab for his comment earlier. 

“Why I’m here ain’t any of your concern, princess.” Jacob says, voice low and the threat within it not subtle. 

“Okay…” Dahlia cuts in with a clap of her hands when she sees the way Jacob and Pratt are glaring at each other, this is an interrogation not a pissing contest, the last thing they need is Pratt trying to fight Jacob and getting his ass kicked, “this is already going off the rails, good job everyone. Now, while his wording was...abrupt, uh that is the reality of the situation. There are some heavy accusations being levied at you two, so we were hoping to ask you a few questions.” 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” John responds, rolling his eyes, “these are completely baseless accusations.”

“We do have evidence linking one of the men, a member of your church, to the assault. Our witness and survivor is credible. At this point we have no reason to believe they’d lie about what occurred.” 

“They persecute us the same as they did the prophets before us, the faithful handed over to courts and councils, sheep sent out amongst wolves,” Joseph speaks sudden, voice intense as he stares into Dahlia’s eyes, a chill rolls up her spine, a tension pulling in her shoulders that she can’t quite shake. 

“Seriously,” Pratt scoffs and for the first time Joseph’s eyes leave Dahlia, harsher and colder at the older officer, “you really think this is about your church, that someone would make this shit up just to get at you, think they beat the shit out of themselves too just to spite you?” 

“Of course not,” John speaks next and she can’t help but notice the jolt in his body language, “I’ve yet to speak to our flock member you’ve find evidence of. But even if he’s done what he’s accused of, surely, you can’t expect us to be held responsible for the actions of every member of our church. We have hundreds of followers, you cannot reasonably expect us to be accountable for any of them who may stray from our ways.” 

“The witness specified you were there, John. Not just accountable, but physically present for assault.” 

“And there’s no evidence of that, you said so yourself, and as I’ve told you before, there are many in this county who aren’t above taking any chance to sully mine and my family’s name. Who’s to say, they didn’t see their assault as an opportunity to bring down our entire church.” 

“May I ask where you were last night?” 

“Had dinner with my family, as I always do, and stayed in for the night. Rather boring, I’m afraid.” 

“Anyone who can confirm this story?” Pratt asks and Dahlia tries not to roll her eyes; his family would be the ones who can confirm it and ...they’re mostly here and biased. 

“My brothers who are sitting right here, my sister if you feel the need to ruin her night as well.” 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” 

“Then are we done here?” 

“This isn’t a formal arrest or detainment,” they don’t have anywhere near the evidence or that, “so,  you’re free to leave if you so please. Though, there’s still the issue of Patrick who requested counsel with you.” 

The brothers have made it clear they want to leave and that the deputies won’t be prying any more information from them. So, Dahlia escorts them out. 

“You two can go on home,” John tells his brothers, “I��ll call someone to get me once I’ve sorted this out.” 

“We couldn’t possibly leave you behind, we’ll wait,” Joseph squeezes John’s shoulder than looks to Dahlia, “assuming that would be okay.” 

“Of course, don’t expect you to ditch your brother.” 

“It is tempting sometimes,” Jacob mumbles under his breath, a smirk pulling at his lips when John glares at him. Rook has to press her hand to her mouth to avoid laughing at the brotherly teasing. 

“Jacob…” Joseph gently chides. 

“Regardless, you two are welcome to sit out in the waiting room, there's a vending machine if you need anything or if you’re not interested in that I’m sure Nancy can get you set up with coffee or food from our break room.” 

“Thank you, deputy.” 

“I’ll be out, shortly,” John says the final word pointedly as his brothers go to the waiting room, then turns to the deputies, “which room is my client in?” 

“Room 103, I’ll be right in, go on and get settled,” Pratt tells him and John leaves down to the room where Patrick is being held. Dahlia holds her tongue until the youngest Seed brother is out of hearing range. 

“Think we can get anything else out of them?” 

“Fuck no, he’s going to tell Patrick to keep his mouth shut, insist that there’s another explanation. Like getting blood from a turnip, we’re just going to have to deal with what we have. DNA should be enough to convict Patrick, as for the rest, we’ll have to see if Whitehorse feels we got enough to do a full investigation. But, we don’t have much.” 

“The evidence against Patrick might be enough to subpoena Joseph’s sermons, get warrants to search the church and houses?” 

“Maybe,fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face, he looks exhausted and she’s sure she’s not much better, “what time is it?” 

“Nearly four in the morning.” 

“Fucks sake, okay, their foul mood makes a bit more sense.” 

“Yeah, I can take care of the talk with John and Patrick, like you said won’t be getting much from them, so you can head home or check on Jerome.” 

“No, no, absolutely not. I’ll take care of this, you go home and get some sleep.” 

“Pratt-” 

“Rook, you were the one passing out on top of me. Go home and sleep.” 

“I-” 

“Please, for once in your life, just listen to me.” 

“Okay, just this once,” she bows her head, feeling like a scolded child, “but we do need to have a serious conversation about you babying me, you know that right?” 

“I don’t baby you.” 

She blinks and widens her eyes, has he heard a single word he’s said to her all day. Refusing to let her stay at the station alone, not wanting her to call John, and not even wanting her to be involved in the interrogation. And that today alone, she can’t count the amount of times he’s told her not to be the one to issue tickets, to stay in the car during calls. She knows they’ve lost an officer in the line of duty. And she knows she’s a lot younger than Pratt or Hudson. But this is her job as much as it is theirs. 

“Okay,” Pratt scratches at the back of his neck at the incredulous look, then gently puts his hands on Dahlia’s shoulders, “serious conversations can wait until we’ve both slept, alright?” 

“Fine, I’ll go home and crash, get yourself some sleep when you finish up here, okay?” 

“Okay, will do.” 

He drops his hands from her shoulders and gives a small pat to her arm as she turns to leave. As much as she’d rather Pratt be the one going home to get some much needed sleep, she can’t say she won’t be thankful for a chance to crash. 

“And Rook,” Pratt calls out before she can get through to the waiting room, she turns to look at him, “stay away from the Seeds, please.” 

“Don’t push it.” She rolls her eyes, overprotective ass, she pushes through the doors to the waiting room. 

Dahlia gives a friendly nod of acknowledgement to Joseph and Jacob as she moves past them, looking towards Nancy. 

“I’m gonna go home and crash for the night, any news comes in, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?”  She explains to dispatch, not fully trusting Pratt to let her know if it’s up to him, throwing on her leather jacket and already searching for her pack of cigarettes. She’ll catch a smoke break before she rides home, her nerves needing the nicotine fix. 

“Alright, dear. Drive safe.” 

Dahlia waves a quick bye to both Nancy and the Seed brothers before she leaves the building. The air is cold, temperatures drop quick at night out here,  a start contrast to the hot muggy days. A dark sky hangs above her except where stars breach the abyss. Goosebumps prickle up along her neck where the air hits, she put a cigarette between her lips and lights it, breathing nicotine deep into her lungs. She tilts her head back, blowing smoke from her mouth, white billowing around her. 

“Deputy,” Joseph’s voice calls out and chills run along her spine, “you know, smoking is really a terrible habit.” 

“We all got our vices,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, making sure to blow the smoke away from Joseph. 

“That is true, I know that better than most…” 

She nods when he trails off a bit, his church seems to focus a lot on sins and vices, overcoming them she assumes. Sins marked across the skin of so many of its members. Silence falls across the two, for once Joseph breaking eye contact, a rare moment for him. 

“Is there something you wanted…? Can’t imagine you’d rather wait out here in the cold.”

“Yes, actually, I think there’s a lot we need to discuss. Faith told me you have concerns about your friend, Cassandra.” 

“Cassie, yeah,” she corrects, not sure why it bugs her so much to hear them using Cassie’s full name. 

“Yes, John always was wishing to speak with you regarding the orchard and… I’d hate for this… incident to color your opinion of me and my family.”

“I understand and I’d love to talk all this out with you, but-” 

“It’s four in the morning.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” she frowns, feeling bad about it, “its been a rough day and I just am ready to crash, I’m sure you must be exhausted too.” 

“Of course, I understand, which is why I’d like to invite you to have dinner with me and my family.” 

“Uh, what?” 

Dahlia blinks and coughs on cigarette smoke, taken aback by the sudden invitation. He’s here for an investigation, she just interrogated him, and he’s concerned with inviting her to dinner to… preserve some sort of good image? While a formal investigation isn’t opened on him or John yet, needing warrants and authority to do anything more, but one is right around the corner. 

“We try to have dinner as a family, my brothers, sister, and I, as often as possible. A luxury we couldn’t indulge in for so much of our lives, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity for us all to speak and for you to know my family separate from church or police interrogations. So, would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?” 

“Uh…” 

This could be her only chance to talk to him about Cassie before a formal investigation is launched and it becomes a conflict. 

But it could already be a conflict, since they are hopefully not far away from launching that investigating. 

But, she could use it as a chance to probe around, see if she can unearth anymore evidence in the Jerome case. 

But, anything procured without a warrant wouldn’t be admittable, so the most she could do is see it and then know what to go back for once they secure a warrant. 

But, even just getting a chance to ask questions without the environment of an interrogation room, might get some truths out. As well a chance to ask about some of the other strange things going on in the county. From roadblocks to the issue of the weird “angel” that assaulted her. 

But, they could be dangerous, if they do have anything to do with Jerome’s injuries… 

But, she’s not weak and it’s not like she's looking to antagonize them. She can ask her questions and be polite. 

But, Pratt would kill her. He literally warned her to stay away from the Seed family five fucking seconds ago. 

“Sure, I’d love to,” she tells him, ultimately unable to say no to his earnest little smile. 

“That’s wonderful, our dinners are at John’s ranch house, I’m not sure I have anything to write the number down on…” 

“I can use the memo app on my phone, what is it?” 

“Oh.” He seems taken aback for a moment when she gets out her phone, but recovers to prattle off the address, Dahlia typing it in. 

“Did I get it right?” She asks, moving to stand closer to Joseph’s side, so he can see the phone screen.

“Uh, yes, that’s,” he reaches out to touch her phone and accidentally closes the memo app, pulling his hand away like it burned him, “oh.” 

Dahlia can’t help but laugh, watching the older man fumble to deal with tech. He’s older, sure, but he’s not pushing his sixties or anything. He ducks his head and she can see a very subtle flush of red flare up his cheekbones. Its the most human he’s ever seemed to her, just an older man who hates phones, embarrassed that he has no idea how to use one. 

“Don’t worry,  it saved,” she explains, pulling it back up. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” 

“Alright, see you and your family tomorrow.” 

She tucks her phone back in her pocket and waves bye again, getting on her motorcycle. Dahlia slides her helmet on and starts the journey back home, mind racing and heart heavy with the events of the day. 

Joseph sits in the passenger side of the truck, Jacob driving and John sitting in the back, as they leave the police station. It's late, nearly early enough for him to be waking up. John made a grave mistake, trying to punish Pastor Jerome for leading people astray, away from Eden. A noble intention, but he did it out of wrath and anger, letting someone else’s sin fuel his own. His impulses placed them back in the sight line of the police. They can recover from this easily enough, as frustrating as it is. The bigger issue is once again working to reign John in and working to change the junior deputy’s view of them. 

The Lamb plays a vital role in the collapse, she was chosen to be the one who brings about the end, how exactly she will do so remains to be seen. But, he’d rather she do it alongside them stepping into New Eden by their side after she helped cleanse the world, rather than doing so in spite of them with no understanding of the gift she was given. 

“What the hell were you thinking?”  Jacob scolds their younger brother, always protective of the project and them being found out by law enforcement, he’s more than a little irate about John’s mistake. 

“Jacob…” Joseph still chides him for cursing, a nasty habit his eldest brother struggles most to break. If Joseph’s being completely honest, he’s not certain Jacob is trying to break it all. 

“Pastor Jerome is a fraud, he is leading people astray and spreading lies about The Project, he had to be taught a lesson.” 

“Who cares? His people abandoned him for us, John. He can talk all he wants, no ones fuckin’ listening.” 

“Oh, so suddenly you’re above corporal punishment, are you going soft on me, Jacob? Do you allow your soldiers to say whatever they please, reward them for their insolence?” 

“Jerome’s not a soldier and unlike you, when I teach outsiders a lesson, I’m not dumb enough to let them walk away from it.” 

“Brothers, stop,” Joseph speaks over them, not yelling, but his tone stern enough to end their incessant arguing, he makes eye contact with his youngest brother through the rearview mirror “Jacob is right, John.” 

“But Joseph-” 

“You endangered The Project, our mission, our family; for the sake of satisfying your own wrath. You put all of us at risk and for what? So, you could indulge in your sins?” 

“He was spreading lies, telling people you were dangerous-” 

“And that made you angry, it made you wrathful. And so you lashed out to make yourself feel better, instead of speaking to me, instead of seeking out the word and confronting the sin inside of yourself, you sought to quell your anger through violence.” 

“I’m sorry, Joseph.” 

“I know. Righteous anger and swift justice has its place. There will be times to cut off the hands that wrong us, but this was not one of them.” 

“I understand… I already spoke with our flock members in the station, they’ll dispose of the evidence and secure Patrick’s freedom. Without it, the investigation will end and he won’t be punished for my mistakes.” 

“I knew you’d take care of it in the end,” he tells him, watching the relief flood John with the smallest amount of praise after being scolded, “I invited the junior deputy to dinner.” 

Jacob slams on the brakes on a thankfully deserted back road, causing Joseph to jerk against the seatbelt and John to slam his face against the seat in front of him. John yells out from the sudden impact and Joseph turns to look at his eldest brother in confusion. 

“God damn it, Jacob!” 

“John!” Joseph scolds when his baby brother takes the lords name in vain, he can see a bruise forming on John’s forehead already. 

“He tried to kill me!” 

“Am I the only one who understands that we’re criminals?!” 

“In the eyes of man, perhaps, but in the eye of -” 

“Eyes of man are the ones that matter, right now, Joseph! You’re inviting a fuckin’ cop into our lives, into John’s house. A cop who just interrogated us less than a fucking hour ago and you want to feed her for her trouble.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were scared, brother. Jacob Seed, scared of a little girl.” 

“Well, its a damn good thing you know better, or that shiner would be the least of your problems, brother,” Jacob nearly spits the word brother, glaring daggers at John. 

“Jacob,” Joseph gets his older brother’s attention, Jacob has always been the strongest willed, has always asserted his opinions even if he’d do anything for the family, “are you doubting me?” 

“No, of course not, I just don’t understand why you’re doing this?” 

“We have cops within our flock, Jacob.”

“Yes, converted cops who benefit us. This deputy can’t walk into a church without puking her guts up, she’s a problem waiting to happen.” 

“She has been making a problem out of herself, trying to keep me from purchasing the orchard, enabling the greed of this county.” 

“Look, I know it can be difficult to understand, you’ve not heard what I’ve heard. The Voice hasn’t spoken to you, as it has to me, my decisions are not without reason. Reasons that will be revealed in time, the junior deputy is important, bringing her into our flock is a priority. Understood?” 

“Of course, understood, Father,” John concedes, using Joseph’s formal title. Joseph looks to his eldest brother, who’s scarred jaw is still clenched tight. 

“Understood?” He repeats himself, he knows Jacob wouldn’t go against him, but his willful nature… something Joseph was envious of in childhood now leads to the occasional butting of heads. 

“Understood.” 

Jacob starts the car back up, driving Joseph and John back to their homes. John to his ranch house and Joseph up to his church, where he has a cot in the back of it. The sun is starting to come up when Jacob drops him off at the church compound, before driving back to Saint Francis. 

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Joseph is quick to return to his quarters, a headache starting to creep up along his temples. He changes for bed, then kneels before his bed, bowing his head for prayer and folding his hands together. Hands pressed together tightly, his rosary pressing into his skin. 

And he prays. 

He prays for John to find his way, to battle his sin and win the fight. 

He prays for Jacob to one day fully let go and accept the word. 

He prays for Faith not to stray from the path. 

He prays for his flock and family, he prays for their faith not to wane, he prays for them to be strong enough to weather the collapse, he prays for the persecution of his family to end, and he prays that he can save more souls; specifically the junior deputy. That he can find a way to reach her heart, help her see her gift, and learn the importance of her role before it’s too late. 

Then a sharp pain shoots from his temple across the rest of his head, like lightning shooting through his skull. The darkness of his closed eyes fades away into a new world, a vision of New Eden, a paradise he’s been shown and promised so many times he knows the sight of it by heart. The bright blooming pink flowers and modest homemade homes of a commune, a return to nature, to innocence. 

His family and flock there, older versions of themselves, dressed in more rustic handmade clothes. Less clear and less certain than last time. But he sees John, Jacob, and Faith with children clinging and playing around them. And he can’t explain the feeling, that they’re all his children but his siblings as well. 

The five year old boy with a head of dark curls and blue eyes that looks so much like Joseph as a child, the boy who called him papa. 

A girl around three with bright ginger hair, a face covered in freckles. She grins and blinks, sun in her eyes. She reminds him so much of Jacob, head held high with a crown of red. 

Maybe a year younger, another girl has straight dark brown hair and big wide blue eyes. Eyes that remind him so entirely of the young baby brother he cooed at as a child. 

The oldest of them, clings to an older Faith’s skirt. A young boy of ten maybe tweleve, so much older than the smaller children. Hair dark as pitch, olive skin, and green eyes setting him apart. He looks different from the others, perhaps his family tie not one forged by blood. 

His family, those he has now and those he will gain, the family he will be gifted. But, there’s something missing…. Pieces of the puzzle not yet in place. 

Weak clumsy fingers grab onto his bed as his vision subsides, the reality of the world he’s still in returning to him. His head pounds and throbs, agony radiating throughout it, as the collapse draws closer his visions are getting more and more frequent. He can only hope as he falls into bed that he’s keeping himself and his family on the right path to find paradise.

[nyctolovian]

A FE3H fic featuring Jeralt & Baby!Byleth! I have a lot of feelings for this father-child pair.

As Jeralt sat silently in his bed, he contemplated once again killing the baby he was cradling. The room was so quiet in the dead of night that he could hear his own heartbeat, thrumming under his skin, against the weight in his arms. 

Heartbeat, Jeralt thought. No heartbeat. The baby whom Sitri had birthed—died birthing—had a pulse, but no heartbeat. Jeralt remembered when he first pressed his ear against the baby’s chest and heard nothing. He had startled and nearly dropped the infant, whose arms flailed at the sudden jerk and looked at Jeralt. Despite the doctor’s warning, it still shook him to his core that this child lacked a beating heart. 

Then, there was also the disquieting fact that even after nearly three months since its birth, he had yet to hear it laugh or cry. Nonetheless, it breathed, huffing soft sleeping breaths as it lay in his arms now. And when it was awake, it would watch him with wide blue eyes, stark against its pale soft skin. There was a hollow emptiness behind those eyes. Nothing in it that Jeralt could discern. The infant simply watched him, blinking slowly and mouth slightly parted.

None of this was normal for a baby. One did not even need to be familiar with babies to know this. Jeralt was beginning to question if this baby was living at all. What did Rhea do to the baby? Did his wife really die in childbirth? Should Rhea be trusted at all? Was this child even theirs?

Maybe it was for the best that this infant ceased to exist. Whatever Rhea had planned, Jeralt did not trust it, and this child was likely a pawn on her mysterious chessboard. Jeralt sometimes felt her stare on the baby, as though evaluating, pondering, deciding, and he’d clutch it closer to his chest and move to the next room. She was waiting for something from the baby, he knew it. Waiting for the opportune moment. Would this baby still be a pawn then? Or would it be a knight, bishop, rook, or perhaps even a queen? 

He shuddered at the thought. Killing the child was for the best. It would end its lifeless existence and stop Rhea’s plans. The knight knew numerous ways one could kill another person. But he had little idea how he could kill a baby without raising any suspicion. 

Jeralt was still deep in contemplation, cradling the sleeping bundle, when a shout rang through the monastery. He thought nothing of it at first. Until one shout turned into several, and quickly burst into a clamour. He stood up and opened the window, where the shouting was closest, and saw people running, yelling. 

“Fire!” someone’s voice rose above the commotion. “Fire!” Then, he heard a loud bang and the night burst into orange light. The room opposite his was on fire. 

He cursed under his breath and quickly evacuated his room, grabbing his travelling bag on the way out. As soon as he stepped out, he was nearly shoved back in by the stampede of hysterical people trying to make their escape.

A wave of heat attacked Jeralt’s back and he looked behind to see that his curtains had caught fire. Red-hot flames licked the floorboards and leapt towards the ceiling. One of the many fingers of the flames clawed upwards and slashed his arm, searing Jeralt and sparking a thought in him: what if the baby died in the fire? 

Immediately, he dismissed it. This was what others might call an opportunity presented by the goddess. But the baby… It did not laugh nor cry, but perhaps it still felt things. It might still feel pain. He couldn’t know for certain but there were surely less cruel ways to die. His chest tightened punishingly for ever thinking of doing this to an innocent child. It was not the child’s fault it was born in this cruel, unliving body, or born into the schemes of the Archbishop. 

The fire grew ever larger. It was a ferocious beast, raking through his room and reaching towards him, hungry for another taste of his flesh. Jeralt coughed as smoke assaulted his senses, and he pressed the bundled baby closer to himself, and wrapped his cape tighter around his body. 

Curving his shoulders inwards, he dashed out into the crowd, taking the brunt of the jostling and shoving. As he neared the evacuation point, he slipped out of the crowd, into the woods, and downhill. 

Then, he reached the river he had been in search of. The river roared as it rushed down the hill. All Jeralt had to do was drop the bundle in the river. He doubted its body could be recovered, what with the strength of its flow. Then, he would return to Garreg Mach, maybe play the role of the distressed father, whose child was left in his burning room, and mourn for the baby when the news returns that his child was nowhere to be found in the ruins left by the blaze. He had the soot and burns to prove that he had not stood idly aside. It would be believable, he reckoned. 

Jeralt stood at the riverbank and unfurled his cape, revealing the bundle in his arms. The baby must have woken from the ruckus, because its stubby arm poked out from the cloth, and the opening was pushed wider. And then, blue eyes were staring into his again, watching. The infant’s tiny arm fell against his chest, as though it was still too heavy a limb for its tiny tiny body, and its fingers tried to grasp his leather armour, and when it failed, simply splayed its short and fat fingers over his left breast.

Jeralt stretched his arm outward, holding the bundle over the rushing river, steeling himself. Hands outstretched, the baby lolled its head and its gaze followed him. Wide blue eyes, staring into him, and there was still nothing in them—no fear, no protest. It didn’t yet understand. It didn’t understand that he was about to drop it in the river, about to kill it. 

His arms returned to his chest as he fell to his knees and gently rest his cheek against the warm bundle. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

This was not what he wanted, Jeralt knew and had always known. Sitri birthed this baby, died to give it life, and here he was taking it away because what? Because he was scared? Maybe this child wasn’t theirs, but did it matter? He had fed it, bathed it, and cradled it for the past months, fumbling through the first months of fatherhood. This child had no one else. So it might as well be his. 

To hell with right or wrong, this child frightened him, but he was keeping it, and keeping it out of the reaches of the Archbishop. He would not let this baby become a chess piece to whatever ridiculous game Rhea was playing in the name of some goddess.

Carefully, he re-wrapped the bundle, the familiar motion grounding him. The infant looked up at him, its lips covered in shiny slobber. With a sigh, Jeralt used the towel to wipe its mouth before picking it up again. He checked the contents of his travel bag. He didn’t have much with him, only the bare essentials, his diary, and his wife’s ring. He’d have to make do, he supposed. 

Rising to his feet, he adjusted the bundle to make sure his child was safe and secure. With a grunt, he made his way further downhill, embarking on a journey to escape the far reaches of the church, to keep his child, Byleth, safe. 

[storiesforallfandoms]

lady killer ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2475

request?: yes!

@bakerkells​: “Can i get the song often with mgk?”       

description: in which the self proclaimed “lady killer” will do anything to try and get the one girl who won’t even look his way

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut!

based off of this song

if you’d like to check out my song prompt list thing that i’m doing click here!

masterlist

She was really driving him insane. Colson wondered if she was doing it on purpose, or if she truly understood what she was doing to him. Sitting there in her tight dress, all her goods nearly popping out, draped over some asshole that was whispering things in her ear to make her giggle.

(Y/N) was Colson’s stylist. She had started working with him and his crew just a few months ago. From the moment Colson laid eyes on her, he knew he wanted her. And Colson was used to getting what he wanted, especially when it came to girls. He was a lady killer, women had a hard time saying no to him. So you can imagine his surprise when (Y/N) laughed in his face the first time he tried to hook up with her.

“Are you serious?!” she had asked. “You’re technically my boss, and I take my job very seriously. Besides, I’ve heard the stories about you. I’m not gonna fuck you just so you can dump me like those other groupies you’ve hooked up with.”

Rejection was new to Colson, but at first he didn’t let it get to him. That same night he ended up going home with another girl that had been all over him. But after he had sent the girl along her way, he realized the sex had been different. He wasn't thinking about the smoking hot girl he had had pinned under him. Instead his mind was on (Y/N), and how much he wanted it to be her.

He never gave up. He regularly flirted with her, which was easy to do when she worked for him and regularly got to see him in very little clothes since she was his stylist. But she was persistent in saying she wasn’t going to sleep with him. Somehow, she was the only girl able to turn Colson down continuously, especially when he was throwing himself at her.

He didn’t think he was going to run into her tonight. He had gone out with his friend group for a night off after a long tour, and happened to spot a familiar face across the bar.

“Yo Kells, you good?” Slim asked him. Colson barely heard him. He was so focused on the guy with his hand on (Y/N)’s thigh. Slim followed his gaze to see what he was looking at. “Oh fuck, that’s (Y/N)! I didn’t realize she was seeing someone.”

“She’s not!” Colson snapped.

“Sure looks like she is,” Rook commented. “At least, she will be. She’s totally into that guy.”

Colson was sure his friends were just trying to get a rise out of him, and it was working. He slammed his drink down on the table that the group was sitting at and stood, knocking his chair back onto the floor. Against his better judgement, he approached (Y/N) and her companion. He was unsure of what he was going to say or do, he just knew he wanted to get that asshole away from (Y/N).

“What the fuck are you doing?” was the first thing out of his mouth when he finally reached them.

(Y/N) looked up at him in shock. “Colson? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Colson responded. “Who’s this fuck face?”

“Excuse me?” (Y/N)’s companion asked.

“You heard me, fucker,” Colson hissed.

“Colson!” (Y/N) snapped. “This is none of your fucking business! Go back to whatever girl you’ve been sucking face with.”

“Is this like an ex or something?”

“No, he’s just my boss. Don’t worry about him, Hayden.”

Colson snorted. “What kind of name is Hayden? Sounds fucking stupid.”

Hayden nearly threw (Y/N) to the floor as he stood up to get into Colson’s face. “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is, Colson, but my lady asked you to leave us alone, and I’m asking you the same thing. Leave us the fuck alone.”

“I hate to break it to you, pal, but she isn’t your lady. She’s mine. Even if she wasn’t, I’d be doing a favour by saving her from a small dicked fuckhead like you. You’ll never be able to pleasure her like she deserves.”

Hayden swung at Colson. Colson dodged the blow and swung at Hayden, hitting him square in the jaw. (Y/N) screamed and tried to get between them to stop them from fighting, but her attempts were null. As Hayden attempted to get to his feet, Colson took hold of him and hit him again, affectively breaking his nose and causing it start bleeding. The crowd around them had backed away to watch the fight, although it was short lived once the bouncers came and took hold of Hayden and Colson to throw them out.

(Y/N) followed the two outside. She approached Hayden first, who shoved her away and said some choice words that made Colson even more angry, before walking away from the two. (Y/N) turned her fury onto Colson, hitting him repeatedly until he was finally able to constrain her.

“Get the fuck off of me!” she hissed. “You’re a fucking asshole! Why the fuck would you do that? What happens between me and any guy outside of business hours is none of your concern!”

“It is my concern!” Colson snapped.

“No it’s fucking not, Colson!” (Y/N) exclaimed, frustrated. “You’re just making it your business because you want to get into my pants! I can’t take it anymore! I fucking quit! I don’t want to be anywhere near you, I don’t want to ever hear from you again, I don’t even fucking want to hear your name said ever again!”

She hit Colson again for good measure before pulling away. She ran her fingers through her hair, looking in the direction that her date had just gone. She truly didn’t mean for the night to turn out like this. Sure, she didn't have any intentions of second date with Hayden. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to finish their first date. He had started getting handsy the moment they got to the club, and it made (Y/N) feel uncomfortable. But then she had seen Colson, and a spark of jealousy had lit inside of her. She knew he was there to find some girl to hook up with, it was a regular occurrence after all. She wanted to make him jealous, but she didn’t expect for him to get physical with Hayden.

Not that she’d ever admit it to his face, but (Y/N) did find herself attracted to Colson the moment she had met him. But she had heard the stories, everyone had of course. Most his conquests were plastered all over social media or tabloid websites. (Y/N) wasn’t looking for a hook up, she wanted something real. So, although it was hard to do, she kept Colson at arm’s length and constantly rejected any of his advances. Doing this, and then having to watch him hook up with other girls was hard, but she knew it was better off this way than to finally give in to Colson, and have to watch him throw away whatever happened between them as if it were nothing.

Noticing the sadness and frustration on (Y/N)’s face, Colson started to sober up. He realized what he had done, all because he was jealous of a girl that was nothing more to him than his stylist. He sighed heavily to himself. “(Y/N), I’m sorry.”

The words caught (Y/N) by surprise. She turned to look at him, shocked. “Really? The great Machine Gun Kelly, the self proclaimed lady killer himself, is apologizing for ruining the date of a girl he’s been trying to fuck for like a year? You really must be drunk.”

“I mean it!” Colson insisted. “What I did was wrong. It is none of my business who you want to go out with. I just saw that fucker with his hands all over you and...well...I was jealous. I acted without thinking. I really am sorry.”

(Y/N) looked at Colson for a moment, before crossing her arms at him. “Why do you want to hook up with me so bad? Have you ever gone after other girls like this before?”

Colson shook his head. “No, this is new to me. I don’t get it either, there’s just...something about you.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “It’s probably because I’ve rejected you so often. I’m the ultimate hard to get or some shit, right?”

“No!” Colson exclaimed. “Fuck, it’s not that at all! Believe it or not, (Y/N), I really do want a relationship. Like an actual relationship. But it’s hard to find a real girl who wants Colson Baker and not Machine Gun Kelly when you’re famous and the only girls surrounding you are groupies. You’re the only girl I’ve met who isn't throwing herself at me. You’re different, and that’s so goddamn sexy.”

(Y/N) considered what Colson had told her, and it all started making sense. He had a hard time trusting women as most of them just wanted to sleep with Machine Gun Kelly the rapper, so he just gave into these women and fucked around with no worries of consequences. (Y/N) wasn’t like that. She didn’t just want to fuck him, she wasn’t into just hooking up.

“So,” she started, “you don’t just want to hook up with me? You want to actually maybe try and start something between us?”

“Yes,” Colson responded. It was the first time he had said it out loud, and it felt nice to finally be able to admit it.

A small, sexy smirk crossed (Y/N)’s face as she approached Colson again. “Well then...what if we started something back at your place?”

The suggestion took Colson by surprise, but he recovered quick enough to mirror (Y/N)’s smirk and to hail a taxi.

The ride was excruciatingly long as the two tried to keep their hands off one another. The last thing either needed was a story about how Machine Gun Kelly was getting busy in the back of a taxi with his stylist. They could barely wait when the taxi pulled up to Colson’s house and he paid the driver. They both almost ran to the door in excitement, (Y/N)’s lips attaching to Colson’s neck as he attempted to unlock the door.

When the door closed behind them, Colson shoved her against the wall and starting kissing her hungrily. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close to her. Colson ran his hands under her dress, pulling it up around her waist and pulling at her thighs to get her to jump. (Y/N) wrapped her legs around Colson’s waist, feeling his hard bulge rub against her. She whimpered at the contact, making Colson smirk.

“You want this dick, baby?” he asked.

“Fuck, you know I do, Colson,” she managed to moan out.

“You’re lucky I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months, or else I would’ve give it to you so fast and so easily,” Colson teased, kissing her again. (Y/N) nipped at his lip, driving Colson crazy. He carried her over to the couch and threw her down onto it, wasting no time in unbuckling his pants. “Wait, I don’t have a condom or anything.”

“I’m on birth control, it’ll be fine,” (Y/N) insisted. “Please just fuck me already.”

Colson smirked and rolled (Y/N) onto her stomach, pulling her so that she was standing bent over the couch. He pulled aside her thong and pushed himself into her, earning a moan from both of them.

He started thrusting slow at first, allowing (Y/N) to adjust to him, before beginning to roughly thrust into her. The sound of his skin connecting with hers rang out through the silent house, soon being drowned out only by (Y/N)’s screams of pleasure. She gripped whatever she could get her hands on, which at the moment was the edge of the couch, holding on for dear life as Colson pounded her.

Her legs were shaking and she felt as though she wasn’t able to stand up much longer. Her eyes were rolling with pleasure and she tried to bite her lip to quiet down a bit, even though she knew that it was only she and Colson in the house. Of course, there had been plenty of times when (Y/N) had fantasized about fucking Colson, but none of those fantasies could ever measure up to the real thing.

“Fuck,” she moaned when she was final able to form words. “God, I’m so close, Colson.”

"Let it go, baby, I won’t be too far behind.”

Unable to contain herself anymore, (Y/N) let out one last moan as she felt herself hit her climax. As he predicted, Colson wasn’t far behind as he finished inside of (Y/N).

They were both breathing heavily as Colson rested his head against (Y/N)’s shoulder, kissing the exposed skin around her shoulders and neck. (Y/N) shivered in pleasure as she rode out her climax. She whimpered at the loss of contact as Colson pulled away from her, and finally collapsed onto the couch. She watched as Colson left the room, holding up a finger to say “One second”. A moment later, she could hear water running down the hallway.

“Are you running a shower?” (Y/N) asked.

Colson reappeared, now shirtless as well. “Duh. Do you not shower after sex?”

(Y/N) shrugged in response. “Well yeah, but usually not right away.”

“That’s fucking nasty, dawg. I just busted in you and you weren’t planning on showering? Nasty.”

(Y/N) laughed and rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine! But I’m sitting down. My legs feel like putty.”

Colson smiled and walked over to the couch. (Y/N) squealed as Colson picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, where the shower was already warm and running for the two. As she said, (Y/N) sat on the floor and attempted to clean herself that way. She looked up at Colson as he put his head back, letting the warm water run over his body.

“Were you serious about becoming something more?” she asked. “This wasn’t just a way to try and hook up with me.”

Colson looked down at her, a smile on his face. “Well, let’s put it this way, you’re the first girl to stick around long enough to get a shower with me. Most girls would’ve been kicked out by now. I was even considering asking you to stay the night, that’s very rare. Does that answer your question?”

(Y/N) smiled back at him. “Yeah, it does.”

[jacksonroseroth]

Tales of the XX Chapter 4

A/N: Hey guys! Here’s chapter 4! Hope you like it!

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Weed usage

Words: 4,269

Italian Translations:  andrá tutto bene - Everything will be fine ~  Non sono ubriaco - I’m not drunk ~  Dio non voglia - God forbid

Moodboard made by me, none of the pictures are mine

~

When Slim, AJ, and Baze boarded the plane, they indeed stopped by Giacomo and Marciano to speak with them. Their own men bristled at the seeming disrespect, but Slim maintained an air of confidence and merely chuckled when they blocked his path to Giacomo. Slim smirked and said, “I need to speak with your boss.”

“I’ll give him the message. What do you have to say?” One of the men asked. Slim smirked and said, “Oh, it’s for you as well. Better if you all hear it.”

Baze shifted to be able to see past the men, locking eyes with Giacomo and gave a polite smile as he said, “If and when you’d like to speak with Don Romano, you and your men will bring the request us. Not to him.”

Marciano was visibly agitated by the order, but Giacomo placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, not looking away from Baze as he matched the polite smile, and said, “Thank you. I will be sure to oblige.”

Slim bowed his head in respect and moved along, down to the back of the plane. AJ and Baze followed suit, not speaking to the De Luca men as they passed, lining themselves to block Colson as they sat down. Marciano glared at the men as they passed, waiting until they had sat down and were talking amongst themselves to turn to his father and say, “How can you let them disrespect you like that? What authority do they have-?”

“It was a message from Don Romano. That is authority enough, Marciano.” Giacomo said harshly, giving him a look. Marciano blinked, surprised his father was defending the young don. The young man shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he said, “I wasn’t aware you sympathized with him.”

“You wouldn’t, Marciano, now would you? The d’Este bastard has blinded you to your own family.” Giacomo said, narrowing his eyes at him. “Remember where your loyalties lie, my son. It is not with them.”

Marciano dipped his head down, showing respect and regret to his father, then turned to look out the window as the plane took off. Giacomo glanced down the aisle of the plane to Colson, watching them all for a moment before turning to smile at the stewardess as she came to take their orders.

“Do you think he’s going to come back here? It’s not a long flight.” Slim said, tearing his gaze away from the De Luca’s and looking back at his boss. Colson sipped his drink and smirked, giving a brief shrug.

“He might. But I never specified that stood for only the plane ride, did I?” Colson replied. Slim smirked as AJ and Baze exchanged looks and chuckled. He let his men have their moment before he added, “When we get back to Catania tonight, I’ll explain it all. But Giacomo has literally handed me a power I’d never thought I’d have over d’Este. I intend to see how serious he is about it before I make any move.”

“What about Marciano? Him and Enzio are fucking butt buddies. He’d never turn against him.” Baze said. Colson tilted his head and watched the young De Luca as he struck up a conversation with his men.

“Apparently, they’re not as close as we thought. Marci doesn’t know about everything Enzio has done…” Colson’s eyes flickered between his men as he lowered his voice and said, “Like killing Cosmio.”

“Everyone knows he did that.” AJ piped up, softly. “Shit, we knew he did it before he knew he was going to do it. Everyone knows he’s the go to hitman.”

Colson shrugged and said, “Well, Giacomo must have kept it from his son. Cosmio was his fucking cousin for Christ’s sake. If Marciano knew he killed him, I’d have no respect for him if he stayed friends with d’Este.” He took another sip of his drink and sat back, watching as Giacomo stood, waving his men off as he made his way to the back of the plane. Slim saw the smirk spread across Colson’s face and turned. AJ and Baze stood while Slim remained seated as the Don reached them.

“Don De Luca. What can I do for you?” Slim asked, laying a leg over his knee and folding his hands in his lap, smiling politely. Giacomo smiled at the men and said, “I’d like a word with your boss...In private, if we could?”

~

Atta forced herself to smile and have fun in town with Carina and Maddelena. The pair dragged Atta all over, into every store. They stopped at a cafe for lunch and snacked as they shopped, then finally ended the night at dinner on the water. Carina and Maddelena sat together and chatted away with their phones, now that they could sit down and unwind with a glass of wine. A content smile sat on Atta’s lips as she gazed out over the ocean, the pleasant sea breeze playing with her hair.

“Josie.” The firm tone that said her name jolted her out of her own head and she turned to her friends. Both girls giggled and exchanged looks, prompting Atta to smile a little more and give a soft chuckle of her own as she asked, “What? What did I miss?”

“Atta, we’ve been calling you.” Carina said with a chuckle, handing her phone over to her. “Look what your brother sent me.”

Atta chuckled and shook her head, lightly, taking the phone. Carina and Rook, just like Atta and Colson, had always been attracted to each other. Only in Rook’s case, he was allowed to court Carina. Early last year, John sat his son down and made it clear to him exactly who he was courting.

Carina was the only family member left of the Greco clan, save her grandfather; Elder and Don Alessandro Greco. The Greco line ended when Carina’s father and brother were killed in a drive by; An act of retaliation from Martel Muller after the XX retaliated for the attempt on Colson and Cosmio’s life. Carina was extremely lucky, and very grateful, that Alessandro had his eye on Rook to marry his granddaughter anyway.

“I have some thing for you, come to Marsala tonight?” Atta read aloud, then gave Carina a look accompanied by a knowing smirk. With a chuckle, breaking her facade, she handed the phone back and said, “Do you think he’s going to propose?”

Carina giggled and shrugged. She sipped her wine as she reached for her phone, taking a moment to reply to Rook. Atta and Maddelena exchanged looks and chuckled. Carina looked up, looking between the both of them with a wide smile as she set her phone down. “What? I don’t know. Maybe? I wouldn’t be surprised. Rook said John mentioned something about announcing his engagement at either his party or the joint party.”

Atta sighed and cast her gaze down, staring at the menu. Maddelena watched her cousin. “Atta, andrá tutto bene. You’re not choosing a husband at the party. It’s just the presentation of suitors.” She said, closing her menu and setting it aside. Maddelena and Carina both reach for the bread and oil as Atta sighed and shook her head.

“Yes, Madde. But then, I’m put under scrutiny. Everything I do will be watched. I’ll have to stay in Marsala so the elders can watch my interactions with the sons. Then they’ll all be in my ear telling me what to do and who to choose. I’m not happy for it. Any of it.” Atta spat out in a rapid slur of frenzied Italian and passion. When she looked up at her friends, they both were slowly picking at the bread on their plates and watching her. Atta cracked a smile and picked at her napkin as she muttered. “Non sono ubriaco…”

The pair chuckled at their friend, breaking out in playful Italian jabs as their waiter approached. He gave the group a warm smile and asked, “Buona sera. What can I get you tonight?”

As Carina gave her order and Maddelena quickly scanned the menu once more, Atta glanced around the restaurant. She saw a few familiar faces that made the corners of her mouth lift up slightly. But it was the figure with a grey trenchcoat at the back that struck her most. Especially when she saw the dark shades that covered his eyes. The sun had long since set so no one should have been wearing sunglasses. It seemed that one the figure realized his presence was noticed by her, he quickly shuffled along the back fence where he stood and quickly left the restaurant.

“And for you, Singora Cappelletti?” The waiter’s voice brought her attention to him, scrambling for her menu to answer him. He jotted down her order, gave them all a polite smile and said, “Grazie. Your food will be out shortly.”

He gave a small bow to Atta as he walked away. Atta sighed and sat back, fingering her wine glass as she stared at it. Carina snacked on the refilled bread as she smiled and sat back, texting with Rook. Maddelena set down her phone and looked up to start a conversation, but stopped when she saw the look on Atta’s face.

“Cousin. What is it? There’s something else bothering you.” Maddelena said. Atta shifted, sitting a little straighter in her seat and sat forward, glancing between both women. She took a deep breath before she said, “I ended things with Colson.”

Carina snorted in her drink and Maddelena inhaled the piece of bread she chewed on as she gasped. Atta rolled her eyes and tried to hide a smile as her friends pulled themselves together. Maddelena gulped down her water, coughing a few more times, while Carina wiped her face and said, “Um, I-I’m sorry. You-You did what?”

“With the party coming up, I didn’t want to risk exposing us. Daddy would kill him, the Dons would be pissed, and the elders would remove him. Not that who I fuck is any of their business anyway…” Atta said, sitting back. Maddelena cleared her throat one last time before she spoke.

“Wait. So...It’s over over? Fuck, I thought you two would at least attempt to make a case to the elders.” Maddelena said. Atta merely shook her head and sighed.

“It would be useless. They would still punish him for fooling around with me without Daddy’s blessing. God, this whole thing is bullshit. They shouldn’t be presenting their sons for marriage, they should present them for fucking adoption! Then Rook would have a second and I can live my life in peace.” Atta said.

“Between the party, actually choosing, then the actual wedding? Atta, things might change. You and Colson belong together just as much as me and Rook or Madde and Cosmio.” Carina said. She hesitated and prayed the guilt she felt showed enough as she managed to get out, “Dio non voglia...If something happens to John-”

Atta shook her head with a chuckle. “Rook still can’t do shit. The elders will probably kill Rook if he tried. John has already spoken to us about it. Not to mention the Dons would riot and demand his removal. Colson would have to kill them all; the elders, the Dons, their families, if we wanted to get married.” She said. Atta gave a soft sigh and added, “That or he would have to turn the Dons on the elders or somehow get them to like him.”

Maddelena waved a hand at Carina as she opened her mouth to respond and set down her glass. “No. No more. We are done talking about this. This entire situation is complete bullshit and I’m sick of seeing you upset like this.” She said. “You have been getting more and more depressed since John told you about this three months ago. Colson’s been gone for four. You shouldn’t have been forced to fuck up your reunion like this. I’m tired of seeing you hurt.”

Atta blinked at her cousin as Carina snickered softly. Atta slowly broke a smile and began chuckling, meeting Carina’s gaze as they chuckled together. Just like Atta at meetings, it wasn’t often that Maddelena spoke up, but when she did, she was heard. Maddelena’s anger faded as she also broke out in a smile and giggles.

“Okay, Madde. We hear you.” Atta chuckled, reaching over to give her hand a small, comforting squeeze. Maddelena smiled and gave a squeeze back.

“I’m sorry, but they can’t treat us like their own daughters way back when. Things have changed.” Maddelena said.

“I agree. But they’re old Italians. They’re more stubborn than a mule.” Atta said with a chuckle. As they spoke, their waiter came back over with their food and they put their conversation on hold for a moment, thanking the waiter when he was done. “If talking about it upsets you, Madde, I won’t bring it up anymore. Besides, I need a goddamn miracle to get out of this marriage.”

~

Colson motioned for his men to give them a little more privacy, though they only moved one row up. Giacomo took the seat across from Colson as he tried to keep his smirk from showing too much.

“What can I do for you, Giacomo?” Colson asked, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip.

Giacomo chuckled softly before he said, “There is no need to hide behind pleasantries here, Colson. We both want the d’Este’s out of power and for things to be run as they were before.”

“No.” Colson said, setting down his glass. “Not as they were before. My uncle had plans past installing the girls, you know this. Plans to go beyond Tomasso’s original goals. If you want me to take down the d’Estes for you, I’ll do it. But if you’re giving me that power, I’m using it. For too long, I’ve been cast aside because of stubborn, close-minded men. Too long I’ve been kept from my goddamn birthright. That is all going to change if you side with me, De Luca. This is my family. And I’m going to take it back.”

Giacomo watched the young Don closely as he spoke. When Colson finished and sat back, picking up his glass again, he chuckled and smirked at him, rubbing a hand over his chin as he sat back as well. “And, uh, if there are some Dons who will not agree with you on these changes?”

“I’ll already be in power. My grandfather gave them their positions and wealth...His grandson can certainly take it from them.” Colson said, evenly, meeting the man’s gaze. He did not return Giacomo’s smirk, instead stared intensely at him, showing he would not be swayed. “I’ve bowed to lesser men my whole life. If you aid me in getting it back, trust me, the gratitude will not be lost. But don’t think to double cross me, Giacomo. No matter what, John has the last word. He’ll seek revenge for me.”

Colson’s words didn’t seem to rattle the old man, as Giacomo simply chuckled then stood. Colson raised an eyebrow, but stood as well, taking the hand Giacomo offered and shook it. The Don kept a firm grip on Colson’s hand and said, “I see much of your father in you, Colson. When we return to Catania, we will speak further.”

Colson nodded and said, “My home is always open to you, Don De Luca.”

“My gratitude, Don Romano.” Giacomo said. He finally released his hand and turned to walk back to his own family. As he passed, AJ, Baze, and Slim all bowed their heads in respect before retaking their seats closer to Colson.

“What did he say?” Slim asked. Colson smirked and sat back, taking a sip from his glass.

“Not much. But I think we understand each other.” Colson said. “Call Dub in from London. I want him at the house before we get back.”

“Dub? Why? What’s going on?” Baze asked.

“We will be entertaining the De Luca family tonight. Dub can take a break from his London crew. I want all my men there.” Colson said. He looked at AJ and added, “You and Dub will be in charge. I want Baze and Slim with me. I’m sure Giacomo and I will be in the office for most of the time.”

“So, it went well. The talk?” Slim asked, casting a cursory glance at the other two. Colson smirked and finished his drink. He didn’t want to tell his men just yet, not until he had vetted De Luca entirely and was certain of De Luca’s allegiance.

“Yes. It went well.” Was all Colson said.

~

When they landed in Rome, it was a quick trip to the Castel where the cardinals and bishops were already waiting. Thankfully, each Don had their own car and Colson was able to spark up a quick joint before they arrived. It settled him enough to be able to endure the interviews, but the moment they stepped foot in the room and all the bishops and cardinals turned to look at them, Colson tensed and wanted to bolt.

He wasn’t comfortable being around so many holy men. Religion wasn’t something he wholey believed in, but he bowed his head for Grace and muttered along in church when he was required to attend. Other than that, he all but shunned the church which gave the Dons another reason to dislike him.

As Colson was the Don sent by John, Giacomo and the De Lucas stayed behind him and his men to let the cardinals greet him first. One of the cardinals approached and said, “Don Romano. It is a pleasure to have you in Rome.”

“Cardinal Vecchio.” Colson said, extending his hand to take the Cardinal’s. Cardinal Vecchio bent to kiss the ring on Colson’s right ring finger; the ring of the Romanos of Catania. In turn, Colson then took the cardinal hand and kissed his ring as well. Cardinal Vecchio moved through Colson’s men, each of them kissing the ring with a respectful ‘Your Eminence’. As Vecchio moved on, so did the other cardinals and bishops to greet the men.

Once the greetings were finished, Cardinal Vecchio led Colson and Giacomo to their seats, their men lining themselves behind the chairs. The remaining cardinals and bishops took their seats, save Vecchio.

“We understand the young Cappaallettis are to be married. Please pass our blessings and congratulations to Don Cappalletti.” He said, pressing his hands together and bowing his head. Colson nodded.

“Thank you, Your Eminence. I shall pass along the message.” He said. Colson raised his voice a little louder as he addressed the room. “You are all well aware of why we meet here today. Singor Cappalletti wishes to have a cardinal officiate his daughter’s wedding. He will accept a bishop, but it is my decision on who will be chosen. We will call each of you to the seat in front of us and ask a few questions. Cardinal Vecchio. Since you are without a seat, shall we begin with you?”

“Of course.” Cardinal Vecchio bowed his head and took a seat as the long process began. Colson and Giacomo interviewed the cardinals and bishops, each asking their own questions and discussing between the two of them. Colson knew that Rook and Atta would doubtfully have a joint wedding; A joint everything else in their life was enough. John gave only the best for his Mafia Princess. Armed with that knowledge, Colson took an early lead while interviewing the cardinals, though gave De Luca room for his input. He had Atta’s voice in the back of his mind, not just the fight, but her comment that John wanted a cardinal at her wedding.

Colson knew sending him to Rome was a test for him, to see how well he could do choosing an a bishop or cardinal for Atta’s wedding that wasn’t to him. If he couldn’t be impartial and keep his cool on this simple task, he knew he wouldn’t end up being invited at all. Atta would never forgive him if he sabotaged himself and wasn’t there, so Colson sat there, going through the monotony of questions until another thought sprang to his mind.

John was careful in selecting who showed up that day. Colson noted the Archbishop of Palermo, and the Sicilian representative, was the only low ranking holy man there, and he was there solely for being their island’s bishop. Each cardinal and bishop held loyalty to one of the XX families. It was Colson’s curse that the d’Este’s held control in Palermo, their home. While Vecchio was the most logical choice for both ceremonies, being unwavering in his loyalty to the Cappalletti family, if Atta was, as she made it seem, going to be forced to choose d’Este, the bishop would also be chosen by force. Unable to keep his disdain for the bishop from his questions for the moment, Colson let Giacomo take the lead while he sat back and listened.

“...And my final question, Archbishop; Will you be performing any personalized rituals for Donna Cappalletti and her new husband?” Giacomo asked, looking up at the bishop from the paper he read. He removed his reading glasses and folded them up as the bishop spoke.

“In my time as Archbishop of Palermo I have performed every d’Este wedding. I include every family tradition and ritual they ask. I use the same rituals in every ceremony in Palermo.” He explained. The answer received the murmur of approval from his fellow clergymen and seemed to satisfy Giacomo, but it struck Colson as odd.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Giacomo cleared his throat and folded up his paper. “Don Romano will now ask his questions.”

The archbishop bowed his head then turned to look at Colson. Colson shifted in his seat, sitting a little straighter but still with a slight lean. “You’ve said you use these rituals in every wedding in Palermo, Your Grace.” Colson stated simply, if only to ease into his line of questioning while trying to seem unbiased.

“Yes. I do. It became a fashion for my people. I am here only to serve.” He said with a polite smile. Colson nodded.

“We do not yet know who Singora Cappalletti will marry, so there is always room for changes...However, if the wedding is not in Palermo…” Colson started, leaving the atmosphere to tense slightly. He saw the archbishop’s eyes widen and his body tense, his polite smile now stiff and frozen in place. A few cardinals glanced at each other and whispered. Colson heard a soft laugh come from Giacomo and he glanced around the room before he added, “Will you still hold these rituals? If she does not marry a d’Este it may seem odd to have Palermo observed but not the newlyweds home.”

“If the wedding does not take place in Palermo…” The archbishop started, clearing his throat. “Then I shall perform as Don Cappalletti wishes.”

Colson could hardly keep the smirk from crossing his face as he leaned forward and asked, “And what of his daughter? It is her wedding after all. What of her wishes?”

“Yes, yes. As la principessa wishes, of course.” The archbishop said with an unsure chuckle. Colson stared at the bishop, taking his time to let the moment resonate with him before he said, “Very well. Thank you, Your Grace. You may take your seat.”

Colson sat back as the holy man quickly shuffled along to his seat and Cardinal Vecchio stepped forward. “I hope me and my colleagues have answered your questions to your satisfaction.” He said as he approached the Dons. “We shall expect an answer presently?”

Giacomo turned to Colson, waiting for his response. Colson glanced at him, then turned to the cardinal and said, “This is not simply a wedding of the family. It is the wedding. Two of them, in fact. It is not a decision that should be made in haste, nor without the input of both the young Cappalletti’s but their father as well. If Don De Luca and I may be allowed to discuss with the family, we shall announce our choices in...A week’s time?”

It was not the answer any of them wanted. That much was clear and it told him everything he needed to know about how truthful Atta had been. Colson was to announce that Cardinal Vecchio and the archbishop were to be chosen, to coincide with both John’s wishes for a cardinal and the d’Estes to have their one claim to arrogance with the archbishop. But he refused to give them that satisfaction; the cardinals or the elders. There was a slight uproar in the murmuring of the disgruntled men. Cardinal Vecchio cleared his throat and the room fell silent.

“We eagerly look forward to your decision, Don Romano.” He said, bowing to them both. The other cardinals and bishops followed suit, all of them standing and bowing to the Dons. Colson scanned the room and sighed, softly. John handed him this power to choose. He only withheld his decision to have time to plan. The choice was his alone, though to prove his loyalty to the family and not his heart. Unfortunately for the Dons and the elders, in Colson’s mind, they were one in the same. It was now his time to make some moves and they would be big. For it all to go smoothly, Colson would have to plan every last detail, down to the minute. The slightest hinge could ruin him forever.

~

Hope you guys liked it. If you want to be added to my taglist for this and/or future MGK/Colson stories, let me know! If you have any comments, feel free!

@badwolf-in-the-impala​​​ @lovemythsworld​​ @kellsfanficalltogether​​​ @mgkobsessed​ @allmyheart2​

[hunnybadgerv]

Writer Ask Meme 3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? 10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with 12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why? 17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? 29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published? 36. Post a snippet 49. Favorite fictional world?

Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing: 30 Questions for Authors

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing?  Getting started. Once I’m writing, I can usually find the zone. But it’s getting started that is always the hardest for me. Like this morning, I didn’t know where to even start. So, I opted to edit, since it is something I wanted to accomplish this week. And I know that in the revision process I also tend to refine my prose, i.e., write, so my editing and writing work today coincided. 

I have, however, written every day this month and I’m hoping to continue that trend. But regardless of the time of day, getting started tends to be my biggest obstacle overall. 

10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with. Must it only be one? Gosh. 

There are so many great writers I know, more than I could ever even try to consider for this.  

I’ve always admired @theoriginalladya for the uniqueness of her ideas and character development are second to none; I equally love and hate when she and I talk about her characters because I get super excited about them because of how amazing they are. Then I quickly become obsessed, which may or may not be the only “bad” thing. @painterofhorizons has angst super powers; even in a snippet of text she can rip your soul clean from your body. Her writing is so evocative and emotionally striking. Then there is @chyrstis, whose ability to seamlessly weave humor into her fics sparks more than envy. She manages to put characters into such believable, yet laughable situations that it only serves to endear them to readers. 

I’m not sure I could ever co-write a piece, but I would count myself lucky to write with any of the writers I regularly associate with, especially one of these three. Apologies to all the amazing writers I know who I did not mention by name, but I already didn’t follow the question in the first place by mentioning three rather than a single one. 

12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why?  Oh gosh. This is so cruel. One story! Really? That’s all. Honestly, First Watch of the Night (Guardians in the Darkness Series) is one of my favorite. I think that might be in part because of nostalgia--it is Nyx Shepard’s WIP. I actually have it planned all the way through ME3, though I’ve currently stalled in the revision process in the ME1 timeline. I’m not sure why either. 

I find myself wondering if the reason I have not finished it is because once I know what happens, maybe I won’t have the drive to finish writing it. Maybe I can’t get past the block because I’m worried that finishing their story will vacate those muses from my mind, which I kind of don’t want. I really have grown quite attached to Nyx, Kaidan, and her crew. 

Honestly, I think that might be the struggle I end up in with all my longer fics. Short fics in collection are so much easier because the story never has to end. A long fic follows a certain line and has a definite conclusion, which I think worries me.

17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing?  Umm, If you were to look at characters like Tayen Quick, Nyx and Feign Shepard, Furia, Remy McGinnis, Mari Ryder, Cyna Mahariel, and Laerke, you’d see a common thread connecting them. I tend enjoy writing strong female characters, especially those that are flawed or broken in some way. Honestly, Nyx and Furia, also to some extent Leah Rook, all share imposter syndrome to one degree or another--so does Mari. I always tend to have one or two characters that share a flaw. I have Mari, Laerke, and Furia who have all lost their entire families. Characters that come from big families. But I tend to write female protagonists more so than males. 

29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published?  I published a short story in college. And I really would like to be published some day. Right now, I am mostly writing for me. I’ve got original fiction ideas, but I don’t work on them currently. I focus on my fandom work in order to practice and hone the skills and plans I have for future pieces.

I want to write something in the mix of fantasy/sci-fi. But I also have a strong sense of realism. I still hold tight to Mark Twain’s statement that the difference between real life and fiction is that fiction has to make sense. Things have to stem logically from one another in a story, and I always try to ground my writing in experience--sights, smells, sounds, textures that my readers can be familiar with--in order to add some sense of connection. I try to make my characters flawed in ways that feel accurate to them. 

A part of me screams in the back of my head that I am a writer. I can be an author, but a part of me worries that perhaps it may not happen. I keep writing. And I keep trying new things. I’ll always be a storyteller. I will keep writing and falling in love with fictional beings and places that I cannot resist exploring.

36. Post a snippet  This is from First Watch of the Night. I really love the characters and depth I managed to capture in this piece. Honestly, it’s one of the pieces of my own writing that intimidates me ... a lot. I don’t write the same way anymore. I feel like my writing lacks the same emotional depth right now. And I’m not sure why. It might have to do with how disconnected from other humans I have been in the last decade.

The scene here is Nyx Shepard and her father from Chapter 18:

The two Shepards watched one another for a long moment, before Taranis returned his attention to one of the soft cherries. The commander sighed, sipping her tea quietly while the captain waited. It was his usual tactic. He knew there was more and he could always wait her out. Nyx would talk to him in her own time, even if it had to be in carefully crafted abstractions. His daughter knew the drill. Taranis' methods were nothing new to her. He would take long pauses, allowing her to consider all the things she was not telling him. Then he would ask careful questions in case it was actually related to her current or a classified assignment--since need to know could interfere with her desire to disclose and his fatherly curiosity.

Whatever it was, Nyx held onto it much longer than usual, which told him she really did not want to bring it up. Despite this, Taranis knew she would relent because she kept glancing over at him with a look that suggested she was merely trying to find the way to bring it up. Nyx always came first for him; he redirected his career to give her the life she had, a life where there was always one parent there to hold her tight when things weren't just so. He knew it was not perfect, but he did everything he could to be there for her.

Nyx sighed as she set the tea cup on the table between them. "Fine," she breathed heavily.

It took another few moments for her to look up at him. Then she scooted a little closer, lowering her voice in discretion. Watching her carefully Taranis could not quite be sure what she was going to say, but she bit her lip and winced a little when she finally asked a question he never expected to hear.

"What did you do when you met Mom?"

Everything froze for a second or two as he stared at her. The little blush on her cheeks threw her father for a loop, but made him smile. "Well, damn."

The commander shook her head at him, trying to discourage him from thinking too hard about what she had just asked.

"Answer the question, please."

Captain Taranis Shepard rubbed his hand through the short stubble on the back of his head as he stared at his daughter in stunned silence. "I avoided her. Tried to just keep my distance. I even put in for a transfer," he admitted with a wry smile. "It got denied because I did not put in what command thought was a valid reason. Then, on leave, I talked to your Grandpa Shepard about it."

Nyx smiled and laughed. "And what did the old devil dog have to say about that?"

Her voice held a note of disbelief that her father was not surprised to hear. Taranis' father was a stickler for rules, regulations, expectations. He was strict and set high expectations. The captain could tell by the way his daughter eyed the dregs in her tea cup that she was as completely unprepared for what her father was about to say as Taranis had been when he heard it.

"He told me it was not a weakness to want someone to be part of your life."

Nyx's eyes darted to his. She was easily as shocked as he had been. Moving the tea cup, Taranis laid her hand out in his and covered it with the other.

"I told him all the things, I'm pretty sure you're telling yourself right now. All the excuses about regs, concerns, and bad experiences and stories you've heard," Taranis said quietly as he stroked the back of her hand lightly.

She leaned toward him. Her voice was tight with emotion. "And?"

Holding her hand tightly, her father smiled at her softly. "He told me that there are some things that outweigh the regs."

They were both quiet for a moment as Nyx let herself fall back in the chair. Her mind was clearly racing. Kirk Shepard had always stern, at best; he still was totally by the book in everything except when he met his wife. That was the only rule Taranis could think of his father ever even bending, let alone breaking out right. Nyx had been very close with both her grandfathers; she respected them as men and as marines. For her they were role models, people she that influenced her greatly.

"I'm going to tell you something you probably don't know. My parents met in the service, too. We Shepards seem to fall for our brethren," he said playfully. Nyx did not look relieved in the slightest. "He almost lost her on a mission. Even in love, your grandfather was still the same man. He couldn't justify risking the primary objective. The mission at all costs, you know?"

Taranis knew she understood it. Hell, he knew she lived that decree just as solidly as his father.

"She made it out alive, barely. Your grandfather, sentimental bastard, proposed to her when she woke up from surgery. Grandma Amelie was just as stoic as he was. Told him she would consider it, but only if he promised to do always put the mission first, even if she was in his command. She believed him when he said he would. Even lived up to it. Had to put her at risk once more in the field before they got married."

"And he told you this when you asked him about Mom?"

"Yep," Taranis said, nodding as he studied his daughter's reaction. "I was rather hoping I wouldn't have to tell it to you, but I guess it was too much to hope you'd break the trend of falling for servicemen."

She shrugged and looked at their hands for a long moment. "Seemed to be going well for a while," Nyx said quietly.

"Just tell me it's not the Zingel kid."

Her laugh made him smile, and brightened her eyes. "No, it's not Caz."

Taranis leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with his uniform for a moment. "So, tell me something about this fella."

The way she tilted her head at him suggested that the question might have been her maximum.

"At least tell me his name so I can start checking up and get a little peace."

"Da."

"Fine." Taranis let his hands fall on the arms of his chair. "Don't relieve your old father of the undue stress he is now placed under worrying about what kind of man his plucking his daughter's heart strings."

"Seriously?" she replied with a doubtful look.

They both knew she did not see herself as the type of woman who was plucked, but Taranis had a long and vivid memory and he could still recall the girl with the romantic sensibilities.

"What? I remember the shelves of Austen, Gaskell, and the Brontes. Then there were the sonnets your grandmother always sent you. And if I recall you were planning on marrying Captain Wentworth." He tilted his head at her slightly. "Perhaps I should have seen this coming after all."

They both laughed. Then Nyx sprang forward and hugged her father around the neck. "I've missed you, Da."

"I love you, Nyxy-girl."

Her lips were warm on his cheek. "Love you, too," she repeated before she stood. "I should probably go."

"We should do this again," her father offered, as he stood and proffered his arm. "Soon."

His daughter smiled and looked away for a moment. "Sure. As soon as I can."

Once they exited the little shop, they stopped and he touched her cheek before he bent and kissed her forehead again. He did not like her chosen phrase. Taranis knew she meant it, but he also knew the schedule she had kept for the past several years and there was little hope of relief given the most recent change.

"I'd prefer sooner," he noted.

It always killed him to say what he said next, the phrase was tradition, but always made his heart ache because he knew there was always a chance that he could lose his girl in the line of duty. He had been in her boots and hung them up for her. She had taken them up with fervor and so much more skill and determination than Taranis ever possessed.

"Good hunting, Commander," he said, a waver in his voice, as he saluted her sharply.

Nyx returned it as smartly as she would to an admiral. "Thank you Captain."

Taranis watched the girl with her mother's hair and his eyes weave through the crowds in the wards. He remembered meeting a boy once, at her basic graduation. Keith or Kyle or something that started with a K. He managed to stick around until a few months after her graduation from Exeter. Somehow the kid had stuck it out through three mission deployments before the relationship ended without so much as a whimper. The captain could not remember his name or much else about him. Even after a few years together, his daughter never hinted at the question she just asked. It elated and scared the hell out of him.

49. Favorite fictional world?  I really enjoy writing ME and in SWTOR. They are amazing worlds full of science, magic, adventure, and drama. Though I’m also drawn to fantasy for the same reasons. But I think futuristic worlds and space are some of my favorites.

[writing-apprentice]

A Gothic AU

Author’s Note: This is a not so great fic idea that I had to get out of my head. I just thought a Gothic AU would suit the Seeds from Far Cry really well so I just went with it. If anyone is interested, I might post more, but for the most part, it’s just something to work on so I have somewhere to put some restless energy.

Also, I said if I ever wrote something I’d tag @seedlingsinner. Hi, I’m the annoying au anon. Thanks for putting up with my long-ass asks, and for the inadvertent encouragement the other day (I sent the ask about it feeling too long too =/ )

Anyway, here’s a thing.

Warnings: None, really, everything is implied so far. It’s mostly set dressing and setting things up.

Miss Rook Faulkner had been called many things by a variety of people. Her teachers had called her troublesome, rebellious, overzealous, too high spirited and, in the case of the nicest teacher at the boarding school, a delightful and opinionated young woman. Her mother had called her many more things, including ridiculous, petty, fanciful, too serious and a variety of other contradictory insults depending on how little attention she was paying to the constant pursuit of a suitor that her mother expected of her. The most important thing she had been called though, and perhaps the thing she treasured most, was to be called a friend by the dear Miss Faith Seed.

As much trouble as Rook had made at her boarding school as she grew, she had ever been accompanied, and indeed encouraged in her endeavours, by the equally as mischievous Faith, someone who Rook admired and cared for more than she could put into words. When the two had graduated from school as fully accomplished young women, they had made their promises to stay in touch, and Rook had been more grateful than anything when the first letter from Faith arrived. Compared to her mother’s constant search for a husband for Rook, Faith’s idyllic life in the country with her brothers sounded almost magical. When, after a season of Mrs Faulkner doing her absolute best to thrust Rook into any social situation that she possibly could, Faith finally sent an invitation for Rook to visit, she was so overjoyed that she barely remembered she had to run the idea past her mother first. When she remembered, immediate despair took hold.

Her mother had dismissed her out of hand at first. She found it improper and too risky and she remembered the gossip about that Seed family and no daughter of hers would ever be caught dead at their household. It took the entire spring of begging and subtle mentions of the many estates in the country and bachelors that may inhabit such estates that finally convinced her mother to allow her to go, just for a month.

That was how Rook found herself in a carriage, bag stowed away and staring contemplatively out the window. She imagined she looked rather like some protagonist in one of her novels, staring wistfully into the countryside as it passed her by. The thought amused her, as she spent the time switching between watching the world pass by and reading a novel to pass time. It was a couple days journey from her home to her friend, and while she found herself impatient to see Faith again, Rook managed to find the time to rest as the journey continued and to contemplate the dreams that such rest brought her.

The most vivid was on the night before her arrival. Before that, there had been only glimpses really, she felt rather than saw the darkness, the storm that seemed to be around her. She smelt hay, and rain. It wasn’t until that night she saw anything for the first time. She seemed to be out in the cold, the wind howling at her, and the only shelter in sight seemed to be some sort of stable. She headed towards it, shutting the doors behind her as she entered the small area. The light from the lantern she carried didn’t carry far into the room, as the shadows around her seemed almost oppressive. She stepped in further, calling out, and hearing nothing but the sounds of horses shuffling somewhere in response. While Rook had experience with horses, indeed riding had been a skill she was taught, there was something disconcerting about the shuffling noises that came from within. As she carefully took a step closer, she saw a shape in between the stalls and woke with a fear that she could not explain.

The dream was bizarre, but it was quickly put out of her mind the next day as she prepared for the final stretch of her journey to the Seed Estate. She practically bounced in her seat as she waited for her carriage to arrive, ready to see her dearest friend after far too long apart. Her excitement was almost so much that she nearly managed to shake the feeling that, as she watched the woods pass by, something watched her back.

Overall though, her journey was pleasant, and she was overjoyed as her carriage entered her friend’s estate. It pulled down a long driveway, past green lawns that stretched to the forests that bordered the estate. The beautiful stone manor came into view, with a small courtyard waiting in front for the carriage to pull in. Rook could barely make out the edges of some sort of pond or lake behind the manor, and she couldn’t help but sigh at how beautiful the area was. This month would be magnificent, away from the city air and the heirs who frustrated her, catching up with her dearest and most trusted companion.

The carriage came to a stop, and the coachman had barely helped her down before a familiar young woman rushed up to embrace her. Rook couldn’t help the short breath of surprise, equal parts shocked at such a strong display of emotion and glad to see her friend, before she squeezed back, hugging Faith just as tight. After a moment the two broke apart, grinning madly at each other. No matter what was occurring around her, Rook had always found Faith’s smile infectious.

“It’s good to see you!” Faith said, continuing to grin at Rook.

“It’s good to see you too Faith, and I’m ever so grateful that you’re willing to have me.”

Faith waved a hand dismissively. “Of course we’ll have you, any time you desire it. My home is your home, you’re always welcome here.” Faith’s smile softened a little as she looked at her friend earnestly. The soft smile was gone but a moment later as she added conspiratorially, “especially when your mother is determined to drive you away by hounding you with suitors.”

Rook let out a groan, shaking her head. “Don’t remind me Faith, I have to go back at the end of the month, and I shall gladly put such thoughts from my mind ‘til then.”

A flicker of some emotion Rook couldn’t quite place passed over Faith’s face, but it was gone too quickly for her to dwell on it, banished by another brilliant grin. “Then I shall make the most of having you while you’re here”, Faith assured her, taking her arm. “Come though Rook, come in and relax. You won’t have to meet my brothers until dinner, and you will have plenty of time to rest from your journey ‘til then. I’ve told them all about you, you know, and they’re eager to meet the woman who has gotten me into so much trouble!”

Rook couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her as she gently swatted Faith’s arm. “You started just as many of our little endeavours as I did, perhaps even more. I daresay you are rather the instigator, and I just your hopeless, lost follower.”

Faith chuckled as one of the household staff opened the door for the two to step through. With a gesture from her, the household staff went about retrieving Rook’s bags and bringing them inside as Faith led her through the home to her room, filling her in on the minutiae expected of a host. She paused as she opened the door to Rook’s room, a beautiful space that had a lovely bed, a desk, and a large window with a view across the lake. Rook couldn’t help but smile at the view as she stepped in.

“Faith, this is a beautiful room, and I must admit I am in love with this view.” Faith chuckled in response, seeming to relax slightly.

“I’m very glad you like it. The library is just down the hall too, should you find yourself in need of a good book while you’re here, and my room is nearby in case you need me. We have a bell system in the rooms too, so should you need a servant you have but to ring and one will come to your aid.”

Rook smiled at that, shaking her head a little. “I doubt I will need to use your staff too much, I’m still rather self-sufficient. Plus, I’d rather not draw them from their duties. Thank you though Faith, truly.”

Faith smiled, taking a small step back. “I shall leave you to freshen up then. If you need anything, just let us know.” Rook nodded, and with that Faith stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. Rook couldn’t help but give one last look around the room in amazement before she went about the process of settling in. This month was going to be heaven.

After a brief break to refresh herself, Rook peeked out into the hallway, looking around for her friend. She supposed she could call out for her, but Faith probably had other things to do, and she had pointed out where the library was. After deliberating a moment longer, Rook headed down in the direction of the library.

It wasn’t too hard to find. The large oak doors that led to it were open, and Rook headed inside without a second thought. The library was enormous, and she couldn’t help but look around in wonder. There was shelf upon shelf of books, and as she walked along an aisle, running her finger along the titles, she noted someone had gone to great care to organise and alphabetise them. She smiled to herself as she reached the end of the row, looking around and noticing the large window, with its own window seat built-in. She headed towards it, noting the beautiful view of the woods that stretched beyond, and the small building in a paddock close to the house. A stable, she had to presume, that looked eerily familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She turned back to examining the books, noting what books of each author that they had.

She was startled by a voice as she reached the end of the next aisle. “And who might you be?” The voice purred, making her jump at the sudden noise. She looked in the direction it came from, noting the profile of a tall man in one of the plush reading chairs.

He was tall. Even though he was sitting, she could tell he’d tower over her if he stood. He had reddish hair that glowed in the light from the window, and he was watching her out of the corner of his eye, the book she had presumably interrupted him from still open on his lap.

“I’m Rook Faulkner, I’m Faith’s friend. I-“

“Ah, I know who you are now.” He closed his book, setting it on the table beside him before standing. “I’m Jacob, Jacob Seed.” He bowed, and she was halfway through her curtsy in response when she noticed it.

A large scar bisected his face, the skin seemingly marred by fire at some point in the past. She hesitated only slightly in her curtsy, mulling it over. She remembered when Faith had come to her at school, crying over a letter about how her eldest brother had been hurt in the line of duty. She had assumed he’d be missing a limb or another injury that seemed to be more typical of the conflict.

She must have paused too long, as he seemed to realise what had happened. His smile became tighter, seeming stressed and, perhaps, disappointed. “Ah, apologies Miss Faulkner, I suppose Faith didn’t warn you about my… disfigurement. I’ll try to stay out of your sight to avoid offending your sensibilities.”

A frown creased Rook’s forehead as he started to turn away. “I- It doesn’t bother me, sir, I apologise if I reacted poorly. I was just remembering when Faith got the letter about it, that is all. Please, don’t let me chase you from your reading spot.”

He seemed to stop at that, and he turned back to her, a slightly more genuine smile returning to him. “You sure this grizzled old soldier isn’t going to scare you away from the library. Miss Faulkner?”

Rook snorted in a rather unladylike manner, before realising and coughing lightly to try to cover it up. Judging by the amused twinkle in Jacob’s eye, he’d noticed all the same. “Please, Mister Seed, I’ve never been one to let appearances affect my judgement. You’d have to try far harder to scare me.”

He chuckled at that, seemingly at some private joke, before leaning against one of the shelves. “Brave one, aren’t you, Miss Faulkner?”

Rook smiled in return, looking up at him. She had been correct in her assumption about his height. Even leaning, he was at least a head taller than her. “Please, just call me Rook. Miss Faulkner sounds far too similar to my mother.”

He laughed at her grimace, a deep rumble that made her smile again too. “Alright then, as long as you call me Jacob. There are too many ‘Mister Seeds’ in this house otherwise.”

She nodded in agreement. “It’s a deal.” She extended her hand, a small smile on her face at the notion of shaking over such a silly little matter. He took her hand in his, shaking it, and she couldn’t help but note how much larger his hand was than hers, and how warm too. He squeezed her hand before letting go. “Very well then, Miss Rook.”

She felt a blush rise in her cheeks, although she wasn’t sure why, and he smiled at that, something darker lurking behind his eyes. He seemed about to say something more, but as he opened his mouth Faith appeared in the doorway behind him, grinning. “That’s where you’d gotten to”, she said with a grin, drifting in. Rook felt herself take a step back from Jacob, wondering when he’d gotten so close, before smiling over at Faith. “Making trouble and harassing my brother, it seems”, Faith teased, a cheeky grin pulling at her lips.

“She’s doesn’t seem as troublesome as you made her out to be, little sister”, Jacob chimed in, grinning down at Faith. “Unless this has all been some sort of distraction so that you can fill my bed with frogs or some other dastardly prank.” He raised his eyebrow, looking between the two with a teasing smile. Faith giggled, and Rook couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You have nothing to fear, Mister Jacob, that punishment is reserved for wicked old nuns who insist on confiscating our hard-earned books.”

“If, by well-earned you mean stolen from the library”, Faith chimed in, stepping forward to wrap her arm through Rook’s. “But you must excuse us brother, we have mischief to make elsewhere. It’s been far too long, after all.” Faith grinned between the two, already starting to move with Rook towards the door.

“I shall see you later, Mister Jacob”, Rook called over her shoulder as they headed through the door.

“Later then, Miss Rook”, Jacob replied, his voice following behind them as they left the room.

Faith took Rook out to have a brief stroll by the lake, filling her in on her time after school and what she’d been up to. She’d been reading and focussing on her art; she’d even been able to convince her brothers into allowing her to study some of the sciences. Rook would hate to admit it, but she was terribly jealous. As shameful as it was to think, sometimes Rook envied the freedom that not having parents gave Faith. She instead relied on her brothers, who some would say indulged her far too much.

It was nice to hear Faith talk though, Rook found herself thinking too on how much she’d missed the company of her friend, her voice and the small laugh she had that always managed to make her smile.

They finished their walk, and Rook went to her room to refresh herself and write a letter to her mother to say she’d arrived safely. Hopefully, she could post it sometime tomorrow.

She changed into a different dress for dinner, a lovely blue muslin dress that, with white gloves to match. She pinned her hair carefully up, and with a final nod deemed herself ready for dinner. Faith met her at the stairs and walked with her down to the small living room, where three men were already gathered. One was the tall redhead from before, Jacob Seed, and while Rook did not recognise the other two, she could only assume they were Faith’s other brothers.

One was taller than the other, although still not as tall as the eldest. He had dark hair, longer than she expected, and pulled back in a bun. Beside him, talking rather animatedly, was a shorter man with equally dark hair, a well-kept beard, and beautiful blue eyes that flicked up to focus on Rook and Faith as they entered.

“A discussion for another time, brother, for it appears our guest has joined us”, the younger man said with a smile in Rook’s direction. They all turned to face Rook and Faith, bowing. Rook curtseyed in response.

“This is Miss Rook Faulkner, my dear friend. Rook, you’ve already met Jacob, but these two are Joseph and John, my other two brothers.” Faith smiled at Rook, before turning to her brothers slightly mischievously. “Play nice, she’s dear to me and I shan’t have you scaring her off.”

The younger one, John, laughed as he straightened from his bow. “From what I’ve heard, we’re supposed to be frightened of the two of you reunited.” Rook chuckled softly.

“Only if you do something to bring it on yourself. We are merciful, after all.” Faith giggled at Rook’s statement, as did the man with the bun, Joseph.

“We’re overjoyed to have you in our home, Miss Faulkner, and we hope you enjoy your stay with us”, Joseph said with a kind smile.

“Please, just call me Rook.”

“Miss Faulkner sounds too much like her mother”, Faith added with a slightly wrinkled nose, before giggling.

“Miss Rook it is. Shall we head into dinner then?” Joseph asked, gesturing to the doors to the dining room. Faith nodded, leading the way as they all entered to sit for dinner.

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE FIC

The Family That Cooks Together

Jacob Seed, Joseph Seed, John Seed do some brotherly bonding over cooking. This should go well. Cameos of Sibyl Rook and Hope County citizens near the end.

@fadedjacket​

Here’s my gift to you! I really hope you like it. I tried my best to make it as wholesome and happy as possible😊 Happy holidays!!

——————————————————————————————————————

It had only been seven months since the move to Hope County when John came with an invitation. “We’ve been invited to a county social event, and we need to bring a dish!”

Joseph looked up from his books, head tilted in curiosity at his brother’s statement.  He had set up a mini-study upon the kitchen table, much to John’s consternation whenever it was dinner time (“Joseph, I have a library and you have a wonderful space in your room!” “But I can be together with you in this room”).

“Ah, the Rye’s barbecue? Pastor Jerome told me today. So we got a proper invite, hmm? That’s wonderful,” Joseph said, ever placid with a small smile on his face. Jacob had only let out a grunt from his spot on the couch, not even registering what John had said as he kept working on the wooden figurine he was carving.

John held in his disappointment at his surprise being ruined to give a sharp look at Jacob and the wood shaving littering his once-pristine floor. “Could you have done that outside, Jacob? Now I’ll have to clean the floor.”

“But if I was outside, then I wouldn’t be able to hear about the party you and Joseph will be heading to, and what food you two come up with,” Jacob said, a small smirk on his weathered features.

“You’ll be coming too, Jacob. Hope County is a close-knit community, so we should do our best to be friendly,” Joseph said, his brows furrowed.

“Joseph is right. You can’t just be a shut-in at my place and only go out to hunt when it suits you,” John added, lips pursed.

Watch me, Jacob thought, but knew better than to say it and have to deal with Joseph’s disappointed face and John’s worried henpecking. He simply shrugged and went back to carving, pointedly ignoring the stink-eye from John.

John let out a huffy sigh before looking back at Joseph with a smile. “I hope it was alright that I accepted for all of us. The Rye’s seem to be an important family in the county and open to getting to know us better. I’m even going to learn some tips about flying from Nick.” And eventually outshine him, but John didn’t voice that out-loud. Joseph would chide him on the sins of pride and Jacob might burst out laughing, like the first time John mentioned an interest in flying.

“When’s the party?” Joseph said, standing up from the desk.

“Two days, but I’m sure you two will come up with a wonderful dish to bring to the event,” John said with a glowing smile. It faltered a bit as he took his brother’s face: Joseph in surprise and Jacob’s dry scowl. “Was it something I said?”

“There’s no way you’ll be able to whip something up in two days’ time. Do you even know how to cook, John?” Jacob asked. “And don’t shrug your project onto us, since it was you who accepted this invite.”

“Well, how hard can cooking be? And of course I will help out; a simple slip of the tongue. If we put our minds together and work hard, then there’s nothing we cannot achieve!” John said with confidence.

Even Jacob looked impressed. He should be a motivational speaker with that type of confidence and bullshit spewing from his mouth.

Joseph was beaming as he put his hands upon John’s shoulders and bumped heads with his younger brother. “That’s a wonderful attitude to have, John. It will be a wonderful time spent together and with others. You agree, right, Jacob?”

Jacob knew exactly how this was going to play out as he saw John’s beaming, borderline smug face and Joseph’s eyebrow raised as he looked at Jacob with hope. He loved his brothers, but having looked after them when they were children and studying their behaviors and personalities upon finally being reunited gave him an idea about what was about to happen over the course of these two days, and thus began to come up with a backup plan for when shit hit the fan and his brothers needed his help. That’s what older brothers do.

For now, Jacob shrugged and let out a disgruntled sigh. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be in this, but I’ll lend a hand if you need it.”

Joseph and John’s smiles were bright. Not even Jacob could be too disgruntled at them. He would at least see his brother’s happy and get some entertainment from this experience.

“Wonderful! I think this will be a fruitful project to bond. We’ll be ready before the event!” John said with a positive tone.

———————————————————————————————————————

It was no surprise John had given up the following day. The brothers had spent the night looking through websites about what could be a good side for a barbecue. But every time Jacob or Joseph thought they had found a winner, John resolutely shot down every single suggestion. It was evident to both older brothers that the John had been raised with a silver spoon when it came to fine dining. Jacob mused if, had they stayed in Georgia, he would even dare to dine on any Southern fair that wasn’t served up in a five-star restaurant.

“John, you cannot simply shoot down every idea that is suggested. We only have today to prepare a dish for tomorrow’s event. We have to agree on something,” Joseph said with exasperation tinging his voice. Patience was a virtue that Joseph managed well, but John was really trying him at this moment.

“I’m sorry, Joseph, but none of these are good enough! They are all so…unrefined.” John flipped through each page on the kitchen counter, unimpressed with every option he saw.

“John, it’s a barbecue, not a state dinner,” Jacob scoffed. “I don’t think they’ll care much about what they put in their mouths as long as it tastes charred.”

“Well, I want to show these hick—err, country folk, that we have great skills they’ve never seen before. It’s to make a good first impression and take pride in what we can accomplish.”

Oh, John. Pride is the most dangerous sin and you’re practically swimming in it… It took all the willpower Joseph held within him not to snark back, reminding himself that this is his little brother who has been led astray and just needed more subtle guidance.

Joseph put on a placid smile and placed a hand on John’s back, subtly gesturing towards the front door. “You’re right, John. We cannot simply give them a dish. Why don’t you head to the store for some ingredients or homemade sweet tea.”

“Well, sweet tea does sound nice, and buying alcohol wouldn’t be good for baby Rye. But why should I go all the way to the store for a few ingredients for a drink? What about the dish?”

“You leave that to me and Jacob. You have an important task that will help us. I doubt any of these people have tasted homemade, Georgia sweet tea. They will be impressed with the effort and passion you put into creating something from scratch. Will you do that for us?”

The smile and conviction with which Joseph said this lit up John’s face and his blue eyes twinkled at the project his amazing older brother had given him. He went to put on his duster coat and grab his keys, saying with enthusiasm, “Leave it to me, you two! I’ll be back with only the finest ingredients for the best southern sweet tea that Hope County has ever seen!”

“Make sure to get a pound of sugar. None of that Splenda shit, only real and pure cane sugar,” Jacob called. He nodded as John waved a hand in acknowledgement and the younger Seed was out the door.

Once he was sure John was out of hearing distance, Jacob turned to Joseph. His middle brother’s back was to him as he began preparations by digging out a steel pot and a mixing bowl, murmuring to himself.

“That was pretty cold of you, Joe. In another life, you could’ve been the leader of the next Jonestown,” Jacob said.

“I’m not being hurtful. John is simply overwhelmed by this task and I just gave him proper guidance. He’ll make a wonderful sweet tea and this will give me time to create a suitable dish. Now, what type of cheese did she use…“

Joseph took a peek into the refrigerator. “Cheddar and mozzarella. That will have to do.”

“And what are you going to be making?” Jacob asked, genuinely curious as Joseph gathered food supplies with a faraway stare.

“Macaroni and cheese. Faith used to cook a wonderful recipe for the two of us. I can remember some of it, and I figured how difficult can it truly be to recreate?”

Jacob looked skeptical, but decided to avoid any more line of questioning. Joseph’s wife and unborn child, along with their childhood and separation, would only dredge up unhappy memories. Who knows, maybe his old lady showed Joseph a thing or two about cooking.

——————————————————————————————————————

John felt he wasn’t gone for that long. He had run to the closest grocery store and (meager as it was) quickly found some tea leaves and sugar and checked-out. It wasn’t like he followed the road signs either (although, who in Hope County did? When in Rome, as the saying goes), so he must have averaged a speed of 90 MPH for the trip.

It was not, however, fast enough to thwart the catastrophe that took place in his kitchen.

John suspected that something was awry when he stepped through his front door. There was thick black smoke hanging near the ceiling and all of his smoke alarms were going off. Even the one near his bedroom, which he was sure he took the batteries out of, but God worked in mysterious ways.

“Joseph, Jacob?!” The homeowner shouted, making his way toward the kitchen, “What’s going on?! Are you all alri—” He was cut off as he opened the kitchen door. Acrid black smoke poured out to him, and he couldn’t help by cough and gag as it filled his lungs.

“Ah, John,” Joseph, tranquil as ever replied, not bothered by the fact that his clothes where covered in off-white mornay sauce, slightly blackened in some places. “I may have made a mistake somewhere in the recipe.”

“Probably when he tried to melt cheese and flour together,” Jacob said as if nothing was amiss, sitting in his corner carving away at a small soldier figurine. Was he using a wooden spoon as a carving block?! “He kept saying it was the best way to make a beach-a-mal or something, but I don’t think mac n’ cheese should look that black.”

“I’m gone…for 5 minutes,” John said, running his hand down his face, doing his best to keep his wrath in check. “Why did you even try to make macaroni? I don’t think I even have milk in the house or, well, macaroni noodles.”

“I would have thought you would know about making the best of a bad situation, John,” Joseph said. “Besides, we had half-and-half and ziti. It’ll be fine.”

“No, it won’t.” Both younger and older had managed to agree on something for once. Joseph only wished it wasn’t against him.

“I got the ingredients for the sweet tea, but my kitchen looks like the apocalypse ran through!” John said as he began opening windows to let the smoke out. “There’s no way I’ll be able to cook it up tonight when cleaning this kitchen will take an entire day and the party’s tomorrow!”

“Well, we need something for the party,” Joseph said, removing the pot of blackened ziti and flour sauce from the burner. “This looks…edible?”

Jacob and John stared into the pot. After a moment, John spoke up, “I think we need to throw out that pot.”

Jacob grunted in agreement.

“What are we supposed to do then?” Joseph asked. “Bring nothing?”

“Oh my God, who the hell cares?” Jacob said, getting fed up with this stupid party that he didn’t even want to go to. He tossed his completed figurine aside and threw his hands up.

“Language,” Joseph said mildly, sadly looking at his failed meal. Faith and their little angel would be looking down at him with disappointment.

“The invitation clearly states we need to bring a dish!” John snapped, massaging his temples. “I will not be the only one among these hillbil—people to not bring a dish to a barbecue and make a bad impression.”

“John’s right. It wouldn’t be right to be graciously invited, and not deliver a gift to our hosts,” Joseph added, chucking the whole pot into the trash. He sighed and muttered, “Such a waste of food.”

Jacob sighed and looked at the clock as John turned off the alarms and Joseph halfheartedly tried to clean up his mess. It was 6:00. He was sure there was time for his brothers to keep making fuck-ups, but he would rather solve this quickly and efficiently, and just get this over with. “I’ll make the mac n’ cheese. You two get out of here, got get something to eat, and leave this to me.”

“You know how to cook?” John asked. He hadn’t seen his brother touch a pot or pan since they were kids. Joseph also looked surprised, but he seemed more enthusiastic in his brother’s commitment to their culinary cause.

“Who do you think was giving you meals when Old Man Seed was blacked-out drunk and mom locked herself in her room? Also, the army teaches you life skills,” Jacob mumbled. “I got it. No problems.”

“But shouldn’t we should stay and help you?” Joseph asked. “I don’t want you to do this alone.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Joe, but I’d rather you didn’t,” Jacob said. “It’ll be simple. If you guys start chiming in, I’m sure it’ll get FUBAR.”

Joseph still seemed unsure, but John saw this as an opportunity to abscond this hectic responsibility and get his loving, overbearing, catastrophic brother out of his home before he destroyed it. He had already grabbed Joseph by the shoulder and started dragging him out. “Okay Jacob, if you’re sure! Me and Joseph will grab something at the Spread Eagle! I’ll even ask Mary May if we can use her kitchen to make my sweet tea. We’ll grab you a burger!”

Jacob grunted and waved them off. Once he heard his youngest brother’s car peel out of the driveway, he got up from his seat, dusting the wood shavings off his lap, and cracked his back.

“Time to get to work,” he groaned, heading to a door.

John’s basement was more unorganized than Jacob remembered. During the move, instead of tossing out the majority of their old things, Joseph begged Jacob that they keep some of it for keepsakes. Who’d wanna remember our shitty past? But Jacob relented, and now was regretting it. It was a struggle to find any of their old things. He’d have to talk to his youngest brother about putting his toys in order later. Still, he was glad that he found what he was looking for: a green, wooden chest with black letters “U.S.A” emboldened on the top.

Grabbing the chest by the handles on each side, he lugged it up to the kitchen and put it on the dining table. He quickly undid the lock on the front and opened the chest, which was stuffed with piles of opaque, beige cellophane bags.

“Let’s see here…Menu #4 Cheese and Veggie Omelet; only if I want to poison people…Ah, Menu #10 Chili and Macaroni. Perfect. Let’s get this on the tray.”

Grabbing three of the beige bags labeled “MENU #10 Meals Ready-to-Eat (MRE),” he opened them up before grabbing a mess try from his trunk and pouring everything out onto the tray. The contents were more cellophane bags labeled with the contents they contained. He tossed the sides and accessory packets back into his trunk, to save for another rainy day.

“Hmm…Kippered Beef Snacks?” He stopped on one side, observed it, shrugged and opened it up. He began to snack on the jerky. “Alright, let’s get to cooking.”

He grabbed the odd item out in the pack, a green plastic bag known as a flame-less ration heater (FRE) and shoved the three bags of chili and macaroni inside of it. He went over to the sink afterwards and filled up a cup with a little water, and tossed it into the FRE before folding it over. In no time, it started to crackle and puff up as the exothermic reaction began making steam.

“Nice.” Jacob chewed through a piece of kippered beef. After about 20 minutes, the steam stopped escaping the FRE. Jacob carefully opened it and extracted the macaroni packets. Grabbing a knife, he opened the bags and poured them all out onto the tray.

“Huh.” He looked at the product. It was runny and certainly full of chili, but very little cheese. Looking through the contents of the MRE, he saw that he had six packets of “Cheddar with Jalapeno Spread.”          

This’ll work, Jacob thought, ripping open the little packets, and squirting them over his macaroni. He mixed it all together and…it formed into a glue-like paste. Crap.

Jacob looked at the mess on his tray and knew he had to fix it. Looking around the kitchen he had an idea. The old pot that Joseph used today was sitting in the trash, and it clicked in his mind; that’s how he’d thin the mac and cheese! Running to the cabinets, he grabbed another large pot and scrapped the gluey, chili and cheese noodle mixture off of his tray and into the pot before placing it in the sink. He turned the faucet towards his pan and let the water run for 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10!

“Perfect.” With a nod of confidence, Jacob turned off the faucet and stirred the pot vigorous. The result was creamy, if somewhat watery, macaroni and cheese with chili. He then set the pot on the semi-blackened stove (burner turned off, of course), threw his mess tray in the dishwasher and moved his trunk back downstairs before his brothers came home.

“Ain’t no one who can complain about this mac n’ cheese.”

———————————————————————————————————————

“It’s obvious they’re complaining about our dish,” John hissed through a pearly-white smile to Joseph and Jacob, glancing at some of the guests who were staring at the meal and discretely edging to a trash bin. “I saw the way Nick Rye shuddered when he caught sight of the mac and cheese. And how about when that Rachel Jessop drank some of my sweet tea? She looked like she had consumed acid!”

“John, please calm down. We are having a pleasant time,” Joseph said, a happy smile as he basked in the sun, holding his plate. He took a bite of the mac and cheese, and after working through his grimace, he swallowed with a calm smile.

When the brothers had gotten home from their dinner-out, John was excited to see the meal that would go with his perfect sweet tea. Mary May did snort a bit when they explained what happened, but she and her dad allowed them to use the kitchen to cook it up, as long as John kept his hands and pick-up lines to himself. Joseph thanked them and kept his brother out of trouble, even striking up pleasant conversation with the newest sheriff’s deputy, who introduced herself as Sibyl Rook. John actually did well on the tea, though Casey and Mary May side-eyed each other when they saw just how much sugar John added to the drink. Overall, it was a nice dinner and they were looking forward to their brother’s efforts.

However, taking one look at the concoction in the stove, they both quietly gave up and headed for bed, smiling through the pain as they congratulated Jacob for his wonderful meal and how impressed everyone would be tomorrow.

Jacob’s response? “They’d better be. They could have had Vomelet if I had been cruel enough.”

The brothers knew the mac and cheese had not been exactly well-received, though Jacob wasn’t offended like his little brother was on his behalf. He secretly got a thrill watching the party-goers look with hidden disgust and confusion, even holding in guffaws as they bravely tried to eat it. However, he did bond with Dutch, Eli and Jerome who, as fellow military veterans, could spot an MRE when they saw one and they had a laugh over the gross meals. Jacob even shared some of the candies he got from the package with Jerome’s young daughter Joy and some other kids, and actually finding himself enjoying the party.

Joseph and John also enjoyed the day despite knowing they had the worst dish, though John was aghast that only some people liked his sweet tea. He was seething when that boor Boshaw had the nerve to say to his face, “Johnny, no offense, but I get the feeling you’re trying to give us all dia-beetus with this drink. Shit’s hurting my teeth. I’ll still drink it, though, so good job on that front.”

His cousin, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of the stuff and nearly chugged the entire jug. “Don’t listen to Sharky, amigo. Man, this stuff could have gotten the Monkey King through the worst of it. Do you wanna hear about my adventures with the Monkey King?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I need to speak with Nick about some important matters,” John said hurriedly, and he spent most of the barbecue avoiding his new best friend.

Joseph watched his brothers from the shade of trees, having made sure to talk to everyone at the barbecue, ranging from polite conversation to offering gracious laughter when it came to ribbing the mac and cheese, responding with passive-aggressive “bless your hearts.”  Although the overabundance of social interaction had worn Joseph out, he felt a warmth in his heart to see Jacob’s rare smiles as he talked with Eli and Dutch about survival techniques, and John being the life of the party as he charmed many people and comically avoided Hurk.

“Ready to head home yet?” Joseph turned to the voice, and saw the young woman he spoke with the other night. Sibyl offered a friendly smile as she came next to him. “I’m pretty worn out myself. Just got through getting called a witch by that old hag Mable.”

“Some people have small minds, though it seems you would feel rather warm in that outfit.” Sibyl did have a unique fashion sense for a deputy. “Funeral couture,” as John had dubbed it.

She just shrugged. “Eh, you can put up with anything for the aesthetic. Still, it’s good you’re being received well. I was new here myself and surprised by how friendly everyone here is. It can get a bit smothering.”

“I’m content being anywhere, no matter how I’m received; I’m just happy to see my brothers doing well. We were born and raised in Georgia and had reunited after…painful separations. I felt we needed a fresh start, but deep down I was worried they wouldn’t like it here.”

Sibyl patted Joseph’s shoulders and gave him a wink. “Well, I think you’re all doing fine from the looks of it. Though I’d suggest keeping your brothers away from a kitchen until you get some cooking lessons in. Maybe you can show me some of your cooking sometime.”

Joseph let out a short laugh. “Maybe after some lessons myself. It seems John’s giving me a look of rescue. Perhaps we’ll call this a day.”

After departing from Sibyl, Joseph rounded up his brothers, they said their goodbyes, and retrieved an empty pitcher and a half-eaten Tupperware of watery mac and cheese (Kim Rye happily insisted on them taking home their leftovers).

As they drove away in their car, John said with a semi-content sigh, “Well, that could have been worse.”

“I know, you made a best friend, Johnny. Gonna invite Drubman and Boshaw to your next dinner?” Jacob teased as he drove on.

“Don’t you start! I saw you being Mr. Social with half the county, so you have no right to talk! Joseph, tell him to stop teasing me!”

Joseph simply smiled and looked out the window. May there be many more watery mac and cheese and barbecues to come.

[twisted-fics]

Solving a mystery

(Gonna be kind of cracky and will feature a personal ship of mine, if you don't like the ship it's ok, just please try and enjoy) 

Leona talked as he sat with Ruggie in the lounge when suddenly Kalim ran over. 

"Guys you're not gonna believe what I just saw!!" Kalim explained while trying to catch his breath.

"Well if we're not gonna believe it what's the point in telling us?" Leona asked. 

Kalim sighed, "Just lis-" 

"What's this? Do I hear gossip?" 

The four of them looked over to see Vil with Rook and Epel. 

"Yes! It's crazy!" 

Vil pulled up chairs for him, Rook and Epel, having them all sit, "Well Kalim, spill the tea won't you?" 

"But I don't have any tea." 

"Not actual tea, what's the thing you saw?" 

"Oh that! Yeah, I saw Professor Crewel trying to seduce Coach Vargas in the staff room." 

Ruggie began coughing as he choked on his sandwich, "W-what the hell did you say…?!" 

"Professor Crewel was trying to seduce-" 

"Ok ok we get it, we heard you." Leona said as he helped Ruggie stop choking. 

Vil smirked, "Well I'd love to hear more, tell me everything you saw" 

"Ok so I was walking to the staff room because Jamil said I needed to deliver my dorm leader paperwork." 

                                                ~Flashback~

'Ugh! Why do I have to deliver paperwork?! Jamil should be doing this' Kalim thought to himself as he walked through the halls of the college. 

He soon arrived at the staff room and opened the door a crack before stopping as he watched the scene before him.

"D-Divus please, not right now…" 

"Oh come on, I know you want me, I've seen how you look at me between classes~" 

Divus brought his hand up and began unzipping Ashton's tracksuit top while Ashton bit his lip.

"How about my office after classes end for today, or better yet, my house~?" 

Kalim dropped the papers and ran out. 

                                         ~End of Flashback~

"Woah, I've heard about Professor Crewel having tons of partners but I didn't know he was so bold he'd go after Coach." Leona said, smirking.

"Ah, you know, one time during archery Professor Crewel came and grabbed Coach Vargas and when he came back Coach was blushing from ear to ear and he couldn't focus on teaching us." Rook explained.

A giggle came from behind them, "They must be something like friends with benefits right~?" 

They all saw Lilia standing there. 

Epel and Ruggie looked at him confused, asking at the same time, "Friends with benefits? What's-" 

Both of them got their mouths covered by their dorm leaders, who shushed them.

"It's nothing, we'll tell you both when you're older." Vil said as he pet Epel's head. 

Ruggie sighed, "But we're both legal adu-" 

"The apple said we'll tell you when you're older so we'll tell you when you're older." 

"Anyway, we should figure out what they're up to!" Lilia exclaimed. 

"They're probably still in the staff room so we should check there." Vil said. 

~~

The eight of them stood outside the staff room, thinking of a plan.

"We can't just go in and start talking to them, they could get suspicious." Vil said.

"If we say we want to suggest new sports to Coach Vargas he might listen to us." Lilia suggested 

"Well I don't want to do it, I don't know a thing about sports!" Kalim exclaimed. 

"I can do it, seeing as I'm a part of the archery team." Rook said.

"Me and Ruggie can too, we're in his martial arts class." Leona suggested. 

"Right, you three get in there while we watch!" Lilia said. 

Rook, Leona and Ruggie walked into the staff room awkwardly as both Divus and Ashton looked up to see them. 

"Ah, do you boys need something?" Divus asked 

Ruggie scratched the back of his head, "We uh…thought we'd talk to Coach about some sports to add for club options and stuff." 

Divus stood up, "Well alright if you don't need me I'll be going then, I have to get back to my classroom anyway." 

"See you later ba-er, Divus…" Ashton said, blushing as he changed what he was saying.

Divus smirked, "Bye handsome~" 

The other three looked at each other, sharing confused looks as Ashton cleared his throat, his cheeks still a bit pink, "So you boys wanted to talk about sports?" 

“U-Uh, yeah...sports…” Rook said awkwardly.

~~

Lilia huffed as he watched the three boys leave the staff room, “So we did all that for nothing? You were supposed to try and ask if he has a relationship with Divus!”

“Sorry, he left and we all didn’t know what to say.” Leona said as he crossed his arms.

Vil sighed, “Well, we’ll need someone else who would know about their relationship, maybe another teacher.”

Epel tugged slightly on Vil's blazer, “Even if we did ask, I don’t think they would be willing to tell us, Professor Trien would probably tell us to mind our own business and Sam would make us buy something or use voodoo on us.”

"Well that's a price I'm willing to pay! Let's go!" Kalim laughed.

~~

"Welcome, how may I help you?" Sam said as the group walked in. 

Vil put his hand on the counter, "We need to know something, we'll pay any price." 

Sam smiled widely, "Ahh~, well you've come to the right place, I'll tell you anything you want as long as it isn't considered wrong within school rules, but you're right, it'll cost you." 

"What's the price magic man?" Leona asked. 

"You have to help me in the shop for a certain amount of time depending on what you ask me, the more personal the longer you work." 

The eight boys looked at each other, none of them wanted to work in Sam's shop but they also wanted an answer. 

Sam then laughed, "Alright don't look at each other like that, I already know what you want to know, but how about I tell you a story from a few days ago and then I'll give you a proper answer to your question?" 

"Yes please!" Kalim said excitedly.

                                             ~Flashback~

Sam hummed as he carried some boxes to the shop but he stopped as he began to hear noises coming from a classroom, noises of kissing, low grunts and moans.

Divus' voice came through the door, "I…I really needed this, we haven't done this in forever~" 

Next came Ashton's, "I know, I've been so busy lately, even if we only get to do this a few times a month, I wish we could do it more." 

"Well maybe we need to be in a more serious relationship~" 

"I'd love for that to be the case but if the students knew about us we'd never hear the end of it." 

"Who cares what they think? Besides you've talked about moving in together and to the students we'll just be roommates~" 

"I think you're right." 

                                    ~End of Flashback~

"Then what?" Vil asked. 

"Nothing else, I left to take the things to the shop." 

"They must really be friends with benefits then." Leona sighed. 

Ruggie looked up at Leona, "Again, Leona what does that mean?" 

"Shush kiddo, I said I'll tell you when you're older." 

Kalim huffed, "Anyway! You said you'd tell us the story and then give us the answer so tell us!" 

Sam laughed, "Well, the best thing you can do…is ask them about their relationship yourselves." 

"Are you serious?! All that for nothing?!" Kalim shouted. 

Leona sighed, "Well, he's right, let's just go ask." 

~~

Divus and Ashton stood next to each other while standing under a tree just outside the school. 

"So, some students said they wanted to talk about sports but then barely said anything?" Divus asked. 

Ashton nodded, "Yep, I don't know what was wrong, they just wouldn't really talk as soon as you left the room." 

Divus laughed and kissed his cheek, "Maybe they were intimidated by you." 

"May-" 

"THERE!" 

The two staff members turned their heads to see the eight boys running towards them.

Ashton blew his whistle making them all stop in place as he walked over to them. 

"Boys what's going on? Is everything ok?" 

Kalim, while still panting managed to say, "We…we just wanted to ask you…what's your relationship with Professor Crewel…?" 

"We were supposed to ease into it Kalim!" Vil shouted. 

"Ah let the guy be fruit bowl." Leona responded. 

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" 

"You heard me." 

"Oh you're dead!" 

"Try it." 

"I-" 

Divus began clapping his hands as he walked over, "Alright, that's enough, Break it up." 

Vil and Leona sighed and nodded. 

"But what about our question?" Vil asked. 

Divus smiled, "Well, if you all must know…" 

Without another word Divus gently grabbed Ashton's chin and pulled him down, kissing his lips sweetly then pulling away.

"We've been dating for two years now." 

Ashton wrapped an arm around Divus' waist, while blushing, "We've known each other for a while”

Lilia smiled, "Oh good, so you're not friends with benefits." 

Lilia received two smacks on the back of the head from Vil and Leona, making him laugh, “Alright Alright I’ll stop corrupting your kids!”

“Where did you guys get that idea about us?” Divus asked.

“Well, Kalim saw you trying to seduce Coach and we had heard some rumors about you sleeping around a lot and then Sam told us about how you were making out in a classroom a few days ago so we didn’t know what to think.” Leona answered.

Ashton chuckled, “Well, Divus isn’t exactly subtle about what he wants once classes end or when we’re alone.” 

“Gross…” Ruggie grunted.

“Well if we’re done, let’s just go.” Kalim said.

And the eight of them left.

[jackiesarch]

be alright

Rook’s lived a lot of places, but she thinks Hope County may be the strangest. It’s massive, geographically, spread out across the Henbane, the Whitetails, Holland Valley – she’s been here for months, and she still doesn’t think she’s seen half of it all. She’s not quite sure she ever will.

Despite its size, though, she’s learned that Hope County gives off just as many small town vibes as the tiny place she grew up. Everyone knows everyone, whether personally or in passing, and Rook can’t go anywhere without hearing what is, quintessentially, the latest town gossip.

Needless to say, word travels fast between members of the Resistance. It gives her an edge up on Eden’s Gate, most days, an internal surveillance system that tells her about the Seeds’ comings and goings.

You hear the commotion out at Seed Ranch? she hears one evening as she wanders past a group of Resistance members chatting just inside the outpost at Kellett Cattle Co. Looks like some of the Peggies are finally seein’ the light.

“What’s that?” Rook asks, before she can even stop herself.

“Oh, hey, Dep,” one of the men says. Rook has never been good with names, but she thinks his may be Eric. “I was just sayin’ it looks like there may be more defectors out there than we thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Word is John Seed’s got a bit of a mutiny on his hands. Couple Peggies went rogue this morning, shot the place up,” Eric says. He leans up against the wall of the building next to him and crosses his arms over his chest. “’Course, that didn’t last too long.”

Rook’s stomach twists unpleasantly at the thought of a gunfight inside John’s home. Her next words, her tone, they all need to be carefully regulated – Kim Rye is the only one who knows about her indiscretions with John Seed. She’d like to keep it that way as long as she possibly can.

“Any word on his status?” Rook asks. Her voice is cool, detached, clinical – none of it betraying the anxiety curling inside her.

“Nothing, really,” Eric shrugs. “Friend of mine in the area says he may have been hit. No one knows for sure. Be crazy if one of his own people ended up doing your job for you, huh, Dep?”

Rook smiles weakly, tries not to fidget as the panic rises.

“Wild.”

She says goodbye, grabs her rifle, and leaves the outpost with her jaw clenched so hard she might chip a tooth.

 -----

There’s a roadblock just outside of Nick Rye’s place, close enough to John’s ranch that it can’t be a coincidence that it wasn’t there before today. Rook pauses from a couple hundred feet away, hidden by foliage and the thick brush where she crouches.

Instinct tells her to take it quietly. She lingers there in the bushes, rifle clasped in her hands, watching the Peggies patrol their little setup. She should get her binoculars out, map each of them out, come up with a strategy.

Instead, she shoulders the rifle and moves quietly though the trees, keeping her eyes on the men. There are four of them, one heavily armoured, the others carrying machine guns. Rook gets the angle on the armoured one. He paces back and forth behind the truck parked in the middle of the road.

Her body is thrumming with adrenaline. Part of it, she thinks, is the anxiety, the fear, the not knowing about whether or not John is okay. The other part is a fervent anger that’s been building up inside her since she arrive in Hope County.

John is right – she is wrath incarnate, and she is about to prove it.

Rook darts out from the treeline, hardly making a sound as she heads toward him. Then she is on him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the bulk of his bulletproof vest digging into her stomach. Rook squeezes, twists, and the man sputters, searching for air. Then—

Snap.

He goes limp in her arms and Rook drops him, his body thumping satisfyingly against the sidewalk. She has tried to be silent, but the commotion has alerted the dead man’s friends, and before she knows it Rook is crouching behind the truck to avoid a spray of bullets.

One of the men turns the corner, machine gun aimed at her face, and Rook lunges, fists flying and nails clawing at him. She tears at his skin, his hair, lands a solid right hook against the side of his face and feels his nose break beneath the blow. He reaches for her throat, his gun clattering to the asphalt, and when Rook looks in his eyes she sees complete and unfiltered fury.

She smashes her head into his. He crumples, and pain radiates through Rook’s temple. Not her best work, but it’s done the job.

The other two are easy to take out – they’re rookies, new recruits, and they put up a good fight, but Rook is faster, stronger, angrier. Blood dripping into her eyes, she grabs one of them by the hair and slams his face into the concrete beneath her feet. He doesn’t get up again.

The last one is scared as she rounds on him. He steps backwards, makes to run away, but Rook’s hand is on the grip of her 1911. There’s one shot, clean and quick and echoing loudly, and the guy drops. There’s a hole in his chest and his breaths gurgle in his chest as his lungs fill with blood, but Rook doesn’t hear him.

She stands in the middle of the roadblock, observing the carnage, and takes a deep breath. The world around her smells clean, crisp, metallic with the blood of the four dead men.

Her eyes flick toward the direction of the ranch. Rook wipes the blood from her forehead, shoves her handgun back into her thigh holster, and keeps moving.

------

By the time she sneaks past the guards stalking the outside perimeter and into the ranch through a laughably unattended open window, Rook feels like she’s been hit by several different vehicles. She tastes blood and dirt in her mouth, aches everywhere, and is pretty sure she might have a concussion.

Taking on four armed men on her own may have been a poor choice, in hindsight, but she’s never claimed to be the most brilliant woman alive.

Rook creeps up the stairs, familiar enough with them now that she knows what spots to avoid, knows which steps will creak under her weight. At the landing, she peers down the hallway. John’s bedroom door is open, which means he’s likely not there, but the bathroom door is shut, dim light peeking out from the crack at the bottom.

Only John uses John’s bathroom.

Heart in her throat, she takes quiet, hesitant steps down the hallway until she’s standing outside the bathroom door, wondering if this has been a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be here. Her knees ache like she’s run twelve miles, and stiffness is starting to gnaw at the base of her spine. Her eyes feel gritty each time she blinks.

She is tired and afraid, but she needs to see him. She needs to see if he is okay. Besides –- being in the wrong place is a specialty of hers.

Her stomach twists as she reaches out to rap her knuckles gently against the door. Through the wood, she can hear John moving around in the bathroom. The muffled sounds of running water stop abruptly, and she imagines his slender fingers twisting at the knobs of the sink’s faucet. Rook sees the handle twist before she hears the door click open, and then John is standing in front of her.

He is shirtless but wearing sweat pants, his hair wet and his beard neatly trimmed. She is struck all at once by how normal he looks.

“You’re really starting to make me question my home security, my dear.”

He means it as a joke – the corner of his lip is tugging upwards – but Rook doesn’t laugh. Instead, she swallows thickly and follows the lines of his body, her eyes fixed on the spot a few inches from his belly button where a thin piece of gauze is taped. His ribs are a canvas full of purples and blues, mottled skin that proclaims he’s been hit by something.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course, but is there a particular reason you’ve broken in tonight?”

“Are you all right?” Rook asks quietly. Her voice sounds a million miles away, even to her.

John stares at her like he doesn’t understand what she’s asking, eyes raking her up and down.

“Am I—Rook, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

The question isn’t one she was expecting. Rook wonders what she must look like for him to ask that, for him to use her name instead of one of his sickeningly sweet pet names. She knows that her hair is a disaster, stiff with dried blood and dirt - the rest of her can’t be much better. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

John reaches out, and his fingers brush against her elbow.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

Each step toward him feels like a light year away, but somehow Rook manages to get there. She crowds him up against the bathroom counter, places a hand gently on his side. His skin is smooth and warm. He smells clean.

John cups the side of her face in his hand, then lets his fingers spider upwards toward her scalp, where her hair is matted with blood.

“Is this your blood?”

Rook doesn’t actually know. Every part of her hurts, so it may very well be. She doesn’t speak but instead shrugs, reaching out to wrap her arms around him. One of his hands settles on her back, the other splayed across the back of her head. For a moment, she feels safe. Calm. She forgets that her head is pounding, that her lips are dry and cracked, that her stomach aches. She forgets the anxiety thrashing around inside her chest. John kisses her forehead.

“I should go,” Rook says abruptly. She pulls herself out of the embrace and stares up at him. “I need to shower. And you’re probably tired. You should go to bed.”

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to push him away. Every part of her screams to stay here, to stay wrapped in his arms, quiet under the sickly glow of the bathroom lights.

Staying, though, means she has to put a name to the feeling that drove her all the way here in the first place. Staying means she has to confront it. Rook doesn’t know if she can do it.

John makes the decision for her, his voice gentle and his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.

“Let me help, darling.”

His hands go to the hem of her shirt and he tugs, up past her ribs, bunching under her shoulders until she lifts her arms and lets him pull it over her head. The shirt falls silently to the bathroom floor. Rook starts to wriggle out of the embrace to help him but John doesn’t let her get very far before he’s gripping her tighter.

Goosebumps prickle at her skin as he reaches behind her to unhook her bra. He slips the straps from her shoulders, presses feather-light kisses across the line of her collarbone, tosses the garment on the floor next to her shirt. The dirty jeans come next. There’s a new tear in the knee that Rook doesn’t notice until the denim pools around her ankles and her toes catch in the rip. How has she managed to do that?

John finally lets her go. He steps toward the shower and twists the water on, and Rook, watching, strips away her underwear. Her pile of clothes tell a story – a horror story, full of blood and fear and terror. The memory of the evening makes her grind her teeth together. She thinks she can feel tiny pieces of dirt between her molars, gritty and sour.

“Get in,” John encourages, once the water is hot and steam is billowing from the stream.

It looks inviting. Rook pads toward the shower and slips under the warm spray, and John joins her a moment later, slipping in behind her, a warm weight against her back. The water drills against her chest, her arms, her shoulders, and for a moment, Rook feels better than she has in months.

John’s hands come to her shoulders and squeeze, kneading the muscles, his thumbs pressing firmly into the back of her neck. She leans back against him and sighs. Water runs down her face, her chest and her belly in rivers, the blood and dirt melting from her skin like hot wax, spiraling down the drain. She feels John move, and then he is scrubbing shampoo into her hair with the tips of his fingers, gently, because he still doesn’t know if the blood in her hair is hers. It must be, because his fingers brush against a spot near her temple so tender that it makes her flinch. The shampoo stings.

“You should have gotten someone to stitch this up,” John murmurs. Rook can barely hear him over the rush of the water, but she feels him run a finger along what must be a cut about an inch long. “Does it hurt?”

“Stings,” she says, “but it’s fine.”

The gentle scrubbing is hypnotic. Rook feels as though she might fall asleep standing up and is grateful that John is behind her to keep her on her feet. He scratches at her scalp gently, then turns her so her back is facing the water. Rook tips her head back and lets the shampoo run down her back, splattering against the shower floor. Her eyes are closed, but she feels John lean forward to kiss the hollow of her throat, the side of her neck, the corner of her mouth.

She feels at home here, in this moment, soap dripping from the ends of her hair and John’s breath against her cheek. Rook noses in a little until their lips meet, and they kiss a few times, slow, lazy, peaceful. The panic that’s kept her on her toes all day has left her now, and her mouth starts to go slack halfway through because she is so tired, and John laughs, reaching up to scrub the last of the shampoo from her hair.

“You okay?” he asks. She opens her eyes and follows the lines of John’s face. His eyes are a bright blue, his expression soft as he watches her.

“Tired,” she admits.

They spend another ten, maybe fifteen minutes in the shower. Rook can’t be sure how much time goes by exactly, but the water starts to run cold just after John finishes cleaning her skin with nicely scented soap. She rinses and shuts the shower off.

Rook can’t map the journey from the shower to John’s bed. Things are starting to move in slow motion, like a movie montage of the mundane moments of her life. Somehow, she ends up cloaked in one of John’s shirts, curled under the blankets with him pressed up against her back.

She was calm in the shower, but now her mind is racing again, filling in all the blanks she’s desperately been trying to ignore.

“You—I thought you were dead,” she says warily, suddenly wide awake. Her eyes are burning. “They said—.”

John sighs. He pulls at her hip gently, his fingers pressing into a spot that hurts enough that Rook thinks it may be bruised. She rolls over, runs her fingers along the clean gauze patch that John must have applied during their transition from bathroom to bed. Rook wants to peel the tape back, wants to see exactly what was done to him, how bad it really looks.

“I’m fine, darling.”

“I know,” Rook says, “but for a minute, you weren’t. You were dead.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, staying uncharacteristically quiet as he reaches out to brush her wet hair from her face. John has always liked to touch, tactile like no one else she has ever met. His fingers linger next to the ear he tucks her hair behind, then skim down her cheek to the line of her collarbone. Eventually, he grabs her hand and slides it up to his chest. His pulse thuds under her palm.

“I’m here,” John murmurs. “Just a scratch, darling. You haven’t lost me yet.”

Rook chokes out a shaky laugh, splaying her fingers wider, feeling his heartbeat steady and constant beneath her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually, curling tighter against him. “This is embarrassing.”

If the Resistance could only see her now — at her least heroic, skin pale and hands shaking, wrapped up in the enemy’s arms. Rook’s tried to plan out all the ways that this holy war might end.

This was never one of them.

“Shh,” John quiets her, threading his arms tightly around her and pulling her close to him. “Everything is all right now. You need to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rook is grateful that he hasn’t decided to press her. John is always seeking answers, always seeking the truth, always seeking confessions. For once, it is comforting to see him simply be.

Her hands slip around him, reveling in his warmth. John settles one hand on the small of her back, warm and steady, and runs the fingers of the other through her hair. Rook savours every touch, every brush of skin against skin. Eventually, she starts to drift off, her head tucked neatly under John’s chin.

It may be her imagination, but she thinks she hears John speak just before she falls over the precipice and into unconsciousness.

“I won’t leave you.”

[pollylynn]

Title: Compilation WC: 900

He doesn’t love the first manufactured moment between Nikki and Rook in Heat Wave. It was a cranky response to a persistent note from his editor, from Cannell and Connelly both, from Alexis that Nikki didn’t seem to like Rook much. So he’d written it into the first damned chapter: A direct-from-factory accidental personal space invasion complete with unexpected sparks.

He doesn’t love it for the cliché factor, and hanging a lantern on it by having Nikki comment how cliché it is did not increase his love for it one little bit. But he also doesn’t love it because she does too like him. She just shows that she likes him by pretending to not like him very much, and what kind of fool can’t see that?

Except, ok, none of the above save possibly Connelly from time to time falls under the heading of any kind of fool. So maybe if he’d spent less time sulking and more time actually addressing the damned note, he wouldn’t have to live with the eye sore of a cliché in Chapter 1.

But the other thing about it—the other way the damned thing dogs him—is the sudden onset of life imitating art. He honestly can’t tell if he’s imagining it. And if he’s not, if it’s new. And if it’s new, what’s actually going on.  

It’s not like they’ve shied away from very not-accidental personal space invasion from the start. Hell, she’d handcuffed him—twice—within twenty-four hours of meeting him, and whatever Little Miss You Have No Idea claims to the contrary, that was at least partially recreational for both of them. For his part, he’s done the casual lean in, listen in. He’s lured her into the close confines of an elevator and gloated about it, and he’s maneuvered her into evening wear and his arms on a dance floor.

Those kinds of moves have all been . . . legible to him. It’s how they show they like each other by pretending not to like each other. But lately there’s been something else. There’s been her reading over his shoulder and him reading over hers. There’s been the sudden—tragically outside-his-head-voice—realization that she smells like cherries, and just today, just now,  they’ve lived through the iPod incident.

He needed her to hear it. Right away and just like that: Earbuds and the track he’d hastily edited together into his lyrical circumstantial case. For once, it was urgent, not some not-accidental move on his part or hers. But all the same, there it was just seconds later. In the midst of everything awful—just so awful—a moment with the world falling away, but for the two of them. There it was: Unexpected sparks and the worst kind of cliché,

It’s on his mind now—music and her and an elegy for the mix tape, because that’s exactly what his brain put a pin in right then and there. Had she ever made a mix tape? Had anyone ever made one for her? Is she—oh, God—is she too young for mix tapes?

It’s on his mind, so he does the math, and he doesn’t think so. He thinks she probably must know a little bit about hovering, muscles tensed, over a boom box waiting to hit Play and Record simultaneously the absolute instant the radio DJ fades the song up. And she must have used the eraser end of a pencil to rewind her fair share of cassettes.

But even if she hasn’t, surely the concept can’t be lost on her. Even if it was CDs for her and tapes for him, she has to know that peculiar pleasure, doesn’t she? He wants to know and he’s afraid to ask and who even is he lately?

Afraid to ask is for other people. That’s what he tells himself, day after day, when he strides in and plops down in his chair. He tells himself that today’s the day he’ll come out with it: Best mix tape you ever got. Contents and your personal rankings. And bear in mind, Detective, there will be follow-up questions for embarrassing inclusions and misguided rankings. Go!

He rehearses it. He repeats it sotto voce in the elevator between the lobby and the fourth floor. He tries to psych himself up from the passenger’s seat, but day after day, he doesn’t come out with it. He doesn’t challenge or inquire or so much as hint. He . . . fantasizes.

He writes playlists in the back of his mind. They’re beautifully balanced things. There’s sexy R & B  followed by annoying ear worms.  From there, he launches into straight up windows-down, classic rock, then sing-along power pop, with old-school punk hot on its heels. He plans interstitials like he used to do when he was at the top of his mix-tape game—dialogue from movies and TV shows and two-second snippets from lesser songs that didn’t deserve a full slot on the roster.

He doesn’t come out with it, because he’s afraid she’ll laugh. He’s afraid she’ll roll her eyes at the very idea of the mix tape as a dying art form. He’s afraid she’ll tell him he’s such a cliché.

He doesn’t come out with it because he wants the possibility—the eternal possibility—of a mix tape he’ll make for her.

A/N: This, my friends, is nonsense. Way too early for this. But the mix tape idea would not shut up. Hmmm.

images via homeofthenutty