#and she's the trailer trash barred from nice things

[ssaalexblake]

my literature soap box subject would be that a great deal of the confusion surrounding Hannibal (the Novel) stems through a lack of understanding of gothic horror and gothic romance tropes, of which the story uses liberally between the titular character and Starling.

Look at that story through a lens of crime or thriller fiction and the arc makes no sense. Realise they're running through a gothic romance plot that's inexplicably set in the late 1900's between an fbi agent and a serial killer cannibal instead of say, between a deeply suppressed lady yearning to burst free from societal chains upon her femininity and the handsome, threatening man inexplicably enthralled with her set in the victorian period, and it makes much more sense.

[2demondogs]

Modern au headcanons of the gang except they’re specifically Appalachian/southern trash in the 2000’s? Are you receiving the vision

The vision? Do not cite the dark magic to me, witch... I was there when it was written.

God I <3 these kinda AUs we need more NOW!! I've been scheming one for a while now, funnily enough, so this list ended up being straight from that lore. One or two things are slightly different. Maybe I should write about it, it does inspire me a lot, but I'm scared of longfic :> Been wanting to draw designs for it though.

CW for all kinds of canon-typical things: implied drug abuse, murder, etc.

The gang itself falls in similarly to canon, but in my heart it's based around a trailer park community. People move in, people move out, they're adopted into the "gang" (or not, see: Colm, probably), bullshit ensues, people die, crimes are crimed.

Annabelle's murder is part of what kicked off Dutch's passionate resentment for the local government. It would seem that Colm found a way to pay off the sheriff, or that the bastard just didn't care about yet another young woman being found dead in his town. Meanwhile, Dutch killed Colm's brother and not even Castle Doctrine could save him from a few years in jail.

Dutch often promises that one day, he will have a property big enough for everyone to live on — though he says this in private most of the time, so nobody knows that everyone is invited — somewhere nice and tropical. Do not play Permanent Vacation by Aerosmith around him, he will start spinning you a fanfiction about him and the bros.

Rather than saved from being hanged, John was taken custody of from an abusive home before the foster system could fuck him over even more. It's a legal arrangement, but who really cares about the paperwork? He grew up alright. Sort of. Actually, that's how most of the "adoptions" go, and also...

Everything else. If the cops don't knock, is the Target still robbed? Colm is subletting out the wazoo in his shitty apartment a few cities over, someone is growing weed in their trailer (Sean.), Molly's visitor visa expired over two years ago and her family definitely thinks she's dead, and Hosea has not paid taxes since that time he forgot to do it one year and nothing happened. John wearing daisy dukes around the park isn't really illegal, although it should be so we'll mention it here.

Most of the girls work as servers in a nearby restaurant. There's only a handful of places to work and half require vocational school, which none of them have the money or time for. Granted, if they asked, Dutch would pull some strings and get them better paying jobs.

Nevermind that some of those strings might be attached to coke baggies. Or firearms. Or a lot of other shit the sheriff is not very pleased with but can't do much about, given his own pastimes. This town is a clusterfuck, but if one goes down, they all go down— so for now, everyone's buddy-buddy. Isn't comradery beautiful?

As for others' jobs: Pearson, John, Sean, and Lenny are trapped in the restaurant kitchen; Susan runs the library like it's the army and Mary-Beth suffers at the front desk; Charles drifts around wherever a shift's empty, which is usually the mechanic or the bar; Arthur and Javier are in the mechanic shop full-time; and Strauss and Hosea are definitely not embezzling funds from the only two banks in a thirty mile radius. It's best not to ask what Trelawney or Micah do, and the former lives out in the nearest city.

They aren't employed anywhere, but Uncle does shoot the shit in the local gas station parking lot every morning with Bill and Swanson and whoever else happens to join them. All while sitting in folding lawn chairs, chain-smoking, drinking coffee from inside, and blocking off at least three parking spaces.

Kieran and Dutch are unemployed as well. Kieran's mulling over working at the library because it would be quiet; Dutch is one of those people that is, in fact, broke, yet magically has money whenever he needs it. Unrelated: don't ask about his credit card debt.

[blackbirdsonthemountain]

"I don't care who the hell she thinks she is, Francis. It's my name on the companies, the houses...the cars. The bar. The goddamn ranch and the oil fields are mine. You wanted a younger model and a fresh start and you got it. I..I just wanted a life..with you but I wasn't ever enough so here we are. I've moved on you've obviously moved on."

The sudden realization hit Frank Flannery like a Mack truck that he was indeed almost penniless all thanks to what? He desire for something new? He had loved Colleen at one point, then the anger took over. He could blame a million things on why he had treated her like he had during their ten years together. Col had been nothing but good to him, faithful and true right up to the dissolution hearing. He, on the other hand had literally fucked the sectary and was now paying for it, or rather, living paycheck to paycheck thanks to it. Falling head over heels in love with the feisty redheaded grey eyed woman that was due to be celebrating her 21st birthday in a matter of days had Frank sweating bullets. Lot rent was due, MaryKay wasn't feeling well - he had a sneaking suspicion as to why; he was praying that the milk from this week's pick up from the Eagle Eye Dairy was enough.

"Tell ya what, Frank. I've got a little investment property, it's a trailer park over on the back road to Hoyt's Hill."

Over and around the turn he could almost see the place she was talking about. They used to park up on one of side roads higher up and look down at the open lot.

"Over on Blackbird Mountain."

"Yep. You'd be doing park and lot maintenance but you could live their rent free with your family."

Frank Flannery was many things to many people but to Colleen he had been a menace. Yet she still helped him.

"You..really?"

"Yes. You need help and I'm in a position to offer it. You were a sonofabitch to me, She fucked me over to get to you...ya'll's kid is the innocent one in all this...and I'm not completely heartless.

'Flight 745 to Port St. Lucie now boarding.'

Colleen had always wanted to travel but in their time together Frank had never been much of a worldly explorer. He smiled at the fact that Col was following her heart.

"Where ya headed, Irish?"

"Off to the Cowtown rodeo to snag me a cowboy. Have a weekend of fun over at the hunt and riding club and get stoned and drunk off my ass."

Choking down a snort failed and Frank laughed. MaryKay stirred in the living on the ratty blue couch half covered with an afghan her mother had gifted them. An empty trash bag lined humongous pastel pink bowl lay on the coffee table next to a pack of open saltines and a can of Mr. Spritz Lemon Lime soda. He was nearly forty with a twenty one year old wife most likely about to bless the world with a being of their own creation and his dark haired green eyed wild woman of an ex was headed to parts unknown to let her considerably long hair down. He couldn't blame her.

"Be safe out there, Colleen."

"Will do...oh and I wouldn't worry about that check from Eagle Eye Dairy...it's padded nicely."

"How did you know about that?"

He could almost hear a smile in her voice as she dropped the third bombshell of his day.

"I know the owner, she mentioned seeing MaryKay at Doctor Nash's practice a week or two ago and she thought maybe you guys could use it. After all Eagle Eye's promise is all about looking out for the locals."

Her grandfather's nickname had been Eagle Eye. He, along with Harvey Starling and Col's aunt Eileen stepped in when her mother, Minnie had worked self almost into an early grave to make a life for the two of them after Jimmy Murphy had met a bad end one night.

"I don't deserve..."

"I know you don't deserve Jack shit from me but it's how I am, ok? Tell her to lay on her left side if she feels really horribly nauseous and sometimes humming helps."

Just like that Colleen was gone and the ear splitting voice from the Standing Rock airport told him the time in Japan and Guam and then told him to hang up.

'You never deserved a woman like her as a wife and you sure as fuck don't deserve to have her as a friend. That woman says jump you say how high, ma'am.'

His stern inner voice, which come to think of it sounded a hell of a lot like his younger brother Jackie; the one that Col had really truly loved, barked at him. For once in his life Frank Flannery obeyed advice from beyond the grave.

[colleenmurphy]

"I don't care who the hell she thinks she is, Francis. It's my name on the companies, the houses...the cars. The bar. The goddamn ranch and the oil fields are mine. You wanted a younger model and a fresh start and you got it. I..I just wanted a life..with you but I wasn't ever enough so here we are. I've moved on you've obviously moved on."

The sudden realization hit Frank Flannery like a Mack truck that he was indeed almost penniless all thanks to what? He desire for something new? He had loved Colleen at one point, then the anger took over. He could blame a million things on why he had treated her like he had during their ten years together. Col had been nothing but good to him, faithful and true right up to the dissolution hearing. He, on the other hand had literally fucked the sectary and was now paying for it, or rather, living paycheck to paycheck thanks to it. Falling head over heels in love with the feisty redheaded grey eyed woman that was due to be celebrating her 21st birthday in a matter of days had Frank sweating bullets. Lot rent was due, MaryKay wasn't feeling well - he had a sneaking suspicion as to why; he was praying that the milk from this week's pick up from the Eagle Eye Dairy was enough.

"Tell ya what, Frank. I've got a little investment property, it's a trailer park over on the back road to Hoyt's Hill."

Over and around the turn he could almost see the place she was talking about. They used to park up on one of side roads higher up and look down at the open lot.

"Over on Blackbird Mountain."

"Yep. You'd be doing park and lot maintenance but you could live their rent free with your family."

Frank Flannery was many things to many people but to Colleen he had been a menace. Yet she still helped him.

"You..really?"

"Yes. You need help and I'm in a position to offer it. You were a sonofabitch to me, She fucked me over to get to you...ya'll's kid is the innocent one in all this...and I'm not completely heartless.

'Flight 745 to Port St. Lucie now boarding.'

Colleen had always wanted to travel but in their time together Frank had never been much of a worldly explorer. He smiled at the fact that Col was following her heart.

"Where ya headed, Irish?"

"Off to the Cowtown rodeo to snag me a cowboy. Have a weekend of fun over at the hunt and riding club and get stoned and drunk off my ass."

Choking down a snort failed and Frank laughed. MaryKay stirred in the living on the ratty blue couch half covered with an afghan her mother had gifted them. An empty trash bag lined humongous pastel pink bowl lay on the coffee table next to a pack of open saltines and a can of Mr. Spritz Lemon Lime soda. He was nearly forty with a twenty one year old wife most likely about to bless the world with a being of their own creation and his dark haired green eyed wild woman of an ex was headed to parts unknown to let her considerably long hair down. He couldn't blame her.

"Be safe out there, Colleen."

"Will do...oh and I wouldn't worry about that check from Eagle Eye Dairy...it's padded nicely."

"How did you know about that?"

He could almost hear a smile in her voice as she dropped the third bombshell of his day.

"I know the owner, she mentioned seeing MaryKay at Doctor Nash's practice a week or two ago and she thought maybe you guys could use it. After all Eagle Eye's promise is all about looking out for the locals."

Her grandfather's nickname had been Eagle Eye. He, along with Harvey Starling and Col's aunt Eileen stepped in when her mother, Minnie had worked self almost into an early grave to make a life for the two of them after Jimmy Murphy had met a bad end one night.

"I don't deserve..."

"I know you don't deserve Jack shit from me but it's how I am, ok? Tell her to lay on her left side if she feels really horribly nauseous and sometimes humming helps."

Just like that Colleen was gone and the ear splitting voice from the Standing Rock airport told him the time in Japan and Guam and then told him to hang up.

'You never deserved a woman like her as a wife and you sure as fuck don't deserve to have her as a friend. That woman says jump you say how high, ma'am.'

His stern inner voice, which come to think of it sounded a hell of a lot like his younger brother Jackie; the one that Col had really truly loved, barked at him. For once in his life Frank Flannery obeyed advice from beyond the grave.

[gillianthecat]

The opening of Big Dragon has hooked me in! Drama! Blackmail! Toxicity! Chinese mythology and dragons and lion dancers! And the title sequence and theme song is a great vibe.

I'm liking the lighting/coloring and all the camera work. I suspect it may go a long way in making this show seem interesting. Perhaps more interesting and unique than the plot actually is? I will have to see. The Greek Chorus of dum-dum friends seemed very typical to Thai BL pulp, even if the room they were in seemed more grown up. I hope either they get more interesting or they disappear from the story.

I was trying not to compare, but so far it really does feel a lot like what Fahlanruk is trying to be. When two fuckboys collide. The parallel hookups did not help the comparison (Big Dragon did it much better.) Although the actors actually did very little that was explicit in that scene, the editing, script, music and acting made it feel a lot more explicit than anything in Fahlanruk has.

Anyways, I was excited about Fahlanruk's concept of two fuckboys meeting their match and disappointed that they weren't giving it to me. So I'm feeling excited and hopeful about this one so far. There chemistry has been more antagonistic at this point, but they're doing well at that. And the trailer made them look very good together.

~ I hope we don't get too much of these business interview things or business talk in general. Business bros are boring. Even the translator thinks so, the subtitles got markedly worse in that section. It seems like they got messed up at a crucial point when Mangkorn was sending Yai a loaded subtextual message during his speech. Or at least I didn't I understand what he was saying there.

~ Is this woman Ajo he's asking out gonna turn out to part of the lesbian couple? I'm getting distinctly uninterested vibes from her, but she's also framed like she's going to be an important character.

~ Secret photographer!

~ I like the spoiled but hardworking rich kid thing Yai has going on. He has a cute pout. I like how he kind of gets transformed by his circumstances. Young and earnest at the interview, full of swagger at his bar.

~ I also like the sets. They all seem textured and visually rich. I'm so tired of white walls. I know they're the low budget option so I'm not mad about it. But it's also really nice to see something else. (One of the reasons I like My Only 12% as well).

~ Pong and Park! They're great. I love that we've established some sort of pining situation right off the bat. The slapstick is a bit over the top for me, but doesn't stop me from liking them.

~ But what is Yai's necklace! I still haven't been able to get a good look.

~ Ok, so I am Very Intrigued by this rivalry they've got going on. When did it start? Why did it start? Was that the first time they fucked? The conversation kind of made it seem like it wasn't. 👀 And does that mean Mangkorn hired the photographer himself just to taunt Yai?

~ I like Ajo a lot. And I love that Mangkorn is constantly being shown entering rooms with shots that Pan up from his feet. Very fun and dramatic.

~ The colors! The textures! I love the look of this show. And, since I've had sound mixing on my mind, the sound quality seems decent. The whole thing feels... not expensive, but also not low budget. For some reason it's making me think of the US American TV show Revenge. Not that they're very similar in premise or even the look, but it has the same feel of trashy glamour. Or perhaps glamorous trash. Very fun.

~ Ajo's face as Yai and Mangkorn are doing their posturing game. 😂

~ Ah, it's a tiger pendant. Thanks, Mangkorn!

~ Phew. That skirted the edge of feeling too dubcon for me, but managed to stay on the safe side. Still fucked up, mind, but it feels mutually, consensually fucked up, and fits this glamorously trashy world.

~ That was reasonably hot with reasonably good chemistry. It didn't blow me away, but that feels about right for these characters at this point in the story. It was all very well shot and edited.

~ Ohhhhh. It's all been a flashback. They tricked me. 😂

~ THEY ALREADY HAVE EACH OTHER SAVED ON THEIR PHONES AS 🐯 AND 🐉!!! I don't know why but somehow that is the cutest thing. Even when they still think they hate each other they're using cute emoji symbols. 🥺

Plus a moody angsty music video at the end?!! This is amazing. This is perfect. I love it. This show is exactly what I didn't realize I was looking for. Thank you, universe for providing.

[r-anela]

Trailer Next Door

Summary: Eddie is fascinated by the new waitress from the Hideout, she is nice but also very mysterious and closed. He is sure he has seen her somewhere before, but he doesn't know where. She has a secret an he tries to find out what it is.

Pairing: reader×eddie munson ( Reader is Bisexual!) Reader has colourful hair, Tattoos and a unique style

Warnings: alcohol consumption and alcohol addiction, mental illness, Homophobia

This is part one, but I have no idea when I have time to write more, sorry.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always highly appreciated. 

GIF is not mine

It's Wednesday night, as always corroded coffin plays at the Hideout, they have been playing this gig for years.  But today it seems different to Eddie, not that more and more fans have been coming around for a while, but somehow the Hideout itself is different, the air seemed to shimmer. It was ten minutes before they would start playing, so he had a short time to look for the cause.

He looked around and noticed that the bar was much more crowded than usual, there were some fans but the bar was crowded with regulars. There were also many who would not normally come to the Hideout on a Wednesday evening.

He wondered what was so interesting in the front, when he saw a head of hair that he had never seen here before. These were colorfully dyed and conspicuously styled, as well as he could glimpse tattoos. He wondered where he had seen her before, she looked so familiar, but it would not occur to him. She was wearing the work clothes from the Hideout, but with her own personal flair. Under the low-cut T-shirt she wore a net top and under the short skirt a torn pair of tights, in addition she had old, worn out boots on. He was already fascinated by her.

With a moving box in your arms and the key wrapped around your middle finger, you stood in front of your new home, at Forest Hills Trailer Park. It was one of the smallest trailers, barely bigger than your old childhood bedroom. But you were frugal, didn't have anything else that needed space anyway. All your stuff had stayed in Chicago with your parents, they must have been in the trash for a long time now. And you didn't take much from Indianapolis, all your possessions fit into three moving boxes.

You put your box on the small porch in front of the trailer and unlocked the door, it was still early in the morning, the fog had not completely lifted and it was cold. You had goosebumps on your bare arms. The key jammed a bit in the lock, but after some shuffling back and forth, the door finally opened.

The air in the trailer was warm and smelled of dust and humidity, the curtains were drawn, it was dark. The naked light bulb on the ceiling was covered with cobwebs and the small sofa was stained, but you were grateful to have a roof over your head. The first rent you were able to pay from your barely existing savings, otherwise you would not have moved into this hick town and the wrecked trailer. Tomorrow you would be looking for one or two new jobs to pay the rent and everything else.

Now you wanted to unpack first and prepare the trailer as best you could, later you would definitely have to go shopping.

Your things were quickly unpacked, a box with clothes, a box with books and sewing stuff and in the last box were your dishes and cosmetics.

After unpacking everything, you found a feather duster and a dustpan in the small closet of the living room, these were used immediately and after half an hour the trailer looked much better.

You took it upon yourself to look for a blanket in the used goods store later to put on the sofa. You also needed bedding and some towels, you had left everything in Indianapolis, as well as your heart. A broken heart.

Tears came to your eyes again at the thought of it, you were here because of your heart alone, if you had listened to your common sense you would probably be somewhere in Chicago with a husband, a house and kids. Just the thought of it made you shiver, this wasn't you.

It was noon and you decided to head into town to do some shopping and possibly start looking for a job.

Your first stop was at the thrift store, people looked interested and condescending, you expected that, your clothes didn't match the nest that was Hawkins. At the thrift store you found a blanket that was perfect for your sofa and even much cheaper than you thought. The bedding and towels were also quickly gathered, nothing matched, but it matched you and that was important.

At the supermarket you bought only the essentials, a box of cereal, bread, peanut butter, milk and ravioli.

At home you took the last bottle of vodka out of your moving box, it would last you another two days and put it on the kitchen counter. You didn't have any plans for today, you didn't care about your neighbors and your heart was aching. So you sat on the sofa, the vodka in one hand and a bowl of cornflakes in the other. On the small table in front of you was a book, which you knew you would probably not read today.

When you had finished the cornflakes and drunk half the bottle of vodka, you simply lay on the sofa and let your feelings run free. Tears rolled down your face as the memories came flooding back. 

Maggie was your first love, you had been in college for barely a week when you met her. She had an aura like an angel and radiated a confidence that you wished you had.

Until you met her you didn't realize that you were also into women, of course you had always admired Elis from the class above you, but you thought you wanted to be like her and not be with her. You had also had the one or other boy in the bed, but those were all party one night stands that never satisfied you.

Maggie was completely different, you never thought you would meet someone like her.

She was your best friend, your better self and she was your soul mate.

But things didn't turn out the way they should, because of her you ended up here...

_________

I kinda have an idea where I what this to go, but if someone has an idea please let me know<3

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 2

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Read Part One

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), smut, cursing, abandonment, infatuation, cheating/divorce, angst, mild housewife kink, this chapter talks about Reverend Teagardin/his actions towards the young girls in the story (nothing is described in detail- just accusations discussing how he gives off bad vibes and is creepy- if you’ve seen the film you already know)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N: I’m terrible at writing summaries and I’m so sorry about that! I don’t think I would consider this a dark!fic, but it does cover a lot of themes, and topics that are darker than I usually write about- but I think that comes with the territory of writing about Lee Bodecker. I’ll make sure to update the warnings for each chapter and do not read if you are underage. I also ignored canon for this one.

I hope you all enjoy!

Tags and Requests are OPEN

It was always so hot in that little one room chapel. There was no fan and everyone would be crushed in together like sardines. The air was always sticky and it turned everyone sluggish. Your mama never brought you and Tommy to church, but you saw how that singled you out in this community. The judgmental looks people would give you for not going always made you feel like they viewed your family as trailer trash. So when they left, you started going regular like everyone else. You wanted to make a good impression and give yourself an opportunity to be more involved in the community. You used to attend with Arvin’s family, but now you sit on the opposite side of the aisle.

You and Arvin were still on friendly terms. On your nights off, sometimes you’d be invited to join them for supper. Ever since you and Arvin broke up, you’ve politely denied his grandmother’s thoughtful invitations. Now that you were living alone with the Sheriff, you wouldn’t anticipate any more neighborly invitations but instead prayers to save your soul, like you weren’t already damned for ‘peddling the Devil’s drink’ as you’ve heard alcohol referred to so many times by Ms. Russell.

You didn’t care much for the new reverend, and you found yourself often zoning out during his sermons. You were more preoccupied with the uncomfortableness of the pews and how your thighs felt like you’d be ripping giant band-aids off the back of them when you stand up after the service ended- even if it was a cooler day. Reverend Teagardin made a terrible first impression in your opinion, and he never did nothing to make you think you were misjudging him. You trusted the Sheriff’s advice to steer clear of him. Though based on the liking he’d taken to talking to the high school aged girls after service ended, you were thinking you were too old for him anyways. You shook your head, chastising yourself for joking about something like that even just to yourself. You made sure to tell Lee whenever he did something to tip you off that he might be trouble. You didn’t trust him one bit.

After the service, you were almost ambushed by a couple of women who were notoriously known for being the town’s busy bodies. The shorter of the two was Ethel Perry, who absolutely wreaked of cigarette smoke and always carried a little beaded purse. The other was Ida Sinclair, whose hair was a silver blue, and always wore a turtleneck and a thick sweater overtop even in the middle of hot summer days. They were sweet ladies, and normally you’d love to gab and let them fill you in on all the town gossip. They were great to talk to. But now that you were on the other side of their gossip, their nice demeanor felt much more predatory now that they were seeking you out for information instead of sharing it.

“Sweetheart,” Ida said sweetly, cornering you outside by the steps. “You poor thing how are you holding up?” You were buttoning up your jacket, when the pair snuck up on you, catching you off guard.

“Oh Mrs. Sinclair, I’m doing just fine. No need to worry about me,” you say, giving them a small smile.

“Is it true you’re renting a room to Sheriff Bodecker?” Ms. Perry interjects, not even bothering with the small talk. You almost respected her more direct approach, the small talk Ms. Sinclair was attempting to make made you feel a tinge resentful of their attitude towards you.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply, not giving her anymore details. If she wanted the gossip, she’d need to own up to being direct in her behavior.

“We heard Janie kicked him out of the house,” Mrs. Sinclair said, her face plastered with worry like she felt sorry for the man. You smiled through your teeth and nodded.

“Makes sense,” Ms. Perry added, “Him needing a room and with your mama leaving you here alone and all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say smiling through your teeth, you hadn’t realized you were grinding down on them that hard.

“Ms. Beaumont was going on and on yesterday about how it wasn’t fitting,” Ms. Perry continued. “You being a young single girl- working at that terrible bar, renting out a room to a man. She was insinuating something awful- but don’t worry dear. We know she’s just being meddlesome and trying to stir the pot where she shouldn’t.”

“Thank you, Ms. Perry,” you responded, sarcastically but they didn’t pick up on it. “It was lovely seeing you both,” you say, stepping away, “but I should be heading home now.”

“Too bad the Sheriff doesn’t come to Church,” Mrs. Sinclair, said, “He could be driving you, so you don’t have to be walking.”

The Sheriff worked on Sunday mornings and both of them knew that. You knew it was just an attempt to insinuate something else you didn’t have the patience to try to decode. You just nodded as a goodbye and started walking home. It never took long to walk, and you wouldn’t bother the Sheriff for a ride unless you really needed one- like if it was bad weather or if you were leaving work too late at night. You didn’t mind walking at all- gave you a chance to just clear your head and enjoy the fresh air, especially after getting out of that stuffy chapel.

You knew the Sheriff actually wasn’t working today. He told you this morning he was going to the courthouse to sign his divorce papers and then to pick up his stuff at the house. You’d see him later on that night when he finished that whole mess. It was the quickest divorce you’d ever seen. Neither one of them seemed to care to get lawyers. Based on what Lee told you so far, he really just was fine with her taking anything she asked for- including the house. His indifference to the whole thing really was like no divorce you’d ever heard about. You sympathized, because it was just him not wanting to prolong the painful ordeal of it all. He just wanted to get it all over and done with, and you understood that.

When you got home, you changed out of your Sunday dress and into some work clothes. A pair of overalls, a short sleeved tshirt and a pair of your old saddle shoes. You protected your hair with a bandana and decided to get to work. You got some free cardboard boxes from the grocer yesterday, and you resolved to help Lee out and clear out all of your mom’s old stuff. You told him when he left to leave the door unlocked for you and it would be cleared out as best you could get it so he’d had somewhere to put his stuff when he got back.

You started with the closet and getting rid of all her clothes. You’d call the donation center tomorrow and they’d send someone to come pick it all up. You weren’t sentimental about anything that belonged to her. Much like the Sheriff and his divorce, you just wanted to get this stuff out of the house and get the chore over with. You kept the photographs, and some of the things you knew might be worth something, like any of the jewelry she’d left in her jewelry box. You took anything that was hers and either tossed it or put it in the large donation pile.

You knew the weather tonight would be fine, so you opted to carry all the boxes outside and stack them on the porch. You figured it would be better and easier to deal with if you piled the full boxes outside before they came tomorrow. You didn’t touch Tommy’s room. You figured there was no need, and he was the only one out of the two you had a small amount of hope would someday come back, even if it was just to visit.

You closed the first box, and carried it down the hall and down the stairs slowly because it blocked your vision. At the bottom of the stairs, you propped the box on your hip so you could open the door. You then walked sideways out of the front door to drop it on the porch. As you were walking out you saw the familiar cruiser, driving down the road. You smiled, actually liking the feeling of having someone living with you. It was a little exciting. It was clouded by terrible circumstances on both your parts, but you hadn’t realized how lonely you had been living alone- even if it had only been a couple of days of Lee being here.

When Lee saw you walk out on the porch, he almost hit the garage door. You looked absolutely gorgeous, sweaty from working around the house and moving boxes. His heart felt strained in his chest when you smiled at him. That right there made his whole shitty day worth it. He hated facing Janie, scribbling his signature fast as ever on every document thrown at him. He hated that she was there with Miller, him standing behind her with his hand on her shoulder comforting her, like she wasn’t the adulterer in the room. It was infuriating.

He felt like a stranger in his own goddamn house, rummaging through everything grabbing what was his. Janie watched him like a hawk, following him around and saying nothing, like he wasn’t to be trusted to not take something. What like he’d steal something that was his? He hardly spoke two words to her. Miller sitting in his recliner, watching the news on the television. She made no attempt to even shield him from the look of another man living there. She wasted no time, announcing she’d be marrying the bastard as Lee was leaving. He mumbled a ‘congratulations’ and loaded the few boxes he had into the trunk of the cruiser.

Now seeing you there standing on the porch, all the bullshit he had to put up with today seemed worth it. It was grounding. He sighed, tossing his hat on the seat, and zipping up his leather jacket- ignoring the way it was fitting a little snugger. As he fumbled with the zipper, his mind started to wander- thoughts always clouded with you. He was usually able to keep his feeling pushed away when he was out, but the second he would see you again, all progress was lost. And here you are, like you were waiting for him to come back to you.

“I still have a few more boxes,” you say as he closes the door to the cruiser.

“I can move them,” he tries to protest, but you’ve already disappeared back into the house. He gets his own boxes out of the trunk and brings them into the house, leaving them on the living room floor for now. He hangs up his coat on the coatrack, on the hook next to yours, and then heads up the narrow staircase to see if he can help you. He gets to his room and he stops in the doorway, dead in his tracks. You’re on the floor, on your knees in front of a box, using a roll of packing tape to secure it shut. His heart stops and he’s frozen. He stutters to make himself known, but you don’t seem to notice the way he reacted to you. He’s relieved that you don’t seem to miss a beat, pushing the box in his direction, your way of telling him he can bring it outside. You stretch over and pull another box in front of you and begin placing folded clothes that were on the floor inside just to fill it to the brim completely before closing it.

That silent assembly line of the two of you makes the work go by quick. You have six large boxes ready to get picked up tomorrow sitting on the front porch, and Lee is able to bring his stuff upstairs. You decide to let him have some time to just settle, and you get started on what to do for dinner when you see it getting pretty late in the afternoon.

There was never any spoken agreement that you’d both eat together. It just kind of happens on its on the past two nights he’s been here. You’d be making dinner for yourself anyways, and making something for two isn’t that much more work. You know he doesn’t expect you to cook for him at all, but since you were taking up the kitchen anyways you don’t mind. You weren’t the best cook, but you’re pretty sure your cooking beats a cold sandwich from the diner.

Upstairs, Lee was letting his emotions get the best of him. His ever-present feelings for you- he actually wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was just an attraction, or maybe he was so used to coldness from Janie that he’s falling apart at a woman being nice to him and treating like a person. He needed to pull himself together. He closed his eyes for a second, picturing how you looked packing the boxes up. On your knees, the overalls hugging your figure, the little bit of sweat on your brow- it was the best sight he ever got the pleasure of seeing. He looks at the mirror that sat in the corner of the room. He sighs looking over his appearance.

There’s no way a beautiful, young girl like you would look at him the same way, as much as he wished it. His slightly protruding stomach, a sign of all the drinking and his bad diet. He had a little bit of a double chin from angles as well. He sticks is neck out to try to remember what his face looked like when his jaw was more defined. He realizes how ridiculous he was being. He didn’t think you were the kind of person to care that much about the things that very much bothered him. He runs a hand through his hair, and continues to hang up his shirts in the closet. You were turning him soft, and you had no idea.

He hears you coming up the stairs, and he feels his heartbeat quicken like you were going to catch him thinking about you. He was being so stupid, he chastises himself. He couldn’t have you affecting him like this. He turned his head and catches your eye as you are heading into the bathroom in the hallway.

“Just washing up before supper,” you say casually, and heading into the bathroom. He had to pull himself together. He sighed, thinking about your sweetness and hospitality ever since he showed up at your door two nights ago. You welcomed him into your home without a second thought. You trusted him, and that made him feel even more guilty. He couldn’t be thinking that anything between the two of you could happen. He needed to be a good man. But Christ, how even could a good man keep himself in check when he’s in such close quarters with you?

“Made mac and cheese with some grilled chicken if you’re hungry,” you say, not looking back at him but just immediately heading back down the hallway and down the stairs. He watched you walk away, biting his lip at how your ass looked in that denim. He gently hits his head against the mirror, like that’s somehow going to snap him out of it. He makes a fist and then stretches out his hands like that will do anything.

“Ms. Perry and Mrs. Sinclair cornered me outside Church today,” you said with a chuckle, as he came into the kitchen.

“Yeah?” he asks, taking the plate you hand to him. He opens up the drawer and grabs silverware for him and yourself while you put your plate together.

“Yeah,” you grinned, biting your lip. “I’m the talk of the town apparently.”

“I’m sorry about that, hun,” he says sympathetically, “That’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” you say, walking over to your kitchen table and taking a seat. “I find them kind of funny,” you shrug, “They were talking about me long before this and this is just the newest thing.”

“What did they say?” he asks, as he takes his seat across from you. It was a small table, only was able to seat two comfortably, anymore would be too crowded.

“They think I should be using you as a ride to Church,” you reply, “Also that our situation ain’t fitting according to Ms. Beaumont. But they insisted they don’t think that at all.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he grins.

“I thought she was gonna ask me how much I’m charging you for rent next,” you scoff before taking a bit of food.

“Do they bother you?” he asks. He felt bad at how this living situation would affect you. He understood how much keeping up appearances mattered in this town. If someone were to start a nasty rumor, your name would be tarnish all over town. You might as well start wearing a big red A on your jacket.

“Not really,” you shrug. “It bothered me in the moment, cause they cornered me, but I have no reason to be worried. It’s not like anything they say is gonna amount to anything without evidence. They can insinuate all they want.”

The word evidence hung heavy on his mind. His brain running through scenarios if you both actually had something worth hiding. Kissing you in the backseat of the cruiser pulled into some back road by the water somewhere or sneaking touches under the table at the diner. It wouldn’t be wrong, not really, he thought to himself. You’re an adult and if you felt the same way fuck what the town would think.

You actually thought the Sheriff was quite handsome. You hadn’t really been able to look past how intimidating he looked sometimes or his gruff exterior. The man sitting across from you was not like the guy that makes the town cower away from him at times. He was relaxed, his face especially. It was a rare form for him. The man seemed to constantly be stressed, full of pent-up tension, no doubt due to the stress of his job. You noticed that his eyes looked softer, and how blue they were. Suddenly, you realized it was just you and him- alone. Living in your house. You felt your face heat up, and he picked up on your change in demeanor.

“You alright?” he asks, looking over at you.

“Yeah,” you say, a little nervously. “Just need some water.”

You get up and head over to the cabinet next to the sink, and you reach up to get yourself a glass. Suddenly, you feel his presence behind you, making you jump. He’s just reaching to get himself a glass too, his body pressing very lightly against you. He gives you a concerned look as you look flustered and you let out a small gasp.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” he says, and you could almost swear you saw him smirking. He takes his glass over to the fridge and pours himself some of the iced-tea from the pitcher you keep inside the fridge.

“I think you’re right about Reverend Teagardin,” you say, trying desperately to reorient yourself.

“He’s no good,” Lee agreed. “He’s crooked. Just be careful around him, sweetheart.” Those damn pet names were making your stomach churn with butterflies.

“I think I’m too old to be on his radar,” you admit quietly, in a rushed tone. Your accusation hushed, even if it was just you and Lee.

“You see him do anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not really,” you say, “but he talks for an awful long time to the high school aged girls after services. I don’t know it just gives me a gut feeling about him. Those poor girls, like Lenora- they don’t know when their being sweet talked and manipulated. Just makes me nervous. Married man talking to those girls so shamelessly- charming them.”

“I’ll try to swing by and check the place out,” he nods, looking a little lost in thought.

“That’ll make me feel so much better,” you smile. He grins and licks his lips, before taking a swig of his drink.

You both take a seat at the table again, finishing up dinner fairly quickly. You asked him about his day and he told you all about Miller and the papers, and you listened intently. You felt bad he had to go through that. Yeah, Lee was not a picture-perfect husband by any means, you were sure. But the actions he faced today still sounded harsh. Somewhere in your mind, you thought he deserved better. Maybe he didn’t, but the man was clearly in pain and it tugs at your heartstrings.

“Since you made dinner, I can clean up,” he offered.

“That’s really sweet. Thanks, Lee,” you smile shyly. This all felt so… domestic. You were acting like a married couple. It’s not like the two of you could help it. You were living under the same roof and existing in the same space. This is how people who live together interact. That’s it. Right?

“I think I’ll call and leave a message at the donation center so they send someone to get those boxes tomorrow,” you decide. You head over to the living room where you kept your phone, pulling out your address book out of a drawer in the table the phone rested on. Lee nodded, taking your dishes and his own over to the sink.

You sit on the couch, criss cross and hold the base of the phone on one knee, resting the receiver up to your ear with your elbow. You dial the number, the phone clicking every time the dial falls back into place.

Lee can’t make out what you are saying, but he chuckles recognizing the tone of voice you use- like a customer service voice he’ll hear you pull out at the bar often. He does the dishes, and just lets himself escape into his fantasies again. His mind was racing about what those women at Church thought was happening between the two of you. He knows its wrong, but god he wishes it was real.

He imagines that after you both have gone to bed you show up at his door in the middle of the night- looking like how you did the night you agreed to let him stay. You confess how much you want him and he just pulls you into a rushed kiss- you just overtaken by the sudden relief of all the pent-up tension. He imagines how it would feel to hear little moans against his lips coming from you when he slips his tongue into your mouth. He can almost feel what it would be like to have you tightly against his body. His hands being allowed to just freely explore you and how you must look under him, begging and needy-

“Okay, that’s all set,” you announce walking back into the kitchen. “Hopefully they’ll send someone over first thing.”

“G-good, yeah,” he stutters out, pulling himself out of his daydream. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I go in at 4,” you reply, not noticing how flustered he is. He’s relieved to see you looking in the fridge and it gives him a chance to adjust before you saw how hard he was.

“Need a ride?” He asks. “I can pick you up on my way home.”

“Perfect,” you smile when you turn to face him. “Thank you. I’m gonna see if there is anything good on the television we can watch.”

“Sounds good, doll,” he says, relieved when she finally heads back into the other room, taking her seat on the couch again, clicking through the channels.

He needed a minute before heading in there. Every time you were in the room he felt like his skin was on fire. He knew if he wanted to stay, he needed to get a grip. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He joined you in the living room and sat on the other end of the couch. There was an old picture playing on the black and white set.

Neither of you could pay attention to the damn screen no matter how hard you tried. The tension in the room- between the both of you was borderline unbearable. Both of you were stealing glances at the other, not realizing the other person was doing the same. When you would look over to him, his eyes would be toward the tv set, seeming to be watching the picture- but he also looked incredibly tense. You wondered if he was hanging out with you because he felt like he needed to. You feel awkward now thinking he’s just sitting though this to not be rude.

Lee was on the whole other side of the world in comparison to what you thought he was thinking about. He was trying desperately to gain some level of composure. He felt like he was acting like a teenager again, fucking jumping out of his skin sitting next to a pretty girl. He hadn’t felt like this in a very long time. An hour went by, neither of you saying anything- him just lost in his own thoughts. But then he felt your head hit his shoulder ever so lightly.

You had fallen asleep. He wondered how long you had been sleeping before he even realized. Here he was stressed out as ever and you are relaxed enough to fall asleep. He doesn’t even dare move. His whole body goes stiff, not wanting anything to wake you up. He wouldn’t move from this spot for all the money in the world. You were blissfully unaware at how you cuddled up next to him, your face resting in the crook of his neck. You were going to be the death of him.

He very carefully wanted to just make himself a little more comfortable. He slowly moved the arm you had pinned and adjusted so it was wrapped around your shoulder. His fingertips just grazing your skin where the sleeve of your t-shirt ended lightly. Your skin was so soft, and he bites his lip, thinking about how soft you must feel everywhere. The man was so goddamn touched starved. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was this close with Janie. It had to have been years since he experienced something this intimate. After a very long internal battle, he allowed himself to rest his head on top of yours and close his eyes for a few. He didn’t intend on falling asleep, just bask selfishly in the moment for a few minutes.

You opened your eyes and yawned softly. You looked at the clock and saw that it was well past midnight. You closed your eyes again, too tired to realize the position you were in at first. Then, a minute later you realized, and your eyes shot open again. Cuddled up to Lee’s side, his arm loosely around you. His head rested on the back of the couch, looking so peaceful.

Fuck. You were so embarrassed. You hoped he had fallen asleep first and would have no knowledge of this interaction in the morning. You carefully untangled yourself from him, moving as slow as possible to not wake him up.

You clicked off the TV and then turned off the lights, getting ready to retire up to your room for the night. You felt so hot, flushed with pure embarrassment. Your mouth was dry and the only thing you think about was cold water. You tip-toe into the kitchen and fill yourself a glass, drinking the whole thing at once. You turn off the kitchen light and leave your glass in the sick before heading upstairs.

You change out of your overalls and shirt and put on your blue nightgown. You head across the hall to the bathroom, navigating in the dark. You brush your hair, wash your face and brush your teeth before climbing into your bed and swaddling yourself with your many blankets. Your eyes are heavy, and the feeling of being in Lee’s arms is still present on your skin.

His large hands sliding up your thighs is what jolts you awake. His calloused hands moving their way up your body, pushing up your dress as they went. He dips down and presses a tantalizing kiss to your lips, one hand cupping your cheek softly and the other rubbing over your wet panties. You kiss him back, opening your mouth and letting his tongue in. You can feel his hand slip under the waistband of your panties and his thumb gently rubs your clit. Without even questioning anything, you moan and he trails his lips down to your neck, and you shiver at the feeling of his stubble. You arms wrap loosely around his neck, and your fingers play with the ends of his short hair. He groans against your skin and the sound just sends a shiver throughout your whole body. You can feel him smile, and he pushes two fingers inside. You gasp and he muffles your sounds with another deep kiss. You feel overwhelmed by how good it feels combined with the terms of endearment that fall from his lips as he praises you.

The ringing of your alarm clock scares the shit out of you, and your eyes fly open at the sound. You’re breathing heavily, and you feel your hair sticking to your forehead. You let out a heavy sigh, and click off the alarm, and then cover your face with your pillow. You felt how wet you were without having to check. You had a sex dream about Lee. A fucking wet dream about Lee Bodecker.

Part Three

Taglist:

@asylumaniac​

@rosalynshields 

@jiminlife2k18

@scar-is-bi

[phoenixwrites]

I posted 2,805 times in 2022

That's 1,109 more posts than 2021!

619 posts created (22%)

2,186 posts reblogged (78%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@tjmystic

@deliriumsdelight7

@thestraggletag

@lodessa

@percyjacksonfan3

I tagged 1,392 of my posts in 2022

Only 50% of my posts had no tags

#hellcheer - 192 posts

#eddissy - 168 posts

#phoenix personal - 143 posts

#stranger things analyses - 46 posts

#stranger things - 23 posts

#phoenix watches stranger things - 21 posts

#eddie munson - 18 posts

#inuyasha - 17 posts

#evil cbs - 14 posts

#bookwyrmpendragon - 13 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#honestly i hadn't connected the two cases except as two things that made me deeply uncomfortable with how they were portrayed on social med

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Dating in New York absolutely sucks. I have been stood up twice at restaurants, bars, and coffeeshops, there is low effort and energy on the man's part, and it's just been horrendous for the past year.

So, following the advice of an absolute icon of a TikToker, I decided to raise my standards and demand reservations at a restaurant 24 hours in advance, I will not be having sex with them in lieu of a committed relationship, the men will be paying for all dates (but Phoenix! this isn't feminist! until the wage gap is solved men pay for dinner end of story), and for them to either pick me up or send me an Uber. Put all of these directives in my profile.

The craziest thing?

IT FUCKING WORKED.

My Uber will be here at 6.

45 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

#4

It's a more common ship than you might think, Dustin.

49 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#3

Me: All right, let's see what this Euphoria show is about.

Euphoria: This is Kat. She's online a lot.

Me: Right on.

Euphoria: She loves the Luke x Lorelai ship! And a couple of other subpar ships from other shows I don't watch.

Me: Nice.

Euphoria: She writes fanfic.

Me: A relatable character.

Euphoria: Here she is writing a Captain Swan fic--

Me:

51 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

#2

I FORGOT WE SAW THIS BITCH IN REAL LIFE.

God, this makes the funeral scene all the more infuriating--Chrissy's main abuser talking about her in this horribly patronizing, preachy way.

Jason nodding along with her cements his shittiness more to me.

107 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I have a lot of feelings about Wayne Munson and how he had zero doubt in his mind, from the very beginning, that Eddie had nothing to do with Chrissy's murder.

And how he probably reiterated over and over again to the cops and Hawkins Post how it wasn't Eddie and they just steamrolled him, because he's a dumb Hoosier hick in a trailer park, what does he know? Can't trust trailer trash.

And now he has nothing left but to sit and smoke and worry if his boy's okay or if this horrible monster that killed that sweet cheerleader was after him too.

259 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[shelf-care]

Winter Nights

Wolverine x OC

Lipstick mark series Pt.2

| Part 1| 

So its snowing in south Texas! that never happens. My parents are panicking and I’m sitting here writing fan fiction to calm myself. What could go wrong? 

So Victor Creed shows up in this because I’m a pantser and I come up with ideas as I go and see if it works for the plot, (For this miniseries I hope it does.) I was also watching Kate and Leopold last night (It’s become a valentines tradition for me over the last few years.) And Liev was in it. So theres that. 

Rated PG-13

Mentions of sex, medical examination, a former abusive relationship, obsession with an individual, slight violence, touch starved wolverine. 

“Your mission Miss hope?” The woman in the white lab coat asked while holding a clipboard ad clicking a pen multiple times, it had to be some sort of nervous tick. Maddie tipped her head back, swallowing her saliva, she was clad in a sterile white medical gown, her red hair sprawled out on the also white pillow as another individual examined her. “My mission was to come into contact with the Man known as wolverine, or James Logan Howlett.” She took a breath, the cold instruments the nurse had been using caught her rather off guard. “And you succeeded in not only finding him, but you managed to get a sample of his DNA?” The woman jotted some notes on the clipboard now, keeping her eyes locked on Maddie. The redhead looked away, staring at the ceiling stark white and formless like everything else in the room. “I did.” The doctor nodded her head. “We’ll be taking those samples back to the lab to confirm that its him. Until they are conclusive, you are free to go.” The young woman nodded watched as swabs left the room, she rather did not want to know what they wanted to do with him.

_

Blankly staring at the roof above her, Maddie couldn’t keep that night from playing over and over again. He was indeed her target, but, something was stirring in her, affection most likely. It would die within a couple weeks like it did with the men following shortly after. She knew he would be harder to kill. But he’d fall like the rest. Eventually. She closed her eyes, then she felt her phone buzz next to her. She reached for it, a voice message was visible. Holding the device to her ear, she heard his voice. A voice that in all honesty she enjoyed. “Look, I’m not that great at stuff like this. But I got your note, the other one, the one with the lipstick,” He paused, thinking about what he’d say next. “I thought we got on pretty well the other night. Lemme know when you make it back to the bar.” The message was short, and pretty sweet. He did care, at least a tad. Maddie slid her lips in a grin, she recorded a new message for him. “I’d love to meet again, this Friday at the bar?”

_

She waited at the bar again, it was cold, snow was on its way. This time the meeting was for more pleasure than anything else since her job was done, but it wasn’t a bad things to keep up with a target. The door swung open among the mostly empty bar. The few patrons turned their heads at the sudden commotion. In walked a man who was tall, very tall. Blond hair cascading down his shoulders, while some of it was put in a half ponytail. A long trench coat and fur, was joined by it, making him look that more intimidating. He made his way to the bar and sat down, eyeing Maddie like she was his new meal. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He said keeping his sight on the bar ahead of him while he ordered himself a large glass of whatever was the strongest drink at the bar. Maddie rolled her eyes. “You here to babysit me creed?” She asked drawing invisible circles in the counter. “Here more on pleasure Miss Hope.” He looked her up and down again and licked his lips visibly so she’d see it for sure. He knew this made her one of two things. Hot and bothered, or pissed off. it pissed her off this time around, and Creed preferred it that way.  “I thought we were past this.” She turned fully to him now. “You might be.” He drank down half the mixture of bourbon, whisky and fireball and faced her, chest puffed in pride and confidence, a pointed and toothy grin showed itself. “But I sure as hell wasn’t girly.” He scoffed as his fist hit the bar making the redhead jump as he got her attention and everyone else’s in the bar as a matter of fact. “We were just getting good when you left.” A fire lit in her heart, anger and passion apparent in her face she took a moment to compose herself. “Victor, they removed you from my squad and as my partner because of your behavior towards me. That hit was the last straw and I won’t be coming back and I’m sure you know that.” Her tone was low and threatening, looking at him, she grasped the glass and slammed down the rest of the liquid before putting down a few dollars as a tip. Creed thought it was adorable when she was angry, and decided to take it as far as he could.

As she zipped up her jacket and made her way out, the large man grabbed her by the arm. “We’re done when I say we are,” He pulled her close to him, his breath brushing warm against her throat as his claw ran down her cheek. “And I’m not done talking to you.” His yellow eyes bored into hers, she felt her heartbeat quicken, she despised and loved this feeling, that’s what got her into this mess the first time. “I told you I was finished. You’ll get your chance with me another day.” She opened her hand to show her palm to him, illuminating a golden hue of color at the center and curving our like a flame, Creeds eyes didn’t change a bit, he seemed like he welcomed the challenge. “Sweetheart, if only you knew how much I craved that part of you.” He gave a guttural low laugh, daring her, as he smirked again, spurring her on. Seeing if she’d really follow through on her threat, which most of them were never hollow. “On any other occasion Creed, I’d let you have it.” She placed her hand on his fist that was still clenched around her arm. “But I’m not in the mood for playing nice.” His hand went visceral, veins becoming more visible as one could see the vitality of the large mutant being taken on by someone a third of his size. “Let me go.” He threatened as he began to feel his muscles failing him in his left arm. “You first.” She smiled, the grin widening as he raised his claws at her. but was too weak to do much else. She laughed and leaned into his ear whispering in a sensual voice, her chest touching his to pour more salt onto the wound. “I thought you craved this part of me.” He could feel himself become more drained the longer she stayed, he realized she wasn’t messing around this time, his grip loosened and she walked free, not another word was heard from Creed, and it would be like that till the next time those twos’ paths crossed. Creed was bent over the bar. He reached for his drink and it shook in his hold, and drank the rest fervently like he needed air, he watched as his hand shook like an elderly man and his hand similar to one too. “Babe’s been getting stronger.” He was captivated by the way her powers worked, he always had been.

 She was Outside, the wind howled and whipped the snow up, crating a curtain of nothing but white mist making visibility a little less than optimal. She pulled out her phone and started to text.

“Hey, the bar is full. Did you want to meet anywhere else for drinks?” She messaged him. Yes, it was a lie, but she didn’t want to be around Creed, for reasons that was obvious. She waited a few minutes till she saw the three dots pop up. “You wanna come to the trailer?” He asked bluntly. She shrugged. “Pick me up?” She shot back quickly. “Sure thing.” Was all he said back.

_

Maddie threw her head back against the mini sofa that was in the one room airstream. The warmth enveloping her as she sighed after her first sip of beer. The snow on her jacket seeping into the fabric further, making a chill run down her spine. “Thank you.” She said raising her head to look at him, happy to be warm. “Don’t mention it.” He said mirroring her actions. “I can’t believe you wanted to meet again.” She mentioned looking at him again, he was different from last time, but not. “I can’t either if I’m honest.” He sat on his bed across from her. There was a silence that fell between the two, but it was comfortable. “Sorry the bar didn’t work out.” Leaning forward trying to skirt the conversation along. “I’d rather be doing this.” He tilted his head referring to his drink. That made Maddie laugh through her nose a bit. “Really? You’d rather act like an old married couple than be out?” She teased him, but he looked at her for a moment. “Been there and done that.” She nodded. “I like this though. It’s nice.” She took another sip of her drink before throwing away the bottle in an open trash bin. “I never got to ask. What is it that you do?” She placed her palm under her chin and smiled, waiting for his answer. He played with his bottle, before drinking his as well. “What you saw the other night is what I’ve been doing for the last fifteen years.” He told her nodding and thinking about his past and his way of living. “I don’t remember much of what I did before.” Maddie looked at him, a blank face that he couldn’t make out, but made him curious. “You never told me what you did. How did someone like you wind up in this dump of a town?” He joked slightly but he wasn’t wrong, it was a little piece of nowhere. “I’m in military secret forces. I was stationed here, and have been here for the last three years.” She saw him tense at the subject. “You okay?” Her brows cocked at him becoming a little bit tense. She didn’t think he suspect anything, and she wasn’t outright lying about what she did. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He left it at that. She stood up and paced over to him, and sat down next to him. The mattress sinking beneath her. He looked at her not quite knowing what she was doing. She reached for his hand, and looked at him before she went any further. “You don’t seem fine.” She silently asked for permission and he let her have his hand. She traced his palm slowly and gently, comfort in every movement. He was starved of this type of affection. Most people were, but him more than others she found just from the way he acted. She laced her fingers in-between the spaces where his were not, interlocking their hands. He closed his eyes her for a split second, every curve, every bump, every imperfection written on her face made him want her more as he reveled in the feeling of them being so close. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He warned her, taking his hand out of hers, though she stopped him. “Don’t tell me what to do.” She was firm, but the firmness was met with a soft smile. Logans eyes studied her for a minute. No one had ever stopped him like that, not to his knowledge anyway. This time when he went to remove his hand she let him leave, but it was to place his hand under her chin and bring her closer, and there, their lips met, and he pushed her below him while she wrapped her hands around his neck and raked her hands through his hair, all while closing her eyes enjoying the warmth compared to the freezing outside.

_

While the campers light was dim, if one were close to it you could hear giggling, rocking, calling one another’s names in the dark, and a little obscene noises that you would only hear if you where right next to the airstream. Then there was the figure that stood a few feet away from the little camper, a figure that towered over most men. The same body that was blonde, and in the bar with Maddie that same night. “You made a big mistake girly,” He peered down at his still healing hand, it looked aged, like his hand was ten years older than the rest of his body. 

[henry-cavill-baby]

To Study (Insects) │ 1

Pairing: Clark Kent (MoS) x Original Female Character

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 3k~

Summary: Connie and Clark, two peas in a pod. She didn’t know if it was his soft blue eyes or his Mother’s sweet blueberry pie that had caught her eye, but boy howdy, was she caught. 

A/N: Nothing! Enjoy!

The best thing about living in Kansas was that nothing ever happened.

There was a mile wide sprawl of corn that was breathtaking to few; it had started out as nothing much but rows upon rows of dirt that now bore sprawls of golden richness that could truly blind any tourist with its beauty.  Most of it was picked and sold—Kansas was full of rural farmers and farmers markets, but some just stayed for show.

And the Farmers Market typically consisted of stay-at-home mothers trying to sell their overpriced sugary sweet lemon bars to any sucker who would pay seven dollars for four measly pieces.

Most of the teens at the local high school got rides home from their parents, but Connie Mayfield knew that you couldn’t pay her Father, Walter, to pick his daughter up from school. If he did, then he’d no doubt miss a rerun of Baywatch, and that simply couldn’t happen.

A tune that rivaled the airiness of a flute flew from the 14 year olds mouth on her long walk home. Connie Mayfield whistled a nonchalant melody as her uneven pace took her closer to home. 

The young girl had a lot on her mind; there was a test on Friday that was covering another form of division that looked to confusing to follow, and Alice’s birthday party was on Saturday and getting a gift for the little girl who had everything was harder than it seemed. The years of gifts consisting of dolls and bright hairbrushes were long over. Maybe she’d like a new bracelet or a set of earrings.

An irregular rock bumped against the tip of her shoe and she grinned, lobbing it off into the cornfield, a little thud echoing through the golden maze. 

It was tempting—the idea of taking the not so short shortcut through the tall stalks, if just to feel a little more free for just a moment, but the sounds of distress just up ahead had her little sneakers speeding up. She turned to the bend and grew furious at the sight of three boys throwing around her friend.

“Hey!” she bellowed, running closer before screeching to a halt in front of the teen holding up her friend by the lip of his shirt, “Leave him alone!”

Isaiah Matthews grinned with his fist still clutching the younger boy's shirt, “Oooo, is this your girlfriend, Kent?”

Clark Kent sneered up at the taller boy, fists clenching in rage. 

“Leave her alone,” he grit out, watching Isaiah sneer with confidence.

“I didn’t take you for a pussy, Kent, but I guess I was wrong.” He dropped Clark with a grin and sauntered to the near growling girl. 

“Connie, right? My dad says you Mayfield’s are trailer trash, and I can see where he gets that from.”

His eyes gave her a visible up-and-down, “No wonder only a freak would like you.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before Clark launched himself onto the back of the bully, pummeling him to the ground with hateful eyes. The two other lackeys ran, but Connie went and pulled Clark back before he did something he’d regret. The two of them fell away from the older boy, watching him with guarded eyes.

Isaiah spat at ground near their feet, “Fucking freaks.”

Connie waited until he was out of sight, turning to Clark and frowning at his disheveled appearance. “You know, I’m not always gonna be here to save you, Clark.”

He wiped away the sheen of dirt and sweat covering his upper lip, refusing to meet her eyes. “I didn’t need your help. I could’ve handled it.”

“Oh yeah, you totally had it under control,” she mocked with pursed lips.

He frowned at her sarcasm and picked up his dirtied school bag, looking down the path home. It was a quick walk to the farm, and mom had probably already started dinner, which is why it made no sense when he turned and muttered, “Can I walk you home?”

Her eyes went wide at his question, upper teeth nibbling on her pink lip, shrugging, “Sure, if you want.”

They both nodded and started a slow walk to the Mayfield’s. Connie’s fingers twitched at her side while different conversation starters nearly passed through her lips every few seconds. The urge to ask why he never fought back, why he let people call him a freak raced through her mind, but only silence hung between them. It was almost annoying that he never stood up for himself.

There was something mysterious about Clark that intrigued her 14-year-old brain; no one had ever let him live down that time he’d locked himself in a closet (and torched the doorknob till it was bright red). 

He was just the guy who kept to himself most of the time.  

And still she kept on eye on him the entire time, watching his own twitching fingers pick at the loose lining of his jeans, lip biting in a matter similar to her own, brows furrowing in thought, though they always did that. He looked cute when he was deep in thought.

Cute? I think Clark is… cute?

A deep redness flooded her cheeks and her lips pursed into a thin line, trying not to visibly speed away from the other boy, but Clark noticed everything. There was something keen about the way his mind worked; almost predatorial. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, the cute furrow in his brow deep as she faced him while willing away the redness of her juvenile cheeks. 

She nodded but didn’t meet his blue eyes. They were like oceans—I’d swim in Clark’s eyes if he’d ask—and her stomach always fluttered when he looked at her.

She expected them to fall back into silence, now halfway to the Mayfield farm, but Clark piped up, “Are you excited for the field trip tomorrow?”

A flutter of excitement rang through her veins, but she held back and simply nodded. “It’ll be a nice change from sitting inside all day.” Clark nodded along with her running words, “I heard the museum has a section on insects and their habitats, and I hope they have a butterfly display. Or—or maybe a real entomologist will be there.”

Now bugs- those were cool. Anything from crickets to butterflies to beetles, each one more interesting than the last…except arachnids. You could keep those eight-legged freaks as far away as humanly possibly.

Clark slowed their pace but kept his distance, “Is that what you wanna be when you grow up?”

She grinned and tried to slow the internal monologue of bug talk.

“I think when I grow up, I’ll leave this place behind and follow my dreams.” She said.

“And I guess those dreams do include insects of all types. They really do get a bad reputation sometimes. I think they’re just as delicate and interesting as humans.”

“Really?” Clark wrinkled in his nose, “My dad sprays the fields for bugs in the summer.” She hit his shoulder as he let out a snort, “I think I’ve squashed a few flies for mom too.”

She shook her head and couldn’t see Clark staring at her golden locks as they shined in the sun. “You’re the worst, Kent.”

The both chuckled and came to a halt in front of the Mayfield farm. It was more run down than the other houses in the area and the roof could’ve been mistaken for caving in, and she knew it looked worse on the inside. The moldy green color of the roof had seen better days, and the porch could barely hold the old rocking chair that her dad liked to sit on in the mornings. Clark would never know how the inside looked even worse.

“Do you know what you wanna be when you grow up?” She asked with a soft smile, taking no offense as Clark tried, once again, not to meet her eyes. The swoop of his brown hair was nearing the tops of his eyes, but she knew he wasn’t inclined to cut it. He didn’t buzz his hair like the other boys.

“I…” He paused, foot kicking the uneven dirt under his shoes. He bit his lip lower lip and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, met her honey eyes.

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath and lightly shrugged, “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know who I am. I think I wanna figure that out first, ya know?”

No, she didn’t know but asking Clark to explain how he felt could feel like pulling teeth. Golden honey stared into the aquamarine sea, two sets of young lips wet and wanting, and Connie picked at her pants, nails bending with surprising force.

The door to the Mayfield hold slammed with a grotesque force, and the two teens jumped away from one another as Walter Mayfield grunted his way to them, to Clark.

“’Thought I told you to stay away from my daughter, Kent!” Walter bellowed, nearing the fourteen-year-old clear-eyed boy who showed no sign of backing down with his head held high and chest jutted out. 

“I don’t want you lookin’ at her, touchin’ her—“

Connie finally yelled, “Dad!” and stood between him and Clark, protecting her friend from the unjustified anger of her dad. She felt Clark’s fingers grip the back of her shirt and tug her closer, just as Walter stood over them with beady eyes and steam shooting from his ears.

“Get in the house, Connie.” Her dad growled, never looking away from Clark.

But she shook her head and pushed against her dad’s chest, ignoring Clark’s fingers still gripping the back of her shirt. “We weren’t doing anything, go back inside, please.”

A startled yelp left her throat as her dad’s strong fist lurched her forward by the front of her shirt, throwing her to the ground and out of Clark’s grip. The air left her lungs and the dirt felt dry under her fingertips, watching as Clark seemed to vibrate in place, glaring deadly at Walter.

“If I ever see you ‘round here again, Kent.” He spat, “I’ll make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”

The threat hung between the adult and young teen, and Clark tightly nodded and stalked off down the dirt path, not once looking back at Connie, never seeing the tears in her eyes.

Walter stared down at his daughter with a sneer, “Get inside. I won’t say it again.”

The dried dirt caked under her nails as she scrambled to stand and bolt inside, not taking note of the woman asleep on the couch that she’d never seen before, or the beer bottles covering the kitchen counters. The stairs creaked as she fled upstairs and shut her bedroom door, clicking the latch in place. A heaviness sat in her chest as her backpack thumped to the floor.

Beaded tears fell down her thick cheeks and light cries sounded through the room.

“—I want that boy away from my son!” the mother of Peter Ross screeched from the Principal's office. “Am I the only one who understands the situation? That boy lifted a bus from a lake. A bus! What kind of monster are we allowing to walk with our children?”

The meek father of Alice pepped up, “But—But he did save them, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, Martin. I don’t feel safe with him here, and neither should any of you.”

Martha Kent hung her head and left the Principal's office, ignoring the calls from the desperate parents. There was nothing else she needed to hear from them, especially insults about her son. The door shut with a click, and her heels clipped the floor with each step.

She did her best to smile at Clark, but he’d always seen right through that. He sat up straight and looked her in the eyes, his soft voice rivaling his posture, “How did it go?”

She knew Clark had heard every word already and that lying would only make him defensive. “About as well as you’d expect, honey.” She patted his shoulder and ushered him to stand, “C’mon, let’s go home.”

The car ride was silent aside from the tapping of Clark’s blunt nails on the fabric of his jeans, and the shaking of his leg. He was such a nervous boy—her Clark—and it pained her heart to see him to try to hide how this whole thing was tearing him up inside. They normally played the radio, Clark usually flipped stations and rarely settled on just one, but silence was all they heard.

Jonathon Kent watched his wife pull up, and frowned as Clark bolted from the passenger seat and fled into the backyard. He stepped outside just as Martha shut off the car and gingerly stepped out, walking into her husband’s arms with a deep sigh. Exhaustion ran deep in her veins, and Jonathon wished he could take it away.

“That bad, huh?” He muttered into her brown locks, feeling her nod into his chest.

“Talk to him.” She begged, trying to keep the tears at bay, “I think…I think it’s time he…” They both turned to face the barn with heavy hearts, knowing this would be for the best.

Jonathon nodded and released Martha, shooting a thin-lipped smile her way as he made his way to the backyard. His heart thumped as he eyed his son, whose legs were hanging off the back of his pickup, shoulders hunched in his blue hoodie. As he got closer, he could hear the sniffles from his son.

“Clark.” His son turned and wiped away the wetness on his cheeks. “I just want to know what happened. I’m not mad, I promise.”

Jonathon sat next to his son and watched his boys lip quiver. His words came out with a thin veil of pain, “I wasn’t thinking, Dad.” A hiccup escaped his throat. “She was so scared… I just couldn’t let her die."

The water was rising too fast—it was cold and soaked the kids instantly— and Clark watched as Connie grew frantic in her efforts to open the window enough to crawl out, or maybe she was trying her best to keep the water from flooding the already half submerged bus. Cries and screams rang through the drowning bus, and Clark swam, trying his best to make it to Connie

“Connie!” He yelled, reaching forward to snag her shirt and pull her away from the stream of flowing water.

“Oh god, Clark! We’re gonna die!”  Her screams were shrill and almost hurt his ears, but the smell of her fear mixed with the smell of tears and piss coming off the other students had him looking for a way out.  

But the water was nearing the top of the bus, and all he could hear was her cries.

“Son, I thought we talked about this.” He started, patting his own thigh, “We have to keep what you can do a secret.”

“They were all going to drown, how could I have done nothing? They didn’t deserve to die.”

“Clark, I just—“ Jonathon paused, watching the sunshine across the cornfield that spanned miles upon miles. It was an array of reds that shined upon the old graying barn. 

“I just want to protect you, son. And sometimes, when people see something they don’t understand, they get scared and lash out. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

And finally, Clark asked the question that Jonathon had known would always come.

“Why am I like this, dad? Why am I so different from everyone else?”

Memories of finding their son, raising him to be the young man who sat at his side—through all the times he’d been different than the other kids, and knowing all of the hardships that were yet to come. It was almost enough to make him cry.

Almost.

Jonathon stood up from the truck and stood in front of his son, placing both hands on his small shoulders. “I’m going to show you something, son, and it may make things make a bit more sense. But no matter what—“ He pressed his palm to his sons chest and smiled,

“You are my son.”

Part 2

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Eleven): Angels of Doubt, Bearing Broken Halos

Notes; The chapter title is pretentious as fuck, but I don’t care. I’m very happy with the beginning of this chapter so I’m very excite to finally let y’all read it fully. Overall, this chapter definitely is more of the build up that this uhhhh nice little religious family mayyyyyhaps be a bit less nice than originally thought.

Word Count:  10451

Chapter Warnings: Cult Angels, Animal Death (in the context of dangerous wildlife needing to be put down), A Judge Wolf, Indoctrination, Assault, Me Awkwardly trying to write himbo Nick Rye for the first time

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

For the previous chapter; click here!

They don’t go to The Spread Eagle that night, staying too late making plans. But it’s all for the best in the end, Casey would be more busy in the evening and if she’s interrupting his work, he’ll be less likely to listen. It’ll be easier to talk to him tomorrow just as the bar opens, before anyone arrives and during down time. Regardless, when she comes back to the trailer park. She breaks next to the registration building, checking her mailbox in case Cassie or Joseph had wrote her back, but no such luck. Maybe it will take a while for them to even get it?

A breeze passes through as she leaves the building, that familiar flower smell itching at her nose. The trailer park has fields of those white flowers surrounding it, the delicate petals seem ghostly in the moonlight. Moonflowers, the trailer park has to be named after them, these flowers that haunt her in her dreams. A shift of movement, far back in the expanse of flowers catches her eye. Someone tending to the flowers with a hoe, but she doesn’t know anyone in the trailer park who takes care of the flowers. Surely, if they had a grounds keeper, they’d start with the trash within area; not the flowers surrounding it. 

Dahlia decides to park her bike before investigating, not wanting to leave it in the open while she journeys through the flowers. She pulls out her phone once she’s parked, tucking one earbud in. If only to ease her nerves as she walks to confront the odd stranger. 

“When you told me I should text your brother.

I was walking with a blunt in my hand.

Double Jameson was in the other.

I was drinking like a spiritual man.”

She stands at the edge of the field of flowers, little the scent tickle her nose, watching the…person in the distance. Their gender, or at least presentation of it, unidentifiable. She blinks her eyes, when did she start seeing spots? Her tension eases, body and mind relaxing. 

“I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room.

I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room”

And she walks further through the flowers, brushing through them, fractals blurring her vision with every step. Her head swims and floats away, fuzzy as the smell surrounds her. She drags her fingers along the blossoms as she walks, grounding herself with their velvet touch, the contrast of her black painted fingernails against them. 

“And I could barely stand

He said, "Get some water, man"

'Cause they don't understand

I'm not what they think I am”

As she nears them with every unsteady step, she sees them more clearly. And truly they’re a ghastly sight. Shaved head and dirty white clothes; the smell of the flowers strengthens as she nears them, turning acrid with an edge. That smell comes from them, like they’d bathed in chemicals infused with the flowers. The mask latched around their grime coated face, covering their mouth is marked with the Eden’s Gate symbol. They pay her no mind, focused on tending to the moonflowers, their eyes are glazed nearly white and milky. Like Dahlia’s eyes looked her first night in Hope County, when she dreamed of Faith despite having never met her. 

“They can never ever understand me, no

What I came from, what I was before”

“Are you…okay?” She asks them, despite her own swimming vision and weak knees. 

“HelpmeFaithhelpmeFaithshieldmefromsorrow.” 

They grumble, not sing, the lyrics to one of Eden’s Gate’s songs. Their voice a rasp as if they can hardly breathe, each word running into the other, energy manic.  The moonlight shining on gaunt cheeks and white eyes makes them look dead, a walking corpse before her. She reaches out, gingerly touching their shoulder, hoping touch can break through whatever state they’re in. 

And then they scream, swing the garden hoe and bashing it against the side of Dahlia’s head. She’s knocked to the ground, head hitting rock and dirt. The creature screams out and jumps on her, trying to maul her. Vacant eyes staring down at her, her body and head too fuzzy to even give it the reaction it deserves. She should be scared, she should be terrified, but she isn’t. 

Gently, she puts her hands on each side of the person’s neck, applying pressure, not enough to strangle but to hold it at slight distance. It tries to dig dirty fingers into her flesh through her jacket, screaming mangled cries of pain or anger, she can’t tell as she looks over its face. The haunting glow of moonlight on their dirty face. 

“How you get to heaven with a broke halo?

How you get to heaven with a broke halo?”

“Help me, Faith,” Dahlia sings the song it used to soothe itself, “help me Faith, shield me from sorrow… From fear of tomorrow…”

And a switch has been flipped, it stops screaming. Body going lax, fingers no longer trying to tear her apart as she sings the church song, own voice overlapping the contrasting melody of her music. 

“Help me Faith, help me Faith, shield me from sadness…From worry and madness…” 

And it’s slipping out of her loosening hold and climbing off her, resuming it’s gardening work, as if she never existed at all. On trembling legs and with her vision still blurring, she leaves, not sure of what else to do. A part of her knows she should be more panicked, more concerned, more anything, but then she takes another inhale the floral scent around her and she can’t find the energy. It fades as she leaves the flowers and their scent behind, vision steadying as she enters her trailer, the full reality dawning on her just as she shuts the door behind her. 

“What the actual fuck!?” She screams at her empty living room, because what the actual fuck did she just see?  Her mouth is dry and her brain a mess as distress finally shines through the haze. 

Dahlia digs her phone out, shutting off her music and doing a search. Her vision is still fuzzy with prisms of shifting colors, body still light and floaty. They were there the first time she saw Faith, they constantly itch her nose and make her eyes see things. The church compound was covered in bushels of them.  

Moonflowers, she searches, and sure enough the images show the white trumpet shaped blossoms. Also called datura, angel trumpets and it’s down a rabbit hole. They’re toxic and hallucinogenic, can be harvested for either medication or poison. Scopolamine and atropine are in them; Dahlia does not even remotely know jack shit about chemistry. But a quick search shows scopolamine has been used in everything from nausea medicine to truth serum. So…she may have just hallucinated the person? From the flowers… but when she touches her forehead, where the person stuck her, blood stains her fingers. She really did get hurt…

Dahlia grabs her sketchbook, sitting down on the floor before her coffee table as she’s done so many times before, and she draws what she saw. Painstakingly she tries to recreate them, to draw the gaunt of their cheeks and the grime on their skin. To catch the white emptiness of their eyes. And she dates the drawing, scratching out the date in as neatly as she can. And on the next page she draws her first weird dream, sketching herself vomiting flowers and blood, those moonflowers. She adds the rough date she remembers it happening in the corner when she’s satisfied. Then she draws herself burnt and marred with flowers blooming from her mangled remains, hand moving of it’s own accord to match the details, shutting out the rest of the world as she works to carefully craft every line. She dates it as well and then draws the newest one, smears of ink on bare skin with flowers blooming from them. 

Once each image is created with a date etched in its corner, she sits back and rakes a hand through her hair. She’s had nightmares before this, certainly, but never as frequent or vivid as these. Flowers are the recurring theme and she’s not sure why; maybe the datura are doing it? The scent of them always present, making her sleeping brain conjure odd images. She already has a list of things to do; the apple festival is the highest priority, but she still wants to know what each flower means and what on earth is working in those flower fields, what connection it has to Eden’s Gate. 

She’s exhausted, graphite from her pencil smudged and sticking to her hand. But she feels more at ease having put her demons into art, having created something out of this. There’s still a lot of questions in her mind. This constant back in forth of trusting the church only to doubt them again is frustrating. 

Dahlia barely manages not to fall asleep in the shower that night, exhaustion clinging heavy to her leaden muscles and pulling at her eyelids when she lays down on her couch. 

The junior deputy is running on two hours of sleep, coffee, and an energy drink the next morning. But that doesn’t stop her from swinging into The Spread Eagle as soon as it opens, Pratt in tow since they’re technically on shift. 

“Something wrong, deputies?” Mary May asks when they stride in, Dahlia can already see Casey through the kitchen window, prepping food for the later in the evening. 

“No, we actually just wanted to talk to you and Casey about something.” 

“What’s up?” Mary May raises an eyebrow and the chef’s head perks up. 

Dahlia explains Debbie and Doug’s situation, that John is trying to buy them out, at the very mention of the Seed sibling’s name she can see Mary May tense. But the tension lessens, smiles on the bartender and cook’s face when the deputy mentions their plans for an apple festival. 

“I know we could use more cooks selling food there and Debbie mentioned you work with the Testy Festy, Casey.” 

“Plus, figured the band that plays here, might be willing to work a night or two if you talked to ‘em Mary May.” 

“Look, you had me at pissing off John Seed,” Mary May says, grinning, “I’ll talk to the band and Casey, you damn well better help them out.” 

“Come around here, sister,” Casey calls out, voice deep and booming as she walks around into the kitchen already warm as starts prepping food, he spares her a glance as he minces vegetables, “your destiny hangs off you like a coat, the soul of a warrior, and the heart of a hero.” 

Dahlia blinks, taken aback by his unabashed and weirdly soulful compliments. She doesn’t really believe in destiny nor does she see herself as a warrior or hero, but she certainly appreciates the thought. Her heart, that of a hero apparently, warms and she smiles after another second.

“So…you’ll help?” 

“It’s important for people to gather, to bond, and feel a sense of community.  I’ll call Deb and Doug to offer any help I can.” 

“Thank you so much!” Dahlia grins: Casey is definitely an odd duck, but he cares about the community and willing to help. So, a fantastic guy in her book. 

“Happy to help, sister.” 

First two people dragged into their plan, Pratt and Dahlia give some friendly goodbyes before being on their way. This is already coming together and Stray is nearly vibrating with excitement as they leave the bar. 

The pair continue to do their patrol while swinging in to talk with folks about the festival. They swing by Lorna’s Truck Stop, Dahlia unable to resist snapping a picture of the giant cheesy cow statue outside of it before they walk in, door chiming.  An older woman is talking to someone in a green hood, the woman with chubby cheeks and blue eyes pushing a little bag of mini pies into the hooded person’s bruised hands. 

“Here you go, Jess, on the house as always.” 

“Thanks,” the hooded girl responds, an awkward gruff to the words before she leaves. When Dahlia catches a sight of her, Jess has a face of mottled bruises and cuts. 

“Anything I do for you, Deputies?” 

“We were hoping you could help us out, Lorna,” Pratt starts. 

And just like Casey and Mary May; Lorna’s all bright smiles and kind eyes, happy to help. Even pushing bags of the free small handmade pies into the deputy’s hands before they go. There is something undeniably heartwarming at everyone’s willingness to help. She crams one of the little pasties into her mouth, sugary berries on her tongue as they get back into the cruiser. 

The shift passes by with ticketing traffic violations and stopping in to rope people into helping out. Hudson and Brennan sending texts letting Dahlia know that Grace has agreed to help and Adelaide will too if only so her boytoy Xander can have a smoothie stand during the festival. Riding through the valley, Dahlia sees a billboard advertising gun lubricant, Grace Armstrong’s face plastered on it, though her eyes on the board seem off. Dahlia too far away to put her finger on it, but it looks like that part of the advert has been damaged.  An award-winning sniper and veteran; well loved in the community. Dahlia only saw a glimpse of her at the barbecue, talking with Hudson, but it seems clear just how important she is to the county. 

Within an hour of their shift ending, Doug and Debbie have them called out to the orchard. Their smiles are bright, the middle-aged couple holding each when the deputies pull in. Pratt’s still trying to pretend to have a grumpy face but there’s still a slight smile pulling at his lips as they get out of the cruiser. 

Arms are wrapping around Dahlia in a second, Debbie pulling her into a tight hug, the young deputy tenses hands hovering awkwardly at the woman’s sides. 

“Thank you, so much,” Debbie says, pulling away but her hands still on Dahlia’s shoulders, “we’ve been getting calls all day, everyone wants to help us do this, thank you so much.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s no problem…just happy to help,” Dahlia flusters under the attention, proud of what she’s done, but squirming under the weight of gratitude. 

“Well, we certainly appreciate it,” Doug tells her with a smile, “but we called you out ‘cause we got some flyers made, figure’d it help advertise, though word of mouth already seems to be doing us a lot of good.” 

“We could definitely hand them out, see if some places are willing to hang them up too.” 

“And now we’re the flyer brigade,” Pratt grumbles under his breath and Dahlia jabs her elbow into his side. 

“I’ve already been coming up with everything I wanna sell at the festival, but if you two have some free time Sunday, I could use some taste testers too,” Debbie offers, with a smile, “least I can do is feed you for all your help.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dahlia agrees readily. 

“I…could probably swing by.” Pratt tries so hard to sound above it all, but free apple pie can apparently draw even him in. 

“Can’t wait to see you both then!” 

They wave goodbye to the couple, Dahlia packing the flyers with her into the cruiser car. The ending hours of their shift and the day is spent finding places to hang them up. Mary May posting them in The Spread Eagle, hanging in the window of the garage and general store, Whitehorse even letting it be posted up in the window of the department.  Dahlia’s ride home that night takes longer as she stops at places to ask if they’d hang up the advertisement; after getting Lorna’s Truck Stop and Audrey’s Diner to put them up. Dahlia stops at the Hollyhock Saloon, bartender agreeing to hang it up in the small bar, the rookie deputy giving a quick hello to Brennan and some of the other officers gathered at his table. The 8-bit Pizza bar hangs them up without any question, happy to help, and Dahlia manages to convince Darcy to hang it up in the registration building of the trailer park before she heads in for the night. Dahlia crashes easily that night, sleep finding her as soon as she hits the couch.  

The next day Stray is hit with déjà vu as they’re called out to deal with Eden’s Gate blocking another road. She’s still not sure why this is apparently a thing they do. And to her misfortune it’s not Waylon or members of the church she likes waiting behind the cement block when they pull up this time; but Theodore and Lonny. Because of course. 

“Deputies,” Lonny forces a smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Well, you’re breaking the law, so there’s that,” Pratt says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, heard you two gave some of our members a hard time about blocking off a road,” Theodore comments, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’ll refer you back to the fact it’s against the law,” Dahlia grumbles, “why on earth are you blocking the road anyway?”

“Got some property nearby that needs some work.” 

“The church own a lot a property?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, that was Waylon’s reasoning too. 

“Soon to be even more when John secures the orchard for us,” Lonny has too wide of a grin as he looks Dahlia over, “though rumor has it some little cop is trying to get in the way.” 

“Irrelevant, you’re breaking the law. Just scram and there won’t be any issues.”

“Look, h-“ 

“We’ll be going then, deputy,” Theodore puts a hand on Lonny’s back, reigning him in. Though the way Lonny sneers tells Dahlia that their conflict is only resolved for the moment. 

Regardless, Pratt and her watch as the men yet again pack away the blocks and clear the road out. Dahlia still can’t quite figure out why on earth they’d need to or would want to block the roads. Between that and the strange person she saw in the flowers, bearing the churches symbol, things just seem to get weirder and weirder. She considers for a moment asking the church members there about the person with the shaved head, but she has a feeling asking more questions will just put her higher up on Lonny and Theodore’s shit-lists. 

“Still don’t get why they keep blocking the roads,” Dahlia comments when they get back in the patrol car. 

“They’re assholes, what more reason they need.” Pratt shrugs before starting the cruiser engine and Dahlia just doesn’t feel like it’s that simple. 

“Well, if they do it again, we don’t really have a choice but to arrest ‘em do we?” 

“Can’t let them get away with shit forever; three strikes seem fair.” 

Questions still run through her mind; but there’s no way of getting answers at the moment, left to bury her curiosity as they leave back down the winding roads. Hours pass and bright blues shift to pastel pinks as the sun sets upon Hope County. 

That evening at The Spread Eagle, she’s listening to Pratt and Hudson argue about something; she can’t even be sure what but she’s just amused to not be at the butt of the humor tonight. She’s cramming fries into her mouth when she feels eyes on her. 

“That’d be her right there,” Mary May says, pointed out at Dahlia as she talks to a man the young officer has only seen in passing. Shaggy dark hair under a cap and beard on his face, though the last time she saw him he’d been wearing glasses. She thinks it’s Nick, only having seen a glance of him at his own barbecue. 

“If I’m in some sort of trouble, I’d like fair warning, Mary May.” Dahlia comments, unsure why anyone would be trying to find her in a crowd. The blonde’s smile eases her nerves as she comes across the bar, the man walking Dahlia’s way. 

“No trouble, Deputy, Nick here was just wanting to know which one of you started the apple festival. He’s going fly a banner ad around for Debbie and Doug.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome.” 

“I just wanted to find out who was helping them out, Nick Rye,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’ve been crop dusting for Doug and Debbie for years, last thing anyone needs is for John to get his hands on that place.”

“That seems to be most people’s sentiment.” 

“Told ya just about everyone is sick of his shit,” Mary May says with a shake of her head, “it’s about time he doesn’t get what he wants.” 

“That son of a bitch has been hounding me and Kim for months now, trying to buy our place.”  Nick’s jaw clenches, irritation coming off him in waves. 

“I know Kim damn near broke his nose for it.” 

“Wait what?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow; how often does John harass people? 

“Listen to this,” Nick gesture emphatically, now sitting down next to Dahlia, “asshole shows up to the house while I’m gone, trying to bully Kim into selling the damn place, while she’s pregnant. What kind of sick fuck shows up at a man’s house while he’s gone and tries to strongarm his wife into signing the place over. Fuckers lucky I wasn’t home.” 

“You not being home was kind of the point of when he showed up.,” Mary May reminds him, “besides, no offense, but even ready to pop I think I trust Kim’s right hook protected her more than yours ever could.” 

“Now, that’s just mean,” Nick says with a slight pout to his face, reminding Dahlia of a tall puppy dog. 

“It’s okay Nick, anything you lack in strength you make up for in…” Mary May seems to have to search for the next word, normally brains would be the natural contrast, “well, you just keep being you.” 

“Never really thought about being anyone else; well except maybe an eagle, but I don’t think that counts.”  

“No, it doesn’t really count, Nick,” Mary May says with a slight laugh.

Dahlia stifles her own laugh raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. Nick is sweet and willing to help out with the festival, so she won’t spend too much time questioning his desire to be an eagle. It’s not long before Pratt and Hudson fall into conversation with the pilot; allowing Dahlia to comfortably settle into the background as the night winds down.

It’s not even the noon the following day before things around Hope County manage to pick up pace.  Sirens and lights flashing as Pratt rushes them up north towards the mountain; there’s a palpable tension. Crisis situations are rare; most days filled with handing out traffic tickets and dealing with roadblocks. Hell, the county is boring enough that the sheriff would allow them to actively work on a festival during shift hours. So, a call requesting EMS, all deputies and units, and the F.A.N.G Center; is definitely out of the normal. 

They see the gathering of people as they pull up, Whitehorse is talking with workers in F.A.N.G Center shirts, Hudson and other officers gathered around and EMS workers carrying someone into the back of an ambulance. 

“Pratt, Rookie; over here now!” The sheriff calls out for them and they rush over. 

“What’s going on?” Pratt is the one to ask. 

“Wolf, possibly rabid, but we don’t know. It attacked a pair of hikers. We tried to tranq it but nothing is bringing it down, we gotta find it and put it down before it hurts anyone else.” The F.A.N.G Center employee explains to them. 

“No way to get around killing it?” Dahlia asks, she understands it can’t always be avoided, but she would prefer not to.  

“We hit that damn thing with enough tranq to take down an elephant and it still tried to maul us before running off; tried to get it with a snare pole and it broke it. We can’t rehabilitate an animal we can’t get near and if we let it go; it’ll hurt someone else.” 

“You heard the man, alright,” Whitehorse’s voice booms as he starts addressing everyone, commanding attention “we got a wolf to find, grown wolf, white fur and aggressive. I want everyone to stay in groups; we have tranquilizers, snare poles, and what’s used to put ‘em down. We want to try to do it as humanely as possible but protect yourselves and keep an ear to your radio. We need to make sure the trails are safe and can’t let anyone else get bit; move out!”

The deputies are given tranquilizer guns, the snare poles, and syringes filled with pentobarbital. Though, given what they’ve been told, she’s not completely sure how effective any of it will be. If the wolf has enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant in it already and is still moving; as well as having previously broken one of the snare poles, then how on earth is any of this suppose to work? 

But she doesn’t voice these concerns as she follows after Pratt, Hudson, and another police officer tagging along so they can maintain a decent sized group per Whitehorse’s instructions. 

The mountains are beautiful, she thought that when she’s gone hiking before, but even during this tense situation she finds herself amazed by how gorgeous it is. Bright green summer grass and towering trees as far as the eye can see. Mountains that reach up to kiss the bright blue sky. 

Dahlia stays at the back of the group, letting Pratt and Hudson lead as she keeps her ears and eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The sneer pole is across her shoulders, her wrists on top and holding it there as she walks. She half listens to Pratt and Hudson talk; something about people making up werewolf rumors because the wolves have been acting wilder and wilder lately. She’s reminded of her meal at the Grill Steak, that man who warned a group of people about wolves. He claimed they were trained by Eden’s Gate; but those still just sound like conspiracy theories. 

Tension crawls up Stray’s spine, skin forming goosebumps at the sensation of being watched, then the sound of snapping branches coming from forests that surround the trail she walks along. She moves without thinking, leaving the trail and her group behind, following where she heard the noise. 

Branches and brush scratch at her arms as she ventures deeper into the wooded area; then she sees his back. Jacob Seed, why does there always seem to be a member of their family just around the corner when trouble happens? 

“Something you need,” he says, not bothering to turn and face her, examining his red rifle. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“I shouldn’t be,” he spares her a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes rife with condescension, “last time I checked it’s a free country, ain’t it?” 

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a wolf running around; possibly rabid. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” 

And he laughs; dry and deep, the sound making her raise her eyebrows. Why is the idea of being mauled by a rabid wolf so funny to him?

“You worrying about me?” He asks, finally turning to face her in full, shifting the bright red gun to the holster on his back. 

“I mean, yes? My job is keeping the public safe and you are a member of the public.” 

“Pfff, you’re just a pup,” he says walking past her, “be better off watching out for yourself.” 

His hand is large and rough as it ruffles her hair while he walks by; his palm and fingers nearly encompassing the entire top of her head. His hand is probably bigger than her face she realizes, heat flushing up her face though she’s not sure of why. He’s so condescending and patronizing and fucking giant; the last point isn’t entirely relevant but it’s still true. 

“I’m a deputy, don’t patronize me.” She says, reaching up to grab his hand from her head, capturing it in her own. His rough scarred hand is nearly double the size of her own; warm calloused skin against her own. 

“You having fun there?” He asks, when she doesn’t let go of his hand right away, instead pressing her small hand back against his palm, comparing the immense size difference. He really could probably wrap one hand around her entire head. 

“Your hands are so big, wow.” 

“’Preciate it pup.”  

And he laughs again, still dry and brief in it’s sound, pulling his giant hand from her smaller one before he leaves. She glares at his back; corded muscle shifting beneath his black tee shirt. Despite her pout, she can understand why he’d see her unable to defend herself in comparison to him. She’s been confident in her physical abilities for a while; but she imagines a man like Jacob isn’t scared of anything. 

“Rook, where the hell are you?” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio as Jacob walks off. 

“There was a hunter out here, I was warning him about the wolf,” Dahlia explains herself, she wasn’t suppose to leave the group per Whitehorse’s orders, but no one could blame her for warning a civilian. There’s something odd about thinking of Jacob as just a hunter or civilian; though she’s not quite sure why. 

“We’re in the woods near the Visitor’s Center, get over here, you pain in the ass.” 

The radio crackles out and Dahlia gets on her way; she knows the Visitor’s Center is south of where she is. Though she has no sense of direction, so that has little bearing on her ability to find it. She hikes down, feeling that’s the closest approximation to south that she can get, sticking a little closer to the woods than the paths. She prefers the shade and atmosphere of being surrounded by the trees. 

But the further she travels down, the sparser the trees grow, exposing Dahlia to the sun. Green grass and branches crushing underfoot as she stumbles down the terrain. She can just imagine Pratt and Hudson’s frustration, but warning someone about a rabid wolf is certainly understandable.

A drawn-out howl echoes through the woods, making the deputy freeze. Sunlight is warm on her face and stinging at her eyes as she turns towards the sound. A spire of craggy rocks coming off the mountain; the silhouette of a wolf howling with the sun behind it. She uses her hand to shield from the sunlight, straining to see more detail. Seven distinct darts stick from the wolves back; tranquilizers. 

Dahlia quickly tugs her uniform shirt off from over her black tank top, wrapping the fabric around her forearm. Not quite the cushioned guard they use for training police dogs, but it will provide some barrier between it’s bite and her skin. Worse case scenario, she’ll be taking rabies shots once everything is done. She holds the syringe of pentobarbital in one hand, she has her firearm too if that’s unable to bring the wolf down, but she prefers to let it go peacefully if she can. 

She stays crouched down as she approaches the peaked edge of the mountain, craggy rock building up to a spire, levels to climb up to reach the clearing where the wolf sits. Dahlia stays low as she climbs, moving as quietly as she can, using a blue grappling hook handle to help lift herself up to the final level. There’s a gap in the clearing; a log showing a passage between craggy rock to craggy rock; boulders surrounded by grass. She can see the wolf, but it’s yet to noticed her, another howl echoing out as it cries out to the sky. 

It’s beautiful and she’s all at once ashamed that it has to be put down. Matted white fur with a black nose and lips; it’s eyes are luminously silver, like moonlight. Red is mottled across it’s face, red frothing around it’s mouth, as well as a brighter crimson stroked across it’s brow and down it’s nose. Across it’s furred shoulder blade and spine are seven different tranquilizer darts that were shot at it, how has it not passed out? It doesn’t see her not right away, then it’s nostrils twitch and it’s lips pull back to snarl, red tinged drool dripping down it’s maw. Then it’s gaze is on her, growling and baring it’s teeth. 

And then it pounces.  

She puts up her cloth wrapped forearm, the force of it’s body hitting hers knocks her onto her back. It’s teeth snap into the fabric, as it tries to chew through her arm, the edges of fangs just grazing the flesh beneath. One large paw presses against her wrist, attempting to pin her limb down so it can rip the meat off her bones. 

Dahlia pulls back the plunger on the syringe before slamming the needle into the thick of the wolves neck, sinking through fur and flesh before she pushes the chemical through. The wolf snarls through it’s bite on it, then she watches that shine in it’s silver eyes die. It’s mouth goes slack and then it’s body falls limp on top of her. 

The deputy pushes the wolves dead weight off of her, getting up onto her feet, she touches the torn shirt wrapped around her forearm. Drool and blood has stained the green, small damage done to her skin under. It stings but nothing she can’t deal with; the idea of getting rabies shots worries her more. She crouches over the wolf and looks at it’s face, the red around it’s mouth is darker, rusted and clearly blood. But the brighter more purposeful crimson looks like paint. 

She remembers the warnings she overheard in the Grill Steak before; someone warning conservationists about wolves owned by Eden’s Gate. Though, he called them a cult. It’s not for sure or a real connection; conspiracy theories and paint. But, who could have gotten close enough to paint the wolf’s face? Who would want to? 

“Rookie,” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio. 

“Pratt…” 

“Rook, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Hudson threatens in the background. 

“Please, she’d probably like that.” 

Dahlia’s face flushes at Pratt’s teasing, she can’t say he’s completely wrong, but that’s not the point.  She hefts the wolf’s corpse up onto her shoulder, carrying it’s heavy weight, the head of the furry creature beside her head. It’s fur is soft and thick despite the matted nature. She’s not big on hunting culture, but the wolf would make a nice rug. 

“I got the wolf,” she says into her radio, holding it in one hand while the other keeps the carcass steady on her shoulder as she carefully makes her way down the craggy rocks. 

“What?” 

“I got the wolf,” she repeats to Pratt’s flat question. 

“What? Wh-where the fuck are you?.” 

“I’m on a big ass like spirally mountain thing.” 

“That tells us literally nothing,” Hudson informs her.

“Uhhhh,” Dahlia looks over the edge, of the elevated mountainside, “I think I see a helipad nearby?” 

“Fuck, I know where you are, stay put. Okay, do not approach the wolf.” 

“Uhhh, I think you misunderstood me.” 

“What do you mean?” Pratt asks and she can just imagine his raised eyebrow. 

“I mean, I got the wolf, I already put it down. We can call off the search, but, uh, I think we have bigger issues.” 

“Did you get hurt again?” 

“Hey,” she objects to his tone, “you make it sound like I’m always getting hurt.” 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, I did not get…seriously hurt.” 

“Oh lord,” Hudson grumbles in the background. 

“Look, that’s not the issue, alright. Just get up here and let Whitehorse know what’s going on, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Dahlia finds a steady rock in the clearing to pull herself up onto as she waits, since apparently Hudson and Pratt have figured out where she is. She tries to look for anything else on the wolf that could indicate it being owned; but nothing. Dahlia does find herself wondering why it’s fur is white? Aren’t white wolves usually those in snowy climates, for camouflage? 

She doubts she’ll receive any answers, so she tries to quiet her mind. The sun warms her skin where she sits on the rock, white wolf still up on her shoulder, ripped uniform shirt still wrapped around her forearm. It all forms an odd picture, she’s certain. 

It’s less than an hour or so before she hears the rustle of footsteps; Hudson and Pratt along with the other officer walking up the way to her. Pratt just stops a second and shakes his head, Hudson is rolling her eyes. 

“Hello,” Dahlia says with a soft wave. 

“What the actual fuck, Rook?” 

And she cracks up; unable to help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation and Hudson’s flat response. She may have already hit the highlight of her career here. 

“Stop laughing; it’s not funny, you could have gotten seriously hurt!” Pratt tries to scold her but he’s laughing through his words, the oddity of it all must be hitting him as well. Dahlia presses a hand to mouth to try and stifle her laughter as Hudson gets her radio out. 

The senior deputy radios Whitehorse, letting him know they’ve gotten the wolf. He tells them where to meet him with the body, so the veterinarian and F.A.N.G Center workers can examine it. Dahlia will be reliant on actually listening and following obediently behind the older deputies.

“C’mon, Rookie, let go.”

“Alright.” Dahlia hops down from her rock and starts to follow after them down the mountain. 

“You need help packing that?” Pratt offers, probably because the wolf is nearly the length of her entire body. 

“Nah.” 

“You just feel cool packing the wolf on your back, don’t you?” Hudson is the one to call her out, raising her eyebrow with a soft smirk on her lips, looking entirely too pretty. 

“Uhhh….” 

“God, you’re a dork.” 

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dahlia admits with a red face and shrug of her shoulders, happy to see Pratt and Hudson smiling at her dorkiness. 

“What happened with the hunter you were warning?” Pratt asks after a beat of silence as they keep walking, helping her over a craggy step with a hand on her hip to keep her steady as the weight of the wolf limits her movements.  

“Uh, asshole just patronized me and left. I don’t know why I still talk to him, he’s always a dick,” she says, rolling her eyes when she thinks about Jacob calling her a pup. He likes to comment on her being a puppy a lot. 

“Someone you knew?” Hudson asks, offering a hand to help Dahlia get over a large branch in the way of the path. The ease at which the two older deputies silently help her, makes a soft smile pull at Dahlia’s lips. Silently grateful for them as she answers their questions. 

“Jacob Seed.” 

“Seriously?’ 

“What?” 

“You don’t find it a little fuckin’ weird how the Seeds are always around you?” 

“I mean, they’re not around me anymore than anyone else.” 

“They really fucking are; you went to the barbecue, John jumped at the chance to rope you into that.” 

“Churches like new blood, it’s n-“ 

“You’ve apparently talked to Jacob more than once; I didn’t even know he could talk,” Hudson says rolling her eyes, “all he ever does at anyone outside the church is glare.” 

“She’s talked to Faith a lot too, apparently.” 

“I still don’t even know where she fucking came from.” 

“I’m still not fully convinced she isn’t a ghost,” Pratt tells Hudson. 

“She’s not a ghost,” Dahlia says with a roll of her eyes. 

“And you would know, because they cling to you like leeches, right?” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know what I think it is,” Hudson says after a moment, “you put up with Joseph’s creepy ass speeches and they realized you’d put up with anything.” 

“He’s not….that…creepy…” Dahlia says with zero conviction, because, well. He’s definitely off, but despite all the weird little red flags, he did help her and Cassie. So, he can’t be all bad. Even if his brother is taking people’s shit…and well…she still doesn’t know what the hell was up with the shaved head person. 

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.” 

“Look, we’ve had run ins with him before, he’s the weirdest creepiest person in this whole damn county and that is saying something,” Hudson shudders, “I’d take Zip lecturing me on being a government shill for nine hours over Joseph even looking at me for even a second.” 

“His stare is weirdly intense…” 

“All of them are weird; John’s skeevy, Jacob looks like he skins people alive in his spare time…Faith’s kinda cute, but at what cost,” Pratt tells her and eh, Faith’s not really her type. The Church Mouse is pretty, but a bit too delicate for the young deputy to really get those weird stomach feelings she gets around women like Hudson or Mary May. 

“Really, I didn’t think you liked women who are taller than you?” Hudson asks. 

“Faith is like barely taller than me,” Dahlia says with a snort, watching the pure look of offense on Pratt’s face, how could she be taller than Pratt? 

“How short do you think I am, Joey?’ 

“What?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, confused by their confusion, “ heard she was like six foot something with black hair.” 

“She’s like this tall,” Pratt puts his hand maybe two inches above Dahlia’s head, “and blonde.” 

“Kinda blonde,” Dahlia corrects, thinking of the youngest Seed siblings dirty blonde hair that fades to a slightly light color at the ends. It toes the line between brown and blonde fairly well. 

“Whatever.” 

“Someone told me she was taller than John, I know they did, am I losing my mind?” Hudson tries to think for a moment; gears visibly turning behind her green eyes. 

“Did you ever really have it?” Pratt taunts her. 

“Keep it up, asshole, see what fuckin’ happens.” 

The trio makes it down to where the sheriff asked, a parking place within the northern area of the county with little gas pumps but not much else. The F.A.N.G Center employees and the veterinarian with a stethoscope around his neck waiting for them as they make their way over. A worker with the center helps get the stiffening wolf off of Dahlia’s back, putting it into the back of a van so they can take it to be examined. 

“Good work, Deputies,” Whitehorse congratulates them and Dahlia grins at the praise. 

“To be completely fair,” Hudson interjects, “it was Rook who was able to get him.” 

“Hey, we helped…move the body…” Pratt jokes, in their own ways they’re both ensuring Dahlia gets her due credit and she can’t help but smile. 

“Well, outstanding work, Rookie.” 

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind worried about something.” 

“What’s that?’ The sheriff asks, the attention of him, the veterinarian, and center workers all falling on Dahlia. 

“The wolf has paint on it’s face, like a cross or something…which kinda makes me think someone owned it or…something?’ 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not all blood.” A worker looking over the wolf’s face in the van confirms. 

“There’s nothing else on it, but we definitely will have to keep that in mind.” 

“But, uh, what happens from here?” Dahlia asks. 

“I’ll test to see if it’s rabid or if anything else might be the cause for the aggression,” the veterinarian, his name tag she finally catches says Dr. Charles Lindsay, “I’ll let the hospital know and if needed, the hiker will get treated for rabies.” 

“Ah, uhh, is there any possible way you could let us know at the same time…well let me know…?” 

“Why…?” 

“I may have been slightly bit.” 

“Slightly?” Pratt is the one to yell out, incredulous at Dahlia’s description of her injury. 

“Just a little bit,” She brings two fingers close together in front of her for added effect. 

“Jesus fuck, can you just not get hurt for like a week?” 

“No, clearly not.” 

“Pratt, take her out to the clinic,” Whitehorse says with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t need a doctor.” 

“Yes, you do. Even if the bite ain’t too bad, you never know if it’s infected. Not only could the wolf be carrying something, but it had someone else’s blood in it’s mouth. This isn’t optional, Rookie, you’re going to the clinic and that’s an order.” 

Dahlia can’t and won’t argue with the sheriff on that. Instead shrinking slightly at the realization that her own disregard for her own safety has gotten her scolded despite her accomplishment. She doesn’t think about risks to herself; she needed the wolf put down to save others and if the worst case scenario is her own well-being being sacrificed, that’s worth it to help others, isn’t it?

“C’mon, Wolf-Bait lets get going,” Pratt says, giving her a light smack on the shoulder to follow him. 

“I’m coming, asshole.” 

She follows behind Pratt, back to the cruiser where they parked at the beginning of this day. The sun has long since set, the moon now bright and high in the sky as she climbs into the passenger side seat. Unable to stop herself from pouting slightly that she’s being forced to go to the clinic again. Even if she understands why. 

“Hey,” Pratt gets her attention as he starts up the cruiser engine, “if it makes you feel any better. I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery if it turns out to be a werewolf.” 

“Fuck you!” She yells out through a laugh; his dumb joke bringing a smile back to her face as they go off to the clinic. 

She’s at the clinic late that night, her injury doesn’t need stitches just some bandaging, some bloodwork and tests done to account for anything that could be wrong. Then she’s sent home with antibiotics; the entire time Pratt making jokes about werewolves and silver bullets like a nerd.  All that’s left is crashing for the night and eventually hearing if she has rabies. 

Dahlia sleeps easily that night; thanks to her adrenaline crashing down. She sleeps in the night morning, Saturday never being such a blissful treat for her as she manages to not wake up until around noon. 

The young deputy takes her time when she gets up, eating cereal and grabbing a shower. Faith mentioned her being able to see Cassie at the convent this weekend spending a day together, so that’s her plan on top of doing the rounds on roping folks into the Apple Festival. 

The Convent isn’t far from the trailer park, two buildings seated before the edge of a cliff with craggy staggered mountain range covered in trees beside it.  So many mountains and cliffs within the county. The larger of the buildings has dark roofing, a smaller white church with white latticing canopies between them. Like the material used to construct a gazebo and fields upon fields of the white moonflowers. 

Before Dahlia can step too far onto the property, a woman with long baby blonde hair with flower tattoos spiraling up her arms and the sin of GREED across her chest runs up to stop her. 

“Hello, is there something I can help you with?” 

“Yeah, I was here to see Cassie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our sister Cassandra is busy today.” 

“Sister?” Dahlia asks, blood running cold for a moment. She can’t seriously mean…Cassie wasn’t interested in joining, she just needed shelter.

“Well yes, she’s opened her heart to the Father, a child of Eden’s Gate now.” 

“Interesting…” Dahlia clenches her jaw, “Faith said that I could come see her today.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible, she’s been busy with finding salvation. She’s with herald John, giving her confession, she can’t possibly be bothered right now.” 

“I-”

“Deputy~!” Faith’s sing song voice rings out and Dahlia can’t help but still feel angry, they were supposed to help Cassie, not convert her. The youngest Seed sibling rushes over, nearly floating with the ethereal energy only she can manage. Her white floral dress of the day has a halter neckline and flowers are woven into her braided hair. 

“Faith…” 

“I’m so sorry; I heard, I know you were excited to spend time with me and Cassie today, but I’m afraid things just became too busy with her deciding to join us here.” 

“Yeah…what the fuck?” 

“Excuse me?” Faith says, her pretty little smile fading for a moment. 

“Cassie needed shelter, not Jesus, so I reiterate…what the fuck?” Dahlia gestures wildly, anger tinging her words. Her blood pressure rising and heat crawling up under her skin like pins and needles. 

“Cassie is an adult, she made a choice to join us. Surely, you can’t deny her that freedom, deputy?” Faith’s face pulls into a pout, making Dahlia feel unreasonable all at once, but Cassie was never interested in the religion aspect. 

“Yes, she’s an adult, but she was vulnerable, and I don’t think leaping into a religion when you’re in a shitty place is the best move. I-I wanna talk to her myself.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that can’t happen, not today. But, maybe next weekend or you could write a letter of course.” 

“She still hasn’t responded to my last letter…” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith puts a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder, meant to be comforting but the deputy flinches away, “as I said, it’s been impossibly busy, she’s been studying our beliefs and methods of joining. It’s a long process at times, very time consuming, but I assure you…Cassie opening her heart to the Father doesn’t mean it’s been closed to you.” 

“Yeah, sure, just too busy.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy too, haven’t you?” She tilts her head delicately to the side, still smiling. 

“I have?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. 

“Mmm hmm, John’s already learned of you helping put together an apple festival.” 

“Oh, yeah, Debbie and Doug wanna save that place so why not, I figure.” 

“Yes, we’ve been hearing all about it, John’s not exactly thrilled.” 

“Nothing personal to it…” 

“I figured, I’m not upset, I promise,” Faith offers a soft smile, “the orchard will end up in the rightful hands no matter what. John just worries a lot about getting land for our church, after all we’re growing by the day and need space for our people.” 

“And Debbie and Doug worry a lot about keeping their livelihood, ya know?” 

“Like, I said, I have no ill will over it, I’m just interested to see you’re so full of surprises.” 

“I am?” 

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, but offers no more information, like she knows a secret that Dahlia doesn’t. But before Dahlia can ask another question, a sight among the convent makes her breath catch in her throat. 

Shaved head men and women; tending to fields of those flowers, masks across their face. So, they’re definitely with Eden’s Gate as if she really had to question. They work silently, tending to the fields of moonflowers in their white sweaters. 

“Who are they?” Dahlia asks, giving Faith a pointed look. The girl’s eyes move back and forth from the deputy to the workers. 

“Oh, those are our angels,” she answers, grinning, “they’re high ranking members of our church, so devoted to The Father they’ve taken vows of silence and dedicate their lives to helping The Project. Amazing, aren’t they?” 

“Vows of silence, huh?” Dahlia says, more to herself than Faith. Then why did they mumble lyrics and scream out…why would they attack Dahlia? Is Faith lying to her, she’s got to be, right?

“You know, deputy, if you’re so interested in The Project, The Father would still happily let you join our family.” 

“Hmmm, I’m sure, didn’t realize there was a huge process to it though…” Dahlia comments, hoping Faith will elaborate, what the hell kind of hoops did Cassie jump through? Confession, is all she really knows. 

“Well, “ Faith grabs both of Dahlia’s hands in her own, smiling, “we ask for our new family members to prove they see the truth of our faith, to prove their dedication, rid themselves of their sins and make sacrifices in order to truly cut their ties with sin.” 

“That’s-“ 

“Faith, there’s a call from the conservatory!” Someone calls out and Dahlia’s words die on her lips; the notion that Faith’s description is vague and generally unhelpful. 

“I’ll be right there, see you later deputy, hopefully we can meet with Cassie next weekend.” Faith waves her goodbye and then leaves. 

Stray straightens her jacket before leaving the convent, a flood of unanswered questions and doubts in her mind. Everyday something new worries her about Eden’s Gate. If Faith’s lying…that’s fucking bullshit. She doesn’t want to imagine that Faith would lie to her face like that. But, why would their oh so special angels, even the name makes her roll her eyes, be screaming and murmuring despite vows of silences? Why would they attack her?

The rest of her Saturday is spent speaking to people about the Apple Festival, roping Chad from the Grill Steak into it. At least, she believes she did, she’s not completely sure of anything he says. His dialect unintelligible, so she just upped her cajun dialect until she barely knew what she was saying either. Its good busy work, getting places to hang up advertisements, though her heart and mind are somewhere else the entire time. She’s thankful that most people are just genuinely invested in helping; because she certainly isn’t getting by on her charisma. 

Her night is spent with trying to distract herself, but thoughts always coming back to the weirdness of Eden’s Gate, to her doubts. Wondering what exactly led to Cassie’s conversion… She’s being silly, she tells herself time and time again, but something just doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe she’s overeating; seeing connections and red flags where none exists. But, the case remains that no tv, manga, music, or drawing can distract her that night. 

There’s still a slight cloud looming over Dahlia when she arrives at the orchard Sunday, ready to taste Debbie’s baked apple goods. The sun is high in sky and the smell of apples lifts her mood slightly; but she finds herself still distracted as she parks her bike. 

“Deputy!” Debbie greets her and Dahlia gives the warmest smile she can muster. The older woman’s smile helping lift some of that cloud. 

“Hey.” 

“Staci’s already here, c’mon, we’ll sit in the market stall,” Debbie gushes bring Dahlia over to the picnic tables that are under the covering; where they first talked about the festival. 

Pratt is already there; the smell of baked sugar and apples hits Dahlia’s nose before she even sees the array of food Debbie’s put out. Apple pie, apple dumplings, apple scones, and she’s sure that’s just the beginning. 

“Hey dumbass,” Pratt greets her around a mouthful of apple pie as she sits down next to him. 

“You couldn’t wait like five minutes?” 

“Nope.” 

“Ass.” 

The deputy’s feedback is predominantly noises of happiness; neither really food critics but happy to be shoving it in their mouths. The gloomy cloud is starting to lift by the time they’ve finished off a pie; cinnamon, sugar, and apples warm on her tongue. Apple dumplings settle warm in her stomach and she forgets why she was ever upset. The scones are munched down next; cream sticking to her fingers and lips as she eats. 

“God you’re a mess,” Pratt taunts and she sputters a laugh when she turns to face him. 

“You have food in your beard, asshole.” 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and starts wiping at his face. 

The stuff their faces for a long while longer; strudel, apple cake, apple cobbler, candy apples, and fritters. Pratt leans back from the table, pressing a hand to his face after a while. 

“You alright?” Dahlia asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“Debbie is gonna have to roll me out of here at this rate; are you not fuckin’ full yet?” 

“…No…” She pauses, before shoving more cobbler and whip cream in her mouth. Debbie and Dough are off rushing to get more goodies. 

“Jesus fuck, Rook.” 

“You’re just a baby.” 

“Shut up,” he leans back away from the table and runs a hand back into his hair, “hey, Rook?” 

“Hmm?”

“You ever gonna shoot your shot with Joey?” 

“What?!” She chokes on her food, just barely stopping it from flying out of her mouth, where the actual fuck did that come from? 

“Your little crush on her, you ever gonna do something about it?” 

“Like what?” 

“Ask her out, you know, like people do.” 

“Yeah…why the fuck would I do that?” She cannot grasp his logic here. 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that when people have crushes; they ask the person out.” 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that that would be really fucking stupid.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I already know the answer, there’s no way she’d say yes, and frankly if she did I’d be concerned.”

“Concerned?” 

“Yeah, who in their right fuckin’ mind would say yes to me?!” 

“So, you wanna act weird around her forever and never deal with it?” 

“That was the plan.” 

“I’m just saying the sooner you rip the band-aid off, the quicker you can act like a normal person around her.” 

Dahlia sighs, she doesn’t want to act like a freak around Hudson for the rest of her life or for her little crush or whatever to get the way of life. Pratt knows more about this crap than her, because everyone does. So, if he’s saying this would help, maybe it would? But, her brain still is struggling. 

“But I already know she’s gonna say no, you know she’s gonna say no, literally anyone with a functioning braincell knows she’d say no. So, why would hearing her say no make a difference?” 

“Its like closure and shit; I think it’d help.” 

“Ugh, just sounds like an excuse to make an idiot out of myself.” 

“Compared to the genius you usually are?” 

“Fuck off.” 

She swallows down a mouthful of strudel before the conversation can continue, but Pratt’s words stick with her. It’s not as if she needed any more on her mind, but she got it anyway. The two continue taste testing for Debbie, though the subject of Hudson never comes up. She’s not sure why Pratt is suddenly so keen on helping her work through her little crush, a friendly gesture, she figures. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could stop turning into a red-faced mess around the oldest deputy. 

It’s late when they finally finish tasting everything; Dahlia giving friendly goodbyes to Pratt and the couple before she goes back home. Her weekend coming to a close with her falling asleep with a stomach full of baked apples. 

She’s woken up to her phone ringing; instead of her alarm. Dahlia already knows well that despite shift hours, the nature of their work and the higher level of being deputy means that being called out at odd hours is expected. But her blood runs cold when she sees sheriff Whitehorse is the one calling, something is wrong. 

“Sheriff?” She answers, sitting up on the couch. 

“Rook; I already called Pratt and Hudson, I want you all at the clinic now! It’s an emergency!” 

And that’s all she gets before the call ends. She throws on a uniform and runs out the door, jumping on her motorcycle. Mind racing with each passing second. The hurried and frantic tone in Whitehorse’s voice flaring anxiety inside of her. A million possibilities shooting through her mind as she rides towards the clinic; is it about the wolf? Has there been a murder? Is someone she knows hurt? Could it be an officer? 

She’s practically tripping over herself as she climbs off her bike, running into the clinic. The staff is a mess, nurses rushing frantically to attend to someone. Words of transferring, stabilizing, blood transfusion. Something is wrong. Each word swims around her head, but she doesn’t know who they’re talking about. Then she sees Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt at the front desk. The three living closer than her. 

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia asks running over; all three’s expressions are tense. Pratt shaking his leg, Hudson digging her nails into her arms until her knuckles turn white, and Whitehorse looking a moment away from collapsing. 

“It’s Pastor Jerome,” Whitehorse tells her, “someone attacked him.” 

“Left for fucking dead,” Hudson interjects, a crack in her voice that Dahlia’s never heard before. 

“They’re trying to stabilize him long enough to transfer him to a hospital in Missoula. We need to make sure it stays secure, no telling if whoever did this won’t try to do something again, and we need to be there to ask questions once he’s out of the woods. I don’t want this slipping through the cracks, Jerome’s a good man and he damn well deserves our best effort.” 

“Got it,” Dahlia nods in agreement to the sheriffs words.

Images of the man in the priest collar coming to mind. She’s seen him in passing, never a conversation between the two. But she saw him speak with Whitehorse; Pratt implied that both him and Hudson went to Jerome’s church as kids. He means something to them all and that’s clear in just how serious it’s being taken; obvious in how shaken up they all seem to be. 

She stands next to Pratt, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, wishing she could offer more. He tries to give her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, too worried about the pastor. 

Why would anyone attack him? His church is modest, nearly dying out from everything she’s been told, it wouldn’t make sense to rob him. Hope County has some less than accepting residents; but the idea of a potential hate crime is a hard pill to swallow…

All Dahlia can do is wait with her coworkers, listening to the frantic yells of nurses struggling to save a man’s life. Heart in her throat, anxiety telling her that any second this will become a murder investigation as she watches the hands on a clock ticking away…

[bangtanblurbs]

intro: never mind

song: Intro: Never Mind

first experience: i remember when the Never Mind comeback trailer dropped - i was sitting in my dorm and it was absurdly late at night. i was preparing to go back home for the thanksgiving holiday and closing out what my university affectionately called “hell week” - a week in which nearly every class you’re taking schedules their final midterm exams and projects due in preparation to give you two weeks to study for finals. i was feeling really defeated. i’d decided to take on a really hard load of upper level economics courses that semester. i didn’t really care about school at this point. my grades were good, sure, but my motivation was completely shot. hearing yoongi’s voice, the emotion in it, it became almost like a mantra to me at that time. encouraging me to keep going. to make it through. day. by. day. i listened to the song on repeat so much as i pulled all-nighters in the library. it was my lifeline.

feelings/personal connection: as alluded to, this song for me - it’s pure pain, struggle, and perseverance. it’s full of spite, but not the kind that brings you down -- the kind that pushes you forward. for me, this song is the core of bangtan’s experience. they had to push through so much bullshit to get where they are. listening to never mind always has layered meaning for me. of course there’s the meanings associated with the struggles bangtan overcame, their dedication, yoongi’s story specifically too... turning on never mind and listening even without understanding the lyrics, you can hear that this is bangtan’s “we’re going to make it, we’re going to hold our head’s high and keep going. we are following our dreams, and with our conviction - nothing else matters” song. having been with bangtan for so long - seeing them fight like hell... this song is everything. known that they knew their worth even in 2015 when they weren’t getting the recognition they deserved and were being treated like absolute shit left and right. 

outside of the meaning for bangtan, this song strikes a core with me. growing up in a rural less than stellar suburb of west atlanta there weren’t many expectations for me - a young girl, pretty mediocre at everything she did. but i wanted a lot. i felt like an outcast in my community... i’m not sure how or why but everything i loved and fascinated was something my culture and community deemed strange. girls where i’m from, they get married before they’re 20, have kids before they’re 25... it’s all very linear. i wanted adventure, i wanted to think, stand on my own two feet. i wanted a lot for myself, things that nobody in my family wanted or understood. things that sometimes, they didn’t support. listening to never mind transported me back. i saw my teenage self struggling through my IB degree - fighting like hell to get into a good university - fighting like hell not to let that university swallow me up with temptations and malice. at the time of finding never mind i was in my third year of university. i felt like i was going to make it, but then what? never mind was my mantra - don’t give a shit, or a fuck, about those people at home. don’t care about the people at university who were rich, privileged beyond belief, and considered me stupid trash. i kept my head down and i ran. raising hell when i had to, fighting for myself.

even now, i’m an outsider in life. i’m pursing a phd - i’m living in a new city (washington DC)... i don’t belong here. i’m not the traditional type to walk this path. i come from a very modest background, my family never left the country, my parents never expected anything for my future. but i won’t mind them. things are hard, people question me, my mind, my thoughts, my identity, my legitimacy. and when it’s tough - i put on never mind and i shout with yoongi. nobody is holding me back anymore. i can see the light at the end of my journey, i will get there, and those that doubted me for any moment - never mind them. 

song breakdown

musically: there’s so much here. there. is. so. much. here. from the very start of the song with the crowd cheering - this brings about the notion that yes - BTS has made it *yoongi* has made it. they have fans, they perform in front of crowds, they’ve achieved something that those who didn’t support them thought they never would. the mic tapping, the screech, the coughing -- lets us know we’re about to get a story, something heartfelt. he’s nervous to share it. gathering confidence. (truly i feel like never mind is one of the first bangtan songs that speaks to the group’s PERSONAL experiences coming up in the industry) - it’s something new, something that they’re nervous to share, different from love songs and more traditional narratives that they typically share with us. the piano backs yoongi in the beginning, drums and a beat come in as the lyrics pick up - it’s understated, it lets you really focus in on the emotions in his voice. something about it is truly haunting. the beat picks up during the bridge and levels out to a nice calming tone as namjoon and hoseok come into bring in the chorus - the MANTRA - of the song “NEVER MIND, NEVER MIND”

vocally: it’s all rapline here. and it’s all emotion. from yoongi’s first breath, you know you’re going to be sent somewhere. he’s going to tell you a story. a deeply personal one. you can hear his change tones, he giggles at points where he needs to emphasize the fact that those who counted him out are finally proven wrong, they’re finally eating their words as he rises and meets his success. he speeds up the rap as the song goes on - it’s like running - the start is slow, labored, but over time it builds to a fantastic speed and bottoms out with even chanting. this is the story. these 7, yoongi among them, they started out slow, but damn they’re running by the time HYYH pt. 2 drops. they are running like hell - and they’re going to make it. the fact that hoseok and namjoon join in on the chorus is also telling -- perhaps yoongi added them on the track because without the three of them, they wouldn’t be living this journey, maybe he’d still be stuck at the pace he was running before. now they’re united - they can join together and fight those that held them back. hoseok brings his upbeat tone - namjoon brings his soul, and rapline completes the song together with yoongi uttering the final bars in a soft soothing voice - almost like he’s telling us, don’t mind those that hold you back either, we are here, you can do whatever it is you want as well. 

lyrically: i could give a three hour lecture about these lyrics. as we all know, never mind was written by yoongi. the song starts out offering us some insight into how yoongi continues on despite all the shit he deals with - “i only look forward and run” it’s almost like he’s offering us this advice as well, just focus on what’s in front of you and keep going. he talks first about his success, he’s finally “become the pride” of his family. but then he dives into the pains he’s overcome - acknowledging the common thought that “teenage years mess you up” (something with which we can likely all relate to - somehow those teenage years are when you’re the most insecure, and also the years when you usually take the most heat when it comes to deciding who you are and where you want to go with your life). yoongi remarks that the only thing that’s changed about himself is his height - i wonder if he feels the same now - and he speaks to the fact that his youth is something that he carries with himself into the present. it motivates him. it’s made him, him. yoongi had to overcome a lot of hardships, people telling him he would be the very demise of his family as he fought for his dream a music career. but he kept going - he says “i only lived how i wanted, guided by my own beliefs” and he taunts the listener who may have doubted his ability to make it “how do you think i’m doing now?” and states he wants “to ask the several people who prayed for me to screw up - does it seem like my home is going broke, you bastards?” this is the spite that yoongi carries. the pain. despite looking only forward and not being concerned with the haters - he acknowledges that he was outcasted because of it, he wants them to see that they were wrong, that they messed up in their evaluation of him. 

yoongi’s words move into the bridge - they continue their powerful message. he acknowledges that he’s failed, but because of his youth that he continues to carry he can pick himself up on it. “if you can’t return, go straight through your mistakes and forget them all. never mind.” he encourages us to do as he did, if you mess up - why carry it forward? just keep running forward never look back. 

yet yoongi maintains his humility through all of this. he acknowledges, letting the hate and doubt roll off of you, it isn’t easy -- “it’s not easy but engrave it onto your chest” (which jimin quite literally did - NEVERMIND - a reminder that he needs to hold his head high and keep going). yoongi continues to offer encouragement “if you feel you’re going to crash - then accelerate more, you idiot.” when you’re at your lowest - that’s when you really need to forget what the others said, go so fast and so hard you have no time to consider them and their ignorance. that is comfort. this song is nothing but pure comfort. 

the chorus brings in the thoughts that yeah, there’s a lot you can’t change - there’s thorns along the journey of life - but you have to keep going. especially when you carry your youth, your immaturity, don’t give up. just keep going. yoongi repeats several times “if you feel like you’re going to crash - then accelerate more, you idiot.” using the same insults and pain that they threw against him in likely a layered sense. first telling himself, he’s an idiot for ever moving closer to crashing, but also laughing and calling himself an idiot in the way those who doubted him did - he was an idiot for chasing a dream, but damn he’s overcome and he’s made it. 

performance: to be quite honest, it’s hard to find performance videos of never mind. i was lucky enough to see it live when i went to HYYH in macau - but i don’t have any footage of it. typically though it starts with the entire venue dark. a single light will come upon yoongi as he begins rapping in his hooded coat. either way - the performance starts with yoongi alone, much how the story in the lyrics starts. it’s haunting to see him - typically facing the back of the stage - rapping his heart out. it’s like he has to build up his confidence before turning around to bear himself and his emotions to crowd. as the bridge hits - the hood comes off. the confidence is there, hoseok and namjoon join on stage. the mood is generally one of encouragement. 

as for the comeback video - it’s remarkably profound for an animated video. the video starts with the butterfly, often symbolic of rebirth. resilience. then we get the animation of a boy, playing basketball, alone, feeling hopeless. lost in what seems to be a visual maze - reaching for the butterfly. an a microphone in chains. the boy begins to run during the bridge - just running along. the butterflies surround him. it’s like he’s chasing a moment for redemption and rebirth. running towards that moment that the catterpillar transforms into what it’s meant to me. just as yoongi tells us - run, run like hell towards who you’re meant to be. don’t look back. 

tl;dr: never mind is a masterpiece. it’s raw emotion. it’s one of the first songs where we really get a bangtan member spilling *their* life story, their struggles, with us in a song. it’s highly relatable - and while it’s yoongi’s story - it also feels like a letter of encouragement to all of those listening. turn away from those that doubt you and run like hell. 

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch | Promising Young Woman (2020)

by Don Hall

In the pantheon of films made, only a handful stand out as truly understanding and communicating its time. Not documentaries or those based on true events but fictional stories that likewise mirror the specific zeitgeist (yeah, I used that term with a straight face) of a given time period or social movement.

Fifty years from now, when discussing the Black Lives Matter movement in the country, Get Out will be among the films watched for context on the American experience. It grasps the indelible feelings of the movement without mentioning it and is a stand-alone epic horror film at the same time.

The French Connection (1971) is not only brilliant but perfectly tells a tale of the beginnings of the War on Drugs instituted by Richard Nixon.

Casablanca (1942), unlike the propaganda films of most pre- and post-WWII movies, demonstrates an incredibly timely portrayal of the horrors of fascism, the values that heroes like Victor Laszlo hold, and illustrates an America that is a place for refugees to find freedom.

The Graduate (1967) is both a wonderful film and also expertly captures the transitioning from the idealism of post-Kennedy assassination to the craven capitalist emerging from the ashes.

High Noon (1952) is a grand cinematic device using clocks and real time as well as a window into the hysteria and paranoia of the McCarthy Era.

The Deer Hunter (1978), Fast Times of Ridgemont High (1981), Norma Rae (1979), The Great Dictator(1940), Wall Street (1987), and American Psycho (2000). The list is almost exhausting but spectacular at the same time. No question that you will, upon reading this, think of ten movies that fit this particular bill that I haven't mentioned.

While I gravitate to the optimism of Rocky (1976), the film of that year that depicts the isolation and torment of a young man disillusioned by the trifecta of the Kennedy assassination, Vietnam, and Watergate is Taxi Driver.

Set in a decaying and corrupt post-Vietnam New York City, Travis—played by a stunningly grim Robert De Niro—dreams of ridding the city of the filth and perversion he witnesses during his overnight shifts as a cabbie. The more Travis drives, the more he questions his purpose in life and grows deranged, ultimately leading down a path of violence, hatred, and even redemption. 

SOURCE

If there is a modern parallel, while Joker is a DC comics version of Bickle's journey into madness (although it more accurately makes a case for the existing madness of Incels), the more appropriate equivalent is without question Emerald Fennell's Promising Young Woman.

I'll confess that I didn't really want to see it. These days so much of film has become a series of lectures on social justice that, after the insufferable reboot of Charlie's Angels and the ugly one-sided and exploitative Them I just couldn't bother with more of the same.

It didn't help that they wanted twenty bucks to watch it. Then, when Dana and I were flying back to Vegas from a visit with my father-in-law in Pennsylvania, she watched it for free on the inflight. She loved it and, being that Dana is a notoriously finicky critic of film, the recommendation did not fall on deaf ears.

The premise is not what I gleaned from the trailers (Carey Mulligan does not play a serial murderer so much as serial justice seeker) and, like all superior satires, everyone (including the protagonist) gets a bit of shade. 

In the opening minutes of Promising Young Woman, Cassie (a deeply sardonic and wearily angry Mulligan) walks down a street with blood dripping down her leg eating a hot dog. She’s just left the home of Adam Brody, a beta-male who couldn't resist the temptation. She must have murdered him. Nope. It's ketchup from her phallic snack. In a single moment, you realize that Fennell has decided to subvert the male revenge fantasy for something wholly different.

Cassie, a medical school dropout, lives with her parents and works as a barista. She lives with the trauma of her best friend Nina Fisher's rape by a classmate. As a response, Cassie spends a night a week pretending to be the drunk single hot chick in bars. She's looking for the 'nice guys' who invariably offer to take her home and instead take her to their home with the intent to rape the helpless inebriate. She lets them go far before snapping the rubber band and revealing she's completely in control.

Cassie has a book of names. In it she keeps track of every 'nice guy' she confronts as well as another list directly related to Nina's rape. The college dean (Connie Britton) who did nothing when Nina reported her rape; the med school friend (Alison Brie) who dismissed the accusation as crying wolf; the lawyer (Alfred Molina) who bullied Nina into dropping the court case. She plays twisted pranks on them if they haven't yet seen the Nina she knew. She wants them to understand the gravity of their collective action.

After a chance meeting with an actual nice guy (a disarmingly adorable Bo Burnham), Cassie sees a way out of her dark quest. From this point, Fennell does something unexpected and remarkably effective: the film bounces back and forth from dark revenge fantasy to heartwarming romantic comedy in a whiplash manner. It's hard to keep up and serves to keep us guessing throughout.

Fennell (who also wrote the thing) has described Cassie's rage as "like an ingrown toenail" and Mulligan portrays Cassie with the numb pain of that feeling. Fennell isn’t content to simply paint the men as the problem; everyone involved, men and women, are culpable agents. Certainly the men who rape are the actors of personal destruction but the men and women who do not rape yet cover-up or minimize the damage are equally as guilty and ripe for Cassie’s meted out justice.

Travis Bickle was a young man traumatized by war and the abandonment he felt as society realized he was fucked up by a system designed to fuck him up. Cassie Thomas is a young woman traumatized by a system in place designed to fuck her and discard her like a piece of trash.

In fifty years, when college students are watching popular culture for insight into the #MeToo movement, Promising Young Woman will be on the watchlist.

[explosionshark]

Hey! Big fan of your writing. :) For the writing prompts, could I request #3 for Chloe Price and Victoria Chase?

hi i’m so sorry it took me a month to do this! thank you for the prompt! i think this is my first chaseprice. originally this was going to be sad, but i didn’t feel like bumming anyone (including me) out tonight so instead it got, uhhh, vaguely smutty. 

3. “It’s three in the morning.”

“It’s August 17th. Grass is green. That sleeve is way more trailer trash than badass punk rocker.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were we not just reciting a list of the obvious at each other?”

“Fuck, Victoria, just get in the car before I change my mind,” Chloe practically growls, leaning across the cab to throw the passenger side door open in invitation.

“Why would I do that?” Victoria asks, but doesn’t stop, forcing Chloe to keep creeping down the street in her truck with the door open, like some kind of stranger danger-ass creep.

“Because it’s three in the morning and you’re walking down the street alone at night by yourself, like an idiot,” Chloe barks. She’s trying to do the right thing, trying to be like… all conscientious and shit. It hardly feels worth it, when once again, Victoria Chase finds a way to make her feel like a totally useless idiot the moment she opens her mouth. “Why are you walking down the street alone at night by yourself like an idiot?”

“Why are you stalking me in your truck?” Victoria tosses back. “You know, you’re not doing much for all those awful stereotypes about predatory lesbians, Chloe. What’s next? Going to offer me some candy? What, are you a friend of my mom’s?”

“Your mom and I aren’t friends, she just eats me out when your dad’s not home,” Chloe says and the tension in her shoulders, the sharp sting of humiliation reddening the back of her neck eases when Victoria chokes out a laugh. “Now stop being a bitch and get in the fucking car. It’ll be faster. Put us both out of our misery.”

Victoria actually pauses this time, glancing around the street before eyeing Chloe’s truck with suspicion. 

“No one’s gonna see,” Chloe rolls her eyes and leans back into her seat. “Literally everyone smarter than you’s at home in bed right now. So, like, the whole town.”

With a huge sigh, Victoria hauls herself into the truck, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the whole cab. She smells like expensive perfume, peppermint schnapps and wood smoke. She kicks her towering heels off immediately, pulling her stockinged feet up onto the bench and tucking herself into the corner of the cab.

Stockings. She’s wearing stockings under that short skirt, riding up even shorter with the twist of her legs. Stockings, like some kind of sexy old-timey movie star fantasy run amok. Chloe wonders how Victoria Chase finds a way to be 18 and 81 at the same time. 

“Whose party?” Chloe asks once she drags her eyes away from Victoria’s legs, pretending she doesn’t see the smirk on Victoria’s face that means she absolutely noticed.

“The Vortex Club’s. Who else?” Victoria asks, running a hand through her hair. It’s shorter now than the last time Chloe saw her, a few months ago. It makes her look older, more mature. It leaves Chloe feeling even more like a stupid teenager, fumbling and uncouth, even though she’s technically older than Victoria.

“Yeah, stupid question,” Chloe mutters. It feels dangerous, just the two of them in Chloe’s truck like this. “Not like you hang out with anyone else.”

“It’s called having standards,” Victoria sniffs. “Maybe if you tried it sometime you wouldn’t be nearly twenty and still getting busted by the cops for smoking pot and blowing up GI Joes with firecrackers behind the Circle K.”

“You heard about that?” Chloe laughs. It’s a little embarrassing, and David had given her absolute hell over it once word got back to him from his little buddies in blue, but Christ, it had been funny. 

“About how somehow you’re an adult who has the life of a Toy Story villain and you’re, like, fine with it? Yeah, Chloe. I heard about it.”

“And you think my life would be, what, different? Better? If I just wanted it to be? If I had your standards?” Chloe asks, pulling into the darkest corner of the Blackwell student lot and killing the engine. The cab is dark but for the light streaming in through the back window from streetlamp a few rows over. The night is silent without the rattle of the truck’s old engine. Chloe slithers across the seat like she’s been wanting to do since Victoria got into the truck. Closer, she can read the expression Victoria’s face a bit better – a little expectant, a little disbelieving, like she always seems to be when they’re together like this.

Like she’s halfway between scared and excited and she likes it best right there, between the two.

“I think our lives are what we make them,” Victoria says, voice even and calm, despite the quickening of her breath. Her makeup’s gently faded from the night, except for the lipstick Chloe saw her touching up on the street before she pulled up alongside her. It’s bright red, applied just a little too thick, Victoria a little too drunk to make it perfect. “I think if you want to be successful and you work hard for it, it will happen.”

Chloe wants to lean in and mess it up. She wants to taste it herself, scrape it off Victoria’s bottom lip with her teeth, smear it messily down her chin, her cheek. She wants that lipstick staining the collar of her shirt tomorrow when she wakes up.

But she waits.

“So people who don’t succeed, it’s just their fault for not wanting it enough, huh? For not working hard enough,” Chloe says and it makes her mad, kind of. But it doesn’t make her want Victoria less. Victoria says nothing, just keeps watching Chloe from across the bench, leg still tucked up under her. “Pretty rich girl like you, you would think that. Mommy and Daddy sending you to a fancy private art school. You would think that.”

“I worked hard to be here,” Victoria says.

“Yeah,” Chloe nods. “You and your standards.”

She leans forward, one hand behind Victoria’s head flat on the glass of the window, the other grasping the inside of a thigh, just under her skirt, just over where the stockings end. She applies the gentlest pressure, feels Victoria turn for her, legs falling open for her, hears the breath catch in Victoria’s throat.

Chloe knows an invitation when she sees one. She slides her hand higher.

You wouldn’t know how she was being touched from that perfectly cool look on Victoria’s face. Smug, almost bored. Chloe kind of admires her for it, even though she wants nothing more than to ruin that poise. It’s the challenge, the vaguely adversarial nature of the sex that keeps these encounters, brief and few that though they’ve been, interesting. 

It doesn’t take long, really. Chloe’s good enough at this by now and Victoria’s drunk enough to not care that she’s being obvious. Within minutes she’s writhing against the door, shaking and swollen, dripping down Chloe’s wrist and begging to come.

So, of course Chloe pulls away.

Victoria keens, scrabbling desperately at Chloe’s retreating arm, panting and lipstick-smudged and nearly delirious. “Fuck. Fuck. Why’d you stop?”

“Well, I figured you wouldn’t want any handouts, right?” Chloe drawls, and reaches over her shoulder for a fistful of her tanktop. She yanks the shirt up and over her head, liking the sound her necklace makes when it falls against her bare skin. And yeah, technically, this is a tremendously bad idea because they’re in the Blackwell parking lot and there’s security wandering around out there somewhere but, well. Fuck it. Life’s a risk.

“Are you serious right now?” Victoria glares, looking very regal and pissed off for a girl with her skirt hiked up over her hips. All the incandescent rage in the world couldn’t disguise the way her eyes keep drifting down to Chloe’s exposed breasts, though, the way she has to fight to meet Chloe’s eyes when she speaks.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been very fair of me not to give you a chance to earn it,” Chloe shrugs. “But, y’know, most people don’t know this about me but I’ve actually got a pretty fuckin generous spirit and shit. So, like, if you were to ask me nicely, I’m sure I could…”

“Oh fuck this,” Victoria snarls and for a moment Chloe thinks she must have finally pushed too far, that Victoria’s going to fumble her way out of the cab and stalk back to her room.

But instead she launches herself across the cab, shoving Chloe up against the other door so hard and clumsy and fast her elbow bounces hard enough off the steering wheel to make her whole arm go numb. But before she has a chance to complain about that Victoria’s in her lap, grinding against Chloe’s bare stomach while her fingers tug insistently at the metal bars through Chloe’s nipples.

She’s rough and pissed off and neither of them is going to last like this but, well. Victoria’s kind of a perfectionist, control-freak weirdo, right? Chances are she’ll want a few more rounds, to make it perfect.

Chloe’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

dialogue prompts

[sceptilemasterr]

MW Act 2, Scene 5 - Runaway

Title: Most Wanted: The Hollywood Killer (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Dave x Sam

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: The three investigators explore Tull’s trailer, where they find more than they expected...

Previous Scene: Knock Knock

Masterlist: Link

INT. TULL’S TRAILER - NIGHT

Sam kicks the door in, and she, Dave, and Rhea enter the trailer. It is filthy. Trash, moldy food, and dirty clothes are scattered haphazardly. There is no sign of John Tull.

SAM: Dammit! He’s not here!

DAVE (disgusted): Eugh. At least he left a garbage heap of evidence...

RHEA: Literally. Eww.

She looks away from the garbage, catching sight of a photo that has been pinned to the wall near the bed. The photo shows a younger Tull standing with a large group of people, all wearing similar clothing and haircuts. A young girl stands just in front of Tull, who is resting a hand on her shoulder.

RHEA: Huh. What’s this?

Dave pulls on a pair of evidence gloves and crosses over to look at the photo. He gingerly picks up the photo and examines it.

DAVE: A family? His file didn’t mention that... Sam?

SAM: He doesn’t have one... at least as far as I know. Though who knows, with how little we’ve found about him?

DAVE: Might be worth followin’ up on.

He places the photo in an evidence bag. Then he turns, picking up a notepad sitting on a table nearby. He flips through the notepad, frowning.

RHEA (excitedly): A notepad? Ooh! Maybe he wrote his secret plans on it, or--

DAVE: Don’t get your hopes up, Rhea. It’s completely blank.

RHEA: Aww, and here I thought we had something.

DAVE (shrugs): Real life isn’t like the movies. The bad guys don’t usually write all their plans on...

He trails off as he notices something about the notepad.

DAVE: Actually, this might still be useful. The front page was ripped off.

RHEA: And that’s helpful... how?

DAVE: To be honest, I have no idea. But I bet forensics can get something out of it.

He puts the notepad in another evidence bag, then grins at Rhea.

DAVE: We’ll make an investigator out of you yet! Hey, Sam, have you found...

Dave and Rhea turn to see Sam staring at a sawed-off shotgun hanging on the wall. Her hands are balled into fists, and she is quaking with barely-contained rage.

DAVE (hesitantly): ...Massey? You okay?

RHEA: Looks like we found Tull’s weapon, at least--

SAM (with tranquil fury): That is not Tull’s weapon.

RHEA: What? But what else could it be? I mean, it’s here, in his trailer, with--

SAM: It’s the gun Tull’s been using. But it’s not his gun.

She reaches out, running her fingers along the gun’s barrel.

SAM (quaking with rage): It belonged to my mentor, Bill. He loved this gun... called it Old Genevieve. Look at this. Tull sawed it off. Desecrated it.

Dave crosses over to her, and hesitantly places a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder. She holds his gaze for a moment, then relaxes.

DAVE: We’ll get this bastard. I promise you.

SAM: We’d better.

Sam takes a deep breath, calming herself before starting to look around the trailer once again. The three of them search for a few moments in silence.

SAM: Right. So, we’ve got a picture of Tull with... some group or another, a blank notepad, and the weapon he stole. That ain’t nearly enough to go on.

DAVE: That about sums it up, yeah...

SAM: There’s gotta be somethin’ else.

She surveys the surroundings carefully, until her gaze stops at a pile of clothes draped across the far end. She stomps over to the clothes and shoves them aside, revealing a closet door behind them.

DAVE (impressed): Well, what d’you know?

SAM: Jackpot.

She grasps the door handle firmly and throws it open, revealing the inside of the closet. The entire thing is filled with a “shrine” to Hayley Rose; numerous newspaper clippings, photos, and magazine covers featuring the pop star cover every inch of the closet’s walls. The collage has been surrounded in a huge red heart, and several of the newspaper clippings have passages highlighted. Sam, Dave, and Rhea stare open-mouthed at the sight.

SAM: Holy...

RHEA: Freakin’...

DAVE: ...Shit.

They spend several moments just taking in the sight.

DAVE: How many words are there for “stalker?” Mirasol’ll have a field day with this.

He raises his phone and begins taking photos of the shrine from various angles. Rhea and Sam step closer.

SAM: Look... this clipping’s from her debut album in 2011.

RHEA: And here’s one from even earlier! 2003--whoa, fifteen years ago--this says that Hayley was just an orphan when she came to Hollywood. Wow, can’t believe the media never picked up on that story!

SAM: With stuff this old, he must’ve been collecting this for years now. Just waiting for the chance to--

DAVE (with sudden realization): Wait. What did you say?

SAM: Just sayin’, with stuff this old, he must’ve been collecting it all for years...

DAVE: That’s it. That’s the missing puzzle piece. Massey, Sarkar, you realize what this means?!

Rhea and Sam exchange glances as the same realization dawns on them simultaneously.

RHEA: No one hired Tull.

SAM: The people he killed... it wasn’t for cash. Gavin Routh, Jessica Greene... they wronged Hayley when they leaked her pictures. Tull must’ve thought he was doin’ it for her. Sick bastard.

DAVE: This whole time, we were looking for the person who hired Tull... but it turns out they didn’t exist.

SAM: One thing still bugs me, though. Why Hayley Rose? Out of all the celebrities in the world... why her?

RHEA (thoughtfully): Hang on... I might know why.

DAVE AND SAM: You do?!

Rhea pulls out her phone and starts tapping through it. A moment later, a familiar song starts playing.

HAYLEY ROSE (ON PHONE) (singing): Sirens flickering in your tail lights, your long-lost love’s your only flaw... You kill, you steal, you burn the daylight... ‘Cuz you’re my broken, bad outlaw...

SAM: You’re kiddin��� me.

DAVE: It’s the song! “Outlaw!” This redneck moron actually thinks the song’s about him?!

Suddenly, the distinct sound of a shotgun being racked is heard from off-screen! Dave and Rhea whirl to see Tull, standing in the trailer, his gun pointed at the base of Sam’s skull. Rhea shrieks as Sam stands stiff, teeth clenched.

TULL: Call me ‘redneck’ again, piggie, and I’ll splatter Blondie here all over ya.

SAM (angrily): Ugh. Li must’ve set us up--

Tull jabs Sam in the back of the neck with the gun. Dave whips out his pistol in a blur and aims it at Tull, trying to get a clear shot without hitting Sam.

SAM (mouthing): Take. The. Shot.

Dave hesitates, and Tull grins.

TULL: Attaboy, piggie. Don’t do nothin’ stupid. Put the gun down on the floor. Nice an’ easy, now.

RHEA (terrified): He’s gonna kill her! Dave, do what he says!

Dave thinks for a moment, then smiles.

DAVE: I think there’s something you’re forgetting, Tull. I know your secret.

TULL: The hell you talkin’ about?

DAVE: Hayley Rose? Your sweetheart? I saw your super-creepy shrine to her. C’mon, don’t you think she’s a little young for you?

TULL: Shut yer mouth, cop!

DAVE: I mean, seriously, you think she’d go for you? She dates rock stars and heartthrobs, not hillbillies who look like they just crawled out of a swamp...

TULL (growing angrier): I said shut up!

Sirens howl in the distance. Tull adjusts his grip on the gun, jamming it into Sam’s neck once again, as Sam glares daggers at Dave.

DAVE: How about we take this outside, huh? Fight like men?

TULL: I’m gettin’ real tired of listenin’ to your whiny voice, cop! How ‘bout I get this over with, right here?

He adjusts his grip on his gun.

DAVE: You’d shoot her, huh? Just like that. Kill her in cold blood.

TULL: Damn right I will.

Rhea steps forward, clearly terrified but with a confidence in her voice.

RHEA: Gotta say, Tull, you’re a real outlaw.

TULL: What... what did ya just say?!

RHEA (mock-innocently): Oh, you know. An outlaw. (singing) Sirens flickering in your tail lights, your long-lost love’s your only flaw...

TULL: Shut yer mouth, girl!

RHEA (singing): You kill, you steal, you burn the daylight...

TULL (seething with rage): Don’t. You. Say it.

RHEA (singing): ‘Cuz you’re my broken, bad outlaw!

Tull roars with fury and shoves Sam forward! Dave lines up his shot, but then Sam elbows Tull in the face, causing Tull to stagger back with a bloody nose! He raises his shotgun right at Sam, and then...

RHEA: No! You bastard!

Rhea suddenly charges at Tull! Distracted, Tull’s shot goes wide, hitting a stack of plates and causing the lights to flicker!

DAVE: Too close!

Tull turns, kicks Rhea away, and rushes out of the trailer, slamming the door shut behind him. Immediately, Sam runs after him, only to stop short at the door, barred from the outside and now immovable.

SAM: Rrrrgh! No! Tull is not getting away again! What the hell is wrong with you, Reyes?

DAVE: Wha... me?!

SAM: Why’d you stand there blabbin’ for an hour instead of shooting?

DAVE: Because I use my words, like a goddamn adult, and--

Both he and Sam pause in their argument to sniff the air. They exchange glances, all animosity forgotten for the moment.

DAVE: Do... do you smell something burning?

RHEA: Yeah, something’s burning all right!

She staggers to her feet and points toward the far end of the trailer, where thick black smoke is seeping in. Flames begin licking the corners of the trailer.

RHEA: We gotta get out of here! NOW!

_______________________

Next: Conscience and Variables

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0

MW Tag List: @griselda1121

[mrsreinhart]

HUSTLERS’ LILI REINHART ON NEVER WEARING LOW-RISE JEANS & ALL THAT FAKE VOMIT

And that time she was too scared to talk to Will Ferrell on set.

“Slutty Hannah Montana.” Lili Reinhart quips about the pop stars that were inspiration for the costume design on her latest film, Hustlers. Yes, those bandage bodycon dresses made an appearance. So did mystery-alloy-plated nameplate hoop earrings and rhinestone “SEXY” chokers. For Reinhart’s character, Annabelle, electric blue eyeshadow to match her polyester mini dress. You’ll even spot an occasional sparkle mid-cheek that’s gone rogue from one of her co-star’s body glitter. But low-low-low rise jeans, those should stay in 2003 if Reinhart had any say in it.

Ahead of the world premiere of Hustlers—which features a stacked cast: Jennifer Lopez, Constance Wu, Keke Palmer, Julia Stiles, Cardi B, Lizzo, Madeline Brewer (and more, but no spoilers here)—I sat down with the Riverdale star during TIFF to talk early-aught trends, all those vomit scenes, and what her and boyfriend Cole Sprouse are going to be for Halloween.

What made you want to get involved in Hustlers?

“It was so well written. Lorene [Scafaria] is so talented. When I first read the synopsis, ‘big hustlers’ popped up in my inbox, and I was like ‘OK?’ and then it was like, ‘strippers get revenge on Wall Street men,’ and I was like, ‘oh god, what is this?’ Then, I saw Constance [Wu]’s name attached and Jennifer [Lopez]’s name and Lorene as the director, and then I was like ‘this is actually something. The synopsis is not doing it justice here.’ Even today, the trailer doesn’t do the film justice. You think you have an idea of what this movie is going to be, [that] it’s going to be a party for an hour and a half, but it’s really not like that. You get an hour of a nice party going on but after that it gets really intense and emotional. [You] realize that you’re actually getting stories of these women and who they are. It’s not just like, ‘oh, it’s a movie about strippers,’ it’s a movie about women who strip. You watch the film and you’re like, ‘Wow, that movie was about women and this sisterhood that they are in, and they’re trying to fend for their families and themselves.’ It’s a good story.”

The costume design [in this movie] was pretty incredible. Was there one look you that absolutely loved?

“To be honest, I kind of forgot the movie took place in a different time period when I arrived to my fitting. I guess I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Then I got there and I was like, ‘oh my god, we’re traveling back in time to when I was in middle school!’ I was a little too young at that time to be wearing those bodycon dresses from Charlotte Russe and Guess. God, it was so trippy to see just how much the fashion has changed, and Mitchell [Travers], our costume designer, blew it out of the water. He was incredible and had so much work to do but somehow pulled it off. I walked in [for my fitting] and he was like, ‘I think we want [to do] sweet and innocent, but also trash.’ He said it in such an of course kind of way. We’re playing with 2013 and Mitchell called it, ‘slutty Hannah Montana’ because [it was around the time] Hannah Montana was on, and [our costumes were similar to] the clothes from that time, with an added edge and sexiness to it. It was really fun. Awful jewelry [though]… the cheapest. I’d put it in my ear and it would fall apart. I was like, this is perfect.”

Ha! That jewelry that would turn your skin green or blue:

“It was just the best discount bodycon dresses money can get.”

Was there a look you just refuse to wear from that era?

“I refused to wear the hip-hugger jeans.”

The low-low-rise and muffin tops?

“It truly mortifies me that I wore those. Obviously, I wore them in middle school. My mom sent me a picture of [myself] wearing those pants the other day, and they are literally like you’re about to see my vagina. It’s right on the cusp. And my mom goes, ‘where is your crotch?’ She sent me that photo because there is like thismuch space between the top of my jeans and my legs. I was like, ‘I truly don’t know. I couldn’t tell you.’ All I know is [I was] 13, so I clearly didn’t have any love-handles going on—nothing to grab onto, I was like a stick. So it worked at that point, but Mitchell made me try on a couple [pairs], and I was like, ‘no, don’t do it.’”

“MY MOM GOES, ‘WHERE IS YOUR CROTCH?’ SHE SENT ME THAT PHOTO BECAUSE THERE IS LIKE THISMUCH SPACE BETWEEN THE TOP OF MY JEANS AND MY LEGS.”

What about the bodycon dresses?

“I don’t wear bodycon dress ever. So, no. I really don’t think I would want to wear anything that I wore in that movie in my life. Even walking from my trailer to set, to the bar where we were filming or the strip club, I felt so self-conscious about the way I looked because it was so over the top. I had blue eyeshadow on… horrifyingly blue eyeshadow. It felt so out of my comfort zone. It was kind of insane because I’m very minimal. Especially day-to-day, I don’t wear any makeup. So it was a whole other world to be glammed and dolled up so much every day and to have my boobs on display all the time. It was quite a different experience. I’m more conservative than that.”

Your character has a pretty adverse reaction to stress, but she’s made it so endearing. Was it hard to film all those vomit scenes?

“People [would ask] ‘are you nervous?’ I don’t think I was. It was more-so like, here goes nothing! I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never had to do this before. I mean it was funny, I think Lorene said ‘poor Annabelle’ like eight-thousand times while we were filming.”

Seriously, poor Annabelle!

“She’s so young and sweet. It’s such a genius way of reminding the audience that she’s so young. Instead of being like, oh yeah, she’s the baby of the group, or she’s new to this, or she got pulled into this. That story is told by her vomiting because she’s just overwhelmed. I don’t have that reaction when I’m overwhelmed, but I can appreciate the people who do and how unfortunate it is. It was definitely an experience.”

What is fake vomit made out of?

“Well, it’s different for every scenario. People come up with all kinds of things. Mine was best case scenario. It was crushed animal crackers and sprite. It tasted like leftover animal crackers in my mouth. It was fine. Mushy food really grosses me out so that was my biggest fear, having to put that in my mouth…like actually making me want to throw up from putting that in my mouth. But it was fine.”

What day on set sticks out in your mind?

“Will Ferrell came to visit us, and I literally avoided him because I was so starstruck. I was like, ‘I don’t want to meet him. I’m nervous, I don’t want to.’ He’s one of the producers of the movie, so he came to visit one day [when] we were shooting at the club, and I literally avoided him because I was scared.”

What was it like dancing beside J-Lo?

“Look, clearly I’m not good at dancing or trying to look good. [I] was just trying to have fun, like how you would drunkenly dance with your friends. So, it’s more-so like god, please don’t watch that and think I’m trying to look good dancing. It was fun in the moment, and it was really cool and special experience.”

I heard you’re pretty good at special effects makeup. What are you going to be for Halloween?

“I am! Oh my god, I haven’t done that in a really long time actually. I kind of went from special effects makeup to face-painting. So, I’ve done a lot in the past. Now, I don’t really have the time, which sounds so stupid but I really don’t. It takes a lot of time to do those things. I think I’m leaning in towards a character for Halloween. I think I’m going to do it with my boyfriend Cole. I don’t want to spoil it if it’s not going to happen, but it’s a TV duo.”

That a good little teaser:

“No special effects this year, but maybe a wig.”