#does this look like joey's face? I can't tell anymore

[peppered-moths]

six-petaled promise

scott doesn't use salt in his cooking anymore. it all tastes horribly bland. he's never been the best cook anyways.

he had been the one who did that for them. scott still can't say his name, except when he wakes up, calling out for a life long gone.

he misses it. it feels... painfully obvious, to say the least. there had been a future where he didn't have to claw for power, to vie for even a chance of living beyond the competition, and he misses it. he misses thunderstorms. he misses fresh-baked bread. he misses lilies, white, six-petaled. he misses... god, he misses life.

so yes. maybe he is crazy. maybe that's what the others say about him, along with the fact that he's cold and heartless and dead, on the inside and outside both.

(and, well. the heartless part isn't strictly untrue. he has feelings. but, well. necromancy has its ups and downs. there is always a new sacrifice to make.)

scott doesn't use salt in his cooking anymore. he can't remember the last time he ate something for the sake of enjoying it. everything is sustenance, fuel to push onwards.

he has to win. no matter the cost. he knows he's not the only one- he sees the constant blue tinge of pris' face, the way she breathes air like it's not quite natural anymore. he's watched joey, manic, fever higher than any normal person should be able to survive, throwing himself into a block of ice for some relief. he's listened to shelby cry storms at the death of a bee, seen the fresh lightning burns on her hands.

yes. they all lose something. it makes it worth it. it doesn't make it fair. power is power, at the end of the day.

scott pretends that the lichen crawling up his fingers is simply a result of too much magic at one time. that it will go away, slip back down his wrists without a trace. he would make scott scrub it off. scott will do it when he's back.

scott doesn't use salt in his cooking anymore. it burns his tongue, his throat. his arms are mottled with pale scars. oh, the sacrifices he makes for him. it doesn't matter; they'll adapt. they always do.

how does it feel to be a real witch? a real lich? cleo laughs at him. he doesn't think they're actually laughing at him. her eyes are distant, far away as ever. she glows now, in the dark, the lichen budding on her skin.

pinocchio, pinocchio, a real boy at last, they muse, steepling their hands in front of them. tell me, why do you still dance to their puppet strings?

scott doesn't understand. he doesn't understand so many things. that's why he has to practice. he has to get better. be the best.

cleo looks away from him. she looks-

(at you. she looks at you. don't do this to him. it isn't fair. nothing is fair. learn to live with it.)

scott blinks. nothing has happened. nothing has changed. it has always been like this.

go home, scott.

there's no home left to go back to. he says it, nonchalant. if he had a heart, it would be beating in his chest. nevertheless.

then go anywhere.

scott doesn't use salt in his cooking anymore. scott doesn't cook anymore.

(when does the question turn from who am i without you? to who am i at all? where is the line? how do you learn how to stop, to just let go? i don't think any of us know.)

the earth hums beneath his feet. he can feel death, old bones rattling, waiting. there is a graveyard twenty minutes' walk from his house.

there are two graves side by side at an abandoned home. scott thinks there ought to have been a third. he thinks he ought to have carved their names on their graves, let them be remembered. milo. maxwell. really, he ought to have done a lot of things.

(he is the corpse and he is the vulture circling overhead and he is the mycelia beneath and he is and he is and he is-)

he is all that is left.

scott doesn't use salt in his cooking anymore.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 2

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. Get ready for the first major change in the canon story-line hehe

Please enjoy reading! :)

"You want me to sing tonight, chicken?"

It's way past my bed-time. The sky looks like a giant film of blue cellophane above us, with millions of little white holes poked through. I pick out the shiniest one, 'cause that one's my Momma. Then I realise I gotta pick one out for Uncle Merle, now, too, so I pick the one right next to Momma's and wish him goodnight in my head.

After my Dad dragged all our stuff further into the woods, because we shouldn't sleep next to people we don't trust, we curled up in his camping chair and we haven't moved since. I'm wrapped up in a grubby gray blanket that I think used to be white, 'cause it's all we got, and I'm wearing two pairs of socks plus my Dad's jacket but it's still cold. I feel like a baby joey in a Momma kangaroo's pouch. Through the trees, I can see the main camp's fires all glittering like tiny orange fireflies and I can hear 'em all laughing. I think they're celebrating. Me and my Dad — We're mourning.

Tomorrow, they're heading back to the city to look for my Uncle Merle, even though we all know he's dead already. He's dead and he's gone and he ain't never coming back, so why does my Daddy wanna go get killed, too? Don't he know I need him?

"I don't wanna go to sleep."

"Well," He reminds me, "Sometimes it don't matter what little girls want. I'm sayin' it's time to sleep, so it's time to sleep."

If he wanted to talk about it, I'd tell him that I don't wanna go to sleep because it means that when I wake up, it'll be the day my Daddy either dies in the city or he doesn't, and then I'll be all alone forever. I don't wanna pick a star out for my Dad. But I don't tell him any of this.

"Now, you want me to sing, or not?" He asks me again.

"I said," And half-way through I'm huffing this out, I know I've made a mistake, but I keep goin', anyway, because at least if I make him super angry, he might wanna talk. Unlike Officer Rick, my Dad is easy to make angry. "I don't wanna go to sleep."

I feel his stomach fill with air underneath me. "Scuse me?"

I twist to face him. Half his face is glowing from the fire, and the other half is glowing just from how mad he is.

"I... don't... wanna," I spell it out real slow. That's what people do when someone's not listenin' properly. "Go... to... sleep."

I hear main camp laughing again. For just a second, I wish I was over there, instead.

I look my Dad in the eye. It's really hard.

"You lookin' for a spanking, Harley Dixon?"

"No," My voice wobbles.

"'Cause you keep back-chattin' me, that's where you're headed."

"But—"

"What I just say?"

I snap my mouth shut like a kettle lid. Does he even have the words in him? Do I gotta beat on his chest 'till they come flying out? Do I gotta kick and yell and scream 'till he can't hold 'em in anymore? What do I gotta do to make him talk? How am I meant to like it over here, in this lonely camp with no Momma and no Uncle and maybe after tomorrow, no Dad, neither?

"Quit that look, Harley Dixon. I'm warnin' you."

"No."

"You really gonna make me repeat myself?"

I snap.

"Maybe I'on care!" I shout. We're both shocked. Then, he's about to lay me over his knee and whoop me 'till I'm black and blue, but I don't stop for nothin'. "Maybe I'on give a crap! I said I don't wanna go to sleep, so why you makin' me? I don't wanna! Uncle Merle's dead! He's dead and you don't even care!"

"How can you say tha—"

"You don't care because you're goin' back to the city tomorrow and you're gonna die, and I'm gonna be alone again, and you don't even care! Uncle Merle is dead! Just like Momma, he's dead!"

"We don't know that, Harley."

"Yeah, we do! Rick killed 'im, and now he's dead."

"That ain't true. Harley, you listen—"

He grabs my arms, but I smack him away. He gets angrier.

He points a finger in my face. "Do not fuckin' hit me, girl."

"I'on care."

Now he really grabs me, and it's so tight I can't smack him at all, or wriggle, or even look away. I see two miniature versions of our campfire in his eyes, burning away. It's a familiar look. I start to cry. I wish I wasn't here. I wanna be in main camp, where they're laughing.

"You stop this bullshit right now, Harley." He says, low. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but if it don't stop right this second, you're gonna regret it. You understand? Don't you ever hit me again. I'm leavin' tomorrow, and that's final."

"But why?"

"'Cause I'm choosin' to believe in yer Uncle Merle. You heard what all them said. There's a chance he ain't dead, and that's a chance I'm gonna take, because I'm a Dixon. Dixons look out for each other." He gives me a little shake. "If it were either one of us in that city, he'd be raisin' Hell on his way there already. Now, I don't wanna hear another word outcher mouth 'bout this. No more tears, neither. Got it?"

It's still not good enough. I want more.

"You wouldn't go back for Momma." I mutter, before I even realise that's what I've chosen to say. Somehow, that's the worst thing I've told my Dad all night, and I didn't even need to shout it. We stare at each other for a bit. "You wouldn't go back for her. You killed her."

I promised I'd never bring it up again, but there it is. I said it.

I think I might throw up again.

Just like that, our argument is over. He doesn't say anything, and then I don't say anything, either, and the not-saying-anything keeps going until we're back to sitting against each other in silence. The moon is high in the trees, now. One by one, the orange blips in the distance die. The chatter gets quieter and quieter until it's gone, and then me and my Dad are truly alone. He holds me tight, but it doesn't feel nice like it did before. It just feels like we're back to square one, because we are, and everything is a little to the left. Like when you get a pebble in the corner of your shoe, and you gotta walk a little funny to pretend it's not there, but it is, and you can feel it, and you hate it.

"You want me to sing for you, chicken?"

This time, I just say yes.

I watch the cube van drive into the distance until it's a white speck.

Dale stands next to me, even after everyone else has shuffled back to camp. "You've probably heard this from ten other people by now," Dale says, holding onto the strap of his heavy sniper rifle, "But your Dad? Well, he's going to be just fine. Toughest man in camp, I'd say."

My Dad, he's tough as nails, and he could shoot a walnut off a fencepost from a mile away, but he's also just a man. He's just skin and bones and blood like everyone else, like me, like deer and squirrels, and a bite from a dead person will kill him just the same. I don't say this to Dale.

He doesn't seem to mind. "Do you remember your first day here?"

A strange thing to ask. 'Course I remember. "What about it?"

"Things were a little more desperate, back then. We'd just ran out of our last tin of beans. People were hungry. I remember your Dad spent the whole morning telling people to leave him alone, because everybody was just begging him to go hunting. I think I did, too." Dale laughs. "One by one, he shot them all down. We were all so sure we'd have to start rationing. Then, the next morning, I go to wash my face behind the RV, and what do I see? Your Dad, dinged up and covered in sweat, dragging this... just... huge, simply huge... deer, into camp. I was gobsmacked. I remember thinking, 'who on Earth could have possibly convinced this stubborn man to go hunting'? Then, later in the day, I see him handing you a bowl of fried deer meat, happy as a clam, and that's when I knew he did it all for you. Tooth and nail, he made sure you were fed. And that's how I know he's coming back."

I think about all the times my Dad's done somethin' like that for me, like with Ronnie, and I feel a little better. My Momma once said my Dad would crawl back out of Hell on hot coals for me, and that I should never forget that. I feel bad for forgetting.

"I didn't tell him I love him, before he left." I admit to Dale. "I was real mean to him last night. I wish I told him."

"That's okay," Dale bumps my shoulder, and when I look up, there's a smile in his white beard. He winks. "I think he knows. Dads always know."

Something about Dale's cheeky attitude makes me giggle. I think I believe him.

"Now, lucky for us, we're certainly not short on food around here anymore. So, how about we go get you some breakfast?"

The day goes by like it always does, 'cause it don't know any better.

I can see Amy and Andrea fishing from the bank of the lake. Their boat looks like a little grain of salt in the middle of a giant green coin.

I'm up to my knees in the water. I'm trying to catch frogs. I'm missing. Shane and Carl are here, too, because even though we ate a whole sleeve of cheese and onion crackers for breakfast, Officer Shane says frog legs are gonna be all the rave, soon, when the peaches and jerky run out. We told him that's super gross, but he just smacked his lips and told us to grab our hats. We gotta do things like this, now. Things like sharing one tube of toothpaste, and only using two squares of toilet paper when you gotta go, and the adults gotta try and make it sound fun. 

I hear Carl somewhere down the rocks, going awww and man 'cause he keeps missing, too. All I know 'bout Carl is he can't spell 'adventure'.

"Hey, man, it happens. How you doin' over there, Harley?" Officer Shane asks me. "You managed to catch any of the little suckers yet?"

"No, not yet." I say. "But I can see 'em."

When we first got down here, Shane asked us kids to provide a little muscle for him. Shane's got plenty of muscle, already. He was just kiddin'. He does that a lot, and his laugh is real loud. He also gives high fives that knock you on your butt, and he's got a heavy walk and a dog tag. I think he must have taught little league, or somethin', before, 'cause he talks like a teacher. All fun and games, but also lots of rules. Like how if you say a bad word, he flicks you on the ear and tells you to mind your language.

I'm still not used to any of these people talking to me. I think they're just glad I ain't biting and hitting on them, anymore.

"How many's in there?" Shane wades over to me.

The only reason I trust Shane is because he's an adult, and adults can be trusted.

I count the frogs. "Um... Three."

"Three? Hm, talk about a gold mine, huh?" He laughs and, yep, it's real loud. "Let's see if I can't help you out here."

He sets our bucket down, which has two wet frogs slipping around inside it.

He rubs his hands together. "C'mon, girl. Let's catch us some frog legs."

He says they eat frog legs in France. I never knew that before today. French people are weirdos.

"You gotta get 'em quick, 'cause they're quicker." I warn Shane. It's something my Dad says 'bout squirrels and possums, so I say it now, too.

"Sure are." Shane agrees. "How 'bout I scare 'em out, and you try grabbin' one?"

"With my hands?"

"What? You plannin' on using your feet?" Shane grins, and he splashes me. I giggle. "C'mon. Get ready."

Officer Shane rolls up his blue sleeves. I take three long steps backward and squat a little, like I'm playin' basketball or somethin', and then Shane grabs the metal bucket and clangs it against the rocks, and all three of the fat froggies come bursting out into the water like wind-up toys. I almost panic — almost — but that's what idiots do, so I steel myself, which means I'm not an idiot. I lunge at the closest frog and wrap my hands around the green blob it makes under the ripples.

When I pull my hands out, I realise I've caught it. It's real wriggly and its skin is cold.

I jump a little, smiling wide. "Look, Shane! I got one!"

"Way to go, Harley!" Shane says, and if I pretend hard enough, it sounds like my Dad's accent praising me instead. "Look at you!"

I drop the frog in the bucket. I hear cheering, and when I look out, I see it's Amy and Andrea. They're clapping. I guess they were watching. Carl comes hopping over, too, and tells me I did a good job. I know he's a bastard cop, and I know his friend murdered my Uncle, but maybe Shane ain't so bad. He makes me miss my teachers. Maybe this group ain't so bad. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

We call it a day after that, and we squeeze out all the water in our clothes on the gravel shore.

"C'mon, y'all," Shane says, "Time to haul butt back to camp."

What he really means to say is ass.

The sky goes from blue to purple, and soon, it'll be black.

We're gonna have a feast tonight. A fish feast.

Dale, who's sitting up on the RV, because he's like a barnacle on a boat, reads us a poetry book while we scrape scales off of fish with plastic spoons. After the book runs out, we pop cassettes in the radio. It's nothin' like what my Dad listens to. It's too nice.

I try really hard not to think about my stomach. It hurts real bad, which is what happens when you're nervous. I realise, a little guiltily, that I almost haven't thought about my Daddy or my Uncle Merle all day, until just now. I say sorry to them in my head, because I didn't do it on purpose, I promise. I was just focused on other things, like doing dishes, and getting my hair brushed by Lori, and strippin' fish skin. It was easy, during the day. But it's gettin' late, now, and every minute that goes by, I'm closer to being the only kid in camp with nobody to tuck me into bed.

I'm standing on a crate, which means I'm almost as tall as all the ladies. Makes me feel a little better. All women remind me of my Momma.

Maybe if I ask, Lori can tuck me in tonight.

"Hey, Harley, you're doin' real good over there." Jacqui tells me. The sun's on her shoulder. "Doin' better than me, at least."

I mumble a thank you, because it's good manners. I done dressed plenty of fish before. It's easy. Like peelin' bananas.

"Our Dad used to take us girls fishing all the time." Andrea tells us. "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, you name it. We were out on the water."

"Sounds fun," Lori says. "I always wanted to go fishing with Rick and Carl, but it never happened. We were indoor people."

Jacqui laughs. "Not anymore, you're not."

Lori makes a face. "You don't gotta tell me twice."

"What about you, Harley?" Asks Amy. "Your Dad ever take you fishing?"

There it is again; my stomach climbing up the back of my throat like a balloon. "Uh," I mumble. "Yeah. A lot."

Carol asks me, "You like it? Being on the water?"

"It's okay if you don't." Amy scrunches up her nose, smiling. "I was never that into it. Motion sickness 'n all."

I'm about to say no, I didn't like it, but something stops me. It's true, I never liked stabbing the alive worms on the hook, or gettin' sunscreen smeared all over my face, or carrying all them heavy buckets full of crayfish and bluegills back to the truck, but that doesn't matter. I was with my Dad. And I liked that. So, "I liked it," I say. "We went every weekend, in Dad's boat. It was sorta old, but he liked it a whole lot. He let me name it."

Lori smiles. Lori loves when people tell nice stories. "What'd you choose?"

"I named it after our old dog." I tell her. Hey, I'm smiling. "His name was Tank. So, Dad's boat was, 'The Tank'."

Lori pouts. She loves animals, too. "Aw. That's nice. We had a dog."

"What was his name?"

"Fido," She scoffs. "You can thank Carl for that one."

"I can't imagine Daryl lettin' anybody tell him what to do," Amy chuckles. "He's always so grouchy."

Dale must be eavesdropping, because he leans over his fold-out chair and calls down to us, "Now, now, remember that time with the deer?"

The story he told me this morning, to make me feel better.

All at once, the women start giggling together, and nodding, yes, they do remember that time with the deer. I catch it, like a stomach bug, and I start giggling, too, because I guess it is kinda funny. My Dad, with his squinty eyes and angry mouth and big, scarred fists, doin' whatever I tell him to. I never saw it like that, because it's always the other way 'round. For the first time today, I'm thinking of my Dad, and it doesn't hurt, not one bit.

"Like a gaggle of geese over there," Shane shakes his head from the fire. He's laughin', too. Bunch of eavesdroppers, these people. "Get back to work!"

"Yes, sir!" Andrea salutes, rolling her eyes.

We can't stop giggling.

The fish fry is, basically, a family barbeque.

My dinner is hot, and greasy, and it's even got yellow rice and onions in it, like takeaway. Takeaway is always good. Around the fire, all I see are happy faces and all I hear are jokes, and gasps, and laughter. They're talking about college, and how Lori used to wear the ugliest skirts, and how, yes, Shane can confirm, he was there to see it and, no, it wasn't pretty. When I look through the trees, I imagine me and my Daddy's sad little camp on the other side, abandoned. I was right. It is better over here. I hope he would think so, too.

"W— Hey! They were in style, back then!" Lori holds her fork up, like a pointing finger. "Everyone was wearin' them!"

"Oh, I remember." Shane shakes his head. "N— No, listen, I remember, alright! So short it was like a damn belt!"

Amy slides off her tennis shoe and launches it at Shane's legs. "You can't argue with fashion, Shane!"

He laughs. "Oh, that's what that was? Fashion?"

"Hey, I got some pretty nasty pictures of you with that damn perm on your head, so you might wanna quit while you're ahead." Lori sasses.

We all picture Shane with a mop of curly poodle hair, prolly posing like He-Man, and we all roar with laughter again.

Up until the very last grain of rice gets eaten, we talk about everything and anything, because stories are all we got to give each other anymore, Dale says. Dale talks about how he planned to take a trip around the state with his wife, in their RV, but she passed away before it could happen. So, when the world ended, he was in a gas station, buying ice creams and lookin' at maps, 'cause he was doin' the trip on his own. He says he's glad that all the small decisions he's made in life has led him to this quarry, with these people. Everybody calls him a sap, but he gets a side-hug from Jacqui. He smiles over the fire at me. Andrea and Amy talk more about their Dad.

I talk about the tyre swing I used to have, in my yard. Shange suggests building one here, too.

Jim talks a little about his old job as a mechanic. Morales talks about how much he misses his recliner.

"Aw, man, I'm telling you," He groans, like he's in a deep, deep pain. "It was remote-controlled, and it had blue-tooth, and everything."

Shane slaps him on the back. "Too bad the world ended; Had to get off your fat ass!"

More and more warm, silly laughter.

It's around us kid's bed-time when Dale checks his watch.

The other kids all complain straight away, but we get dragged away, anyway. I can hear my Daddy's voice in my head, telling me sometimes it don't matter what little girls want. Lori and Carol take us around the back of Shane's Jeep, where all the bathroom stuff gets kept, like the gallon jugs of water, the towels, and stuff Glenn brings back from runs. We brush our teeth, and splash our hair with water, and use baby wipes on our armpits.

I can see the tippy-tops of the city's tallest buildings from here, like skinny black popsicle sticks in the smog. I keep lookin' back, for my Dad.

I'm lookin' right now. Everyone else is trying to find Sophia's hairbrush in one of the bags, but I'm not helping. I can't look away.

There's a figure, stumbling up the road.

At first, I think it's my Dad, somehow. When you're expecting somethin' so much and for so long, and with all your heart, it's the first thing you think of. Even if it makes no sense. If they were really back, they'd all be together; Glenn, T-Dog, Daddy, and Rick, because my Daddy would make them all stick together, 'cause he's smart like that. But the shadow's alone. And he's got a limp. Just a little one. He hop-shuffle-hop-shuffles closer to us. No, no it's not my Dad. There's no crossbow; no big boots, no backpack. The shoulders aren't wide enough. Actually, the shoulders aren't wide at all. They're droopy. Too droopy, like they're... like they're melting off the bone, like hot cheese melts off pizza.

I hear a gurgle through the night. That's when it all makes sense.

"Walkers!"

And one second after that, the fish feast goes to Hell.

Someone snatches my wrist. We go rushing back into camp, where there's people, and lights, and noise. And shouting. Lots and lots of shouting; so much shouting it's like being stuck inside a beehive. I see flashes of legs and t-shirts and hands pulling me around, toward the bonfire. The bonfire must be brighter than a lighthouse out here, in the dark. Suddenly, I'm noticing everything wrong with the fish fry. The smells, the noise. I'm remembering my Daddy's rules, 'bout how loud is dangerous and dangerous is stupid and oh God — I can hear Amy shrieking like a piglet, near the RV. I hear shotguns pumping and bullets exploding and sloppy plops of skin falling of the dead people afterwards. I'm screaming.

The bag — The emergency bag, the one in our tent. I should grab it, right? That's what I'm supposed to do, right? So we can live?

"Lori!" Shane's hollering. "Carl! Harley! Where are you?"

"We're over here!" Lori cries.

"Start moving!"

Everywhere, everywhere, legs, legs, legs, all rotten and slimy and dead. Then, a gap, filled with darkness. The tent is out there. The bag.

I can make it. I know I can.

"Harley!"

That's Lori, screaming like she's never screamed before, because I just broke away from her, and I can feel something hot sliding down my arm, and it must be blood, 'cause she must have ripped my arm open with her short razor nails. I run straight for the gap in the wall of dead people, and I throw myself past them, like they're bowling pins and I'm the ball, and then I'm on the other side, in the dark, dark woods, running, running, running, all by myself. I remember the path to our camp. Big rock, little tree, old fence. It's all there, it's just covered in night.

I hear Shane yelling for me, and Morales, too, and more screaming, more dying.

A dead man slams into me. We go tumbling into the branches and the leaves, and then down a little hill, and then into a ditch. I smack his growling face away from mine, and I kick his stomach, and I wriggle away. The dirt is slipping away from underneath me, like dust, but the roots are easy to climb so I climb those, and the dead man follows me out. He's swiping at my ankles, scampering for my legs, slobbering on his lips.

His nails catch my arm.

I see the tent.

I'm running again, but only for a second. It's my pants. They're stuck. The dead man's grabbing onto them. I kick his fingers off.

"Get away," I grunt.

The pebbly ground barks under my shoes when I tear off again, and it only takes a couple heartbeats for me to reach my Dad's camping chair, and then the black fire pit, and then the truck, and then the tent. I rip open the zipper and fall inside. The bag, the bag, the bag. I scramble for my Dad's sleeping cot, and drop to my knees, and pat around all the spare shirts and pants and socks and blankets he's got stuffed under here, praying, please God, it's gotta be here, like he says it is. My fingers hit something soft, then something hard. A buckle. I grab. I pull.

It's the bag. It's the bag, with the compass and the rope and the matches. I did it.

A branch cracks. I look over my shoul—

The dead man crashes on top of me, all two hundred pounds, through the tent lining. He squirms against me like a finger in a glove.

I scuttle backward as fast I can, under the cot. The dead man flops and turns and twists until he finds the tent opening, and he slithers inside, 'cause he's a hungry animal and I'm his food. An electric lamp clicks on underneath my foot. The dead man's shadow gets projected onto all four of the tent walls; big, like the bogeyman. I hug the bag like a teddy bear and then that's it, and there's nowhere else to go. His fingers reach for me, and they look like big, black, dead spiders, all curled up. I see his face, now. It's shredded. It's beaten.

It's Sophia's Dad.

Something clamps around my shoe, and it's his teeth. A whole row of thick, white teeth. A bite.

I squeeze my eyes closed and hope my shoe's thick enough to keep me safe. There's nothin' else I can do.

Then, a great, big bang.

Then, hot, slippery puddles of blood, and little bits of neck and skin and jaw, splattered across my face. He slumps. Is it over? It's over? His head's cracked open like an egg, and his brains are leaking out like yolk. There's a bullet hole between my two feet. That means — That means someone shot his shadow, through the tent. Only someone with a very good shot could have made that, without killing me at the same time. I claw my way out from under all the blankets, and the body, and the cot. I can hear voices shouting, Oh Fuck, Oh God, and, Where are you, baby, and, If you hit my daughter, I will fucking end you.

The electric lamp flutters off.

The tent is ripped open. 

I look up. I'm blinded by big, white circles of flashlight light. Someone gasps.

My chin crumples 'cause I'm crying, like a little baby.

Rick's standin' there, Sherriff's hat on, revolver smoking. Shane's there, too, wild-eyed, and very, very sweaty, with a shotgun. There's Glenn, panting. They look at the blood on the blankets, and the blood on my face, and their dead friend on the floor, with half a head. Then, they see the scratches on my arm, and for some reason, some of them look like they're about to throw up all over themselves. But the person in front, the person that got here first, that's my Dad. It's my Dad, and he's alive. He doesn't even stop to look, like the others. He doesn't care.

"Harley," He chokes, like he's been punched, and he drops to his knees in front of me. He presses me into his chest. He's alive. He's alive. 

I'm alive.

"Daddy," I cough-sob, 'cause I can't help it.

I only ever call him Daddy instead of Dad in my head, or when I'm really, really upset.

He must notice, 'cause the hug gets tighter; safer. "Baby, I'm here. You're alright. You're alright. S'alright, now."

I bury my face in his sweaty, stinky, dirt-smeared neck, and I never wanna come back out. I sob and I sob and I sob, and I sob some more. He pets my hair and shushes me, like how he does when I get nightmares. We rock back and forth. I sob, sob, sob.

Someone says my Dad's name real weird, like they're boutta keel over, and only then I remember me and my Dad aren't the only two people in the world. Footsteps crinkle on the tent canvas. Someone kneels next to me. It's Rick. He takes off his hat and sucks in a breath, glances at the others — He steels himself — and then he gently grabs my green sleeve, and I wriggle into my Dad, who's lettin' him do this, and he slides it up my arm. Fresh claw marks, and blood, pouring down my skin. We stare at my arm for a long time. They glance at Sophia's Dad. Why are we staring at my arm?

I look at Rick. I look at Glenn; at Shane. I look at my Dad. He's gone white as a ghost.

"Harley, what is that?" He whispers to me.

I look back at my arm. It's just some stupid scratches. I wipe 'em away, 'cause I want 'em gone. "It's nothin'."

"Harley," He says again, this time with a very clear, very angry, no-nonsense voice. "You look me in the eye. What is that?"

Something is very, very wrong.

Glenn has to walk away.

"Wh—?" I shake my head, sniffing. Why do I feel like I'm in trouble? I didn't do nothin' wrong. "It's nothin'. Lori, she scratched me."

"It was Lori?" Rick raises his eyebrows, like it's very, very important that I'm not lying right now.

I'm not lying. Rick, he's a liar, but not me.

"Uh-huh." I nod hard, so they believe me. "It was Lori. H— He got me, too, I think, but it don't hurt. I promise. He ain't do it too hard."

I didn't say the right thing.

They're all looking at each other. They're speaking without talking, and I don't like it.

"Daddy, what's goin' on?" I'm mumbling now, 'cause I only want my Daddy to hear me, 'cause I'm scared. I'm really scared. I don't know what I did wrong, and I don't know what they're thinking about, but I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again. I was so busy worrying about the teeth in my shoe that I wasn't thinking about anything else. I think I should've been, though, and I'm sorry I wasn't. I'm sorry. All I know is that I'm sorry. I don't know why, but I'm sorry. Daddy picks me up, even though he's told me over and over I'm too old for that, now. He's shuddering.

"We'll check Lori's nails." Rick tells him, nice and steady. His police-man voice. "If there's blood under them—"

"This bastard's got blood unn'er his nails!" Dad gives Sophia's Dad a hard kick in the head. I shriek. "The stupid fuck! It don't fuckin' matter!"

"It does matter. It does." Rick keeps saying. "We can't make any conclusions. Not 'til then. We just can't."

"You wanna talk 'conclusions', officer? Let's talk 'conclusions'."

"Daryl, we'll figure this out."

"How the Hell did y'all even let this fuckin' happen?" Dad yells. "You're like a fuckin' bad luck charm, you people!"

"This is nobody's fault." Rick says, but he sounds like he knows he's lying.

I can hear people panicking far away, back at camp, in whispers. Glenn ran back there a few minutes ago.

"First my brother, now my—?" Dad cuts himself off. He's about to cry.

Nobody's got anything to say.

We listen to the sounds of leaves rustling and crickets chirping and the distant yelling and the breeze and my Daddy's big strong heartbeat, which is goin' buh-bump, buh-bump, buh-bump under my ear, real, real fast.

Shane steps forward, but it's all over already.

This is what it was like the night Tank got put down. I realise that I'm like Tank. Tank was dying. I'm a dying dog. The scratches on my arm, I get it now. They're from the dead man and they're from Lori at the exact same time, and until we know which it is, that means I'm dying. He scratched me — I remember, now. He got me. He did. I don't wanna be dying. I was alive just a second ago. I swear I was.

Unlike yesterday, Daddy doesn't bat Rick off when puts a hand on his shoulder. Something changed in the city today. I think we're all one team, now, even if my Daddy likes to bite and snap and blame. There's no more line between them and us. There's not two camps, anymore. Only one.

The stars are bright, tonight. I watch them twinkle over my Dad's head.

"If this happens," Daddy's voice cracks. "Every single one of you are gonna be real, real sorry."

Author's Note. Yep, you guessed it, Jim survives! And Harley is the one that gets attacked.

No more ominous hole-digging for you, Jim. Sorry.

Phew. This took a long time to write. I had to re-work almost every scene about four times, because some things just weren't working, and I had to delete some others. It all worked out in the end, though. Here we are with chapter two.

Please let me know what you think! :)

[of-witches-and-ink]

"Does it ever get any easier?"

Black claws rest next to where her own fingers have lengthened, sharpened. He hovers over her shoulder, but she can't find herself to be afraid anymore. It's not like she can die in this miserable place, not really.

"No. It doesn't."

"Allison looked at me so strangely. She almost seemed like she was trying to decide whether or not to be... To be afraid of me."

"That is the way of things. They hold us accountable for that which we cannot control. In the end, it makes it easier to embrace their truth."

"Even if it isn't the real truth?"

"Even then."

"How do you live like this?"

A hoarse laugh echoes through her skull. There within lies untold suffering.

"I'm not sure I consider this living, child."

"Don't call me that."

"You are my progeny. I believe I have the right."

"Right... I'm sorry..."

"Do not apologize for your own existence, child. It is not your fault you were born, only the fault of those that would hinder and hurt. It is your life, regardless of the circumstances of your birth."

Silence reigns between them for a long moment. Then, Audrey decides to go out on a limb.

"...If I asked you really, really nicely, would you promise not to hurt Allison and Tom?"

Another laugh, this one considerably more amused.

"You are daring to ask me to go against my very nature."

"Well, considering they've done their level best to keep me alive and the handful of times I've been dunked has been at your hands, er, claws? I think a little daring is warranted."

A long silence. The Ink Demon seems to be quietly considering it. Audrey almost accepts that asking him to not kill might be a long shot, when he finally, finally speaks again.

"Very well. You've proven yourself as worthy of these halls, and as they are your allies I will allow them to roam freely. So long as they mind their own, of course."

Audrey's claws scrape against the floor as she spins to face him. Although his expression remains as fixed as always, she can sense his amusement as an almost tangible aura. Something else that's developed recently that she can now attribute to her connection to him- empathically sensing other beings.

"Oh, I can't wait to tell them! They'll be thrilled."

"I'm sure."

His voice there is indulgent, as if he expects another outcome. Reasonable, given how often he's been hurt or betrayed. She'll just have to prove him wrong.

-----

Snippet drabble of an AU in which Audrey is also Bendy's daughter and not just Joey's. There's some touchy background information that's lightly implied but I won't elaborate on that in this snippet.

[wally-franks-stan]

“Joey, can we talk for a s-“

Sammy freezes halfway through the door into Joey’s office.

The room is in disarray. The furniture has been shoved haphazardly up against the wall. Papers lie all over the floor, schematics and model sheets and sheet music and other things he can’t begin to guess the purposes of. There’s a few books too. Bottles of ink sit scattered among the paper. Some of the same things that clutter the floor are suspended from the ceiling, hanging by thin strands of something clear and shimmery. And at the focal point of the mess, sits Joey.

Joey is so very, very wrong.

He has too many eyes. Pure black and shiny, but Sammy can feel them staring at him, sharp enough he swears they could cut him. Joey has too many limbs, too, long, spindly arms jutting out from his torso where they shouldn’t, ending in claws that look like they’re supposed to be hands, but had something distinctly insectoid to them, fingers long and sharp and chitinous.

He looks almost startled, posture stiff, inhuman eyes wide in surprise. Then he sighs, and shakes his head.

“For someone who values his privacy as much as you, you really should learn to knock,” Joey says with only a hint of mock disappointment. His voice sounds wrong. “I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

Sammy tries to speak, to turn around and flee or even just back out of this horrible room, but his voice dies in his throat and his limbs are frozen in place.

Joey tilts his head. “Though, I was just about done anyway,” he murmurs thoughtfully, raising a hand toward Sammy. He closes it into a fist and yanks it toward himself, and Sammy finds himself stumbling forward.

He can’t see anything there, but he can feel something wrapped tight around his ankles, his wrists, his throat.

“Yes, I can make time for you.” Joey grins up at him, showing off something that looks somewhere in between cartoonish fangs and glistening chelicerae. “Sit down.”

Sammy doesn’t have a choice, does he? His limbs are moving on their own, guided along like a puppet. Joey waves another of his hands, and a space on the floor is cleared in front of him, papers and inkwells lifted into the air to make room. Sammy is sat down in that space.

He feels like he can barely breathe, barely think. His heart is beating so fast it feels like it could come out of his chest.

Joey’s grin falls into a look of false concern. “What’s wrong, Sammy?”

“Wh-“ the words he attempts to force from his throat come out as little more than a hoarse wheeze.

Joey leans in, reducing the space between them to mere inches. Sammy tries to pull away, but he can’t, held in a vice grip by the creature in front of him.

“You aren’t afraid of spiders, are you?”

———

Sammy wakes with a start, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as his eyes snap open and all of his senses go haywire for a moment. He sits up, every sensation forgotten aside from the awful feeling that something is crawling on him, dozens upon dozens of tiny legs dancing over every inch of his skin.

There's nothing there.

There's nothing there.

There’s. Nothing. There.

But the sensation doesn't go away, no matter how much he tries to make it, no matter how much he claws at his arms and face, willing to risk drawing blood if it will just make it stop-

"-mmy! Sammy!” A voice cuts through the blood rushing in his ears. He blinks.

Jack. Jack is here. Jack is here, beside him, looking so concerned it makes his heart break, holding his hands so he can't scratch at his skin anymore.

"It's okay, you're safe," Jack says softly, and Sammy knows he's telling the truth, because as he focuses on the feeling of Jack running his thumbs gently over the backs of his hands, the crawling feeling fades. As he focuses more on the presence beside him, the rest of the world starts to come into focus.

Sammy takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and slow his heart rate. He leans back a bit, not quite lying back down.

"That's it, just... just take it easy," Jack smiles gently, releasing one of his hands in favor of resting a hand on his shoulder.

"What... what happened?" They're in the infirmary, and he is lying on one of the cots. Jack is in a chair next to it, looking exhausted but so very relieved.

"You passed out. At least that's what Joey said," Jack pauses. Sammy feels a spike of panic at the name, and he can feel that crawling trying to return. But Jack speaks again, and it fades. "He called me to his office, said he needed help carrying you down here... he told me you went to speak to him but just... collapsed out of nowhere. Hit your head pretty hard, too. I'm... I'm glad you're okay, I was worried... you are okay, right?"

He takes a shaky breath, and sighs. "Yes, I think I'm fine... my head hurts, but..." He trails off, fidgeting a bit with his free hand. "J-Joey, was he..."

Some kind of horrific spider creature? Covering me in webs or moving me around like a puppet?

"...okay?"

Jack nods slightly, but something about the movement seems wrong. "He seemed fine. Really worried, a bit freaked out... I don't think he does well with the sight of blood."

"I was bleeding?"

Jack doesn't respond. He doesn't even give any indication that he heard, just... staring.

"Jack?” Sammy feels a spike of panic, gripping Jack's hand tighter.

He shakes his head, blinking a bit, seeming to have snapped out of whatever had taken hold of him. "Huh?"

"...it was nothing, nevermind."

"You sure?"

Sammy nods. He isn't sure, but he gets the feeling he isn't going to be able to get a response.

"Alright... well, Joey asked me to tell you that he wants you to go home and take the next few days off. I personally think you should probably see a doctor, too, just in case... head injuries aren't really something to be taken lightly... oh, uh, he also said to find someone who can drive you home or at least get you a cab, I don't know why he asked me to do that, but... if you want to go, I can take you."

Sammy is silent. He does want to go home. He doesn't feel safe here, not anymore. Not right now. Even if he was just imagining everything he saw.

"Yeah... I think that would be good."

It is a few hours after Sammy is deemed well enough to be left alone that he finally notices the gash on the back of his head, held shut by a small mass of blood-caked cobweb.

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“—tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know—with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

“Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

[vodkanrainbows]

Xefros' Daymare

Well my dudes, I already wrote a fanfic about Dammek having a daymare, so this time Xefros is the one to have a daymare.

Some Background Information: This takes place after the events of Hiveswap, wherein Xefros and Dammek leave their lives on Alternia behind to start fresh (Joey is the one to persuade Xefros into coming back to Earth with her) and stay in Earth. They are now living at the Half-Harley Manor with Joey and Jude. Now that Dammek and Xefros don't have to do Dammek's rebellion, Dammek now devotes his life to spend time with Xefros and has learned how to treat him right (especially after getting yelled at by Joey).

Additional Notes: Dammek and Joey are kismesis, and Xefros and Dammek are no longer moirails, but matesprits instead.

Characters: Dammek, Xefros, Joey (mentioned), Jude (mentioned)

Ships: Xefros ❤ Dammek, Xefros ♦ Dammek (mentioned), Joey ♠ Dammek (mentioned)

Warnings: Red Dammek/Xefros, since some people don't like them being shipped red.

Story below the cut! Enjoy me writing at 4 in the morning :)

Ever since Joey was able to convince Xefros to come to live on Earth with her and her brother, Jude, he has been much happier with his now matesprit, Dammek. The two were able to reconcile after Xefros broke off their Moirallegiance for a few months. They recently got back to dating and officially became matesprites. Xefros had flushed feelings for Dammek since the very beginning, but decided to never tell him in fear of being told that Dammek didn't feel the same and would reject him. So Xefros was extremely surprised (and relieved) when Dammek revealed to Xefros that he indeed felt the same. Since they're no longer having to rebel against Trizza, Dammek now treats Xefros right and they spend a lot of time together.

---

It was a peaceful night at Half-Harley Manor. Everybody was asleep and the manor was a quiet as can be. Dammek and Xefros share a room together and share a bed. Dammek was sleeping just fine, but Xefros was whining softly under his breath in his sleep.

---

Dammek: xeFros, we have to talk.

Xefros: sure! what is it?

Dammek: so i've been thinking...

Dammek: about our relationship together.

Xefros' bloodpusher sank. Uh oh...

Xefros: oh... uh...

Xefros: really?? X:O

Dammek nodded.

Dammek: yes.

Dammek: i think...

Dammek paused for a sec, breaking eye contact with Xefros.

Dammek: we should break up.

Xefros covered his mouth in shock.

Xefros: what?

Xefros: w-why?

Dammek: xeFros, you know i like you a whole lot, but i'm not always gonna have time for you!

Xefros: b-but you said youd always have time for me...

Dammek: that was then, xeFros. things change, y'know?

Xefros' eyes started to well up, burgundy tears threatening to run down his cheeks.

Dammek: i'm sorry, xeFros, but we're done.

Xefros: dammek please

Xefros: dont you DARE leave me!

Xefros was full on crying now, grabbing Dammek by his hoodie sleeve. Dammek was refusing to make eye contact.

Xefros: i-i love you!!! im IN LOVE with you!

Xefros: please!

Xefros: i dont want you to go

Xefros: i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i lov-

Xefros was interrupted when Dammek suddenly yanked his arm out of Xefros' tight grip, which made Xefros fall backwards onto his back. Xefros yelped in pain.

Dammek was now crying as he leaned over Xefros' body currently on the ground.

Dammek: enough!

Dammek: i said we're done! what part of that are you not getting, huh?!

Dammek: just leave me alone, dammit!

Xefros was still laying on his back, looking up at Dammek with blurry vision. Burgundy tears are now violently falling down his cheeks and onto the ground below him. Xefros only whimpered in response to Dammek shouting at him.

Dammek: ...goodbye, xeFros.

Xefros' eyes widened when he heard this, swiftly jolting up into a sitting position, ignoring the pain in his possibly broken back. Xefros suddenly started to scream at Dammek's now disappearing form as Dammek was walking away from Xefros.

Xefros: DAMMEK!!!!

Xefros: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO DAMMEK PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME PLEASE!

Xefros stopped screaming when he realized Dammek probably can't hear him anymore. He lie back onto his back as he cried silently to himself.

---

Xefros awoke with a scream.

Xefros: DAMMEK!!!!!!!!

Suddenly, Dammek started moving frantically in the bed, jumping to his feet.

Dammek: xeFros?! what the Fuck happened?!

Xefros was crying.

Xefros: d-dammek?

Dammek turned around to look at Xefros with wide eyes. Dammek got back up into the bed and nestled next to his matesprit. Dammek grabbed Xefros and held on tight.

Dammek: yeah, i'm right here babe

Dammek: what happened?

Dammek: tell me everything, ok?

Xefros was still crying, but he felt a little better with Dammek holding him tightly.

Xefros: i...

Xefros: i had a daymare

Dammek pulled back from Xefros slightly, looking at Xefros with his beautiful eyes. He had no sunglasses on, which gave Xefros a good chance to look into his eyes, which were glowing green because of the pitch darkness that they are sitting in. Xefros is the only one Dammek allows to see him without his trademark shades on. Dammek is extremely insecure about his eyes, which is why he wears them, but Xefros thinks Dammek's eyes are beautiful. Xefros even prefers seeing Dammek without the shades on. "my eyes are only for you, baby," Dammek has told Xefros.

Dammek: a daymare? about what?

Xefros: y-you dumped me...

Dammek: ...what?

Xefros nodded.

Xefros: you said you no longer had time for me...

Xefros: i-i tried to atop you from leaving me a-and you...

Xefros had to gulp and take a deep breath. Dammek rubbed Xefros arms up and down in reassurance.

Dammek: it's okay. tell me more baby.

Xefros: ...y-you started to scream at me telling me to leave you alone and i screamed and screamed for you but you wouldnt come back no matter how loud i screamed...

Xefros: i just...

Xefros: dont want you to leave me!!!!

Dammek jumped at Xefros' sudden shouting, but quickly recovered and sat up a little and straddled Xefros' lap. Dammek put one finger underneath Xefros' chin, forcing Xefros took look at him. Dammek was scowling.

Dammek: hey.

Dammek: look at me, baby. listen carefully For me, ok?

Xefros nodded.

Dammek: xeF, you know that'll never happen. i'll always have time for you. i will not leave your side, no matter what happens.

Dammek: i am not perFect, but i really am trying. i love you so much, always have. even when i was treating you like shit.

Dammek: of course joey would try and convince you that i didn't care about you, and you believed her and you dumped me. you realized that we were meant to be together, so you came back to me and we started the relationship from Fresh.

Dammek: but joey was right about one thing. i was not a good moirail to you. sure i cared about you, but i was too caught up in that stupid rebellion to give you the time we should've spent together. i was selFish. i was bossy and put you through dangerous shit, not caring about the consequences. i hurt you so many Fucking times but you never realized it because of how much you looked up to me. i took advantage of that because i knew you'd always come back to me. jude helped me realize a lot of things, xeFros. he helped me realize that a TRUE Friend wouldn't do the things i did to you. i am glad i came to earth. if the portal wouldn't have activated, we would still be rebelling and i'd still be treating you like shit. hell, we wouldn't even be matesprits right now!

Dammek: so in short, i was a shitty person who didn't treat you right.

Dammek released Xefros chin, putting his hand on Xefros' waist.

Dammek: you are literally the best person in my liFe, you always have been. even back then.

Dammek: i love you so Fucking much, baby. you have no idea.

Suddenly, Xefros shifted and pushed Dammek down into the bed and into the mattress. Xefros was covering Dammek's face in kisses. Dammek laughed.

Dammek: xeFros!!

Xefros made his way from Dammek's face to Dammek's throat, splaying kisses all over there too. Dammek gasped a little, wrapping his arms around Xefros with a growl and bared fangs, as if to protect him. Joey and Jude didn't wake up to Xefros' screams. Dammek didn't really have a reason to growl and show of his fangs like that since Joey and Jude mean no harm at all. He still kinda thinks Joey means harm, but he guesses this is normal since they're now in a black relationship. But Dammek still does this whenever anyone harms his friends.

Xefros stopped kissing Dammek's neck. Dammek still has his arms around Xefros. Damnek buries his head in Xefros' neck, purring.

Xefros: thanks, dammek

Xefros: i feel so much better now...

Dammek's reply was slightly muffled, but Xefros understands him anyways.

Dammek: anything for you, baby.

Dammek and Xefros part.

Dammek: wanna go back to bed?

Xefros: sure

Dammek smiled as he got under the covers with Xefros. Dammek opened his arms for Xefros so they can cuddle. Xefros purrs and quickly accepts Dammek's embrace. Dammek pulls Xefros close to him, kissing Xefros on the lips. They locked lips for a few seconds before they broke the kiss. Xefros buries his face into Dammek's neck before finally closing his eyes and falling asleep. Xefros is so grateful to have Dammek in his life.

[inevitable-anna]

Escape The Night S4X06 Spoilers.

Hello, it’s ETN time again! I believe this may be my longest reaction post yet! I’m working on my ‘possessed guest’ theory.

Here we go...

[[MORE]]

Oohh The Gorgon and The Collector are having an argument!

Ummm... The Gorgon doesn't turn to stone when she looks at her own reflection?

Holy Musical B@tman! The Minotaur came out of nowhere!

R.I.P random Greek warrior dude. Press f to pay respects!

Still loving the opening credits!

*The Gorgon enters the lounge* My mind: "Here's Gorgie!"

Ahh! No! Don't hurt The Sorceress! Bad Gorgon!

AHHHH! MORTIMER IS TURNING TO STONE! THAT IS NOT GOOD!

ASDFGHJKL! I'm sorry, I know Mortimer is probably dead now, but his statue looks hilarious!

The way The Sorceress was touching the fingertips of Mortimer’s statue, when the guests came back into the lounge. :(

"Oh, baked beans!" I love Ro so much, and I know I say it every time but she's great!

"I will gouge her eyes out for this. Mark my words!" The Sorceress vowed to avenge Mortimer!

"I knew he was a stoner." If Bretman dies I'm gonna be so mad!

Oh, this is the ‘rainiest day’ that Merlin was talking about!

The group used the 'guardian angel' stone!

ATTFSRKDBWORNZWLBEBUANRBFKRBFOWRPGOHEBNGORKD KENNGIIIWBSIA!!!!!

MATPAT AND NIKITA ARE BACK!!! YESSSSS!!

AND RO'S STILL ALIVE SO MATT/RO REUNION!!!

Ro: *sees Mat* "starts screaming"!

Awww! Mat just lifted Ro up and gave her the biggest hug! Yay! They're reunited! This is the one of the things in the series that I was waiting for and I’m so glad it happened!

Wait? Is Mat's hair purple? It looks good.

No one:

Nikita: *shows up*

Colleen: "Nikita's a really sucky guardian angel because last time I was with her, she shoved me into a box of spikes and murdered me."

Me: :|

"We only have a limited amount of time to save as many of you as possible." Oh? Are Mat and Nikita only here for this episode then? :(

Ro: "Did you join a cult?" Mat: "What?" Ro: "I saw the symbol on her, it's on Joey. You got it." Nikita: "We're the Society Against Evil." Mat: "We're here to help. We're the good guys." Ro: *suspicious af face* "This cult is recruiting. I do not trust them." I just found this funny.

But I do agree with Ro. I don't trust the SAE.

I missed Mat. "I mean, Jael and Ryu are kinda weird. Bit quiet. They puke magic. It's kinda disgusting." Lol

Thank goodness for Mat! "Thinking Gorgon, I immediately think of Greek mythology."

Mat and Ro's friendship is everything! Mat: *thinks of possible solution* Ro: "Mat, you smart. You smart." Mat: "Thank you."

Mat doing a victory dance, when his theory is proved to be correct, is brilliant!

Colleen: "The Collector, despite being a real b*tch, happens to have one in her museum." Does Merlin's note actually say the bit about The Collector being a b*tch or did Colleen add that in? Because it's hilarious to think of Merlin writing that!

Joey: "I volunteer not to hold the shield, so." When was the last time you actually volunteered to do something Joey? Because I can't remember! (This is gonna be really stupid if he volunteered an episode or two ago)

Colleen. WE KNOW YOU HOLD A GRUDGE BUT PLEASE STOP BRINGING IT UP EVERY 5 MINUTES!

ALEX! YOU ARE STILL SHADY AS HELL TO ME! EVEY TIME YOU SAY "I need to prove that I'm on your side" IT JUST SEEMS MORE SUSPICIOUS!!

Joey: "The Gorgon's lair is gorgeous." Camera: *shows The Gorgon's lair, which is covered in fog and statues that are actually deceased people* Me: 'If Joey thinks this is gorgeous, I'd hate to see what he thinks is ugly.'

Please let Alex get turned to stone!🤞🏻 Please let Alex get turned to stone!🤞🏻Please let Alex get turned to stone!🤞🏻

Bretman: "Alex tries to look at her through the mirror and Miss Gorgon was like, 'B*tch, you dumb.'" Bretman is still great.

Alex: *gets captured by Minotaur after failing to turn The Gorgon to stone* Bretman: "Why are the cute monsters never grabbing me?" Me: "... Wha?"

I love how whenever the group gets a note and someone reads it out, you can see Ro trying to remember it and figure it out in the background.

Ok, three riddles to open the three gates of the maze. The answer to each riddle will be an object inside the maze. This sounds cool, I love riddles! I’m not great at them but I like them.

Nikita: "Shut up and just look cute. I'm gonna save your ass."

First riddle: "I have a head a tail but no body." No body but it has a head and tail?

Ohh! It's a coin. Good thinking Nikita! And Nikita got captured!

Now we're with team Mat.

Oh so they have to find what each statue was missing and return it to said statue.

Okay, The Sorceress was helping Ro hide from The Gorgon was awesome and now I want The Sorceress and Ro to be friends!

(Photo credit to @sun-shine-lolli-pops)

Okay, back to the team Nikita.

Second riddle: "Feed me and I live. Give me a drink and I'll die." EEK! I know this one! It's fire, the answer is fire!

Nikita: "A candle. Look for something with fire." Alex: "Don't listen to her." And Alex keeps trying to convince everyone that he's not bad?

Grapes? Okay, now Bretman has used the lighter!

Okay, the second gate has been opened. One more to go!

Bretman has been captured as well.

Now it's Joey's turn! Third riddle: "When you need me you throw me away. When you are done with me you bring me back." Hmm?

Wait! On the table is an anchor! It's the anchor! It's the anchor, Joey!

Third and final gate complete! And Joey didn’t get caught.

Uh oh... Joey has to vote for himself or vote for either Nikita, Bretman or Alex and Joey will get immunity.

Back to team Mat.

Good thinking with the empty pedestals, Ro!

I love how Ro takes the high pedestal and has to, literally, climb on top of it because she's so tiny, while Mat and Colleen have the short pedestal and just have to step onto it.

Ro yelling "Team Cinnamon Roll" is everything! #TeamCinnamonRoll

Colleen: "Mat and I have to stand on the one that says, "Kiss of the jewelled lover." Matt's married and has a kid. I'm married and have a kid. So that ain't happening. So he's gonna get a big ol' kiss on the cheek."

Colleen: "Are we doing this?" Matt: "Give me a kiss, lover!" The way that Matt says that is hilarious!

Mat: "Are you the new Calliope? Are you the one who's shuffling the cards?"

Sorceress: "I'm The Sorceress."

Ro: "She's pretty cool, Matt."

Mat: "Yeah?"

Ro: "Yeah, she's really helpful."

Colleen: "Snake lady freaks me out."

Matt: "Didn't Joey say that she killed him?" That whole interaction was brilliant.

Phew, Joey voted for himself. Which makes my earlier dig about him not volunteering look stupid now.

Ro asks Alex if he wants to go in and he said yes!

WHAT? Who the heck voted for Colleen?

ASDFGHJKL! Bretman: "Miss Colleen, prove yourself, Duchess." It was Bretman!

Alex is going in too!

Alex: "What? Rosanna! I didn't know what I was saying earlier. I was just cold." Ro: "You told me to vote for you!" Anyone getting S1X06 Matt vibes here? When he said he'd do the exorcism and then tried to back out?

Oh this is an interesting challenge! The ‘guardian angels’ Mat and Nikita has to traverse the maze and find the parts of a puzzle, while Alex and Colleen have to assemble the puzzle pieces to make the Parthenon.

Nikita crawls under the legs of the Minotaur! That is gutsy!

Colleen is almost done!

NIKITA! WHAT THE FLIPPETY FLAPPITY FUCK?!?!?

I'm sorry for my language there but what the hell, Nikita?

Nikita has cheated at this challenge and the last person to cheat was Destorm and he automatically forfeited his life as punishment. I feel like Alex should lose now. (I’m not saying this because I dislike Alex, I’m saying because Nikita cheated and I think there should be a punishment.)

No! Where's Matt gone?

Thank goodness! Matt is still alive! He’s just outside the museum.

R.I.P Colleen Ballinger.

First death- stabbed to death inside of the iron ‘maiden of madness’.

Second death- “ripped to pieces” by the Minotaur.

I used to like Nikita... not anymore!

Yesesss! Kill The Gorgon! When Alex tells the Minotaur to stay in the maze, the Minotaur stomps of like a child being sent to their room.

Nikita: "I seem to be doing pretty well for my first mission as a Society Against Evil girl." Nikita: *cheats at challenge, which gets Colleen killed*

Ro: "Alex and Nikita return to the lounge. Which means Matpat and Colleen did not make it." She thinks Mat is dead and she looks so sad! Someone hug Ro! Please?!

Ro: "There's this fire that's starting inside of me that's just starting to ignite, and I'm just... I hate these monsters." #LetRoBeABadass2K19

A lamp? Does this mean that the genie/djnn looking person from the trailer is next?

"Wishes are not free." Well, that's ominous.

And that’s my reaction post for S4X06 done!

And as I thought about the end of this episode, I thought that, apart from Nikita, Rosanna is the only girl left in the group. If Nikita only stays for one more episode then Ro will definitely be the only girl left and that should guarantee that she is one of this seasons survivors! Until I thought that Colleen is seen in the pirates episode, which means she may be revived, which will probably be bad for Ro as they probably won’t have 2 female survivors (Although Ro is is the pirate episode as well). Excluding S2, The survivors are always Joey, a boy and a girl, so it’s unlikely that it would be 2 girls and Joey to win this season unless they decide to change that. But who knows?

Quick question, who do you want to win this season?

Hope you like this post! :)

Have a lovely day!

[edward-richtofen-queen]

Beyond The Veil [Part 2 of 2]

Masterlist

Part 1 ← | Part 2 ↓

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After moments of unbearable pain, Julie woke up covered in dried tears and distress—had Susie just betrayed her in the blink of an eye without even letting her explain? The pain eased away into nothing as she numbly stared into the fire, unpleasant memories from her first kill flooding back into her mind.

Muffled cries left Julie's lips as an unfamiliar man grabbed her by the back of her jacket as a hand cupped over her mouth. It had been a dare from Frank that lead them here, and now Julie was being held against her will by what seemed to be the janitor. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she struggled to get free from the man's grasp only to hear the man cry in pain as she was let go and met with cold tile to her face.

"We've got to kill him now—go on," Frank demands, Julie standing up to stare at the now bleeding man on the floor. Joey was the first to react, swiping the blade from Frank's bloodied hand and stabbing the cleaner in his ribs as he let out a pained whine. Joey gestured the knife to Susie, whom only shook her head. "I—I can't do it," She whispered, looking away from the knife and the body. Frank clenched his teeth, his voice raised as he spoke, "We've got to finish what we started, Susie! You can't pussy out now, it's too late."

Julie took the knife from Joey, closing her eyes and sliding the blade into the man's chest as he sobbed out once more—quietly this time. Susie, with eyes wide looked at Julie with scared eyes as Frank took her hands and stabbed the knife into the man's throat to end his suffering. Silence filled the small store as they sat there to admire or grimace, Frank barking orders as Julie and Susie mopped while Joey helped Frank with the body. Murder was never an easy task as they loaded the body into the back of Joey's truck, leaving the crime scene as if nothing ever happened.

Ever since that day, Julie was wasn't very keen of surprises—let alone being hugged or touched from behind or on her back.

Julie hadn't kept track of time, her eyes glistening with tears and reflecting the licking flames of the campfire. Her face had been wiped of all emotions, a hollow shell of a woman. Patting her dried tears from her face, her lips were drawn in a line as she stared blankly up at the sky. Her heart ached and pulsed in pain, having been betrayed by one of her own friends. "Julie?" The sweet southern accent made her internal pain ease—she decided that mute was the way to go, using her eye quite like her mouth was used.

Eyeing the singer, Kate flinched back—her face was blank but her eyes were a wreck of emotions. Sadness pitted with anger and despair pooled in her orbs as she turned away, having looked to long. "You're upset," Kate spoke, sitting close but not too close to Julie for a little comfort. Julie was still an unknown factor—she was never emotional during trials, and everyone acted different when expressing varying emotions. "I understand, Julie. I'm guessing one of your previous friends was in trial?" Kate gave a light frown as she saw Julie flinch—they must've done something to her to make her act this way.

"Anythin' I can do ta' help?" She asked sweetly again, pulling out her guitar to strum some type of ambience to ease the tension laying a blanket over the camp. Julie shook her head as Claudette came to sit next to Kate. "Is she okay?" Her soft sweet voice made Julie glance over at the chocolate colored girl, a sweet little smile painting her face as she waved to Julie. Fixing her glasses with a finger, Kate shook her head. "She's a bit upset so I'm tryin' ta' help," The singer explains as Claudette nods.

Gasping, Claudette disappears for a moment and returns with an object in her hands. Julie stiffened as an the object was placed on her head, a giggle escaping the botanist's lips. "You look adorable in a flower crown, sweetie," She spoke, Julie's fingers feeling up her hair to touch the weaved crown. A small little smile made Kate beam, holding out a hand for Julie to take. "You feel a little better? I want ya' ta' meet the others properly and stay for girl's night—you up for it?"

Feeling a little more confidence, Julie took the hand as both woman led her to a corner of the campsite.

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Julie had lost count of the trials she went through, going up killers she remembered making friends with. She was sacrificed once or twice for being altruistic, but was still happy to play out of her comfort zone for a little while. Kate, Claudette and Nea became her temporary friends.

Alas, she was being taken back to murder once more.

The small group of girls had been chatting, making conversation about The Shape or Michael after a scare of him having Infinite Tier Three. Trials were done for the day and decided to do something fun as Claudette taught Julie how to weave crowns and Julie learned a couple more songs. When fog crept to Julie's leg, a sense of sadness fell over her. "It looks like it's my time," She announced, fixing her hoodie as they gave her a side hug. "Will you let us go when we see you again?" Nea asks jokingly, fixing the beanie atop her head as Julie laughed. "I'll think about it. I'll see you in trial!"

With glowing orange and black claws, The Entity dropped her back in Ormond—her home. The air was flooded with white, cold bliss spilling on her pale fingertips—how she missed home. Walking into the large resort, the crackling of the old fashioned oven/fireplace brought the only warmth they had in this cold land but she was used to it. Her mask in place over here face, she felt tears rushing down her eyes again—how would she be able to keep her composure now that her best friend had the audacity to kill her in cold blood? Had being around her that long not given her enough time to memorize her features?

Sitting on the couches around the fireplace sat Joey and Frank, whom now noticed their pale friend. "Julia?" Frank's warms voice made Julie break into a sob, throwing herself between both men and removing her mask to place on the table. Joey and Frank gave each other worried glances as her face dived for Joey's neck, sloppy wet tears dripping down his skin. Scooting closer, Frank and Joey comforted Julie as she wept and wept. Whispering words of comfort, her tears eventually ran dry as she grew tired, Joey holding her close as she cuddled him. Wiping her tears from her cheeks, she looked peacefully as she gave a broken kind of smile as she slept.

"She was gone for a full day and came back crying," Frank muttered to Joey as Julie sniffled in her sleep, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Susie said something about an imposter—you think it was Julie but Susie couldn't remember?" Joey asked as Frank shrugged, stroking her hair with cautious fingers. "Probably—you think Susie has Capgras? She knows Julie by her voice but she does tend to forget her face." Joey huffed, holding Julie as she whispered in her sleep.

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

When Julie awoke, her fingers brushed up against leather fabric and the smell of sandalwood filled her nose—she has been cuddling with Joey, hadn't she? "Morning, Sunshine," Joey's voice spoke from above her, legs sprawled and tangled together as she looked up at him. "Hey Joey," She smiled as he hummed, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she blushed. "How long was I out?" Julie asked as Joey flipped his wrist to look at his watch. "A good hour or so—you good?" He asked as she nodded, removing herself from his embrace.

Walking up the steps, Julie completely ignored the pink haired girl as she stopped at the door. Susie immediately went after her as she leaned against the railing, a regretful look on her face. "Julie?" Susie's voice came to her as no response was given a hefty sigh leaving her pink lips. "Julie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't believe you—you were suddenly gone and you didn't look like you to me." Susie explained, fingers twirling her thumbs as she went to speak again only to not have words. A twitch in Julie's eye made Susie flinch slightly, her sudden movements angered and serious.

"You're telling me in all the time that we've been friends, you forgot what I looked like?" Tears dripped down her cheeks as she spoke, fingers holding her arms as she shook. "You said you'd never hurt me, Susie. You broke your promise to me—our friendship promise! How am I supposed to believe you anymore? I even quivered when you touched my back! You know I hate it when people touch my back! Ever since that night, I can't be touched on the back. I thought you knew this, because i thought you knew me!" Sobs racked her frame as she finished venting, fingers covering her eyes as guilt washed over Susie.

Julie hadn't been this emotional in a very long time, anxiety of being judged always a thing to worry about in high school. Multiple steps hurried up the stairs as Susie hugged Julie gently, careful around her back. "I was an idiot, I didn't tell you guys I had Capgras Syndrome—I didn't think it would come back to haunt me. I'm sorry, Jules," Susie sniffled, pressing a friendly kiss to her cheeks as she stifled her sobs. Joey's chocolate hands cupped Julie's cheeks, Julie leaning into his warmth as Frank held her hands.

"I love you—all of you," Julie spoke, blinking away her tears and smiling warmly. Frank chuckled, pecking her lips. "Of course—we're The Legion, loving each other through and through. Isn't that right?" Joey and Susie hummed in agreement as she melted into their combined embraces.

Maybe that back thing didn't matter that much anymore...

[malexfan10]

Now that my anger has calmed down.....

We got a season 2 renewal!!!

I can't say how happy I am about that. To get the renewal so soon after that wreck of an episode last night means everything! If we had to wait a whole month.....

Trusting the writers to fix what they broke is a whole other thing after that finale. But it can go two ways.

Either they completely decide to screw everyone over and have M&M be endgame (if Michael says 'I never look away' to Maria I will be completely done with it all) or they will test the waters with M&M and when they decide they've had enough, break them up and have Michael go back to Alex. I'm thinking scenario 2.

Now how should this all play out? It sucks that we even got a triangle to begin with and the fact that Michael said 'I never look away' and then ended up looking away to Alex's best friend no less brings my anger back from last night. The fact that Alex was sitting there waiting and wondering, looking at his watch, sad and alone while M&M was happening is not a visual I will forgive the writers for anytime soon. To top that, this ending made Carina happy if it ended there? That still puzzles me. Seriously, lady?? BUT what's done is done. Can't change the past. We can only hope that season 2 is not a terrible shitstorm like last night was.

So how can this all play out? Will Alex be waiting in the sidelines, depressed and upset, watching his best friend and true love across town being happy? I hope not! If they have M&M explore a relationship for half the season or even the whole season, then Alex deserves to move on as well. Do I still want Malex to be endgame? You betcha! But both sides to that relationship deserve happiness, not just Michael. If they can't have it with each other right now because one side has decided his happiness lies elsewhere, then Alex deserves the same treatment.

The last thing I want is for Alex to take that rejection as a sign and shoot his walls back up. He has done amazingly in terms of growth this season and I need his character to keep growing. The boy deserves so much happiness! So does Michael after all he's been through but because he chose Maria and because I dislike the triangle and how those M&M feelings came out of nowhere, he's not my focus right now.

Should a new relationship for Alex be with Kyle? I love that dynamic and I don't want anything to mess with that. Plus, in terms of where they are with each other, there is still so much healing that needs to be done. These two were probably best friends as kids. I love Kyle a lot but you can't fix that friendship overnight. Little by little, they've been making wonderful progress so I want that friendship to flourish next season and an added complication of a relationship won't exactly help. If Malex were completely done, I'd be gutted but I would change my tune on Kylex. But for now, let Alex be with someone new.

All of this is if they keep M&M together for half or most of the season. If it's a one or two episode storyline, then I don't want Alex getting involved with anyone else. But they put the effort to push this triangle so unfortunately, it doesn't seem likely that they will abandon M&M that easily or anytime soon.

Michael and Alex have been through so much in 13 episodes, together and apart. It's why we love their characters and storyline as much as we do because we feel for them and our hearts hurt seeing them tortured. Michael was always searching for a family, for a sense of belonging and when he found his mother, she was taken away in the most cruel and tragic way. But all these people around him see him as family too. They care for him from one degree to another. He's been through a lot on the show but he still has such a huge capacity to love.

For Alex, he started as an abused, scared, gay teenager terrified from his father's actions into choosing a life he never wanted for himself. Did he end up enjoying the Air Force? I think he did because like he said, it felt good winning battles. But at what cost? He put his life and happiness on hold for 10 years and lost his leg in battle. He's the definition of pain and suffering on the show but despite it all, he has always maintained this incredible kindness in his heart that is unmatched.

Alex started the season closed off and unsure and the journey he went through was beautiful to see. He found his inner strength, he faced his demons (Jesse) and he started forgiving those who had hurt him by seeing who they are now (Kyle). He finally reached a place where he wasn't terrified to open his heart to love again. That scene with Michael last episode? That was so pivotal to his storyline. He showed Michael how important he was to him, not just through actions, but through words. Words that have been lacking between them for so much of their history. He was willing to stay and die with him. He wouldn't have been able to have that moment with Michael at the start of the season. Where he was and where he ended up showed the biggest growth from all the characters in my mind. It was easily my favorite personal story arc of the season. Sucks how that growth got spat on last night but it doesn't take away from who Alex is now.

Do I want to see Malex be separated? No, I love them wholeheartedly. I haven't been this invested in a TV couple in a long time probably since Pacey and Joey back in the day. Oh, just a side note - Carina mentioned how she wants Michael to be the Joey Potter of Roswell. Giant No Thank You to that idea. As much as I love DC and PJ, the way Joey ping-ponged between him and Dawson was just ridiculous, never knowing who she wanted until literally the final episode of season 6. That is not what I want to see for Malex. Hope she changes her mind on that idea quick.

But anyway, with Michael choosing his version of a happy ending last night, then Alex certainly deserves the same. I hate that Michael chose Maria. I hate that he knew he and Alex were going to talk but he blew him off and went straight to Maria anyway. I hate that they kissed. I hate that Maria acted on her feelings knowing what Michael means to Alex. I hate that neither thought about Alex in that moment. I hate that he played the guitar in front of her. But if we're going to be forced through more M&M, then let Alex try to move on too.

I want Malex together, of course I do! But if Malex is endgame, and I think that they are, the writers are definitely not making the road easy for them or us. In the meantime, while I fast forward through whatever M&M scenes we're going to be getting, let Alex have some pleasure too. I want them to explore his family more, his mother, his heritage. Just give that boy some love and happiness please!

I love both Vlamis and Tyler equally but it shows how inexperienced Vlamis was with TV fandom. Tyler was a lot more reserved with his interviews - he'd been through it with PLL Haleb vs Spaleb. He expressed how he felt about Malex but that wasn't all he touched on. Vlamis (Oh how I still love him) was all Malex, Malex, Malex for weeks and then the shift in his tone was so obvious. He spoke about M&M a lot more towards the end. The powers that be advised or urged him to do so because everyone knew how the season was ending. But I still love him and of course I love Tyler. The Vlamburn bromance is everything.

I just want to add that Tyler's tweet today really helped heal my heart a bit. He's such a sweetheart for reaching out to the fans and trying to assure us. Knowing we have a season 2, I choose to believe him.

Sorry for the long post. I still hate how it all went down last night, how Alex was left alone and pining while M&M got together. I hate how both Alex and Maria were nothing but props for Michael's storyline. The finale felt rushed and I could probably pick only three things that I liked from the whole episode. Kyle, Liz and Max hugging in the desert and Rosa. I didn't even like that Malex scene in the trailer or Michael telling Isobel he loves Alex because of where it all went.

But now that we have a season 2, we have to look forward. I want to see filming pics and behind-the-scenes when they start planning the season. Hoping that M&M won't be depicted as some grand romance next season because seriously, what the hell? I hope that Alex can continue to grow and his friendship with Kyle grows even stronger. In the end though, I want Malex. I wanted them last night and I want them in the first episode of next season. That's obviously not realistic anymore so all I can hope is that they don't make Alex a sad, lonely, heartbroken 3rd party while they explore M&M being together. Because if they do, this fandom will seriously riot! And no more giving sacred Malex moments to Maria either. Please stop doing that. And flesh Maria's character out more next season too. Away from Michael, preferably, but more than being the bad best friend who hooks up with her besties soulmate. Like, honestly, come on. Girl's got such great potential.

In the meantime, I will bury myself in writing fanfic to tame my anger at that crap ending until season 2 🙂

Vlamburn ❤

[hazel3017]

Hazel. Rookies. I can't stop thinking about the boys as rookies. That article about Sid getting mobbed by fans? Did that lead to a lot of hotel room TV watching with G who barely spoke any English? No clubbing for them when Geno has verbs to learn and homework in roadies?

The thing is, Sid is used to the mobs, to the fame and the attention. It’s magnified in Pittsburgh, sure, the NHL exposure means that only more and more people know his name, but it’s nothing new.

Sid’s been dealing with it ever since that first interview when he was seven, when suddenly everyone at school knew his name, people from five streets over, and even the teens at the local pizza shop would comment, “You’re that kid, yeah? The one scoring all those goals?”

It was novel then. Novel and a little scary, but mostly exciting. It had felt contained when it was just Cole Harbour, when the people, strangers, who started stopping for a quick chat or a random, “Hey, good game,” were friends of a friend of a friend.

Six degrees of separation and all that. It felt safe.

Now it’s more of the same but still different. It doesn’t always feel so safe anymore. Not when going out means worrying about pictures of him going up online—pictures of him holding drinks that aren’t even his, or of women he doesn’t know pressing close. Of men working their arms around him for a picture, just a little too proprietary to be completely innocent.

There is a narrative there, one that isn’t true no matter how much reporterts work their angles, and Sid refuses to play in to it.

It’s easier to hang back when the guys leave for bars and clubs and a night of loose morals and plenty of alcohol. Sometimes, Sidney wishes he could go with them without the hassle he knows it will inevitably end up being, but mostly he’s okay with staying back at the hotel or hang out with the Lemieux kids if they’re back in Pittsburgh. He goes out if Mario does, feels safe and sheltered with him, but otherwise he stays in, and Sidney is perfectly okay with that. He is.

Usually, the guys doesn’t make much of a fuss when he begs off, citing sore limbs or headaches or sleep deprivation or even a combination of all three. They’re disappointed, Sidney knows, because his team actually likes him, but that also means they’ve got his back. They respect him enough not to push and someone always brings back something sweet for him anyway, because Sid’s sweet tooth is more than just an inside joke.

It works this way for a year, and Sidney is fine with it. It’s a little lonely, sometimes, and Sidney has always liked having people around him, has always enjoyed getting lost in the noise and spectacle of people, but he doesn’t want to ask any of the guys to sacrifice their night of fun by staying in with him and no one has really offered to either.

Not until Geno.

“Sid?” he says the first time they’re on a roadie and Max already has one hand clamped around Geno’s left arm and a look on his face that would have been angelic on anyone else if it hadn’t been Max as he promises Gonch that yes, he will absolutely look after Geno and make sure he makes it back to the hotel at a semi-reasonable time.

Sid ignores the by-play and focuses on Geno, who still hasn’t taken his eyes off him. He’s lilted his voice enough to make it a question, but Sidney doesn’t have the Russian to explain or Geno the English to understand why Sidney won’t be going with them.

Instead, Sidney smiles, a strained, crooked thing, and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s okay. You guys go ahead,” he says, and hopes Geno understands even if the words won’t make sense to him.

Max is already dragging Geno through the hotel lobby, Tanger and Jordy and Colby hot on their heels, and all the while, Geno’s eyes stay on Sidney.

Sidney offers him a wave and another smile; it comes easier, more real with the way Geno grins back at him and waves back enthusiastically, accidentally smackin Max in the back of his head and seeming completely unbothered that he looks like a massive dork.

Next to him, Gonch snorts and shakes his head. “That boy,” he says, in English for Sidney’s benefit, and Sidney finds himself agreeing.

“Yeah. He’s something.”

Sidney would have liked to have joined them. Thinks he would have had a good time as long as Geno was there, but.

They’re in Montreal, so. Sidney can’t even go to the grocery store without being mobbed here.

Going out clubbing would have been a terrible idea.

**

The next time is in Philly, after a game they’d won handily, and no one even bothers to offer Sid a courtesy invitation to go out with them the way they sometimes do. For once, Sidney doesn’t mind that either.

He knows better than to test his luck around Flyers fans.

He’s settling into his bed in the room he shares with Colby, wearing an old Shattuck tee and a pair of Penguins sweats when there is a knock on the door.

Sidney grumbles under his breath, thinking it’s Colby who’s forgotten his key card again, but when he opens the door, it’s Geno on the other side.

“Hi,” Geno says.

Sidney blinks back at him. “Hello?”

Geno grins at him, wide and a little teasing, and holds up his hands to show Sidney the stack of books he has with him. “Homework,” he explains. “You help.” And then he’s muscling his way inside before Sidney even has time to process that and, “Hey!” Sid protests, because he knows better than to let Geno get away with treatment like that.

He’s already insisting that Sid is tiny, placing his big palms on Sidney’s hips to move him this way and that way whenever he wants, as if that is a perfectly okay thing to do. As if Sidney really is tiny even as he’s clearly not (even as everyone around him is just abnormally big).

Geno just laughs and settles into Sidney’s bed with his books. He glances at the TV, and then back at Sid, lifting his brows and moving the muscles in his jaw in a way that Sidney knows means Geno is judging him.

“Friends?” Geno says with a sad shake of his head.

“What? It’s a perfectly good show. What do you know anyway?”

Geno hums, scooting over on the bed and patting the covers to indicate he’s made room for Sid now too. “Not like Ross,” he says when Sidney settles in next to him, making sure that the remote is nowhere near Geno because this is Sid’s room, dammit, and if he wants to waste his night watching re-runs of Friends that’s what he’s going to do.

“Of course you don’t,” Sidney says agreeably. “Ross is the worst. Obviously.”

Geno hums again, but doesn’t say anything. Just sends a smirk Sidney’s way before he’s focusing on the homework his English tutor has assigned to him.

There are Russian instructions, and Geno, who Sidney has come to learn is one of the smartest and most intuitive people he knows, doesn’t need much help despite claiming that’s why he’s there; it allows Sidney to fall back into the drama of Phoebe and Rachel trying to trick Monica and Chandler to reveal their secret relationship and Joey bemoaning having to keep secrets at all.

It’s a good episode, and Sidney doesn’t even notice the way he’s tilting into Geno until he’s completely plastered against his side, turning to muffle his giggles into the warm fabric of Geno’s sweater, and glancing up at Geno to see if he’s as amused by the show as Sidney or of if he’s still focused on his homework.

But Geno isn’t looking at the TV, though, or the books in his lap. He’s looking at Sidney, his brown eyes are dark and hooded. There’s a smile on his face, smaller than his normal grin but somehow all the more raw.

Sidney’s breath hitches. “Hi,” he says, and feels a little breathless, a little anticipatory. As if something big is about to happen. Something huge and life altering.

Geno works his hand into Sid’s hair, tugging teasingly, and starts to lean down, eyes trained on Sidney’s lips.

Then there is a knock on the door, and Colby really did forget his keycard. The bastard.

Geno lets out a heavy sigh and leans back, unhurried. He moves the hand in Sidney’s hair and lets his fingertips trail over his forehead, down the slope of his nose, until they push teasingly at Sidney’s lower lip. Another knock on the door has him pulling back entirely.

“Sid!” Colby bellows from the hall.

“Answer door,” Geno tells him. He nudges Sidney pointedly.

“But—”

“Later,” Geno says at Sidney’s protest, and it sounds like a promise. “We do again.”Which is how Sid and Geno didn’t have their first kiss in Philly, but that’s okay.

They would get another chance. The next day, actually, and all the days that followed.

[twdxjess]

Knight in a Leather Jacket: A Negan Story ( Chapter 7)

Summary: You start your life with Negan and The Saviors, but what will happen when you find out what Negan’s true role is within the community. (fluff and angst)

Pairing: NeganXReader

Word count: 1,886

Need to catchup? Master list

Safe. That’s how you felt when you woke up in Negan’s arms the next morning. You turned around your body in order to face the sleeping man beside you. With his arms re-adjusting to your movement, he pulls you closer to his chest, and  tenderly kisses you on the forehead. As you lay their staring at the man you thought to yourself, "Wow, he is truly amazing." You wished the morning hadn't come so soon because you would rather be in this exact moment...forever.

Minutes go by without you taking your eyes off Negan, when suddenly Negan pinches your arm. "What the hell?" you shouted while pushing Negan playfully.

"Just reassuring you this isn't a fuckin' dream doll... I am really in bed with you..naked."He responds to you while smirking. You rolled your eyes at the cocky man’s comment.

“You know I should be pinching you because it wasn’t too long ago that you were the one who had a sex dream about me.” You boasted while getting closer to Negan.

Negan stared at you with lust and started to say, “and darlin’ last night was 10 times better than my sex filled dream.” He then kissed your lips as if begging for more. Finally,as he pulled away he said,” Well as much as I would love to stay here with you all day, we should start moving for Simon will wonder where the hell we are.” While you got up you can tell Negan was admiring your unclothed figure. As you grabbed your clothes you looked at Negan and said, "Didn't you just say we had to start moving or else?"

Negan's rough voice responded, " I know but I wanted to admire you a little bit longer... just in case you decide you fuckin' don't want me anymore." It was sweet seeing him in this vulnerable state so to re-assure your feelings for Negan you went over to him and whispered to him, "don't worry dollface...I have many more things to show you later tonight."

"God... where have you been all my life?" He responded to your answer,  then Negan grabbed you tossing you on your back as his lips once again crashed into yours. A few minutes later, both you and Negan started to get moving. As you were packing your things, your mind started to worry about all the things that could eventually happen to your new community, as it did to your old community. You were so anxious that you had to sit down to try and calm your troubled mind. "You okay (y/n)?" Negan asked while sitting next you. Once you open your eyes, tears started to fall down your face. "Hey its okay, princess, if you're worried about leaving we don't have to." Negan stated. You just smiled at the man, it was as if he knew you your whole life. But you shook your head and said, "I'm fine... I'm...just scared. Its been so long since I've been apart of a group...and I just don't want the same things to happen as it did before...everything I loved was taken away from me."

Negan embrace you into his manly arms, you loved the way he smelled. Negan then stated to you, "You know nothing will ever happen to us, and if something comes are way we will fuckin' deal with it.. together." Negan then continued to say, " You know what let's make a pact... if it's okay with you let's leave this nice ass RV here... and if something ever happens and we get separated..we can meet back here... this could be like our safe house." You liked his idea of having your own space where the two of you can meet if things go bad. So to show him you agree you kissed his savory lips once again. After you finished packing your things, Negan helped you load them into his truck. "You ready sweetheart?" Negan asked while grabbing your hand.

"Yes, let's go! I'm ready to start my new life with you." Then as Negan pulled away you looked in the rear view mirror watching your past slowly fade away.

"Finally you're here!" Simon rejoiced as you and Negan got out of the truck.

 "Hey no need for the sass drama queen... I'm only a few minutes late..dipshit." Negan responded to Simon.

 "And who is this beautiful young lady?" Simon asked as he grabbed your hand and kissed it. You were a bit creeped out and Negan could tell, so he stepped in and shouted, "Hey hands off, Si... you are creepin' her the fuck out.." You looked at Negan thanking him but also a bit peeved for you can handle your own problems. Negan than stated to Simon and the three other men, "If you must know,this is (y/n) one badass independent lady... and she is fuckin' off limits."

 Simon backed away and said, "geez calm down...I was just being friendly... it isn't everyday you run into a beautiful women like (y/n) here." You blushed at Simon's compliment and Negan stood a little closer to you as if he was marking his territory. "Okay enough chit-chat... let's start moving our asses before sundown...when the real creeps come out." Negan declared and then everyone ,including you, went back to your vehicles.

As you and Negan start to follow the other truck down the road, you turned to Negan and said, "Thanks for stepping in... but you do need to realize I took those stranger danger classes back in college..so if anything ever does happen just know I can hold my own ground with creeps like Simon." Negan's hand rested on your thigh as he said, " I'm sorry... it's just nowadays most men would do anything to get into a woman's pants... and just the way Simon and the others were practically drooling over you I wanted to make sure you feel safe with me..." Your heart exploded with feelings at Negan's comment, even though you could take care of yourself you liked having a big strong man look out for you. So, you scooted a little closer and gave Negan a kiss on the cheek.

Finally, the truck pulled up to what looked like an old hotel, with a total of three floors. "We're here sweetheart." Negan said with excitement. As you look at the hotel you see many people outside, from adults to children you couldn't believe how big this community was. You guessed that there had to be about 30 people, which was a lot for a community nowadays. You smiled with glee as you got a feeling of what your new life would be like. After you both got out of the car, you followed Simon to the front desk.

"Would you like your own rooms?" Simon asked. You looked at Negan waiting for him to answer when he motioned to you to decide. You finally said, "No, because sharing is caring." Negan laughed showing off his dimple filled smile. "That's my girl." Negan said while Simon handed him the keys to your shared room. 

Once you both were outside, you both decided you wanted to check out the room before unpacking. Your room was on the third floor near a stairwell facing the woods. Negan opens the door, and the both of you step into an enormous penthouse like suite. But the first thing you both noticed wasn't the kitchen but the giant king size bed with a bronze pole on the right side. "Now we're talkin'!" Negan plopped his masculine body onto the bed as if waiting for a show.

You bit your lip and shook your head at the man walking toward him before saying, "I know I can't for you to dance for me." Negan leaned over and pulled you down onto the bed and kissed you. You finally broke the kiss and said, "We should really go unpack the truck now... so we can start our "show" early tonight." Negan grinned at you ready to rush out the door, when someone knocked at the door. Negan opened the door and there was a dark haired man, who told Negan he was needed at the main office to take care of some "business". Negan shook his head and closed the door. You looked at him questioning what was going on. Negan told you, "I need to go downstairs real quick and deal with something but I'll be back...I told Fat Joey to grab some men and bring our things up..." Negan kissed your lips and was out the door.

After Fat Joey and another person brought your things up you thanked them as if they were a concierge at a regular hotel. You rummage through your things for something to eat and you decided on the bag of stale pretzels and a half-drunken gatorade.  You sat on the porch admiring the view and how peaceful it was here. Once you were done eating, you decided to shower and change into something more revealing for Negan. It seemed like Negan was taking longer than he thought, so you decided to put on some sweats and a t-shirt and go see what Negan was up to. As you were heading downstairs, you saw a little girl playing with her sister outside. You smiled at them and the little girl tugged at your pants and said, "You're..very... pretty... are you a princess?." You smiled at the little girl and decided to play along and said, "shhhh...I'm undercover don't tell anyone, promise?" The little girl giggled and said, "promise." She ran back to her sister and told her your secret. "Oh to be young again." You thought to yourself.

While you were approaching the front desk you heard screaming coming from what seemed like a basement, where in the old world maids would do laundry. You were a bit nervous but your curiosity got the best of you and you decided to go toward the sound. You approached the room, luckily the doors had a small window attached. You peeked in and you couldn't believe what you were seeing it was as if your worst nightmares became a reality. You saw the man you thought you loved covered in blood, not his blood or a walker's blood but human blood. You wanted to look away but you couldn't you had to understand what the hell was going on. As you looked closer you also saw Simon and one other guy in the room. You then noticed Negan holding onto the blood stained baseball bat and finally you saw Negan standing over a beaten man, who looked practically dead. 

At this point you couldn't move... fear was finally taking control over your body. You thought, "this can't be happening, why would he beat the living' shit out of that poor man..." you stepped away from the door trying to regain control of your thoughts when you accidentally tripped over empty paint cans. "Shit"  you thought. You started to run as fast as you could away from the horrific nightmare when you heard Negan in the distance shout, "(y/n) come back...I can...explain." But it was too late, you got into Negan's truck wiping your tear filled eyes. As you drove off, you were cursing at yourself for letting someone in once again.

Tags: @babygirlmeepi @pseudonymfox @curlyhairedblueeyedangel

[mama-ghostie-61542]

A Thousand Lifetimes

Rated M++ for language and themes

If you recognize it, IT AIN'T MINE.

Sorry for the OOC-ness

Chapter 4

Wolf--

"If I hear the word 'Mom' anytime in the next five minutes, you are, all three, gonna lose grandparent privilege's! Enough with the fighting. 'Kala, you need to get over there and do your homework."

"But, Mom," my younger son shouted. "I can't do it alone."

"Yes, you can, dear. All you have to do is write the words in the blanks."

Mornings here were always crazy. This year, they got worse, with all three kids home all day and me working three jobs from home, while taking a few classes to keep up my certification. But what would do my head in were the constant conflicts of scheduling the boys services around project deadlines. Especially when my childless brother was my boss...One of them.

A text came through ~'Hey, Bry, do you have those reports ready? I have to submit them to the bank this afternoon.'

Loveland Demolition was well known in the Midwest, and had been doing well before the pandemic, but now, we were expanding again. I dug around in my ever expanding pile of outgoing paperwork for the fax copy of the expense reports my brother wanted. Why everything with this end of the family business went through me, I would never know. Maybe it was because he had named me our VP of NE Operations. Like I didn't have a decent job already. I mean, I didn't get my Doctorate for it to look pretty on my wall.

Speaking of, I have a class in 15 minutes. Botany of Common Herbs.

I sent off a quick message, ~ I faxed them yesterday. Did you not get them before the boys did?~

My brothers pit bulls were notorious for grabbing the pages as they fell out of the fax machine and shredding them.

A few minutes later, he replied, ~Dammit, Pita! The Pain got 'em. Already in transit?~

~Yep. UPS grabbed it yesterday. Email?~

~Ok. No. Need hard copy. Will reschedule with the bank. Do good in class today!~

About that time I got a plastic cup thrown in my general direction with my oldest son yelling, "More water! Please, Mommy."

Thankfully, my Botany Professor understands me being a little late, as she has a Downie of her own.

I get his water, and as I am standing at the sink for a few seconds extra to breathe, I feel a cold spot on one hip and the pressure of a thumb on my cheek.

'You are amazing, my Queen. You've got this.'

I smile as the feeling, and the ghost of his smiling eyes fades. How does he always know when the stress is getting to me and just what to say; just what to do. It's like I don't have to say a word, he just knows.

Great....Now I am gonna be all giggly the rest of the day. Probably gonna get an email from my Professor, too; nosy old bat.

Kihyun PoV

It was almost 22:00 when I felt the wobble in thin silver thread that connected us. As I reached for it, I felt her stress and frustration start to bleed through and somehow, instinctively knew what to do. It bothers me when she gets this stressed, because she forgets to take care of herself. And then the tension lodges in her back, manifesting as a knot just to the left of her spine.

Settling myself into my meditation, I could almost see her standing at the sink, working on something. Always working, this girl; whether it's on her actual job, her side hustle, an Etsy store where she sells knit caps, or the boys' homework. She ALWAYS has something going on. Her brothers hare-brained decision to expand the family business does not help in the slightest.

As I settle in, I can hear the din of the kids yelling, a timer going off on something, and from some where, another louder ding. She is amazing, how she can just take it all in stride. Some how, I know, she just needs a second to breathe, so I imagine my hand on her hip; stopping her right where she stands.

I visualize my hand cupping her cheek, and whispering to her, 'You are amazing, my Queen. You've got this.' I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I see her smile. That soft, sweet smile, that just borders on the verge of blushing. I send how I feel seeing her smile down that thread and, some how, just know that she will be smiling all day now.

Awakening from my meditation, I glance at the clock. Hmm. Time for bed. But first, I am curious about the next chapter. How in the hell, with everything else she has on her plate, did she find the time to write this.

I set back on my bed, my pillows piled up behind me, and start reading.

Still Joey

I couldn't sleep so I got up at sunrise and made coffee. Sis woke up a little while later. I heard her alarm go off and then, I heard her sniffle a little. As she stumbled to the kitchen for her morning coffee, her whole bearing was like all the wind had been sucked out of her.

My heart went out to her.

"Sis. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Joey. Just my own brain. Think I am going crazy. That's all."

I'm right there with you.

"Explain," I said.

Rather than use actual words, she put on 'Comatose' by Too Close To Touch. "This says it better than I ever could."

I set aside the story and brought up the song. As I sat there listening, I could almost feel how hurt she was. How she thought she was going crazy. I wanted, so much, to fly to her, where ever she was.

"Sissie," I sighed, "What is the matter?"

"I think I am losing my mind, Joey. I just don't want to remember, if remembering is always going to hurt. I'm afraid that it will cost me the one of the two things I am most afraid to lose; my kids or my mind."

"You aren't going crazy, Sis. Who told you that you were crazy for feeling like that?"

"Mom. According to her, I am. Apparently, it is all just a construct of my own mind. Can't be real because it's all in my head, but it is all that I could ever dream of. It makes me want to sleep until it is real. I want to forget the way his voice sounds, cause it hurts too much to hear it when I am alone. I want to forget the color of his eyes, but I see it everyday in my coffee. I want to forget it all, so it doesn't hurt anymore. There is no way he can be real. No way his smell can be real. The more I remembered, I guess, the more I want to forget."

"Bryn, tell me about him?"

"What does it matter? He is no more than a fantasy my own mind created," she said as she dug in a cabinet and added a more than generous amount of Jack Daniels to her coffee.

"Bry! Really??"

"What," she groused as she sipped on her coffee flavored whiskey.

"It is barely sun rise and you are already drinking. What would he say if he caught you?"

"Doesn't matter," she grumbled as her bottom lip pulled in a little and blinked rapidly, a sure sign she was fighting back her own tears. I could see her start to fold in around herself.

'No, my dear, I am very real. And very disappointed.'

"Bullshit," I yelled. "It does matter! I will prove you wrong. I'll prove to you that he is very real," I growled in my own temper, as I leaned over the table at her, "and I know him. He would be so disappointed in you, right now. Instead of working with the connection, you were trying to drown the memories in whis-," I came to a dead stop as I realized what was actually happening. "How long have you been fighting them? The memories, I mean."

'Told ya. Wait. What!? She'd been wrestling with our memories? Oh, my stubborn Wolf, you were never meant to carry them all yourself.'

She deflated and slid the mug away from her. Resting her head on her arms, she whispered, "I was 14 the first time I remembered anything. At the time it was no more than a whisper, a cold spot when I was upset or hurting. Which, lets be honest, was a lot of the time back then. When I was 16, I finally worked up the courage to talk to someone about my dreams. My mistake was telling Ma."

I cringed. I had heard nasty stories about her mom, but sat still and let her continue.

Is her mother really that bad? How much of this had she been keeping from me.

"She went off and let loose a litany of my supposed short-comings. I still remember it, to this day. 'You are so stupid. Why would any man, especially one like THAT, want anyone like you. Anyone else would be better than YOU; you stupid, worthless, ignorant, ugly, child.' After that, I went back to keeping it all to myself. This one," she said as she brought up Forest Blakk's 'Find Me', "Says it all."

I put on the song and knew how it had hurt her for years. My anger burned when the artist spoke of being told you were crazy. 'I want her, you Crazy Bitch. Good Mother, Please,' I started, before thinking better of the prayer that had been on my tongue a moment ago. 'Please watch over her, Grandmother.'

Hearing her own mother call her those things, was tough to listen to. But I could tell she still wasn't finished yet. I let her go, she had years of this pain to offload.

"As I got older, it changed. I was almost 26 when the burn of a kiss landed on my cheek. My ex-husband, at the time, saw the blister it left and went ballistic. Woke me up by kicking the end of the bed. 'I want a divorce. I don't know who he is, but I plan on making you pay for it. Now, get your stuff and get out.' And I paid for it, alright. Didn't even bother to ask if I had it the night before, just assumed I was sneaking out. I never did. Looking back now, maybe I should have left the first time accused me. The ink wasn't dry on the divorce papers when he got remarried. Literally, got them both done in half an hour."

"Are you kidding me? He wanted to accuse you, but he...," I will admit that I was finally starting to see just how messed up her life had been. "Did you love him?"

'Messed up,' I thought, 'No, Sir. Her life has been a craptastic shitshow of epic fucking proportions. Honestly, I would like to know what fucking moronic bastard ordered this shitastical fuckfest for my Queen! I'd like to fucking throat punch him.'

She shook her head. "No. My mother sat it all up. Literally walked into the house Friday afternoon and said, 'You are getting married on Monday at 9.' He was getting deployed and she thought he would be a good fit for me, that she would get grands out of the deal. She didn't find out he was fixed until he was already gone. That is where I learned to keep my hair really short. He used to drag me around by it and scream about all of the things I did. The next day he would scream and drag me around by it to yell about all the stuff I didn't get done."

"So it was more or less arranged?"

"Yeah. After that, I met the asshole. The day he left, I had just buried a brother, and I had lost my job; all on my birthday. After all that, I fell into a deep depression. To the point where I would wonder sometimes why I was still breathing. It was in that place that I saw him. It was no more than his eyes, the exact shade of my coffee, and that voice, but still; if not for him..." she trailed off, a haunted look in her eyes.

After a few minutes of her staring off into space, I prodded, "If not for him?"

She turned and looked at me, "I wouldn't be here. I would have cut ties with this world and willingly walked right into that darkness. I can remember him telling me once, 'Don't you give up. Don't you dare give up. Get up, keep moving.' It was those eyes though, watching them seem to burn in the darkness. They stayed with me so much that I drew them at least a thousand times."

"Really?"

"Yep. Dark eyes that burn," she chuckled. "Got called crazy for that one, too. 'Why do you always draw the exact same thing, ya crazy bitch? How about a tree or a nice mountain. Why is it always those damned eyes, Not that a worthless bitch like you can draw anyway.' So yeah, there's that."

"Hold it. She actually called you worthless?"

Bryn just nodded. "Multiple times, and ugly quite a few times. At the end with the ex, she told me, 'I hate that when I, and she stressed the 'I', put a block in your path, you seem to dance around it and go off into the woods and still end up on the other side. That you whip off of the beaten path, going God knows where, on some barely visible game trail, and somehow still come out on the other side, just where you meant to be'. She said nothing pissed her off more than my ability to adapt."

'That's my Ghostie,' I thought as I smiled proudly. 'Her ability to see things others miss, explodes lower minds.'

Now, I have seen pictures of her mom and old photos of Bryn when she was younger. Let me tell you, when she was young, Bryn was coltishly pretty before becoming ethereal. Not that you could tell it now. Now, she jokes that she traded looks for brains about the time she got her doctorate.

"So, how did you end up with Clark?"

"He was there and I was getting tired of waiting, tired of my Auntie's trying to set me up with whatever boy they could find. One tried to set me up with her ex-nephew. That was nothing but awkward. We are still good friends, almost family. He has said before, 'I love you to bits, but that is icky, you are like a sister to me. Now, please, go throw on a skirt, you have amazing legs and should show them off.' That boy can turn up the girlfriend vibe in 3 seconds...flat.

I know someone who can do that. Weird.

"In the end, I got tired of the pitying looks I would get at the family things. Truth be told, when I told him to either commit or get out, I thoroughly expected him to take off at a run, like he couldn't get away fast enough. Before I knew what had happened, he told everyone I had proposed and picked a Saturday. After that, it was a whirlwind and I almost took off."

"Took off? Eloped?"

She snickered. "No. Ran away. Far away."

"Oh. So you almost pulled a runner?"

"Oh yeah. Had my bestie stand up with me because I knew that if Haka showed up and objected, he would have knocked Clark to the floor to give me time to run."

'I very nearly did show up.'

I thought back to what I said when he finally left.

"What did I say?" I stood there, leaning on the doorway, arms crossed over my chest, fingers tapping on my bicep. The look on my face was thoroughly parental.

"That it would never work."

"And....."

"You were right, I was wrong, I am sorry."

"You gonna listen to me from now on?" My face was passive, but there if she had looked she would have seen the anger in my eyes. I wasn't mad at her, I was more than a little upset with him, though.

"Yes, Dear."

"Good Girl. I'll be home as soon as I can." I cupped her face, kissed her forehead, and said, "Don't do it again. Next time you won't get away with it, my stubborn Wolf."

"Next time?"

I was turning to head back to my body, "First one doesn't count. It was arranged. This one, you got swept up in. Don't do it again. Now, go to sleep."

I had to breathe a minute against the anger building in my chest. Then, I went back to the story.

"You call him 'Haka'? That's cute."

"Yeah, he's Heyhaka, the Elk. Haka, for short. Then there is Sweet Pea, and the occasional Assbag."

"And is he often a jerk?"

"Nah. Only when he is making promises he has no intentions to keep."

'Listen here, Lady! I fully intend to keep them when they are made, Woman!'

"I really don't think he would make them if he didn't intend on keeping them, Sissie. Sometimes, circumstance gets in the way, and then they don't get the focus they deserve. How does he phrase it?"

"All he says is 'Soon'."

I laughed. "The word 'soon' is not a promise. It's an open guarantee."

"What?"

"It's a half promise. He can't put a time on it so he just says soon. You know, sometimes you can be kind of dense."

'Exactly. You are kind of thick sometimes, Darling.'

Bryn's cheeks pinked. "Aww, shut the fuck up," She laughed.

"You've got a potty mouth!"

My jaw dropped. 'Naughty.'

"Like you didn't know or don't have one of your own. Has he not told you the extent of my sailor's mouth?"

"He doesn't know that I know you. I get to hear about everything from both sides. Kinda makes me wanna poke my ear drums out sometimes."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You two are fuckin' perfect for each other."

'I guess we are, huh?'

About that time, the kids started waking up. Davidd was first, followed by Mattie, and then Darryn. I was sitting on the couch, getting the walkthrough of how to turn on the cartoon channels when Mattie climbed up next to me and curled up in my side.

"Morning, Munchkin," I said cheerfully.

She sagged against me and whispered, "Morning, Uncle Joey. Can I have some new milk?"

I was taken aback by the simplicity of the request. "Shouldn't you be asking your mom for that?"

"I would but Daddy called and him and mama got into another fight."

'And that just cashed out my good night.', I thought as I could have sworn I heard a knock at my door.

A-N:) Please don't shoot the messenger. Spirit put up some of the tags. Lol.