#elliot writes sappy shit

[gayraccoonthing]

Real interaction with my friends today

[sunnomnoms]

Hey! Could I request Elliot from stardew valley with a chubby enby reader? I don’t have a specific idea in mind, but maybe him trying romance them and they think he’s just being a sweet friend because no one’s ever shown a particular interest in them? And eventually hen like grabs their face and (oh so gently and elegantly) forces them to realize he’s not “just being nice”

Sorry if that isn’t well worded, I am high as shit rn but thank you for considering this ♥️ you’re amazing

LMAO you’re alright! I wrote these as headcanons because of course I did I’m silly.

Warnings: mentions of insecurity, small talks on body, etc. elliott isn’t sure if your gender lmao. also it’s really long?

-

Upon arriving in Pelican Town, you were quite literally the talk of the town. They hadn’t seen a new person in years move in, so the others were keen on giving their greetings to you along with small house warming gifts. Elliott was no different in this regard- the only difference was his hesitation to approach you on his own.

When you met him, you had bumped into him after leaving the pier. It was early, you had the scent of bait on you… you certainly weren’t your most graceful self. But Elliott didn’t bat an eye, instead introducing himself and said how he wished the two of you met sooner- you had been in town for about a week or so now. He took your hand gently, placing an apple in the palm of it and told you how he hopes the two of you cross paths again- and how he hopes you enjoy the life you’ve started here in the valley. Elegant, sweet, and gentle his words were.

But it was very much a played up act. He had no idea how to act, he was so unbelievably charmed by you from the second he laid his eyes on you. it wasn’t even that you did much to catch his eye, it was how the light hit your eyes and the way you carried yourself that seemed to catch him so off guard. That apple was his breakfast, he had absolutely no intention of giving it away that morning. Long after you had headed home from the pier, he had sat on the dock completely frazzled as he tried to figure out what fuse within him just blew… without breakfast.

Elliott’s sexuality was always up in the air to him, but seeing you confirmed to himself he wasn’t really sure he cared what gender his partner was. This was partially because he wasn’t fully sure how you identified upon looking at you.

With such a flustered first impression, it was no surprise to anyone when he fell head over heals for you.

Your selfless nature fed his infatuation with him. Gifts of pomegranate wine and home made crab cakes made his hopeless romantic heart swell at the thought of you. He hardly even remembered the time he told you how he loved pomegranates, but the fact that you remembered… it made him so love sick it hurt. He treasured every little thing he received from you, writing sappy entries to his journal every time he received anything from you.

Without trying, you played his heart strings like a harp into the most beautiful of melodies.

Elliott couldn’t sit idly as you did so much to make him feel so strongly about you. Under the guise that you were certainly trying to romance him, he began his own advances.

Unfortunately… you were uh……

… dense.

He’d never say so out loud, no. But your innocent lack of acknowledgement of his clearly romantic advances frustrated him, yet still somehow made him even more infatuated with you.

Being in such a small town, being such the recluse he is, he has no intentions of letting his feelings for you go to waste. Hardly ever did he want others close to him or within his space. Until you. You were so much different to him, such a precious soul. He had full intention to sweep you off your feet.

But… how is it you were able to read his entire romance novel he explicitly said you inspired him to write and see it as platonic…?

And when the flower dance came, how is it you read that as a simple dance between two friends? even with how close you two were? Elliott to this day is still dazed by it, how did you not read the intense feelings behind it all?

Or when the dance of the moonlight jellies came, how is it that you never mentioned the hand Elliott gently placed on your waist? do you have any idea how much he had to hype himself up for that?!

As much as he adored you, you drove him insane.

A short period of time passes where Elliott is hurt, genuinely hurt. He didn’t understand how you did all the little things that made him fuzzy inside without meaning it romantically. Were you just being friendly? Did Elliott misread this entire dynamic between the two of you? Even if so, that doesn’t solve the feelings that Elliott’s developed… and something had to be done.

A late night laying in bed, staring at his ceiling as he was thinking brought him to the conclusion that you must not realize what you’re doing to him, and not realize what he feels for you… despite how glaringly obvious it was.

He eventually came to terms with the fact he would have to be entirely honest and up front. No fancy tricks, no gentle gestures to suggest he likes you, just a genuine confession.

and so he had asked you to meet him at the pier you two first met at one night.

Before you arrived, he paced thinking about what he’d say. He knew he had to be forward with you, but he didn’t want to word it in a way that makes you feel like you owe him anything. You didn’t. this wasn’t a confession to make anything official between the two of you, this was to clear Elliott’s conscious. Besides… Elliott is under the impression you likely don’t feel the same.

When you arrive, Elliot greets you kindly as he asks how your day was and all that sort as you sat at the edge of the pier, looking out at the gem sea. Just hearing you speak eased his nerves, even if it’s you talking about how you had to wrestle your cattle back into their barn one night.

When Elliott changed the topic, his face visibly dropped a little. He’d gotten to a point of feeling guilty for how he felt for you if you most certainly hadn’t felt the same.

“Farmer, I… I wanted to tell you that I have feelings for you.” He spoke lowly and avoided your eyes as he said it, his hand fiddling with his sleeve nervously.

Watching you perk up and speak filled him with hope just for a second.

“oh, I’ve got all sorts of feelings for you too man- you’re one of my best friends and I really treasure our friendship! I never really had friends in the city-”

No way. no actual fucking way that just flew over your head.

He placed a hand on your shoulder with a ‘pat’, stopping your ramble immediately. He deadpanned at you- not as if he was upset or anything, he was… amazed. bewildered, really.

“[Y/N], I am romantically attracted to you.”

He watched your face as you processed his words, your face flushing red as you reach the conclusion Elliott has desperately been trying to lead you to.

Seeing as you clearly understood now, Elliott’s face softened as he went to speak.

“I-I have those… those feelings for you too.” You cut him off before he could even begin.

You continued on, explaining that you didn’t exactly expect him to like him like that because you never exactly got much attention from those in the city. You explained you were sure he had to just be being friendly, as you said ‘there’s always someone more attractive, more elegant, skinnier, you know.’

But Elliott didn’t know. Was the city really so cruel to one’s image of themself? He hardly visited often, and sure he felt a bit out of place while he was there. Seeing as you were someone who lived there, surely living with that feeling of being out of place was unbearable. Never for a second did he doubt you were someone who was beautiful, did those in the city disagree? … how?

Elliott was quiet for a moment as he processed everything. Sure, you felt the same, but he can be happy about that in a second.

“I never once thought of you as anything else besides beautiful.” He finally mutters. He watches you fluster at the comment, but before you could cover your face with your hands he takes them gently.

“I-, I really mean it. I had no idea you had such a cruel view of yourself, I can’t imagine thinking so negatively of you. I’m sorry if it’s overwhelming to hear, but you’re… uh-” He mentally fumbles for a second, looking back up at you from your hands. “I realize I never asked- then again it never came up- uh, do you have a preference as to what you’re called? pretty? handsome?” He smiles sheepishly.

Hearing you laugh at his fumbling is worth it, though.

The night ends with the two of you chatting about Elliott’s prior clear signs of romantic feelings and your own density to them. it’s light hearted, of course, Elliott holds no real disdain for you.

The world feels a little lighter on Elliott’s shoulder now, and he feels a little warmer inside. Especially as you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

[elliotsblunt]

ok but in all honestly, i’m about to get sappy it’s pussy shit but whatever

euphoria gave me this platform. i grew a following by writing about elliot and the show; and i’m so thankful for you all. like deadass, it’s like a family. my inbox is always flooding after we finish an episode, and i’m gonna miss connecting with you all about it.

but season 3 is coming, and i’m so fucking ready.

until then, ppl are worrying that i won’t write elliot anymore. that’s not true. i relate sm to his character in other aspects, and i truly connect with who he is. same for dom. im a true fan of him and want to keep up with his music and what he puts out.

this account is going to shift more so into a dominic fike account, since we wont be given much of elliot rn. so yeah.

i love you.

—

pluto

[trans-tyrell-wellick]

So, I know you write a lot of Tyrelliot fics with enby Elliot, so I was thinking you could try one that was like Elliot asking Tyrell to refer to them as they or something.

Hell yes, omg thank you for asking

“You gotta tell him, kid.” Robot sighed, crossing his arms as he leaning against the desk Elliot was working at.

Tell him what?

“Don’t do this, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t think I don’t notice how uncomfortable you get when Tyrell goes around calling you his boyfriend and other sappy shit like that?” Robot turned to look at Elliot. “You need to tell him that masculine terms make you uncomfortable, kiddo.”

“You don’t get it. Tyrell won’t understand.” Elliot mumbled.

“I won’t understand what?” Tyrell asked, confused, as he walked away from the window and towards Elliot.

Shit.

“Min kärlek, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Elliot responded and Tyrell shook his head.

“It’s obviously something. Something important if you think I wouldn’t understand.”

“Look-“

“Is it about Phase 2?” Tyrell questioned.

“It’s not about Phase 2.” Elliot found themselves quickly answering. “It’s… about me.”

“What about you?” Tyrell’s voice softened as he gently placed a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll try to understand the best I can, sötnos.”

“Once you get it over with you’ll feel a lot better, I assure you.” Robot encouraged as he smoked his cigarette. “You can’t always be flight y’know. Sometimes you gotta deal with things head on.”

Elliot took a deep breath in before turning to Tyrell.

“I don’t like it when you call me your boyfriend.”

Elliot immediately saw Tyrell’s expression fall.

Shit. Shit shit shit. That wasn’t how I meant it.

“That didn’t come out how I wanted it to.” Elliot interjected quickly. “I mean that I don’t like being referred to as a man. I feel a disconnect from the binary genders. I have for a long time.”

“Elliot… I-“

Elliot turned away from Tyrell.

“Nevermind. I didn’t expect you to understand.” They huffed, trying to hide that they were hurt.

“You gotta give him a chance to respond, kid.” Robot sighed. “Jumping to conclusions isn’t a good thing.”

“Elliot…” Tyrell muttered softly. “Is that all?”

“I guess.” Elliot shrugged.

Tyrell smiled and enveloped Elliot in a sudden hug.

“I’m honored that you trusted me enough to tell me this. Thank you.”

Elliot immediately became confused.

“You… you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad, älskling?” Tyrell pulled back to look at Elliot. “Did you forget again?”

Shit. I forgot something? Shit. What was it?

Tyrell chuckled.

“Of course I’d accept you. I’m trans.”

“Sorry… I guess I forgot.” Elliot sighed.

I can’t even trust myself to remember these things anymore.

“Its okay.” Tyrell assured, cupping Elliot’s face with one of his hands. “What pronouns do you want me to use for you?”

“What?” Elliot gave Tyrell a look.

“You know… what do you want me to use when referring to you?” Tyrell asked.

“Oh.” Elliot muttered. “Uh… they/them?”

Tyrell smiled.

“Of course, min kärlek.”

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

���No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully. 

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s. 

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her. 

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again. 

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought. 

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke���s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

[starmakerdotcom]

summary : peach doubts himself once again.

characters : kwon baekhan , han jaeyi , rest of botanica ensemble mentioned (side note ; daniel’s korean name is jiwon and elliot’s is hanryeol , which is who jaeyi is referring to)

genre : tryna be angst but once again i cannot write angst but i tried

warnings : they say shit like twice , implied mental illness ?? maybe ?? he lowkey has a mini panic attack at the start . i don’t know if you can think of a better way to put it lmk also if u have a problem w the way i’m portraying this pls dm me !!! i’m always looking to learn more and i don’t wanna offend anyone <33

words : 1.5k

[ july 2019 , 1:34 am , SMK building rooftop ]

baekhan burst through the doors from the stairwell, immediately taking a gulping breath, taking in as much fresh air into his lungs as he could. he couldn’t breathe, he felt suffocated, like the roof was caving in around him. he needed fresh air, he needed to go outside, away from everything for just a minute.

he knew jaeyi would come looking for him eventually, he just needed a break, to get away from everything around him that made him feel like he wasn’t good enough.

take a break! jaeyi would say, you’re pushing yourself too much, you’ll regret it when you get hospitalized by passing out from exhaustion. that was ridiculous, he’d know when to stop himself. we can come back tomorrow! they’d say, but by that time it already was tomorrow, so he might as well stay the rest of the night, right? he was debuting in two weeks- oh god, he wasn’t ready for that. the others didn’t have to work as hard because they were gifted, naturally talented, and good enough to debut already. they didn’t understand that baekhan didn’t belong here. he was a fraud, he shouldn’t have made it as far as he did.

a fraud, untalented, not worthy, a fraud, a fraud, a fraud.

baekhan made his way over to the ledge, gripping onto the rail as his way of keeping himself grounded. the cold midnight breeze and the view of the entire city below him was strangely comforting. he exhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour, and just stood there for a second, his elbows supporting his body as he leaned on the railing, trying to clear his mind.

he hated the fact that he just got up and left instead of trying to calm down. even when he couldn’t breathe and it felt like the panelled ceiling of the practice room was falling and caving on top of him, running away from his problems wasn’t gonna fix them. bolting out of the practice room and hiding wasn’t gonna do anything, it just made him look like a coward.

he lowered his head, trying to calm his shaky breathing and trying to take his mind off the fact that the word kept dancing around in his head. fraud, fraud, fraud.

baekhan wasn’t that hard to find. after jaeyi convinced tian to go back to the dorm and sleep after he snuck out for much longer than he was supposed to, the rooftop was one of the first places he checked. although he was deathly afraid of heights and his legs shook every time he went up there, jaeyi had to somehow convince him to come back down and go back to the dorm with him.

he breathed a sigh of relief when he carefully pushed open the door to the roof and saw baekhan standing near the edge, leaning on the rail.

“baek?” he called as he made his way over to where the older stood, trying to block out the sound of cars rushing below them that made his head spin. baekhan whipped his head around quickly, but softened seeing it was just jaeyi. his eyes looked puffy.

“shouldn’t you be back at the dorm?” he asked.

“i came to look for you, you know i wouldn’t go back without you.”

“i know my way back,” baekhan replied cooly, “or are you trying to make sure i don’t off myself.”

jaeyi hesitated, “kind of? anyway- i’m talking you back to the dorm now. you need rest.”

baekhan sighed, “can we just stay out here for a minute? i need some fresh air, i promise i’ll come back after.”

jaeyi gulped, surpressing the urge to projectile vomit down the side of the building onto an unsuspecting driver below for the sake of his friend. “yeah, we can stay for a minute. i’m staying with you to make sure you come back.”

surprisingly, baekhan nodded in compliancy. “that’s fine,” he replied, turning around to slide down to a sitting position with the rail supporting his back, “i just need a minute.”

jaeyi sat down next to him, and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. although jaeyi was worrying about the possibility of the rail somehow giving way from the weight of the two scrawny boys and sending them tumbling over the edge, to eventually land in a sad pile as a gift to some poor pedestrian that just so happened to be walking at the wrong time.

“is there anything that’s bothering you? you don’t have to tell me, i just don’t want you to keep everything from me- i guess?” jaeyi asked.

“nothing that you can really help with,” baekhan mumbled.

“well- just tell me what’s on your mind, please? i might not be able to help, but maybe having someone listen will make it better?”

baekhan sighed, “maybe. it’s kind of complicated though.”

“try me,” jaeyi replied confidently.

nervously drumming his fingers on the concrete of the ground, he quickly said, “i’m not ready to debut.”

jaeyi blinked, “you’re being serious?” when baekhan nodded quickly, he continued, “you’re more ready than all five of us combined, where’d you get that from?”

“...because i’m not ready?” baekhan looked at jaeyi like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “have you seen my dancing? daniel has tried to help me so many times, and i’m still a horrible dancer. i don’t know how he’s so patient when i want to punch myself in the face every time i mess up the choreography.”

“i think your dancing is good...” jaeyi said quietly before baekhan continued, his eyes glossy from welling tears.

“i’m not ready, i don’t want to debut yet, i don’t even deserve to be here. you and daniel try to help, straighten your back, stick this move with your arms, chest out, neck straight, and i can’t fucking get it. i don’t know why i’m here. i’d probably be working at a fast food restaurant or something if i wasn’t here. i don’t deserve it, i’m not talented enough, i’m a fraud.”

jaeyi stiffened, not sure how to respond. he felt horrible knowing that his friend was going through this right under his nose and he had no clue. this wasn’t the confident, talented baekhan jaeyi thought he knew when he joined the company a few months prior. seeing him in a weak, vulnerable state like this filled him with an intense feeling of sonder. everyone around him, although they may have appeared fine, were living their own set of problems right underneath the surface that no one, or just a select few people even know about. but one thing was for sure, if kwon baekhan was anything, a fraud was most definitely not one of those things.

“you’re not a fraud,” jaeyi replied, and quickly added, “never were, and never will be.”

“you might think so,” baekhan quickly wiped a few stray tears away that had leaked down his cheeks and lowered his head again, letting his hair obscure part of his face, “i feel like it though. don’t bother asking why. i don’t know but i also do know.”

“i see,” jaeyi nodded slowly, “sorry- i’ve never been good with stuff like this.”

“no, it’s okay, it was actually good to get that off my chest, actually. i’ve never really said any of that out loud to anyone before,” baekhan reassured the younger.

“well- if you ever need to get anything else off your chest, come to me,” jaeyi said, “or jiwon, or sangwoo- eh no maybe not sangwoo, hanryeol- eh- tian- eh? maybe? me or jiwon would probably be your best bet, actually.”

baekhan laughed, and when he saw that jaeyi was starting to yawn, he said, “should we head back now? it’s late.”

“yeah, no shit it’s late,” jaeyi laughed with him, already starting to get up, “if you’re ready to go back, then yeah. i’d love to get off of this roof.”

“right,” baekhan followed, standing up as well. he almost felt lighter, like he could stand slightly straighter now, “that was refreshing.”

“you need sleep, i swear, have you seen yourself?” baekhan touched his face at that, and although he couldn’t see himself he could practically feel the dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep he’d gotten that past week.

“before we go back, c’mere,” jaeyi held his arms out, and when baekhan cautiously scooted closer, he grabbed him and enveloped him in a tight hug, baekhan immediately stiffening.

“you smell like sweat,” baekhan laughed, crinkling his nose.

“so do you,” jaeyi replied, “and can you please come to me next time you’re having trouble with something?”

“i’ll try,” baekhan mumbled into the taller boy’s chest, “oh god, what would i do without you, i swear.”

“ew, enough of that sappy shit- let’s get back now, or i’ll pass out in the elevator on the way back!” jaeyi said, loosening his grip around the shorter boy’s torso.

as the two boys walked off the roof and down to the elevator, baekhan felt a strange sense of relief that he hadn’t felt in what felt like years. and the rest of the night he’d stay up thinking- what in the world did he ever do to deserve a friend like han jaeyi?

[valentinesparda]

Hey there, Elliot, sweetie. I just wanted to stop by and leave you a little reminder of how much I love you. This world has been through some shit, but just know I’d kick any BOW’s ass for you. I’ve always got your back... and all those other cute sides of you too.

You’re... the love of my life, but I bet you know that already. I never would have done this sappy stuff with anyone else, but you just make me want to write all kinds of love letters. I don’t know how you do this to me. I guess I’ll just have to put a ring on you so I’ll have the rest of my life to find out.

With love, Ada 💋

(A sloppily written note is scratched onto the bottom of the letter: “Hey babe, Leon here. Ada didn’t trust me to write a love letter. But I’m putting this here anyway because I can. I love you a whole bunch, El.”)

ada ( and leon, of course, I see your little addition there ), words can't express how much I love and appreciate you and everything you've done. I couldn't even begin to describe how much you both mean to me and how absolutely blessed I am to have you both by my side....even if you can't be there all the time.

I'll always be here for you to come home to. for you to think about. to love you. when you come back around, let me know and we can do whatever you want. leon, the offer extends to you, too. I miss you both so much that my heart might burst and I can't guarantee that I won't immediately rush the both of you when I see you next. I also want to know all the details of everything!! if you'll tell me, that is~

I love you both to the moon and back. 💙💙

[ PS - you already have me this long, so uh....why don't we just make it forever? doesn't even have to be something traditional or fancy, but - if I could be so selfish to say this - I want you two by my side as long as you'll have me. ]

[gingerwritess]

Hi ! May I request Loki bringing reader and Elliot for the first time in Asgard ? I really love your writing !

ahh thank you!! this is such a good request omL

okay idk what time period this is, for my purposes Odin Badparent is still on the throne but lovely Frigga has died, but Loki was with you instead of in prison. idk pls be nice.

whoops i made it a lil angsty

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You still remember the first time you saw Asgard: the bifrost had dropped the two of you off at the end of the rainbow bridge and you had promptly grabbed Loki’s hand and used it to punch yourself in the face.

Needless to say, you weren’t dreaming, and the mighty Heimdall’s first impression of you would forever be tainted by Loki shrieking “WHY IN THE NAME OF ODIN DID YOU DO THAT?!”

…followed by you screaming “I FORGOT YOU’RE, LIKE, MYTHOLOGICAL OR SOME SHIT!!” right back at him.

Then you had taken off down the bridge dragging your boyfriend sputtering behind you.

You had ended up staying in Asgard for probably over two months (you kind of lost track of time) and every single day was an adventure. By the time you decided you should really go back home and get your earthly life sorted out, you’d made sure to sneak secret kisses in every tiny closet the palace provided, and every single night had been spent on the highest palace balcony, staring at the stars until you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

It’s easily the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen. Golden buildings rising in the middle of bustling streets, mountains and waterfalls and rivers and more natural beauty than you’d ever beheld, and then there’s the food. The food alone is enough to make you seriously consider leaving the entire planet earth and just becoming a full time Asgardian.

You’d taken every opportunity to go back any time you were able to escape your life on Earth, and when you had finally decided to get married, the two of you spent another extended period of time in the realm during your first few months as a newly wed couple. It has certainly become your home away from home, and even Loki has started to enjoy being there more. The smug bastard says it has something to do with a change in the political dealings of the realm, but you know it’s just because you love it so much.

Not that he’d ever tell you such a sappy, hopelessly romantic thing like that.

He suggests you go visit as often as he can, just so he can see the shock on your face when the bifrost surrounds you, so he can hear the excited squeal when you see the golden castles in the distance, and of course so that he can laugh at you when you fail to address his family and the rest of the royal court properly (you do believe you’re the one being who has ever called Odin Allfather “dude” and lived to see another day).

But after his mother’s death, the realm eternal lost every ounce of its appeal. Wonderful memories became painful, tensions rose, and any joy that had come from Asgard was forgotten. It had taken ages just to get your lover to smile again, and you knew better than to suggest returning to the realm.

It was Elliot’s birth that finally brought a sliver of light back to his life. Yes, he tried to stay positive for your sake and still tried his best to keep your spirits lifted, but you could tell that something was missing from his life, a little light had gone out and needed rekindling.

Nothing does the job quite like a baby.

Once Elliot was born, travelling across space and time into another universe became the furthest thing from your mind, so it took you by complete surprise when Loki suggested you all spend the weekend showing the three month old baby around Asgard. Of course you agreed right away, hoping this could be a chance for him to reconcile old disagreements and even possibly gain closure on a treasured but lost relationship.

Now you find yourself at the foot of the rainbow bridge for the first time in a very long time, this time with a baby tucked in one arm and Loki’s hand locked with yours. Almost as an instinct, Loki looks at you when you step into the glaring Asgard sun, waiting for your face to light up when you see the city as it always has.

Your excitement doesn’t disappoint.

It’s wonderful to be back, but this visit is bittersweet; you’re excited to explore again this time with your son, but something about Loki still seems off.

The three of you spend the day traipsing through the lower levels of the city, mingling with the commoners and enjoying the street food and everyday life of what you guess are normal Asgardians.

It’s pretty obvious that Loki is avoiding the palace.

But he reluctantly agrees to return to the palace for dinner, knowing he owes his father the chance to meet his grandson. Hopefully Thor will be there to help keep things civil at the reunion.

Once again, baby to the rescue.

At first it was extremely tense around the table, but the Allfather seemed to have a soft spot for your little boy. He kept trying to hand him drumsticks of some kind of dark meat, which you politely tried to decline and secretly pushed onto Loki’s plate. Come on, the baby isn’t even one year yet. At one point you even caught Loki smiling when Odin asked to hold Elliot; your heart twisted when Loki caught your eye with an excited gleam in his own at the thought of his adoptive father favouring his son, something of his creation.

He’ll always be searching for some kind of validation from the man who lied to him, whether he realises that or not.

You kind of lost your husband and your son after dinner.

You had taken a quick run back to your room to go get your phone (Loki and Elliot were being too cute at dinner and you had to get a picture) but when you came back, they were gone.

After asking around for a bit, a chambermaid tells you she saw Loki step outside a few minutes ago, and she points you to a winding path leading away from the palace, away from the city into a dark expanse of land.

Figures, doesn’t it? What a great, totally not-threatening place for Loki to take his three month old son.

But despite your fears, the path leads you to a little garden, beautifully well-kept and so brightly coloured that the flowers seem to glow right through the darkness of the night. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Loki, walking slowly between the trees with Elliot in his arms.

For some reason you don’t call out to him just yet, and you follow him until he comes to a stop in front of an exquisitely painted mural on a stone wall. The mural is breathtaking, it looks like it’s been painted with actual gold—wait, these are gods. It probably is.

The scene painted is of a woman, you can’t tell who from the distance you’re watching, but you can tell she is beautiful, elegant, and in every way regal, judging by the golden crown that adorns her head. She’s standing in a forest, it seems, a forest or garden of sorts that looks strangely similar to the one you’re in. Loki is staring at it, and he reaches out a hand to brush his finger over the chipping paint.

Something about this is weirdly familiar.

You silently watch as he sinks to his knees on the damp grass before the mural, Elliot cradled in one arm as the other hand brushes across the ground—a strange type of darkly petaled wildflower sprouts from the soil where his hand touched, an oddly shadowed addition to the beautiful garden you find yourself in.

You’re about to call out to him when you hear him speaking in a barely audible, noticeably pained voice.

“Hello, mother.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Have I…have I made you proud?”

Should you go to him? Leave him be? You don’t want to interrupt. You hear him continue speaking before you can decide what to do.

“Look, mother. After all I’ve done, every—every mistake I’ve made, I’ve still somehow been given a son.” He slightly lifts the bundle of blankets in his arms, pulling the blanket away from the baby’s face. “We’ve named him Elliot…and he is the most beautiful child ever created.”

He’s just talking quietly into the air. You’re not sure if he’s speaking to the mural or just to himself; it seems as if his words are swallowed by the wind and cast around every living thing in the lush garden. You might just be sleep deprived and going crazy, but it’s almost as if the flowers and trees are bending towards the god and his son—listening.

Elliot is waking up, slowly starting to gargle cries as he squirms in his father’s arms, and Loki quickly shifts to hug the baby to his chest, shushing him and running a soothing hand over his back.

The simple movement nearly breaks your heart. You step out from behind the tree and quietly walk over to your family, placing a gentle hand on Loki’s back as you take a seat on the grass next to him.

He looks at you in surprise when he feels you, his cheeks faintly flushed at the state you’ve found him in. He never meant for you to see him like this, so exposed, vulnerable…weak.

You put a hand on the side of his face and reach up to kiss him softly, pouring every ounce of reassurance and strength into your lips. His cheeks are slightly wet against yours and when you pull away with a comforting smile, it’s a new, fresh tear that races down his face.

“Your majesty,” you suddenly call out, an idea forming in the back of your mind. You turn to the mural and lean against Loki’s side, squeezing his hand tightly in your own. “Your son is the most incredible father.”

…it feels kind of stupid when you say it. You’re not sure if this is how it works, if just anyone can speak with deceased goddesses by talking to a painting of them, but you push your doubts aside and keep speaking. If anything, Loki is the one who needs to hear this.

“You know, he’s changed my life,” you continue, laying your head on his shoulder and reaching over to rub a hand on Elliot’s back. “The life he’s given me, our son, whatever the future holds for our weird little family…I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like him, but, um, I think I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to repay him.”

“You don’t need to lie in attempt to comfort me.” His voice is so quiet you can barely hear him. “I don’t need your false reassurance.”

If it weren’t for the sensitivity of the current situation, you would have smacked him across the face and kissed some sense into him, but that doesn’t exactly seem appropriate for right now. So you resolve to rolling your eyes and moving your hand to cover his mouth. “Shh. Just listen to me, please.”

Pulling yourself to your feet, you take Elliot out of Loki’s arms and step closer to the mural, lightly bouncing the little baby when he gives another cry and stretches out a tiny, tired arm to the painting on the wall. “You know, Loki has changed, your majesty.” You wince; this probably isn’t how you should speak to a goddess-queen. “He’s changed a lot the past few years. He’s…opened his heart. To me, to our son, even to his brother and father at times. You raised a-a god with a beautiful mind, and yeah, his heart is a little stormy most of the time, but, well…” you catch Loki’s eye and smile. “Most of the time he lets me dance in the rain.”

Loki’s behind you now, his arms around your waist and swaying the three of you gently side to side. You’re cradling Elliot to keep him warm from the chilly night breeze picking up, and Loki’s lips are pressed to your temple, not moving, just wanting to feel you.

“Thank you, my love,” he whispers, and you don’t expect him to say any more.

However, he holds out a hand, and that same dark, unnaturally ominous flower from earlier appears in his palm. There’s a handful of threatening thorns lining the stem, but Loki runs a finger down the stem and the thorns promptly fall to the ground. Thank goodness, too, because then he tucks the flower behind your ear, brushing his hand along your cheek with a small smile as he withdraws his hand.

An unusually sweet gesture from your lover, an action strangely…midgardian.

“‘He lets me dance in the rain’?” He repeats, tilting your head up to look at him. An amused smile is hinting at his lips—meaning you’ve done your job. “My dear…that was awful. So tasteless. Honestly,” he chuckles at the feigned hurt on your face. “I thought I was training you better.”

“Hey, geez, sorry for caring!” You laugh and slap him in the chest, shifting Elliot to your other side. “Sorry I’m not some ‘scholarly poet’ like you, oh exalted one…my mediocre mortal vocabulary will have to suffice.”

Laughing, he takes Elliot out of your arms and wraps the blankets tighter around the little boy, then slips an arm behind your neck to pull you closer to him. “I suppose I appreciate the sentiment.” Thankfully chipper and smiling again, he leans down to give you a quick peck on the lips. “Sentiment. Such a fickle thing.”

You slip your arms around his waist and hug him tighter than you probably should, but hey, he’s a god. He can handle it. “Yes, sentiment, idiot…good thing a mighty god such as yourself would never stoop so low as to actually share his sentiments with another being.”

He sighs and nods in agreement, trying to pry your arms from his waist while holding his son in one arm. “Your sentiments tend to be overtly physical, dear.”

“Shh. You need it, and I know you love it.”

Loki pauses and you take the opportunity to grab his face and kiss him, not letting go of your hold around his waist. Then Elliot lets out a squeal and frees a tiny arm from his cocoon of blankets, grabbing Loki’s shirt and pulling himself tighter against his father’s chest—you almost laugh.

The baby is trying to hug Loki too.

There’s absolutely no way Loki can’t smile at that, and he hoists the baby further up on his chest to press his lips to Elliot’s forehead. “You’ve broken me. Ruined me, softened me, demolished my reputation…”

He gives a dramatic sigh and finally wraps his empty arm around you.

“And I can never thank you enough for that.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas

[rothjuje]

I have had to write this fucking post 8 times and the new Tumblr update is so stupid I just can't.

OKAY.

Sappy post on kids? Long gone. Today was hard. Foster care drama was bullshit. I want a drink.

New patient appointment for Elliot this am. Stressful. So stressful. And the pediatrician got over Audrey's antics fast. The girl is just everywhere. Her teacher is over it. Her classmates are over it. Elliot is over it. The dogs are over it. She doesn't strike me as having ADHD (she is highly emotional. But maybe this is what ADHD looks like in a girl?) but holy shit she cannot 'hear' you, which is exactly how BAM was.

And that was the easy part of my day. I got a call from Henry and George's old caseworker. She's not on the case anymore. But she basically said, "Look. Boys are going back into a shelter. We have had two adoptive placements fall through. Please call our third and explain to her how the boys thrive while receiving proper care like they did with you."

Manipulation much? Long (long long long) story short, I told adoptive mom #3 the truth, we talked for hours, I made a life long friend, and I think I'm gonna road trip to meet her. She meets the boys tomorrow and she said she has to pick between them and another sibling group and she will keep me posted. I am gonna be on the edge of my seat guys.

Today took all of me.

I'm sad for the boys. So sad for the boys. Adoptive mom #3 sent me updated pictures and they look dirty and their eczema is out of control. They do not look well cared for, I know I have high standards but even adoptive mom #3 agreed.

And I'm so sad for Audrey. Everyone is visibly annoyed with her all the time. I work with her frequently on personal space exercises and it just isn't going anywhere. I just want her to feel loved.

I have so much more to say but Tumblr is being an asshole and I'm over it.

[gayraccoonthing]

Reminder that you don't have to be good at something to enjoy it. You like art? Do it, be happy. I don't care if you think it looks like shit. Makes you happy? Yes? Then do it. Be happy. Don't let the fear of not being good drag you down. If someone tells you the opposite, kick them in the crotch and run, and then give me their name. I will b̶e̶a̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ l̶o̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ s̶h̶i̶t̶ o̶u̶t̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ kindly tell them to get their facts right.

Be nice to yourself and do stuff you enjoy!!!

[redzefron-blog]

what's up i'm here sending my url so tALK SH I T

my opinion on; @funghouled !

character in general: Listen.... if you would have asked me this like two weeks ago, i would have just been like “oh that guy that stole the heart of my boyfriend when he was like a wee babe” but now i’m? dead. I’m Dead, Jim. Ms. Keiiisha. i’m dead. i love this little tumbleweed that blew in from the desert so much that i could kermit. he makes me so happy because anytime i see anything of him i just think of you and your dumb smile but also i think of frank and then i laugh because i remember the good days on stardoll and u kno what? i’m not gonna out yo, it’s fine. BUT ANYWAYS... i love him. if you can’t tell from the fact that i’ll spam you with sad shit abt fp but the minute you say one (1) sad thing i’m just screaming? THEN DO YOU EVEN KNOW ME AT ALL, BABE? DO YOU? that was aggressive. i love you. how they play them: Listen.... I Know.. Fun Ghoul. and i only do because my boyfriend has rambled and yelled and threw him at me more times than i can count. bt i also?? know him because my boyfriend IS him??? like honestly, this character has quickly meant so much to me because i can really see all the aspects of him that made you into who you are today, and i think that’s one of the reasons i really do love him so much? it’s always emotional to watch you write kieren, to watch you write elliot for the reasons of how similar you are to them, but this character IS you. and i think that’s beautiful? and i think it’s so beautiful how you show that in every word, every phrase. hell, it’s easy to see by how EASILY you capture him and how easy it is for you to write so much for him at any moment? i don’t know, i feel like it’s really amazing the way you seem to constantly be in his mindset and there’s so many reasons for that. and it’s !!!! incredible. the mun: i cherish the mun. if you don’t know how i feel about my boyfriend, you have never been on this blog a day in your damn life. honestly, you are the first thing i think abt when i wake up and the last thing before i sleep and HONESTLY... A LOT OF THE THOUGHTS IN BETWEEN. you’re just??? absolutely incredible and someone that i couldn’t imagine my life without, regardless of how sappy or emotional that is! your writing is my favorite thing to read and i could probably listen you go on for hours about ANY of your children just bc i know how excited you are!!! you’re just such an angel and i absolutely would die for you at any second you wanted me to. xx

do i;

follow them: i have never followed a single blog once in my life. rp with them: i feel like this is a ridiculous understatement LMAOwant to rp with them: yes so please wake up and reply to discord dammit.ship their character with mine: ok not this character but catch me yelling abt fp and ghoul until the damn cows come home always.

what is my;

overall opinion: 10/10 tina belchers dancing

[unbeast]

Cute Tags

I was tagged by @cafedetude​, keep em comin, these are fun xx

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? more cereal; use just enough milk for the cereal to soak up

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? no!

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? usually receipts, sometimes postcards/birthday cards in envelopes

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? tea: only if I’m sick and just with honey coffee: I just like iced capps

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? sometimes, if I overthink it. The left side around my mouth isn’t as mobile so it looks stiff and awkward, and also there are these two veins or something on either side of my face that move towards my eyes when I smile and it looks very disturbing

6: do you keep plants? oh shit I forgot I have one, haven’t watered that thing in about 3 weeks

7: do you name your plants? no, sorry “that thing”

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? drama

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? I don’t like to sing because it hurts my ears when I do, but I like to dramatically deliver song lyrics. Humming usually leads to me getting too riled up so I often steer clear of that

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? side!

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends? The first one that comes to mind is “Sarahhhh” aka the reenactment of Max not knowing what to do when his kayak is sinking

12: what’s your favorite planet? venus, baby

13: what’s something that made you smile today? a scene in the final episode of Stranger Things 2 that I can’t mention now because it’s still too soon

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? semi-bohemian, cozy, clean

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! “Saturn is the only planet in the solar system that would float on water”

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish? homemade lasagna

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? blue

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. the time I gifted tampons with christmas jokes attached to the strings 

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? Yes, there’s your classic recap, poems, dumb questions, favorites lists, to-read/watch lists, semi-collages

20: what’s your favorite eye color?  “The kind of green that doesn't make a big deal about itself” which has... ugh okay for years now, this description of Sam’s eyes from Perks, it just. You know what eyes he’s talking about 

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. my topshop bag. It’s the first thing I purchased from topshop, and it ignited my addiction to the brand

22: are you a morning person? yes, metaphysically(?) (lol) I like doing things in the morning because time seems slower and I feel more productive and energized. Waking up’s the challenge tho

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? swingset

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? no

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? is this a common thing people do??

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? ehhhh I’m not too fond of any one of my shoes right now but grade 10 through 11 I was overly attached to one pair of indoor soccer shoes that I used as everyday sneakers

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? bubblegum

28: sunrise or sunset? sunrise

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? their laugh!! Makes me so happy, can’t help but laugh along

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? proximity to wasps, walking across a valley on a rusty pipe with low guardrails

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. love socks!! I have to sleep with socks because I get cold at night and if my skin is exposed, I get sick. I like comfortable, just-below-ankle-length athletic socks, would like to invest in some that I could wear my vans with w/o the socks showing because otherwise, socks makes my calves look bulbous when I wear skirts/dresses/shorts

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. we had a really deep talk and sappy declarations of friendship

33: what’s your fave pastry? AHH! STAHHP, I could’ve dropped my ______

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? Lami! A sweet little lamb I got from the dollar store when I first moved to Canada, very precious and dear to me. Carried her to school until grade four because I was scared there’d be a fire at my house and she’d die. I still keep her, of course!!

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? yes, love stationary n pens! But never buy because, money. :/

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now? tame impala

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? it’s so, so messy. I hate it! I like things clean but I just never have time to sort through it and it piles up and :( I’m disgusting

38: tell us about your pet peeves! when, in the winter, you have a scarf wrapped around your neck and then the wind keeps blowing it behind your shoulder so it’s softly choking you 

39: what color do you wear the most? black 

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you? I have a troy bolton necklace that I believe Joyce got me for my birthday in, I want to say grade four or five. It’s perfect

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? Ender’s Game

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! Tim Hortons near the mall, makes the best hashbrowns and the iced capps are perfect balance of coffee and milk and ice, just A+

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? my roommate, on our walk home

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? on the skytrain, moments before I looked through an open apartment window and saw a naked girl flopping down onto a mattress, followed by a nude man jumping ontop of her like a flying squirrel. The illusion was shattered (yes, this actually happened and it was a lot to process)

45: do you trust your instincts a lot? no !!!! never ever ever

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. I was wondering why the baseball kept coming closer and closer, and then it hit me!

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? This spinach dish my mum makes with an egg on top? It’s slimy, and it’s a no from me

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? I was scared of fish up until age 5 I believe, my grandma used to cut out paper fishies and flush them down the toilet to try and help me get over that fear. Now its probably... oof I can’t think of any atm but there’s soooo many

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? yes, I most recently purchased an After Laughter cd and cassette, I’m stoked

50: what’s an odd thing you collect? journals that I never use

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? I associate the twinkling at the beginning of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere” with Shalla

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? homeboy can like... get it, me talking about myself vs me talking about ______, there’s LOTS but I just can’t remember :’(

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? I’ve seen all! 

RHPS: I’m “eh” towards the movie itself but the atmosphere of seeing it in a theatre is the best fucking experience!!! This weekend I went to a shadowcast for Halloween second year in a row, thinking of making it annual :)

Heathers: can quote it start to finish as though it were a favorite song, love this movie

beetlejuice: it’s good, Winona Ryder is such a gem, and the scene with the banana boat song is cinematic gold

pulp fiction: it’s good, not a favorite but I can appreciate it

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? can’t think of anyone rn

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? everything I do is dramatic, every point I’ve made has been made dramatically 

56: what are some things you find endearing in people? genuine, genuine, genuine

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? made me feel loosey goosey, and yes 

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? hi yes this is vodka aunt speaking, I like vodka. Wine mom is no one because wine tastes horrible 

59: what’s your favorite myth? I’ve never looked into myths, but Medusa just sounds like a riot

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? yes, poetry is nice, but it’s rare I find ones I really am a fan of

I like listening to T.S. Elliot read his four quartets and "Pins and Needles" by Dua Saleh

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received? given: a tween magazine that I decorated with obscene language that ended up being secret-santaed to my theatre director. Received? Probably a shirt with a picture of a random blonde girl saying “nevermind” from my mom (sorry mom)

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? if I need refreshing wake up call, I’ll drink OJ

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? My bookshelf is organized by favorites, idc about my music

64: what color is the sky where you are right now? midnight blue at 10 pm

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with? lotssss

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? any collection of flowers that are all white, or a collection of colors that are moody and vampy

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?  heavy, like I’m walking in water

68: what’s winter like where you live? hopefully no snow this year or ever

69: what are your favorite board games? Translated, it’s called “get angry, man” but essentially it’s Sorry

70: have you ever used a ouija board? no

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea? I haaaaate teaaaaa but chamomile if I HAVE to drink some when I’m sick

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it? yes

73: what are some of your worst habits? ripping the skin off around my nails, biting my nails

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. genuine

75: tell us about your pets! I HAVE A BIRD NAMED CHARLIE AND HE IS TOO COOL FOR ME 

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t? a cog psy assignment 

77: pink or yellow lemonade? pink, aesthetically; yellow flavourfully(?)

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? If I don’t ever see an unironic facebook minion meme ever again, I can tolerate them

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? can’t remember :( lots of cute things done by lots of cute people but I have a horrible memory

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? grey, no

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. you know the blue in Blue from Blue’s Clues’ fur, well that

82: are/were you good in school? I was, now I’m not 

83: what’s some of your favorite album art? ahhhh can’t think of any. I’m sure I will literally 2 seconds after I post this

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? no, I’m too indecicive and I can’t commit

85: do you read comics? what are your faves? I don’t, used to read archie digests though

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? yeah, as a concept (AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA)

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Bad Genius, Moonlight, Donnie Darko, The Matrix, What We Do In The Shadows

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? idk anything about art

89: are you close to your parents? not that close but i love em

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. Vancouver, love everything

91: where do you plan on traveling this year? hopefully my family and I can vacation this year, it’s been a while

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? drownnn

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? just down

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? @millport​

95: what are your plans for this weekend? this past HALLOWEEKEND I went to a frat party, saw a shadowcast of rocky horror, and spent time with good friends :) Next weekend sucks, I’m studying. 

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? procrastinate

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? 

INFJ

Libra

Slytherin 

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? would have been a long time ago, summer after grade 9. The hike was for five days and I was super sick, so I couldn’t realy heal properly. Plus, my period just started so everything felt shit. But overall I loved it lmao

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. semi charmed life! Not because my soul is like “ooh, meth” but it’s just a perfect song

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? past, so I could have the power to completely change my present

I tag @kabul1998 and anyone who is up for some tag-answering

[evenbechnet]

GROUP CHAT 7/01/17 GMT

Feel free to edit and add!! 00:00- all quiet, everyone finally goes the fuck to sleep

1am- salma, bells and Elliot having a party and crying about the summary, horse Even!?? Why? Animals, farm yard animal, farm discourse TM. Quack quack mother fuckers.

2am-killer tire in dessert movie, ohmygid these guys are literally shit posting idk what I’m summarising but I’m laughing, Elliot gets attacked by animals how is he alive?,

3am-9am- wondering about Eva noora discourse, wondering about anteater Wilhelm,

Fic Recs galore: - http://archiveofourown.org/users/rhalei/bookmarks - https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815849 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/8961337 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/8802484/ - https://archiveofourown.org/works/8820784 - http://archiveofourown.org/series/607585 - WIP with 4 chapter no link!???

Talking about terrible FICS again, werewolf isak vs hung horse even, RHAE “instead of biking to the pool ISAK rides on evens back”, furry vs curry discourse, this isn’t VILDUS pls , Taha: someone needs to read it and report back/////

Ao3 FICS are weird, mermaid fic, (someone rec that properly pls I havnt read it -Zaa) , more talking about the trailer dropping and how we gon die, might require spray bottles,

Daf is awake and approves of the FICS, caterpillar on chrispys face in s1 #confirmed, FANART is so sacred , must protect at all costs, so much talent

WHERE IS A SNAKES BUTTHOLE, snakesak has taken over as a horrifying meme, snake tongue compile? Snake videos? Pls provide links, he always licking his lipssss we should have known, WE CANT GO BACK,

10am- if Isak has dry lips Even needs to be licking them for him, JUST COUPLE THINGS EVAK

11am- Shola wages a one man war on the crispy discourse, her soul has been penetrated by p Chris, sprays bottle and despair, Shola tried recalling her fellow demons daf and Rhae for back up, more pchris discourse(more like only pictures), hating on shola )): , everyone being possesed by pchris, FICS discussion, ao3 vs lj vs ffnet, first fandoms?

12am- Harry Potter aus, which houses discourse,slytherin isak and his snake pickup lines, see seperate post.drawings of snakesak with snake.

1pm- ISAK so pale, cafeteria scene creys, that week was too dark, General ep 6 and 7 love, SHOES, halla scene vs hotel room scene, matching boyfriends

2pm- it was defo isaks first time, INFINITE, why was Even hair still perfect, it was the icecream secret, Faiza pray bottle is needed, when even touches isaks Lip in the hotel SCENE, NOSE IN HIS MOUTH, ER DU DANSK, 2pm is Lot okay- AND ISAK BEING SO CLOSE TO HIS MOM LIKE "OK BUT YOU DIDNT PAY ME THIS WEEK AND YOUR SON MADE ME BUY SO MUCH SHIT WITH MYYYYY MONEY???"

Evens mum and isaks mum head canons, Listen someone write a fic where their families have a get together @cz where r u- there is no way to summarise what's happening it's actual chaos.

SHOLA FOLIGH AWAY, more crispy wilhelmmy faces, they never end, will we ever be free? Chris and Eva the new FOLGERS commercial - Dani is leaving to EAT GOOD THINGs - like snakes aka venom!???, HANDS, Evaks hands, who cares about SEX scenes we want hand holding, THERE WAS NO SEX SCENS DISCOURSE GOT TO IRONIC

3pm- PORNHUB talk, dick talk, are dicks ugly or not, what did ISAK do in the shower in ep8, how do ppl not read the texts between clips, Faiza coming for us all with even giving ESKILD sex advice and tips, Rhae throws holy water- OH How THE TURN TABLES, Eskild even Isak hitting gay bars head canons, kitchen sex ftw, they fucked in the kitchen after 5 fine frøkner #confirmed,ILL TATTOO MANNEN I MITT LIV ON MY FOREHEAD, NSFW headcanons: Even probably makes dick jokes while they have sex, probably goes "the millennium falcon isn't the only thing that comes in less than 12 parsecs" when he's close and isak just goes wtf Honestly I can summarise this its just filth about EVAK sex are we any better than the chrispy fan girls!?

just all around terrible EVAK sex headcanons to Justin beibers baby. DONT LOOK AT ME I AM IN THE SHAMECUBE.

Evens SEX playlist;

- My anaconda - nicki - Baby my Justin beiber - Talk dirty to me - Take U down by Chris brown - Lots of years and years

Praise kink Isak, its it's just filth for an hour plus about EVAK sex I'm not gonna lie, ISAK likes scarves because they cover them hickeys

4pm- Faiza telling us a cute EVAK In School making out behind closed class room door, Shola and RHAE span crispy, even tongue is not alone anymore hi isaks tongue, why is this chat so filthy we all need Jesus, multiple holy water GIFS, ocean gif, penetrator ET, HALLA after sex, DAF and Zaa livetexting the awful sleeping beauty fic , let's never speak of it again, more shitting on eyewitness, Talking about good shows, watch merli, the get down,sense8,

5pm- s4 NRK poll, skam saved 2016 y'all, so many feelings, getting pretty sappy, love all y'all, skam as a good and bad coping mechanism the discourse, from dicks to feelings: and EVAK story, even4s4 discourse for the tusen time, crispy Kreme roasting, season 4 trailer contemplation, 8th Jan at 21:21 WHAT LIES, also u; waiting t 21/22 8th Jan refreshing the site,

6pm- we are all hot AF #confirmed, the tollness vs smolness debate, we are all dating now it is decided, crushes and how to flirt, EVAK yoga store, COUPLES yoga, ASK OLD ESKILD typo I love to regret My life, more love life talk, let's take desperate to a whole new level of EVAK could do it so can we

7pm- Evens bipolar diagnosis discourse, fandom before and after ep8 on the subject, bitch we guessed it we was RIGHT, wlw on skam pls, attacking VILDUS smh, vilde Magnus sexuality debate TBH, WILLHELM NOSE CANT FIT INTO CHRISPEE's MOUTH, never gets ask old, look at that washboard ass, crispy again, will we ever be free of crispy, TRIGGERED WILHELMY AND CRISPY

8pm- quotes for edits, poems and writing such talent here u guys

9pm: fic talk, finally the mermaid fic link (http://archiveofourown.org/works/9111700/chapters/20710825), why is there tarjei David friendship discourse why, why are ppl so gross!?,

10pm- hating women who get IinThe way of m/m ships PLS DONT, why must ppl invalidate even and isaks sexualities?, 11pm- all quite on the western front TBH

[florafraser-blog]

OOC WEEK: this or that

RAPID FIRE:

Tea or coffee? tea. leaf juice over bean juice.

Stars or planets? planets. pluto is my girlfriend.

Sun or moon? moon. u can’t stare directly @ the sun, but u CAN stare directly @ the moon.

Black or white? black, like my Soul.

The zoo or the aquarium? aquarium!!!!!! lemme watch the fishes!!!!!!

Drama or comedy? drama drama drama drama

Thriller or adventure? thriller Always.

Short walks to the fridge or long walks on the beach? can i have a short walk on the beach?

Indoors or outdoors? both. both is nice, as long as there are no bugs in either environment.

Animals or plants? animals.

Time alone or time with others? listen, human beings exhaust me, but i also require constant attention.

Introvert or extrovert? introvert.

Silence or music? music.

Darkness or light? light, but like, only well lit light.

Cats or dogs? dogs.

Dancing or being the wallflower? dancing my lil toosh off.

Right or left? right.

Werewolves or vampires? i had a rly long ‘the vampire diaries’ phase ok. immortality fascinates me. vampires.

Dressing stylishly or dressing comfortably? as i’ve said to carlie before, my style is “cultivated messiness” aka i look like i put 0 effort in but in a cute way, but i actually put 0 effort in. so dressing comfy but in a stylish way!!!!!

Sunrise or sunset? sunset.

Lead or follow? a lil bit of both. sometimes, u gotta lead when nobody else is doing jack shit, but sometimes, u gotta keep ur mouth shut and follow so that other people are responsible for the Anarchy

Optimist or pessimist? lil bit of both. it’s hard 2 be optimistic when a tangerine is in charge of ur country.

Staying up late or waking up early? staying up late!

Speaking up or staying silent? speaking up always and forever.

White lies or brutal honesty? depends on what the situation calls for. as a rule, i like to be honest, but with the people i’m close with, sometimes that will do more harm than good, and sometimes, you just have to let people come to a conclusion on their own.

Ask for permission before doing the stupid thing or ask for forgiveness after doing the stupid thing? 100% ask for forgiveness after doing the stupid thing.

LONG FORM:

Pet peeves: ppl leaving the toilet seat up, ppl who walk slowly, ppl who eat tuna in public (that shit is STINKY), ppl who stand too close to u in line, ppl who don’t ask permission before they take something of urs or touch something of urs, ppl who sneeze into their hands

Bad habits: not eating enough fruits and vegetables or drinking enough water, spending too much $$ on useless crap, liking boys, not wearing my orthotics, not finishing my food, procrastinating on my work (GUESS WHAT I’M DOING RIGHT NOW), ignoring all of my problems in hopes that they’ll go away, not charging my devices.....ever....., never cleaning my glasses, undoing the hems on all of my clothes

Favourite scents (your amortentia!): peppermint, nail polish remover, freshly baked bread, lavender, dryer sheets, petrol

Favourite animal: ORCA!!!! WHALES!!!!!!

Favourite colour: green~

Favourite place to go (local or otherwise) (photos get bonus points): there’s a student run coffee shop on USC’s campus called “ground zero” and they have the best milkshakes known to man, but they also just in general have such good study vibes and writing vibes, so i spend like 98% of my time there.

Favourite meme: the evil kermit meme

Do you have any creative or artistic abilities? i goddamn hope so!!!!!!!! i would like to think i can write semi well, and that’s about it. i can’t draw or sing or paint, so writing is basically all i’ve got. i also feel like i have Some Aesthetic sensibilities, so i’d be somewhat ok at photography and cinematography, but i’m not actually that interested in the latter, just the former.

Talk about something that made you happy today, yesterday, this week: one of my best friends came w me to see the movie “lion” on monday. i’d already seen it, but i really wanted her to see it, and she got us FREE TICKETS at this beautiful theater in santa monica, and we went, and she loved it, and just seeing her enjoy this thing that i loved made me rly rly happy :’)

Talk about an experience that made you feel proud or confident: OK i bought overalls over christmas break, and let me tell u, i have never felt more confident than i feel in these overalls bc not only do i look Good, i look Gay, and today i put them on, and curled my hair, and i feel like the prettiest goddamn human being in existence :’)

Talk about something/someone that makes you feel relaxed: carlie!!!!!!!!!! this is gonna get sappy i’m trying 2 kill her when she wakes up!!!!!!! but talking to carlie alway makes me feel really calm and chill, even if we’re being super high key about something. and if something’s going Wrong, i know i can talk to her because she always has a Good Perspective that Soothes and Supports, and i love her very dearly :’))))))

Talk about something you’re yet to try for the first time but want to: this is dumb, but i’ve never done a face mask before??? i rly want to??? i want my Skin To Feel Soft And Nourished. i also want to dye my hair and become even more of an aesthetic hoe than i already am

Who are your role models and why: 1) david fincher, for just saying fuck u @ everything and doing whatever the hell he wants 2) viola davis, for her constant intelligence and perseverance and strength 3) shonda goddamn rhimes, for creating an empire 4) amy elliot dunne, for being a BAD ASS BITCH 5) peter paige, for continuing to bring nuanced queer stories to the screen, as an actor, as a writer, as a person 6) all of the friends in my life who are just.........amazing and complicated and driven and heartfelt who constantly give me a reason to want to be the best version of myself

Talk about something you want to do this year: i want to start flossing. flossing and i have never gotten along. but my dentist told me i was like THIS close to having perfect teeth, if only i flossed more, so i was like....u know what.....why not go the extra mile......this is my new year’s resolution, and it’s lame, but it’s Mine.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xx

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xx: hell is empty

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7k  

Rating: Just mature; some mature themes but nothing explicit.

Warnings: None, just Elliot's mouth and like uncalled-for sadness, John's a baby. What's new.

Notes: Hi henlo! I cannot believe we have one chapter and one epilogue left of this. I'm trying not to be emotional about so IT'S FINE but we're gonna keep the notes short otherwise I'm gonna get sappy!!

I want to thank you to @shallow-gravy​ for lending me her eyeballs on this and letting me stress out over nothing to her all the time; @lilwritingraven​ for being just an absolute peach a girl could ask for and listening to to me whine and cry; and @baeogorath​, one of the first people to read this and suffer through the memes and dumpster fire writing to be here. Thank you all for loving my girl as much as you do!

@starcrier​, idk man you know what's up. Elliot wouldn't be in any universe without you, and this fic just simply wouldn't have happened. I love you wit all me heart!

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Cameron Burke had failed.

That was the flat, bare truth of it now, as he kept the blonde clutched to him. Elliot’s entire body was trembling; she was soaking wet, and her teeth chattered, and she looked like someone had been throwing her around for sport. Even though she was crying softer now, gentle hiccups rattling around in her chest, she felt small—tiny, and battered.

Yes, Cameron Burke had failed, and if the rapid decline of what was supposed to be a by-the-book arrest in a tiny Montana town wasn’t evidence enough of this, he certainly had enough evidence before him. Now, with John Seed looking at him as a man incensed. Now, with the eyes of the other Seed siblings pinned on him—the most unsettling of all being Faith’s large doe-eyes. All of them, bleeding in and out of his vision, the world swooning as the effects of Bliss rushed around in his bloodstream.

Now, with Elliot in his arms, having been laid out like a lamb for slaughter.

“I’m s-so—” The blonde’s voice hiccupped, fresh with grief. “I’m s-sorry, Burke, I—tried to find you—”

“Stop,” he managed out, his voice hoarse, “stop, Rook, I don’t—you don’t need to apologize, it’s not...”

Joseph was saying something over their conversation, but he only caught snippets of it; the voices echoed and overlapped as the world swam, so it was easiest to be focused on quieting Elliot. As his hands went to her face, he thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from someone; he couldn’t have said who even if he thought he knew.

“Well, we can’t stand around,” said John, impatient and brisk. “Elliot’s going to get pneumonia again if we do.”

“Can’t have that,” Jacob rumbled amusedly. “Why don’t we let her and Burke play catch-up back at the compound?”

And then Jacob looked at Elliot—and Burke could tell, because her cries were quieting and she seemed to be trying to steel herself—and the redhead said, “I’m sure they have a lot to talk about.”

“I’ll take Elliot back to get cleaned up,” John insisted. “And then they can chat all they want.”

The brunette turned and looked at them. Burke could feel Elliot’s heartbeat, held this close, and for a moment he was violently reminded of the way that it had felt when he was a child, catching wild rabbits that had hidden beneath the brush around his home; their pulses had been frantic, hard and fast and almost violent, and now Elliot’s was—

John extended his hand. For all it mattered, Burke might as well have not existed at that moment; the man was only looking at Elliot, perhaps mentally willing away Burke’s existence. He said, perfectly composed with only a thin tenor of venom in his voice, “Come on, El.”

Burke felt before he saw the way Elliot went to take his hand, like instinct, like she didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

He didn’t like it. He especially didn’t like John so casually using a nickname with the rookie, like they were familiar; thinking back on it, Elliot had seemed less angry about being baptized and more angry at not getting pulled out sooner, and had said his name like they were familiar, and—

He tightened his hold on her. “No,” he ground out, biting the words through his teeth.

John’s eyes flickered up to his indignantly. That spark of anger, of fury, gave Burke a tiny bit of vindication. Serves you right, you fucking psycho, he thought viciously, even as the Bliss pumped through his system and made it feel like every thought was being dragged through molasses.

“You don’t want to start this with me,” John said, his voice pitching low and poisonous, “Cameron Burke.”

I know you, he was saying. I know your fucking name, and maybe that would have bothered Burke before but it didn’t, anymore. He’d fried bigger fish than fucking John Seed, that was for sure.

“Fuck. You,” Burke spat. “John Seed.”

“Stop,” Elliot said, her voice wobbling. “Stop, it’s—”

She pulled back just a little, still shivering, her gaze darting between them like she was trying to find the best way to say something; but then her eyes stayed on Burke, like the person she needed to break something to was him, and he felt his stomach lurch.

Not you too, he thought, faintly, somewhere in the back of his mind. Tell me they didn’t get you too.

“John,” Joseph said, having wandered over, “we have a lot that needs to be discussed. Perhaps Faith can take them back to one of the bunkhouses in the meantime?”

“I’d be happy to,” Faith said sweetly. Her voice sent a violent jolt of panic down his spine, and Burke swallowed thickly, his head snapping to the source of her voice. She looked exactly the same as she had before, when she—

“No complaints about that?” John asked venomously. Burke looked at Elliot, his brows furrowing for a moment before he took her hand. He wanted to say no; he wanted to say fuck no, no fuckin’ way I’m following that siren of yours anywhere, but each time his eyes darted to her, the words got caught up in his throat.

Elliot said firmly, “We’ll go with you, Faith,” and it took everything he had to not swallow back the sound of distress that tried to come out of him.

He was Cameron Fucking Burke, and the idea of being remotely close to alone with Faith Seed had words failing him, his feet bolted to the ground. But Burke couldn’t tell if it was more favorable to letting John wander off with Elliot, and in the end—at least this way, they would be together.

Whatever that meant.

“Fine,” John snapped out. With Elliot no longer tangled up in Burke’s protective embrace, Joseph took this opportunity and snagged Elliot’s hand, placing it over his heart.

Joseph did not look at Burke a single time when he said, his voice slick with a rich, warm timbre that Burke was sure had to be practiced, “You make a most beautiful child of Eden, Elliot.”

Elliot swallowed. Burke’s grip on her hand loosened, just for a moment, but when she threaded their fingers together for a little extra support he saw the way that her jaw was clenching and her lashes were fluttering. They hadn’t doused her in Bliss, he thought—if he could trust what he saw in the clarity of her eyes, anyway—which somehow made the allowance of Joseph’s hands on her all the worse.

When Joseph moved away, and said something lowly to Jacob, John closed what little distance remained and took Elliot’s face in his hands; Burke’s grip on her tightened, waiting for John to do something. Threaten her, grab her—anything to live up to the reputation he had so carefully and diligently created for himself.

He did not. John took Elliot’s face in his hands and he leaned in like a lover. There was a moment as he did that where Elliot’s chin tilted, taking her mouth just that much out of his reach.

And they were looking at each other, like that. Like it was a game. Like they had done it before; John, chasing her for a kiss, just like this, because then the man grinned half-wicked and kissed her.

No fucking way, Burke thought, and waited—waited for the kickback, for Elliot to bite him, anything.

It didn’t come. His stomach sank. Not you too, Rook.

“I’ll come find you,” John said into her mouth, “when I’m done.”

It should have been a threat, coming out of his mouth—John Seed didn’t say shit like that without it being a threat—but after he said it, he leaned in and kissed Elliot again; longer this time, his hands only dragging from her face when it was time to step back.

John’s eyes fixed on Burke as he pulled away. Fucker, he thought with no absence of poison. You fucker, you got your fucking fangs in her, you and your fucking psycho siblings, and—

There was little time to think about it, around his anger. Elliot’s fingers stayed laced with his, and as Faith moved back up the slope to the compound and they trailed behind obediently, Burke could feel the eyes of the Seed brothers on him. Lingering. Watching. Calculating.

Faith looked back at him over her shoulder and flashed a smile that felt more wolfish than it should have for a girl in a white dress. It made his spine crawl. She took Elliot’s free hand, interlacing their fingers and bringing Elliot’s hand up to her cheek lovingly, her lashes fluttering.

“I didn’t know you and Elliot were that close, Mr. Burke,” she said, her words sugared and echoing in ripples around him.

Burke swallowed thickly. “She’s a good kid,” he managed out hoarsely, lamely, because the second he thought about telling Faith to go fucking die he felt his chest tighten. God, how long had he spent in that nightmare with her? It couldn’t have been longer than a week, maybe—but after she’d left? How many days had passed that he’d been trying to survive off of creek water and whatever food he could find in empty houses speckled across the Montana countryside?

Faith laughed. They were like a little daisy-chain, the three of them, speckling the early morning woods until they came out into the compound—and then there were eyes on them. Less than Burke remembered. Where had the rest of them gone?

“Well, that’s certainly right,” Faith continued, turning to face them and walking backwards as they slipped under the intricate white trellis caging the majority of the yard.

She stopped walking; Burke would have nearly ran her over if he hadn’t been paying so much attention to how close she was to him. With deliberate honeyed timbre, Faith murmured, “We love her around these parts,” and planted a chaste kiss on Elliot’s fingers, tangled with her own. “Just ask John.”

“We’re here,” Elliot said, a little too quickly to be casual, to be normal, and Faith shot her a sly look before she turned around and opened the door to the bunkhouse. Inside, it was mostly bare; as they walked in, Elliot released both of their hands, and Burke could see a duffel bag unzipped and laying open on the nearby tiny table, filled with a few books and clothes.

Like she was planning on staying, he thought tiredly, at least for a little while.

“Play nice, you two,” Faith said from the doorway.

The door clicked shut. They were left in silence for a moment, Elliot gathering up some of her things and putting them back into the duffel bag—like she was trying to tidy up her home for an unexpected guest. The idea of it made Burke’s stomach wrench.

“Hey, you don’t—” He started.

“—’m sorry, it’s—”

They both stopped. Burke rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling through his mouth.

“Let’s,” he tried again, “start from the beginning.”

“Okay,” Elliot murmured, swallowing thickly. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Great.” Burke pulled the chair out from the table and sat down; the world sighed in relief around him when he did, woozy and dreamy and green—all green, except for Elliot, in that blue fucking dress.

“Go on, then.”

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“What the fuck was that?!”

John could feel it—he could feel the strain, the anger, bubbling high in his voice, pulling tightightight until he thought it might snap. The second the three of them got into the chapel, Jacob sauntered toward the front as though nothing had occurred at all, as if it were business as normal.

“John,” Joseph cautioned, his voice pensive.

“No, I’m really curious,” John seethed, soaking wet and freezing, “why it is our brother felt the need to bring the U.S. Marshal back alive.”

“‘I’ve got it under control’,” the redhead intoned, his voice coming out flat and biting, “isn’t that what you said, Johnny?”

John stared at his eldest brother. There was just a shred of his self-control left—just one tiny shred, and the only reason he still had it was because the look on Burke’s stupid fucking face when he’d kissed Elliot was singularly propelling him along.

This was bad. It was bad, because Elliot was still in a fragile state of being: she was still thinking about things rather than just doing what felt good and right, and that was the most troublesome fucking thing about her—that those gears were always turning, always rattling around, even when he managed to make them go the other way for a moment.

He didn’t want her gears shut off. He wanted them working for him.

“I’m—” John sucked in a sharp breath. “Burke was supposed to be dead. This is an unprecedented—”

“If everything’s under control, then why the fuck is Burke being alive a problem?” Jacob replied sharply. “I’m thinking about the long game, John. I’m thinking about sending you to live underground in a fucking bunker with her and some of our people. But mostly—” His voice came out between gritted teeth. “—I’m thinking about us. You know, our family? You’ve been acting like a loose-fucking-cannon this whole Goddamn time, and if one person Elliot’s known for a handful of days is going to derail your entire operation, maybe you don’t have everything under control.”

Fuck you, John thought viciously, but the words wouldn’t come; they stayed strangled in his throat, because a part of him said maybe Jacob was right, and maybe that meant that things weren’t going to go as well as he planned.

He pushed the thoughts from his head just in time for Joseph to say, “I do find this troubling.”

John took in another short, sharp breath. “It’s not a problem,” he insisted, feeling more than a little frantic. “It’s not. You just—you don’t see what it’s like when—”

“John,” Joseph said, sounding almost tired now, “she looked right at you and chose Burke instead.”

“She didn’t! She didn’t choose Burke, she just—she just—” He swallowed thickly. “She wants me to reveal her sin. Why would she do that if she didn’t want to be with me? With us? She wouldn’t just say that, and—and maybe seeing Burke again made her feel something different, but it’s like you said, Joseph, she’s strangling the person she used to be and that’s—”

“She’s becoming,” his older brother articulated, “more trouble than she’s worth.”

“And might even be a bigger problem,” Jacob added, “isn’t that right, John?”

John’s mouth twisted as he tried to figure out what exactly it was Jacob was alluding to. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, you’re not using protection when you’re fucking her, are you?” the redhead snapped, and Joseph sighed—a long, suffering sound. John didn’t want to feel shame, but when Joseph tilted his head to the gray morning light filtering through the chapel’s window as though for a respite from this conversation, he did.

Jacob plunged on, “And since you felt the need to kick your fucking window open the other night, I got a real good idea of how much self-control you actually have when it comes to preventing problems.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re practically begging for a mishap.”

No, he thought furiously, pushing the memory of Elliot gripping his jaw and telling him to beg for it out of his head, no, this is not how this fucking goes. This is not how this goes at all.

“I’m finishing Elliot’s baptism,” he bit out. “She’s mine—”

His brain halted and stuttered on the words, and when his brothers looked at him, he amended, “My wife, and she’ll join us. She will. She almost already has. I have it under. Control.”

For a moment, silence reigned supreme. Finally, Joseph said, “We are out of time, John.”

“We’re not, we planned for at least another week of reaping.”

“That was for emergencies only,” Jacob bit out. “What, you want to fucking push the end of the world?”

“One week,” Joseph interjected. “You have one week. I want our deputy’s sin revealed, I want her converted, I want her under control.” His voice was hard now, flinty and unforgiving, when he looked at John. “If she is not, John—”

“She will be.”

“If she isn’t,” he continued, his mouth twisting, “you understand the consequences.”

The Gates of Eden will be closed to you.

John swallowed thickly. “Yes, Joseph.”

Joseph looked at him for a long moment—a moment of suffering, of John waiting for something, anything that would indicate where the conversation was going to go. Blessedly, Jacob remained silent too, and another set of agonizing heartbeats passed before Joseph spoke again.

“We will be collecting the last of the supplies from Fall’s End and anything within quick reach,” he said, looking down at the map on the table and adjusting it. “You have until then, John.”

He opened his mouth to say something, his mind scrambling; I will, Joseph, I can do this, I know I can, but his older brother lifted his hands to stop him.

“We’re done here,” Joseph said. “Leave us, John.” And then, almost as though to soften the blow of his words: “You’re going to catch ill if you stay in those wet clothes.”

John swallowed thickly. He looked at Jacob for a moment; his words were still ringing in his head. I’m thinking about us. You know, our family?

“Yes, Joseph,” he managed out after a moment, turning and heading toward the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing lonely and cold in the mostly-empty chapel.

I am too, he thought. I’m thinking about us too.

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Burke’s head was in his hands.

He was disappointed.

All things considered, Elliot thought that maybe this was the best way this conversation could have gone. After all, Burke wasn’t her father; he was just a man, a U.S. Marshal, and at one point in time he’d talked her through a firefight with a bunch of cultists and then she thought she’d died but she hadn’t. That didn’t make it any different from telling any other person about this, right?

But that was wrong. It was different. Because Burke had looked at her file—he saw her restraining order, her psych eval—and the only thing he’d said to her was he was glad she was around and she’d kicked ass at the Academy. It was the first time she’d ever felt anything close to regular with someone who wasn’t Joey Hudson. Even Whitehorse hadn’t stopped looking at her like she was a loaded fucking gun.

“So what now?” she asked after a moment, shifting on her feet. She’d rushed through changing into dry clothes in the bathroom and came back out to tell him everything—about the other cult, about Joey. About John, too.

She’d skipped over that part as much as she could. Now that she thought about it, she’d had to muck painfully through a lot of things she had been trying to tell Burke.

“You see, don’t you?” Burke asked, lifting his head from his hands. “You see that they’re fuckin’ with you, right?”

Elliot sat down on the floor, her back pressed up against the bunk. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, and he groaned.

“Rook.”

“I mean it, Burke,” she protested, her chest tightening at the pure, unadulterated exasperation in his voice. “It’s—if you saw the way Joseph talks to him, and... The things he said to me—”

“You mean the things that the cult lawyer said to you?” Burke asked. “You’re smart, Rookie. Too smart to fall for this shit.”

Elliot’s stomach wrenched violently at his words. “Well—” She started, her voice hitching. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Burke, I—I tried, you know, I did it fucking by myself for this whole time, alone, and then they took Joey from me and I—” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her brain felt like it was rattling around in her skull, pain pounding behind her eyes; the most unforgivable crime had been committed, that of letting down one of the only people who looked at her like she was normal, and she had been the one to commit it.

“Rook.”

“I—” She felt her lashes flutter, her heart stuttering against her ribs in a painful mockery of what her heartbeat should have been. “I f-fucking—I f—”

Cameron said, gentler, “Elliot.”

“I f-fucking tried,” she told him vehemently around the wobble, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, I’m just a girl, I’m just a girl, this wasn’t supposed to be my life. How was she supposed to say to Burke that sometimes, she felt like she was a passenger to herself—sometimes, the world felt like it was splitting in half and more than once John Seed had taken her face in his hands and put her back together, let her dig her nails and teeth into him to feel real? How was she supposed to tell him and make him understand?

All of those times, and the way John had said, I want a home with you, and the way he said, I’m yours, and—

“I know,” Burke said, his voice quieter now. “I know, kid, I—”

But she shook her head, because he didn’t know, not really. “I tried, even though I was alone, and now I’m—now you’re here, but I’m... I’m t-this and I don’t have anything left and John, he—h—h—”

He swallowed, coming down off of the chair to sit next to her. Burke’s hands found one of hers, still cold and chilly from the river and maybe from something else and brought it to his neck. She could feel his heartbeat there; just like before, it was fast, but steady as his body burned through the Bliss he’d been exposed to.

“How long’s it been?” he asked. “Since we tried arresting that psycho.”

“I don’t know,” Elliot managed out, having mimicked Burke’s breathing patterns already, without thinking very hard about it. “Two weeks? The—season changed—”

“Yeah. Leaves falling. Maybe two, probably closer to three,” Burke murmured, sighing and rubbing his face with his free hand. “Fuck. This whole thing’s gone to shit. My guys—they should be swinging in here any minute now.”

“Your—guys?” she asked.

“Yeah. You know, the government?” Burke looked at her for a moment. “What, you think they just send a guy in and he fucks off for three weeks and no one asks what’s up?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Elliot replied uncertainly. Of course the government was going to come and figure out what happened. They’d sent a U.S. Marshal to arrest a man leading a cult. Why wouldn’t they try and check in and see what was going on when he failed to show up? “Jerome always said that—it was just up to us now.”

Burke tsked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s his—that's a small-town militia, you know. And in his defense, shit was pretty fucked up. No phone lines? No signals? Feels apocalyptic.”

“Yeah,” Elliot whispered, remembering Dutch’s words, “yeah, it does.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, finally letting her hand go but not moving from their close proximity, like maybe he was afraid she was going to teeter off the edge again at any moment. She didn’t like that feeling. She didn’t like thinking maybe Burke was starting to be afraid of her, the way that Whitehorse had been afraid of her.

“We gotta play it normal,” Burke said after a moment, rubbing his face with one hand. “You and me both, kid. You sounded like you had a plan, before?”

She nodded after a moment, clearing her throat. “I was going to go through with the whole… Baptism, or whatever, and then try and get to this radio they have in the chapel,” she explained. “John’s been—I told him I want to leave, but I didn’t tell him that I planned on trying to get in touch with someone.”

The older man watched her, his dark eyes quiet. Finally, he nodded. “That’s good. You stay not telling him, got it?”

“Okay,” she said, and there was a wash of relief that flooded her. It reminded her that she wasn’t, by any means, someone who wanted to be in a leadership position—she didn’t like making executive decisions. The only reason she’d made it this far was because she’d been making executive decisions for bare-minimum survival. The idea of getting to the radio had only just been rooted in her brain, the ticking of the channels scanning the only noise that had been in the chapel the last time she and Joseph had been alone.

When John had left them alone, because Joseph had told him to.

I want a home with you.

But she wasn’t sure that John did—not in the way that he was letting her think. It was easy to think all of these things when it was just her and all she had to rely on was her own murky brain, but what about now? What about now that she had to look at Burke and explain how she’d caved a man’s skull in with an empty gun?

Joseph was right. There was no life for her, not really, not after this; not after everything she had done. But that didn’t mean she had to let him get off free, either.

“Play it normal,” Burke said again, lower this time. “Whatever you have to do to keep them focused on you, but not suspicious of you. Don’t bother with the radio—I’ll figure something out. Sounds like it might be a military kinda radio, could have better luck if I try to get in there and see if anyone’s even in the area.”

“And what about—” Elliot paused. When the dark-haired man waited expectantly, she took in a little breath and said, “What about John?”

Burke stared at her for a moment, working his jaw before he exhaled sharply, letting his head loll a little. He clearly didn’t enjoy what he was going to say next, and Elliot worked her fingers against her palm absently, worrying the muscle there.

“Not making any promises. That man’s got a rap sheet about three times longer than whatever you’re convinced you’ve done,” he said finally. “But if he cuts a deal—agrees to testify against his brothers and Faith, no holds-barred, maybe there’ll be a lighter sentencing in there. Not a non-existent one. Just a lighter one. I don’t fuckin’ know, I’m not a lawyer and I’m not gonna put my ass on the line for that fuckhead.”

She nodded. It just confirmed for her what she had been afraid was already true—that maybe it had been over-ambitious to think she and John could just up and leave. At least, now that she knew that someone was coming to clean up this mess.

Regardless, it felt good to talk to someone who wasn’t a Seed—and it made her painfully aware of how much she missed Joey, a deep and bottomless grief that kept swallowing her up over and over. Just like that, it felt like the scales had fallen from her eyes. Like Saul.

“You should probably try to avoid talking to me,” he continued after a moment. “Make up something about how—I’m a big asshole, or something.”

“So tell the truth,” Elliot ventured, a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Burke rolled his eyes and nudged her with his foot.

“You always been this mouthy?” he asked, taking a swig from the water bottle she’d given to him to try and help his sobering gentle up a little.

She said, “Only with people I like.”

“Cute.”

A moment of quiet silence passed, comfortable and easy, before Burke reached over and gripped her shoulder with his gloved hand. She looked at him, and for a second, something crumpled in his expression.

“Elliot,” he said, his voice lower, “I’m sorry. For all of this—fuckin’ garbage you’ve had to do.”

She blinked at him, feeling a warm, fresh feeling expand and grow in her chest. It was sadness, she realized too late, the tears already starting to burn in her eyes; sadness, and a little bit of relief, because she couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her and said they were sorry she had suffered.

“It’s fine,” she said automatically, without thinking, because it was—she was here, and breathing, and fine, so that meant it was fine, right?

Burke shook his head and said, more firmly, “I never wanted to leave you alone, kid. I mean it. And I’m not gonna let that happen again, okay? You and me, we’re a team.”

Elliot swallowed back a hiccuping little cry and nodded her head, passing a hand over her eyes just once so that she could gather herself and push the tears back. Burke hauled her in and gave her a firm, one-armed squeeze.

“Said we’re gonna get the fuck out of here,” he said into her hair. “And I fuckin’ meant it.”

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When John returned to the bunkhouse—the one that had become his base of operations, not Elliot’s—she was there.

“I’m surprised,” were the first words that came out of his mouth, before his brain even had time to register in what order the sensory details were coming into his brain. First that she was there at all, without Burke, giving him a pleasant little thrill; second, that she seemed to have shucked a sweater and jeans in favor of sporting only his shirt, loosely buttoned up just far enough to cover her but not all the way to the top; third, that she was tucked up in the bed like that was where she was supposed to be always.

And it was where she was supposed to be, always. Where he could have her.

Elliot’s eyes flickered up from the book she’d been reading. He tried to catch the title of it, but she dog-eared the page and tossed it onto the floor face down before he could.

“About?” she prompted. He let the door swing shut behind him and moved to the bed, stepping out of his shoes before making his way to the dresser so he could get out of his wet clothes.

“Well,” John said casually, trying not to let the words sting on their way out, “I thought you’d still be with Burke. You know. Visiting.”

Whatever the fuck that meant. He still hadn’t shaken the irritation at hearing Burke tell him no—like he had any idea what kind of person Elliot was, like he had some kind of claim on her. It had taken everything in him not to blurt out that Elliot was his wife, his girl, his—

“We did,” Elliot replied. Her eyes were on him as he changed and then doubled-back across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. She snagged his hand as it slid up her bare thigh and brought it to the juncture between her neck and shoulder; his thumb swept along the front of her throat. “Visit, I mean.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

John hummed, low and non-committal, before he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her neck. She sighed; he dragged his lips downward, tracing over each bruise there from Kian’s hands; things he had memorized, that he thought he could tell Elliot liked, because her breath hitched in her lungs when he did. Maybe it felt like he was erasing Kian from her, or maybe she just liked the sting.

“I can’t imagine Burke’s very thrilled with our...” His words trailed off. “...Recently-developed relationship.”

“You’re right. He’s not,” she said, and she nudged him back so that he was sitting upright and she could swing herself onto his lap. This close, with her arms draped over his shoulders, John could smell the faded scent of his cologne on her; his hands slid up beneath the hem of the shirt to splay against the dips of her spine, and he nuzzled the hollow of her throat. “He’s—protective, that’s all.”

“So what did you talk about tonight?” he asked. He pressed his mouth to the spot just below her ear that made her squirm in his lap. “You and daddy Burke.”

Elliot guided his face to hers and kissed him; but it was an unkind kiss, and she dragged her teeth against his lower lip until John made a low noise at the punishing pace of the kiss, and she said, “Do not call him ‘daddy Burke’, John.”

“Fine,” he defended against her mouth, “I won’t, I’m just curious as to the nature of your conversation. And your relationship.”

“Yeah? Okay, I told him that I let you fuck me filthy in a variety of places, sometimes covered in another man’s blood,” Elliot snipped. “What do you think I said?”

“It’d be pretty good if you said that.”

When her mouth left his, he made a small sound of complaint; she trailed her lips down his throat, and she smoothed her hands along the bare skin of his chest, fingers dipping and running along the curves of his scars, tracing the shape of the tattoos that he knew were there. She didn’t need to look at them to know their shape now.

“El,” he murmured when she nudged him back until he was laying on the bed and she could trace the lines of his Sloth scar with her mouth. The second he felt her tongue flickering against his skin, he felt a bloom of heat spread through him. “El, I want to talk about—”

“So talk,” Elliot replied, and then she kissed a spot on his chest reverently. “If you want. I want to enjoy you.”

John exhaled sharply out of his mouth. He’d never gotten to indulge a more wanton Elliot—their moments had always been heated, slipping through his fingers, faster than he would have liked and more brutal than he would have thought—but this was different. She was in his shirt, and she smelled like him, and her breath fanned hot against his skin and she was touching him like he was—

Something good. Something holy.

“Are you distracting me?” John managed out, just as Elliot settled back on his lap, and fuck that was so unfair, watching the shoulder of his shirt slouch off of her, too big and a little loose from being worn, just as she pressed herself against him. “So that you don’t have to—t-to—”

“To?” Elliot replied. “Talk about Burke? I told you, I want us to have—” She paused, lashes fluttering for a moment, and then rested her chin there on his chest. “I don’t plan on going through the system and the paperwork after this. Not after everything I’ve…”

John sat up a little, looking at her. The blonde moved seamlessly with him—no clunking movements, no awkward tangle of their limbs; when her attention was fully on him and nothing else, it felt like they had been made for each other, like they had always been each other’s fate.

“What if—” He stopped, watching her. “What if we didn’t do…Any of that?”

Elliot regarded him for a moment, a little tense. “What do you mean?”

“What if we stayed,” John ventured, “here?”

She blinked. Sat on his lap, wearing his shirt, her cheeks warm and her eyes bright and clear, John might have had more apprehension about saying the words out loud. But this time, it wasn’t like he was coming clean about a lie—it was more like… Shifting plans. Just a little. Just testing the waters, that was all.

“So what if we did?” Elliot said at last, watching him.

“We could just stay,” he murmured, taking her face in his hands. “You and me. We could just stay, the two of us, and—”

“Stay with your brothers,” Elliot clarified, “one of which is a cult leader.”

“Well—”

“And the other being a Darwinian elitist who admitted, out loud, he wanted to kill me ‘more than anything’.”

“That’s just Jacob,” John relented.

“This is not what we talked about,” Elliot said, her brows furrowing. “We did not discuss staying here with your—psychotic brothers—”

He felt the way her voice pitched up, felt it high in her throat, like a panic; her little rabbit heart fluttering hard and fast, and he leaned in and kissed her, felt the dig of her nails in his arms where she gripped him.

She said, “John,” into his mouth, a warning; one single warning, and that was all he was going to get, his little rattlesnake. He knew her well-enough by now.

“You and I both know that there isn’t a normal life waiting for us,” he said urgently, against her lips. “We both know that. I know that you don’t want to sit down in a bunker—”

“Stop—”

“—but regardless of what you think of my family, they understand you, Elliot—”

The blonde shook her head, her nose brushing his as she did so. “No. Fuck that, John. Fuck that, and fuck you for—”

“For what?” he demanded, pulling back to look at her. “Wanting to be around people who get it? You’ve killed a hundred people—maybe more, fuck if I know. I see the way you get. I’ve been there, and you know I have, and we can have that safety. We can have a place to belong, Elliot.”

She slid out of his lap. Her fingers carded through her hair; she looked like she was trying to parse through something, pinning out the wings of a butterfly that she couldn’t quite get a grasp on. Come on, he thought, come on, Elliot, come on, you’re mine and you know it.

Elliot turned to look at him. She looked emotional—her nose and cheeks were pinker, her bottom lashes dotted with unshed tears. It pleased him a little, to see her like this; before, she’d worked so very hard to make sure he never did.

“No,” she said, standing in his shirt, one arm across her chest and the other propped on it while she dug her thumb nail into her lip. “No, I’m not fucking doing it, John. I’m not getting in a bunker with your fucking peggies—”

He sighed, passing a hand over his face. “Elliot—”

“—and I’m sure as fuck,” she bit out, “not asking Joseph to take me in. Fuck. That.”

“You are impossible,” John ground out.

“I am literally the most flexible person!” Elliot exclaimed, her voice bordering on hysteria; there, something in him said, there’s the switch, there’s the flip, all that venom she’d been holding onto. “There’s nobody more go-with-the-fucking-flow than me, John Seed. Oh, a second cult takes over my hometown? Cool, I’ll evacuate everyone. Oh, they have my best friend captive? The one that you were supposed to be taking care of? Whatevs, it’s super fucking cool, she’s fucking dead and my family’s gone and everyone I’ve ever known is fucking gone, might as well be dead, and I can’t fucking go see them. I can’t, because I’m fucking—”

She sucked in a breath, dragging her hands through her hair. “I’m fucking covered,” she seethed, “in blood, I will never be normal again, and none of this would have fucking—”

“Elliot,” John started, coming to a stand, because he didn’t want her to say it; he didn’t want her to say none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you, but he felt it, right there, sitting between them. “Hellcat, come here.”

“No.” Her voice broke. “No, I’m so fucking tired of coming to you, John.”

“Then I’ll come to you,” he insisted. Maybe it was a little dirty—maybe he was thinking, this is perfect, I need her just like this, raw and desperate and turbulent, and when he crossed the small space between them and reached for her she didn’t shy away from him; just turned her face and fixed her eyes on the wall. “Joseph gave me everything,” he said urgently, pressing their foreheads together. “In a way—he even brought you to me. I don’t want to stay here forever. So what if the world doesn’t end? Then we get out of the bunker and we go wherever we want to go.”

“This is fucking insane,” Elliot said, her voice wrecked. She sounded so tired. “That you’re even asking me to—”

“I’m asking,” John clarified, “for you to be realistic. About the things that you’ve done. That I’ve done. At least—” He turned her face to look at him, and he thought, come on, you little viper, come on. So fucking close, we’re so close. “—tell me you’ll think about it.”

She watched him and sucked her teeth. He could hear the draconian gears in her head turning—churning, grinding, and hopefully for his benefit.

Elliot said, “How long do I have to think about it?”

“A week,” he replied earnestly. “I can’t reveal your sin until these bruises clear up a little, anyway.” He reached up, skimming his fingers along the wine-colored bruises dappling her skin. Her lashes, soft and damp, fluttered; she worked something in her jaw, molars grinding as she stared at him, like she couldn’t figure out what it was she wanted to say to him.

Finally, she said, “I don’t like feeling like this was what you wanted all along.”

“I meant it when I said I wanted a home with you,” John replied, and it wasn’t a lie.

“If I tell you I want to go,” she began, “then what?”

That won’t happen. “Then we go,” he murmured. “You and me.”

Elliot nodded once. Her mouth twisted, like she wanted to say something else, but when John leaned in to kiss her, her expression relaxed a little; he felt it like a sigh, his fingers knotting into the hair at the base of her skull.

“I’ll tell you,” she said into the kiss, “what I decide. When I decide.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “I told you, Elliot—"

"I know." This close, their foreheads pressed together, he could feel her lips brushing his with each word.

"Anything I want."

[gayraccoonthing]

7 and 12 for the ask game?

7: I don't use these specifically, but I wish more people talked about people with tic disorders using mobility aids. Whether it's due to tics (knee bending, falling, throwing yourself on the ground) or other co-existing disorders, a good portion of people who have tic disorders use mobility aids and I wish more people talked about it.

12: I don't know if anyone else did/does this, but when I was younger (around getting my diagnosis), I felt very pressured to have funny tics. Because, well, what was the point of having tics if they couldn't be funny to those around me without tics. I felt so pressured to the point where I'd specifically try and develop these tics or think of funny sentences I could say instead of my regular tics. I guess, in a way, it was also to cope with my diagnosis, I wanted my tics to be more than just the annoying sounds or movements that never stopped. I wanted people to find me funny and not get annoyed when I interrupted them with a tic. Safe to say it never worked, the tics either never stuck around longer than a one-time thing or never developed at all, lol.