#i like elliot as well though. here is proof of how much i like elliot: i saved up 300 logs before i managed to upgrade my inventory AND | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amplifyme · 1 year

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S2 AND BEYOND WORDS, BEYOND SILENCE ARE COMPLETE!

(Disclaimer: this is looooooooooooong and probably riddled with grammar errors; but I've chugged down a few eps. and a book, so I'm not as bothered about those as I probably should be. ;)) )

Okay, so, in a weird way, these episodes were the most straight-forward for me in S2 (probably because of our discussions and Nan's excellent writing as a primer.) Not too many thoughts that are "new", but definitely some worth sharing and chewing over with you.

The Hollow Men: Cameron and Dale, what an introduction-- interesting that Dale, though he has less direct taste for it, seems to be affirming Cameron's quest for happiness by spearheading opportunities for him to kill (usually, dark eyebrow murderers are the "strong" ones in the dynamic while their blond friends are the loose link-- which they both are, but not completely.) The girls, bless their hearts. Joe warning Cathy about her lack of proof. Vincent, traumatized and avenging, trailing the boys like a shadow (he waits for them in the darkness)--and this time leading danger back to Cathy instead of the other way around (although... Cathy, you didn't learn your lesson again. Antagonism and blatant threats will do you no favors, especially when you give away a lot of your cards without anything in your back pocket to protect yourself.) The showdown in the theatre (CATHY), and Vincent taking a shot and powering through it, so different than that time in The Outsiders. The dull and boring and disconnected rich parents; and their shameless flaunting of their connections, power, and privilege.

What Rough Beast: Hated Spirko the moment I saw him. Paracelsus his cigarette reveal, and the lengths he will go is both impressive and a little amusing (and fascinating in its scope.) STEVEN'S BACK-- you baited his return; and seeing him and hearing his own twisted version of events was excellently worked into the episode. CATHY FINALLY WONDERED IF SHE WAS RESPONSIBLE AND FATHER DIDN'T ANSWER. Listening to the music Below is back. And, of course, Elliot's back; both in person and in impersonation. Vincent and Father's conversation about what Vincent is (and Father's uncertainty here is juxtaposed perfectly to "his" unabashed certainty in a certain climactic moment in the next episode) and setting up his "educated the man" for the finale when they discussed how books were all that kept Vincent from falling off the ledge all those years ago. "Father, I cannot control my thoughts. Father, I'm afraid"-- powerful stuff. Cathy believes Elliot is in the wrong the ONE TIME that he's in the clear (and her "we are beyond" statement-- including herself in the "otherness" that is Vincent-- is touching and disjointed, because she has only ever embraced the parts of him that are "human"... which she says as much in the finale to Peter after the blood analysis.) Spirko having the gall to still publish his evidence after Vincent spared him from death and Cathy tried to reason with him (also... JUST SWIPE HIS EVIDENCE AWAY BEFORE HE CAN LEAVE. I understand Vincent was too wiped, but I'm sure he could summon something up or Cathy could put up more resistance.) Cathy choosing to say goodbye rather than fighting for their romance is... huge and frustrating and makes me look even more forward to Diana in S3. (Which reminds me of Nan's AWTN where Diana spent weeks down Below with Vincent in the maze-- and more times before and after-- without batting an eye for him. Makes me ponder, makes me think thoughts.) Paracelsus merked Spirko, whoop whoop! Vincent staring into the abyss in his dark room is FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORESHADOOOOOOOOOOWING, and a great eerie cap to this episode.

Ceremony of Innocence: Full disclosure-- I knew Vincent/Paracelsus/Anna's backstory from Nan's work and even the twist of Paracelsus's death, but this episode was so well-acted I got confused and doubted myself. Excellent. The opening shot of Vincent is so, so eerie (picking up from the prev ep's close, I see.) Cathy's nightmare-- a lot to unpack: "He’s an animal-- what does that make you?” is probably why Cathy resists that aspect of Vincent the most, because their bond is a reflection of each other (Vincent staring at his reflection in the lake while her nightmare plays out, for instance) and more particularly, she fears, a reflection of herself. And horror and ugliness is something she broke down and shied away from in the first episode, the voodoo episode (which was a missed opportunity for Vincent's Otherness to be explored, a shame in retrospect), Trial, and this ep (directly opposite, I might add, to Diana's low self-esteem and "who cares?" attitude to her looks and "ugliness" in general-- I assume.) Nan tackles and "tames" that aspect of Cathy at the end of Beyond Words, Beyond Silence and in AWTN in Kansas... but I have to wonder: I don't think Cathy truly, fully loved Vincent as a whole before the finale (because there was always a part that held her back unless everyone else held back from Vincent too, which summoned her "call to action" or stubborn insistence of his humanity.) Father's "It's been a wonderful... dream" followed by Vincent's "No Father-- this is my tomb" certainly set up for the aborted plans George R. R. Martin had for S3, as did Vincent's wandering the catacombs for answers (twisted in death, as Narcissa calls it.) Cathy's lack of poker face continues, as does Joe and Elliot's endless supply of understanding and patience. Elliot exercising important brain cells by hiring a private detective saved everyone but Vincent in the end. Vincent "moping" around the tunnels while Father digs up old treasures and poems and literature to steer his mind off his troubles sets up perfectly for their conversation in the finale (about his past fugues.) Mouse's "he needs Catherine" practicality opposed to Father's longwinded rationalizations further emphasize how tied everyone's hands are. Paracelsus inviting Father to 666 (you dramatic man you) and challenging Father to fire a gun in the light (oh, the drama) and overpowering him and leaving him for dead while he goes to "release" his son from the imprisonment of civilized humanity was a great crescendo (not to mention the subtle hints of sending Vincent on a paranoid quest for more answers and asking the community for weapons and flawlessly transitioning from acting like "Father" to pressuring like Paracelsus.) Cathy was right-- that it was a lie-- but that's not what he needed reassurance about: what if it did, what would she do? Vincent's cruel birth story, scaring Cathy and sending her away, Cathy leaving but ultimately wanting to make Paracelsus pay and inadvertently saving Father (and leading Father back down), and the two arriving in time to see the aftereffects in Father's study. "You and Father-- you wouldn't admit the truth even if it stood right in front of you" is both right and very wrong: Cathy will deny it in the name of love, but Father does love if not embrace or accept fully that side of his son. Vincent driven to madness (to the Other, really, which at this point is pretty equivalent) and then dulled to near catatonic responses is the heavily necessary outcome. (A touch here that Nan added in BWBS was excellent and wrenching, will chat about it below.)

The Rest Is Silence: Vincent losing command over himself and running his body to the limit and sweating and tearing himself apart trying to contain the Other was fantastic to watch. Waking in the park, getting around Mary (who cannot read subtext for the life of her) to get to Father and his comfort and guidance, and pouring at his desperation and fear was an excellent way to start. Father's fear of Vincent's loosening grip (for his son and secondarily for everyone's safety) and steady reassurance added so much throughout, especially Vincent almost lashed out again: so similar to but completely different from the drugged scene in S1, Father showed no fear (as he had not then nor in the past with Lisa); and just exemplifies how much love and care and faith he has in his son and their relationship. They mentioned restraints again (one other time, I think) and Nan's written about the incident a little more clearly in her flashbacks, but I don't believe? I've heard the characters talk extensively about Vincent's previous incident (when he separated the Other from himself after injuring Pascal's wrist); so, maybe S3? Seeing the world through Vincent's eyes as he worsens was also fantastic; and Cathy did excellently herself this episode, asking him what she can do rather than pressing for impossible details, demanding more thorough answers from Father the right way, and keeping by Vincent's side when he broke into her apartment (kept chuckling because I remembered Nan's Diana laughing how he broke into Cathy's and out of hers.) Cathy's a very elemental and nostalgic person; and I wonder if her "flying" with Vivaldi was a reference (indirectly) to her memory of climbing the trees in the park while her father watched (or it could just be in-character, like her soaking in the sea or wanting to take Vincent to the mountains, or climbing a tree to reconnect with her dead father, etc.) Vincent so strung out that he talked out loud, snapped about Paracelsus, tried to insist the worst was behind them, tore his room apart, and rushed to and "attacked" Cathy's apartment in an irrational haze was excellent; but it kept getting better and better during his fever and "hallucinations" and the Other's hovering (now I know visually what Nan meant when she captured Buster's hovering and insistence) and Cathy's help and his progression to the bed and his waking better to watch the sun go down. Also, Vincent's finally in her apartment and for more than one day (noticed you had me take particular note of that so I've been waiting for that moment to happen.) I almost didn't notice how important Vincent's "love" was until BWBS (so thank you, Nan, for bringing that more thoroughly to my attention); but I did notice how he didn't directly agree to Cathy's request. And, of course, things are not better. Samantha and her book, wounding some members to get out, collapsing into Father's arms and sending him off, saying goodbye to everyone and leaving before he and Cathy return (what a moving scene-- they all love him in their own ways), and fleeing below the catacombs to potentially die in the attempt to master or free himself (a literal descent into darkness) was the cherry on top. Mouse following Vincent anyway made me want to cheer; and Pascal keeping up with him on the pipes made me want to cheer even more. Father staying back while Cathy insists on descending, too, sets up that puzzling little dichotomy: I believe Father loves Vincent more "completely" as he acknowledges all aspects of his son; but I believe Cathy loves Vincent more deeply? sacrificially? because she does not fear Vincent in his Other form, determined to believe he will never harm her. Beauty's love killing and then rescuing the Beast make a full circle here; and I'm glad the writers at least had a closed arc (in a way) before the restrictions for S3 upended the show (though not in a bad or worse way. Excited to dig into it~.)

On a separate note: I'm not in the habit of making everything about The X-Files, but I can see why a fan fresh off BATB would be drawn to this other show. Mulder and Scully had that near-instant connection between them that transcended words, social norms and expectations, and both of their fixed perspectives or parameters. But I think Mulder and Scully succeeded where Vincent and Cathy failed because they disproved, together, Father's assessment which Peter quoted to Cathy: "Maybe Jacob was right: when you go beyond definitions, scientific knowledge can only break down." The breakdown, or the hitch, was in the lack of complete acceptance.

And now,

Beyond Words, Beyond Silence: Nan ties these episodes together brilliantly. She also captures Cathy sooooooooooo well, building more on her self-doubt than the little bits of cursory examination we were given ("In telling her what he believed, he'd also been telling her what she desperately wanted to hear - that their relationship existed on a different plane from anything she'd ever known"-- I CALLED IT. Proud of myself.) Fleshing out Paracelsus's thoughts and linking in Vincent's waxing and waning confidence in himself and his relationship with Cathy (if it should continue or not) ties directly back to AWTN and her other book that I can't for the life of me remember right now; and it makes me giddy to see the throughlines (including the children and swimming, the Other and the cave-- both wanting that undivided, appraising attention.) Vincent's poem tying to back to Cathy and his fervency in tearing apart his room, breaking into her place, and driving himself into a fever until she quoted the poem back was superb. Again, Nan dug deep with Cathy; and these are a few powerful quotes that I couldn't pass up on: building on Cathy's toxic past relationships and tying it to her current pattern of behavior-- "...love that gave, and gave, and asked for nothing in return, she need never fear any physical aggression - from him or anybody else. A strong inducement to be oblivious"-- paired perfectly with "Absurd to imagine Vincent hurting anyone he loved.... Those were only dreams and had nothing to do with her and Vincent" and "Now she wondered if she'd been right to discount the unfitting things. If refusing to acknowledge all the anomalies - the number and scope of them! - she'd been dismissing the forest to see only the one preferred tree.... But they weren't deformities: they were Vincent. Maybe even the most of Vincent." Nan gives Cathy an arc where she marries her loyalty to both aspects of Vincent; but I shall have to wait for confirmation, denial, or nothing at all in S3 (I hope it's touched on a little); and giving Cathy the chance to explore that unfairness she expected or took for granted in her relationship with Vincent was refreshing and gave me another, brief glimpse what a functioning, healthier relationship between these two would have looked like.

As a final note, when Vincent speaks with shame about parts of himself and Cathy assures him those parts aren't him, I wondered how that would sound if he were a normal man with a comparable struggle; and the quickest comparison that I could think of-- though clumsy-- was mental illness. I'm mostly ignorant on this topic, so pardon my thoughts if they're too off target; but I sat wondering how it would feel if he were in the midst of a mental health crisis with everyone treating him like he needs to be "fixed", with restraints or with their love. And the shame and closed-in aloneness of that experience seems comparable in a few degrees, though of course you can't factor in his primal nature. Cathy's grand gestures of sweeping dismissal in the name of "this" not being "him" hits pretty close, as it would be denying an aspect of who Vincent is by pretending it can be weathered and then ignored-- and more tragic, because it would be spoken through well-meaning ignorance.

FINGERS CROSSED I miiiiiiiiiiiiiight? be able to squeeze in S3 Ep 1 (had lots of free time today~); but we'll see. Do you recommend I watch episode 1 separate or immediately follow it up immediately with episode 2?

I'm going to go ahead and chop this discussion up into separate posts just to to help me keep things straight in my own head. I'll dig into The Hollow Men here and then address the trilogy and BW,BS in posts of their own.

Follow me down...

Vincent, traumatized and avenging, trailing the boys like a shadow (he waits for them in the darkness)--and this time leading danger back to Cathy instead of the other way around

That was an interesting little twist, wasn't it? In hindsight it's another sign that all is not well with Vincent, and hasn't been in some time. Because if he'd been thinking clearly, he would have been able to think several steps ahead and glean that his actions might put Cathy in danger. And he would never willingly do that.

I completely understand his feelings of disgust, anger, and helplessness at the actions of these two kids. I have no problem rationalizing his desire to take matters into his own hands, and I thought his lecture to Father about the connection that exists between the two worlds was spot-on and something Father needed to be reminded of. But having said that, there seems to be a disconnect in Vincent here, when it comes to the risk to himself and the risks his actions may pose to others. And that's not at all like him. He's acting rather like Cathy here, jumping straight into the fray without thought of the consequences.

The showdown in the theatre (CATHY), and Vincent taking a shot and powering through it, so different than that time in The Outsiders.

Oh, Cathy; dear, dumb Cathy. Whatever possessed you to take the word of a person you don't know and duck into a dark, deserted theater when you know you have two killers on your tail? Oh, wait, I forgot. You also have very large, very strong, fanged and clawed protector at your literal beck and call.

Vincent is so done with everything by the end of this episode. I feel worse for him than I did at the end of The Outsiders. His "Nothing but madness, nothing but blood. When will it end?" is so heartbreaking because I know what's coming. And I kind of think he does, too.

Okay, gonna start another post for What Rough Beast. Stay tuned.

#beauty and the beast 1987 #season 2 #the hollow men #discussion

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dreamylyfe-x · 3 years

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I’m kind of curious, what do you think of Ian and Trevor’s relationship? And that leading to him blowing up a van

Ahhh. Trevor. Yeah. I don’t think that was so great.

First of all, it’s like two different relationships, really. You have season 7 when they’re meeting, getting together and falling apart... and then you have season 8 where they are... I don’t even know what.

Season 7, I mostly think the show really didn’t have the time and space to tell the story of Ian getting involved with Trevor, but they decided to proceed anyway. Which, if they had wanted it to be an eight episode arc, would have been ok. But Trevor is around for 18 episodes.

I mean, let’s lay this out. Trevor arrives in 7x04. 7x06 ends with Ian deciding he does in fact want to date him. 7x09 ends with Ian finding out Mickey’s back. Trevor and Ian are together for a hot second. And during that time, we don’t get to find out that much about him. Like we know he’s generous in a lot of ways, but also quick to anger. Kinda condescending. Kinda sweet. Mostly he’s all over the place. A lot of the time I struggle to find Trevor organic. When he gets mad, I’m always like “how did you get there, my dude?” and when he’s all moony I feel the same way. There are multiple scenes of Trevor and Ian laughing over something that go TOO LONG and feel a bit like old episodes of Murder, She Wrote, where they always had to have the show about violent death end on Jessica smiling. Then there’s stuff like Trevor telling off Frank. Trevor telling Fiona she’s a badass. It has a real Poochie vibe to me. But.... Trevor is not a Poochie. Trevor is a character who, if he had any chance of working, is about to get cut off at the knees.

The show cannot be confused about what is going to happen in 7x10 when Mickey comes back. Not just to Ian, but to the audience. Storywise, we are going to be shown positive proof that Ian is still in love with Mickey. Not just a little bit, not lingering feelings, but try to leave your family and job and give all your money away in love with his ex. And even outside of what’s on the page, they’re like “Here. This is what is looks like when Cam has chemistry with someone. This is what the performances look like when there’s some complexity and history and subtext. Here’s a character with a strong voice and a well-established personality.”

And now... Here’s Trevor.

I’m sure Trevor had his fans. Like, I get it. I particularly get it if people just really like Elliot Fletcher. But the people behind this show aren’t idiots and they know how to craft a story. You can see it with Mickeys’ two-episode arc. They have to know you can’t have that story and have a viable Ian/Trevor romance in the same season. You gotta pick one. And they picked Mickey.

AS THEY SHOULD.

*ahem*

That brings us to season 8, which is even weirder on the Trevor tip than season 7.

For most people, if you’ve been dating some guy and the second the ex showed up your boyfriend not only instantly falls back into bed with him, but then runs away with him for a few days and only comes back because of a bunch of considerations that have nothing to do with whether or not he’s in love with the guy... that’s gonna be it. EVEN if his mother dies. The normal thing to do would be, in the words of Lip Gallagher, to fuck someone else. Like ANYONE else. He cheated weeks in. It’s done.

So why the heck are they still hanging out together in season 8? Like from a story POV. What is the reason?

My theory on the Ian front is detailed in my story Unsent and it’s basically this: Ian was desperate for comfort and Trevor must have been a person he thought he could get that from. He had gotten it from him (imperfectly, maybe) in the past. I DO NOT KNOW what Trevor wanted. I really don’t. I never got to know Trevor well enough.

I’ll tell you want he didn’t want: What was best for Ian.

And honestly, why should he? Ian is his ex. For good reason. Trevor does not need to be nice to him. Trevor doesn’t even really have to tell Ian to go away, though he almost certainly should have. It probably would have been kinder. But honestly, so much of what comes next only makes sense if you decide Trevor is low-key evil. He lets Ian pine (pretty normal level of ex-punishment), tells him he loves him (NOT POSSIBLE. I love Ian Gallagher too, sir, but that is NOT POSSIBLE. You were together for a minute and you are not that ridiculous) and then does this gross, dehumanizing weird thing involving men with bigger bodies. Lets/encourages Ian to prostitute himself to get money for the shelter. Yells at Ian over Geneva when a conversation might have been more appropriate/made more sense. And then, right as Ian starts to tip into really concerning behaviour, kiiiiiinda get back with him, sort of? And then vanish when it becomes extremely clear that he’s sick.

But I don’t think the show intends for him to be evil. I’m not sure what the show intends him to be, but I suspect we’re supposed to think he’s a good guy. He almost functions like Harry in Dexter. Just the guy standing at Ian’s elbow and making comments on the action. He isn’t really being written like he’s separate from Ian. He’s there to provide some sort of stimulus to direct the action. But it’s hard to view Trevor as a character.

I actually think Shameless has incredible skill to bring in characters for ten minutes and make them seem like rounded characters. I don’t think they get there with Trevor because I don’t think they ever really decided what they were doing with him. They didn’t entirely have room for the character on the canvas in season 7 and then they kind shoehorn him in to what comes next. I also think the issues with Trevor extend to Caleb, actually. They’re both strangely changeable. Sometimes encouraging and affectionate and sometimes cold, manipulative or bullying. I personally think that Caleb is the worse of the two, but neither of them are easy to root for.

I’m not 100% I’m sure I am interpreting what you’re asking about the van correction. I certainly don’t attribute that to Trevor and I have much less frustration with him than I do with Ian’s family for not recognizing how many bright red flags there were. Certainly Trevor’s hesitancy seems to come a little late. But Trevor isn’t Ian’s boyfriend and he might consider himself Ian’s friend, but he’s also clearly got some serious feelings of wrongdoing where Ian is concerned.

In Trevor’s defence, with the whole series finished, I think season 8 is certainly one of, if not THE weakest season. Trevor isn’t the only problem. But I don’t think he’s a very successful character for them.

#asks #trevor #should I tag this anti-trevor?#ok #anti-trevor #I'm not so much an anti here as a confused person #shameless season 7 #shameless season 8 #Ian Gallagher #I skimmed a lot of Trevor scenes for this anon #so please feel loved!#and #thank you for asking!

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter eleven: after you've gone

word count: ~12.6k

rating: m

warnings: canon-typical religious blasphemy, though it's in full-force here with joseph so i wanted it to be noted in the warnings. there are mentions of self-harm, both past and implied presently, and they're not treated very lightly. elliot is having a hard time.

notes: there's a lot of moving parts in this so i apologize in advance if it feels a bit slow, but everything felt really important to include and i wanted to make sure nothing got left out. thank you so much to my beta @starcrier who literally proofed this beast with all of the love in the world.

i won't ramble on too much, but i did want to say that the reception for the last two chapters really made my whole heart just explode and i wanted to thank you all! what an incredible experience it is getting to write these two gigantic idiots. <3

“I saw her. Our mor.”

Helmi cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, scribbling absently on the side of the file she’d continued nosing through once she’d gotten back to the bunker. Like this, she felt far from Kajsa—farther than she had in the longest time. Maybe since they had welcomed her into the Family.

“Did you?” She stretched back against the truck’s seat, feet kicked up on the dash as she scanned the page, going over her own notes. Starvation, classical condition. On animals and people? In the back seat of the truck, Peaches rumbled her discontent at lack of attention; Helmi reached back and scratched her ears until the rumble turned into what she recognized as a more contented purr.

“Yes. She is doing well. Her color is just as Ase said, you know. Perfectly balanced. Poor John—I can see his suffering.”

Helmi hmm’d, the thoughtfulness matching the patient rumble Peaches had rewarded her affection with.

“Is Deputy Pratt behaving?”

“I should hope so. He has no reason to have any loyalty to the Seeds, outside of fear.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Helmi was sure, in the very marrow of her bones, that Kajsa was smiling.

“And what did you give him, Helmi? To make him loyal?”

She considered. “A more impressive fear.” And then: “Also, I said I wouldn’t kill him.”

“That is just a more impressive fear bundled up pretty, my heart.”

“Mm,” Helmi replied in agreement. Whatever the case, she thought that Pratt had more to gain from fucking the Seeds over than he did by fucking them over—and that’s why Kajsa entrusted this sort of thing to her and didn’t do it herself, after all. If it had been Kajsa here, eyeing Pratt like a piece of lunchmeat, she’d have him drugged to the gills and barely aware of what was going on. Not being of use.

It’s why we make a perfect pair, something inside of her said, joy shared, joy doubled.

“Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Sorrow shared, sorrow halved.

Helmi sighed. “I’m not.”

“Keep putting pressure. I want them squirming, hjärtat.”

“I will.” She paused, sitting up in the truck and glancing out at the remaining members of the Family. Those that hadn’t given themselves a swift, clean death. After Kian’s face was crushed in, Kajsa had gathered them all and said, It’s going to be harder, from here. If you feel you cannot do it, if you think that you do not have the strength to answer our calling, then it is your time. We love you.

It had been the time for many. Morale had been—and still was—low. Ase’s death first, gut-wrenching and tragic, and then Kian’s; worse than the last. Worse, because while he had been grieving, while he had been suffering, he had still been their second-in-command. Meant to be infallible, even more so than Ase. He had been meant to carry them into their next life, after It was appeased. Contented. After It had turned the world to winter.

Now, more than ever, with only a handful of them left to huddle around their fires and sleep in the backs of cars, and kiss and laugh and hug each other in the inky black night, they felt like a ship adrift at sea.

Kajsa’s voice hummed in her ear, plastic and metal vibrating where it lay trapped between her head and shoulder. Helmi’s gaze swept away from the remaining Family members and turned her gaze back to the file. The Seeds were deeply rooted in this place—the tendrils of a tree that might be dead at the trunk but stayed for many decades after, if it wasn’t ripped out at the base.

“Did you hear me, Helmi?”

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was distracted.”

“I am coming back,” Kajsa reiterated patiently.

“The others will be happy.”

“And what about you? Will you be happy?”

Helmi paused. She closed the file, dropped it back onto the dashboard and cranked the seat back so that she could stretch a little, her eyes tracing the tinny, ancient ceiling of the truck she’d lifted from Eden’s Gate. She exhaled, once, and then held her breath; closed her eyes, felt the ache of it between her ribs.

“I sense before me a lost lamb.”

“Not lost,” Helmi replied, her lungs tight. “Just—thinking.”

“Must I divine the dark cloud over your soul myself?”

She allowed her body to take air back in. “I wonder,” she murmured, “if it will be enough to appease the Father.”

“Do you wonder,” Kajsa hummed, “or do you worry?”

A moment of silence stretched. And then, the rich, melodic timbre of the Hierophant’s voice came through again, idle and pulled snug against her ear, like Kajsa was really right there again to say the words against her skin: “What will you do, if Staci Pratt defects despite your Machiavellian threats of harm so great he should never consider to incur it?”

“I don’t know,” Helmi replied uneasily. “It would depend on if he brought mor and the interloper, or if he just—”

“The answer, hjärtat, is that you do not know, because it has not been revealed to you yet.” Despite the interruption, Kajsa’s voice was pleasant and serene. Ever since Ase’s death, she’d been more tempered—like she was playing a role, filling a void. Helmi almost missed her cruelty. Like it was a creature comfort. “There is no use in wondering, because we will never know before it is our time to. We want for much. Whether or not we are given it remains to be seen. Our Father is a most...”

Her voice trailed off. Helmi tried to think of what words Kajsa might use; stringent, perhaps, ambitious, or even enigmatic—

“Wretched god,” Kajsa finished, a grin in her voice. “It does so love to watch us toil, does It not?”

“Yes,” she answered after a moment, because wretched resonated somewhere in her soul, somewhere in the marrow of her bones, reminding her why this had felt like home ever in the first place. Wretched, to watch them suffer, to give them so little information and let them suffer wreck after wreck.

In front of her, the dark of the forest swelled, breathed, reminded her: failure was not an option. Theirs was not a benevolent, forgiving God, the kind who would forgive sin if one only asked—the Father was wrathful, was vengeful, and would make them suffer their insolence and their ineptitude.

“I should get going. I imagine our mor will not be far behind, thanks to your ingenuity, and I want to be in Hope County to welcome her.”

“I am,” Helmi blurted out after a second of hesitation, “happy, that you’re coming back.”

There was a pause on the other end; and then, a soft breath, where Helmi thought maybe Kajsa was smiling again.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt, my heart.”

The call clicked. Only empty air and static, then, buzzing faintly in the ear, the words dead in her mouth before she’d had the chance to say them back.

Nothing under the sun is lasting.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot was going to be sick. Nevermind the morning-after-dread of realizing she had caved in on her most basest animal desires—What, the man who’s perhaps lied to you the most tells you he’s never thought you’re crazy, and you let him fuck you? Come on, Elliot,—but listening to Pratt ramble nervously into the phone about how he didn’t realize everyone was gone, nobody stopped to look for him, nobody tried to call, he thought she had left too and she had, where was she? Was she okay?

“I’m fine,” she managed out. Guilt ripped through her sternum, burning hot and shameful. I’m fine, Pratt, don’t worry about me. Got well and truly railed last night, it’s fine. Oh, also, I’m going to have a baby. And I’m married. Don’t worry, you found out about the same time as me, just off a few weeks. “I’m at my mom’s.”

“In Georgia?”

“Yeah.” Elliot swallowed thickly. “Are you okay? You sound like shit.”

Pratt laughed uneasily on the other end of the line. “I’m with, uh—I’m with them.” He paused. “The Seeds. And their—the lawyer lady.”

“That doesn’t tell me if you’re okay,” she reiterated, more firmly.

He laughed again. “I’m on the phone with you, aren’t I?”

Frustrating. They might all be looming around him, waiting to hear what she was going to say. It was a trap, of course. Jacob or Joseph had done enough digging around in her past to find out they’d gone to school together, had gone to school dances, had basically dated—and they knew she’d evacuated the entirety of the Resistance otherwise. They were clearly laying a trap to get her to come back. But for what?

“Hey, um—” Staci cleared his throat. “Ell, there’s—a lot of bad stuff going on. There’s these people, and they’re—they’re just killing people, left and right, gutting them and sticking them up and—Jesus, they fucking split Miss Mabel open like a fish, and I’m—”

Oh, there it was; the sickness, the violent urge to throw up. The Family was supposed to be dead. They had been killing themselves off in pairs after Kian’s death, weren’t they? Elliot blinked rapidly, trying to calm the furious beating of her heart, the way it slammed against her rib cage and demanded penance.

Calloused fingers swept her hair to the side and squeezed at the juncture between her neck and shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She closed her eyes tight, willing herself to accept it for what it was—John, comforting her, because even now he knew her well enough to see she was spiraling.

I can’t, is what she needed to say. I can’t come back, Staci, I can’t, not me and not my baby, my hands are already covered in blood I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—

“—I’m so fucking scared, Ell.” Pratt’s voice wobbled on the other end, hitting straight at the fresh welt of guilt in her chest, ripping and tearing at it.

I can’t—

“I don’t want to be alone—”

I’m sorry I can’t I’m sorry—

“—I’m sorry—”

“I’ll come,” she blurted out, her voice hoarse, the burn behind her eyes and in her nose a threat of oncoming tears. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t bear to hear him like this, when this whole time he was supposed to have been safe. She’d let him down, and while she had a responsibility to herself, the responsibility to the others had always come first.

And, better still, was the tiny, tiny fragment of hope that the dark-haired woman with a mouth like broken glass would be left behind, too. The dog with the man’s face and the strands of her hair glinting between Its bloody teeth would stay here, in Weyfield. It would wait for her, but perhaps there would be some peace there, too.

It waits for you, It waits for us all, It will have you. As It gives, so too does It take.

“Tell them I’m coming back.” Elliot bit the words out through her teeth. “And tell them if I come back and you’re hurt, or dead, or—if there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to fucking kill them. Okay?”

“No need,” came Jacob’s voice over the phone. “You’re on speaker, Deputy Honeysett. We’re well acquainted with your particular brand of mania.”

“Great,” she snapped, feeling a vicious flush spread through her cheeks despite the fact that she didn’t feel bad at all for what she’d said. “You thought I was fucking manic before? I had nothing to lose, then. Imagine how much worse I’ll make your life now—”

John’s hand squeezed again. This time, she shot him a venomous look over her shoulder and shrugged him off. Elliot knotted her fingers in Boomer’s fur and prompted again, “Is that clear?”

The eldest Seed sounded like he was smiling when he said, “Crystal, Deputy.”

“Good.” She paused. “And don’t fucking call me that. I’m not a deputy, anymore.”

“Sure thing, hellcat.”

“Pratt—”

Jacob’s voice came again: “Have a safe trip.”

The phone call beeped once, twice, three times, and then ended. The hard knot of dread in the pit of her stomach did not lessen; she hit the redial button, and it went straight to voicemail. Again, and again, and again, her hands shaking as she thought wait, I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to promise I’d be there, I’m coming Pratt, I’m coming please don’t be worried, before she shoved the phone into John’s grip.

“Call him back,” she demanded, “make him pick up the phone—”

“Elliot,” he began, “if he turned the phone off, I can’t—”

“Fuck you!” she snapped, coming to a stand and raking her fingers through her hair. “You fucking knew they had Pratt, didn’t you? You knew that he was still trapped there and he didn’t get out, and you fucking left him there, so that you could pull me back if it didn’t go the way you wanted—”

John stood too, setting the phone on the bedside table and lifting his hands. The gesture was meant to calm and soothe, see my hands? Here they are, no threat here, but all it did was make her angrier, stoke a fire inside of her that had apparently lain dormant since she’d left Hope County.

Elliot smacked his hands down. “Don’t treat me like some fucking animal, John.”

“I’m not,” he defended quickly, dropping his hands all the way back to his sides when Boomer barked twice, sharp and accusatory, hackles lifting. “I didn’t know Pratt was still there. I thought the Resistance had got him out, and I didn’t bother asking.”

“You should have bothered—”

“I’m just as displeased as you are,” John interjected dryly, the dark coloring of his tone implying that he was—but for perhaps a different reason. It struck her that he might, in fact, be so displeased because he was aware of their history, on some level. It did feel a little gratifying to know that he was squirming for such an insignificant reason.

“You fuckhead,” she spit. “You put a fucking baby in me and you still have the insecurity of a middle school boy.”

“We both know,” he replied tartly, “that our baby is not in any way binding you to me, Elliot. And is it so shocking, considering that the thing that I want most in the world is for you to come home, and you fight me at every turn—”

“Hope County isn’t my home anymore—”

“—but Staci Pratt calls you and cries a little into the phone, and you’re jumping at the bit to go back?”

“Fuck. Off,” Elliot bit out between her teeth, face flushing. “Pratt is my friend, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Right,” John agreed, “because you let the person you hate fuck you.”

Her mouth clamped shut, biting and swallowing back a wad of venom she thought might make her sick if she let it out. There was too much of it, the things that she wanted to say—fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, I fucking hate you, you make me sick, if anything is wrong with Pratt I’ll kill your brothers and then I’ll fucking kill you too—but she didn’t say any of it.

Instead, she said, “Get out. I’m getting changed and we’re leaving.”

John sighed, passing a hand over his face for a moment like maybe he regretted what he’d said. “We can’t.”

She felt her voice spike, near incredulous hysteria: “Pardon?”

“Old Father Time of the Job Ineptitude mentioned he had Federal agents showing up out of nowhere,” he snapped. The words had her stomach twisting; her first thought was a tiny spike of happiness at the idea of Cameron Burke, and then it was quickly doused by the sharp reminder that she’d stolen his gun and ran with it. Because he thought she was crazy. Because he was going to put her behind bars.

John continued, “He seemed to be implying it was somehow related to me showing up, and by proxy you, and if we up and leave—”

“It’ll make it look more suspicious,” she finished, feeling a little numb. “Okay, so—what? How long do we have to wait?”

He scratched his cheek, his eyes flickering absently over the duvet on the bed, like he was trying to map it out in his own head. No doubt, he was trying to operate on multiple timelines—the timeline of Not Raising Suspicion, and whatever timeline Joseph had given him.

Some things really did never change.

“After your mother’s Christmas party,” he ventured finally. “It’s not quite Christmas—could look enough like we’re sticking around for enough holiday cheer to be passable before leaving again. Pritchard’s clearly not unfamiliar with your mother’s...”

His voice trailed off. He looked to her as though asking for permission to say something critical; when Elliot remained stonefaced and immovable, he finished, “...temperament.”

“Nice save.”

“Well,” he replied, humble as ever. “Anyway, that probably wouldn’t rouse suspicion. If it is Burke, and your house isn’t getting stormed right now, I have to think he’s here on unofficial business. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they just come and bust the door down and grab you?”

Elliot hoped that was the case. She hoped this meant that Burke was just trying to find her, and was not hunting her down at the behest of the government. If there was one thing that Joseph had been right about amidst all his doomsday-saying and whatnot, it was that according to the news, there was a big chance the government had bigger things on their hands. Bigger concerns than a tiny town in Montana and its cult inhabitants.

“Get out,” she said again. “So I can change.”

“You—” John sucked in a little breath, stopping himself from what was inevitably going to be stirring another argument; he lifted his hands again, this time in surrender. “Alright, Ell. I said you’d get anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Chop-chop.”

“I’m going. Mind if I pull some clothes on before I walk out into the house owned by your mother, where she has almost assuredly been sipping her vodka martini since four AM?”

She felt her eyes narrow. “Fine.”

Turning, she crossed the bedroom into the master bath and shut the door behind her, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes until fine webbing scattered across the dark of her eyelids. This was the last thing she needed—and it felt, surely, traitorous and awful to think it, to think, this is the last thing I need, Pratt needing rescuing, when the only reason she’d felt comfortable leaving Hope County in the first place was because she thought the only people who were left were cultists.

Elliot dropped her hands from her eyes, blinking a few times until her vision cleared. In the mirror—much as it had been since coming back from Hope County—stood a girl that she thought looked like a stranger. Blushed cheeks and kiss-reddened lips, her neck littered with love marks, the healthy glow blooming up from beneath the WRATH scar on her chest, exposed by her loosely cinched robe.

That’s not me, she thought, pulling absently on a strand of red hair and swallowing thickly. I’m not that girl.

Her face was softer than before, more lively color rising up around her eyes and cheeks and mouth. More of her freckles had come out. There was a tiny, tiny—almost imperceptible—slope to her tummy, now, too.

Not me, came the thought again, more distressed this time, her brows pulling together at the center of her forehead. That’s not me. I’m not that girl. Who are you, pretty girl? Not me.

The woman and her dark hair—dark dark dark, like an oil slick, looming in the corner of her mind. Her mouth red as pomegranate and stretched like broken glass.

I hear stress is bad for the baby.

A knock came at the door. Elliot blinked, feeling unwell and unsure of how long she’d been standing there, her hand having dropped to cup the slope of her stomach experimentally. Women did that, right? When they were pregnant? Did it make them feel closer to the baby? Did it make them feel more protected?

Did she feel safer?

“Ell,” John said, nudging the door open, “your mother is...”

Pulling away from the door, she cinched the robe tight and busied herself at the sink, turning the water on. As he stepped into the bathroom, she could see John was now fully-dressed, freshly-showered. She’d been standing in front of the mirror trying to recognize the person staring back at her long enough for him to do that, it seemed.

“That was a quick shower,” she said briskly, splashing her face and rubbing absently at her cheek. She could feel John’s eyes on her through the mirror, even though she refused to meet them.

“I’ve always preferred it that way,” he replied casually. And then: “Get distracted?”

Yes, she thought, but didn’t say, because then the things he’d said last night that had made her feel sane and normal wouldn’t mean anything anymore. John would have said I don’t think you’re crazy and he’d have to take it back, because if she told him there was a stranger standing in her mirror, he would think she was crazy.

“It’s weird,” is what Elliot offered after a moment, trying to find a way to be honest and redirect, “to see a baby bump. Even if it’s small.” She cleared her throat and fished her toothbrush out of the holder. Continuing briskly, she added, “And the scar. I spent a lot of time avoiding it.”

John’s expression had done that funny thing that she supposed was softening at her words. He stepped forward; the ghost of his fingers trailing her ribs over the robe made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I’m not done being mad at you,” she warned him, eyes flickering to meet his gaze through the mirror.

“I know,” he replied, tone agreeable. “I just—”

The brunette paused then, waiting for her to stop him before he smoothed the warmth of his palm over her hip, across the expanse of her abdomen. It was painfully intimate in a way that didn’t imply sex—intimate, in the way that she felt seen, that she could see the relief coloring the edges of his expression.

John pressed his mouth to the back of her shoulder. “Just missed you,” he murmured after a moment. “Getting to touch you. Even just like this. Especially just like this—”

Something panged sharp and unforgiving in her chest. “Well, don’t get used to it,” she replied tightly, brushing his hand away from the baby bump after letting it linger for a moment. “And I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“Your mother was asking after you,” John said, by way of explanation, looking pleased from their little moment. Fucker. “She wanted to know if you’d be drinking coffee this morning. I think her exact words were, ‘Mr. Seed, would you ask my daughter if she’s going to take the risk of drinking coffee this morning? I know she shouldn’t be, with her condition—’”

“Ugh.”

“‘—but since we’re going to be picking out her dress for the Christmas party today, I could make an exception—’”

“Fuck me,” she muttered, wetting her toothbrush and putting the toothpaste on it. “Ask her if she can make it extra strong.”

“I’m actually enjoying being out of your mother’s ire for a minute.”

Elliot rolled her eyes. “No coffee for me.”

“Got it.” John headed for the bathroom door, and then paused again, turning to look at her. “Ell,” he began, “I really didn’t know—you know, about Pratt.”

That pesky little flutter of something agonizingly sweet—softness—in her chest flared again.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” is what she said, before she turned the toothbrush on and started scrubbing her teeth. That seemed enough of an answer for John, for once, because he left and closed the door quietly behind him after deliberating.

The minutes, and hours, and days—well, day or two—until they got back to Hope County were going to be something close to agony. She could only hope they had taken her seriously when she told them that she’d better come back to a Pratt in one piece.

I don’t want to be alone. Pratt’s voice echoed hauntingly in her head. She thought she could remember the sound of voices in the background—a woman’s, at least. Faith? Or John’s friend, Isolde? Surely Jacob and Joseph were there listening to him call her, too. She’d been so fucking stupid to let them get to her.

No, not stupid. Not stupid to want Pratt to feel safe, and like someone was coming back for him.

I’m sorry, she thought tiredly, as though the words could somehow get to him. I’m sorry, that it’s me you have to wait for.

I’m sorry that I won’t be the person you remembered.

I’m sorry.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did so well, Staci.”

Faith’s voice jarred him out of the weird pause in time he’d been marinating in. It had been just a few seconds, maybe—Jacob and Joseph were talking in low voices, the dark-haired woman standing at the point of their little triangle with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed—that his brain had shut off, the distress in Elliot’s voice echoing eerily in his head. She’d sounded so upset. He wouldn’t have called, wouldn’t have started to ask her to come back, if he’d known how much she didn’t want to.

But that wasn’t true, either. He would have called, because Helmi had said, Either the Seeds are going to drag her back by her hair kicking and screaming, and eventually kill her, or she comes back and we keep her safe.

‘Safe’ had been the keyword there. He didn’t know how much he could take the woman at her word, but considering everything—well, it was better than trying to take the Seeds at their word.

Faith’s hand touched the back of his, startling him into a tiny jump. He cleared his throat. “Um—I wasn’t...Acting.”

“Still,” she replied sweetly, “I know it must have been hard.”

She was so polished—skin all dusted silver and moonlike, flushed with a little high color in her cheeks, her blonde hair tumbling around her face loosely. In the chapel, the air was tepid at best, and frigid at worst, keeping a little pink in everyone’s faces.

It was strange to look at her now. Her hands were soft; her skin unblemished. Just hours ago, he’d been sitting in the car, noticing the same kinds of details about Helmi—about how human she looked, hand slung over a steering wheel, her cracked phone plugged into the truck’s stereo and her chipped nail polish and the scars and bruises littering her knuckles. The way she’d shot him a toothy, wolfish grin as she cranked the volume up and said, What, Staci Pratt, you don’t like Blue Öyster Cult either?

In comparison, Faith didn’t feel human at all. She felt like a dream.

“Can—” Pratt came to a stand, rubbing his palms on the tops of his thighs. “Can I go? Lay down, or something?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him. The dark-haired woman, who Jacob kept referring to as Sol, completely ignored his question and looked at the redhead to say, “Has someone checked him for head trauma?”

“I’m not—concussed!” Pratt snapped, his voice wobbling. “I’m just tired.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something, and then reconsidered, saying, “Dr. Hale will take a look at you and then sure, Peaches, you can rest.”

It took every ounce of his self-control to not tell Jacob to stop calling him that. He had to remember that as far as they were concerned, he hadn’t been taken in by the “other side”, he’d been sitting scared and meek like a good boy at the compound.

Pratt’s eyes darted, catching sight of the woman that Jacob gestured to with a free hand. Right. The Fall’s End vet. She’d been here for what—a little over a year? He couldn’t tell if she was being held captive by Eden’s Gate or if she was there by her own volition, though the few times he’d run into her before she’d seemed like a pretty even-keel person. Didn’t she have like, two degrees or something? What was she doing here?

He made his way to the back of the church, meeting the curly-haired blonde halfway. Definitely looked too clean to be a cultist. “You’re not a people doctor, right?” he asked uneasily, watching as her head cocked to the side and her mouth quirked in a bit of amusement.

“No, Mr. Pratt, I am not a people doctor.” She fell into step beside him, opening the chapel door for him. “But I do have first aid training, which I think is about as good as you’re going to get around these parts.”

“I didn’t get a concussion.”

“That’s good. When was the last time you ate?”

His mouth twisted in a frown, trailing after through the snow as the cold began to sink into his bones. She seemed awfully confident moving around the compound, if she wasn’t part of the cult. But if she was, what was she doing here? How did—?

Pain bloomed behind his eyes, a fresh headache sinking into his nerves. Too much. It was too much confusion, about Elliot (pregnant? And John Seed was with her?) and about the Family and about all of these—these people that he didn’t really recognize hanging around the Seeds. And the compound was so quiet. Where was everyone? Had the Family really taken that many of Eden’s Gate out?

“Mr. Pratt?”

The woman opened a door into a bunkhouse that glowed with golden light from within and radiated heat. Two long-haired shepherds lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, lifting long faces and peering at him with dark eyes. He stepped inside and cleared his throat.

“Uh, a day, maybe,” he replied after a minute. Taking a seat when she gestured for him to, he shifted uncomfortably as she set a first aid kid on the cushion beside him and pulled one of the wooden chairs up in front of him.

“And slept?” She blew a curl out of her face and opened the kit, fishing around to find some alcohol wipes and Neosporin. He guessed he was a bit worse for wear than he’d thought, initially; not that he’d been taking great care of himself, even when it had just been him and Dani. She’d encouraged him to stay high, not stay better.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot.

He let out a little hiss when she pressed one of the alcohol wipes to a cut on his cheek.

“The same,” he replied, reaching up and brushing her hand away. “What—what are you doing here, doctor?”

“Arden is fine.” She sat back, regarding him curiously. “I’m cleaning that cut, Mr. Pratt. It looks agitated.”

“No, I—” Pratt let out a little breath. “I mean here. In the compound.”

Arden stared at him for a moment, like she didn’t understand why he was asking her that question. She lifted her hand and arched a brow inquisitively; when he nodded shortly, she leaned forward again, balancing her free hand on his shoulder and using the other to gently dab at the cut.

“I’ve spent the last month or so holed up in my house,” she explained to him. “Me, and the dogs, I mean.”

A little smile ghosted over her lips, and despite himself, Pratt felt a wry smile tugging at his own. It was difficult not to feel relaxed, when Arden moved with so much surety. In the glow of the radiators ticking away and the warm yellow light, especially.

“Mostly reading. They had assigned one of the boys to me—Santiago. I think he’s John’s man. He doesn’t strike me as one of Joseph or Faith’s.”

Pratt made a little noise of agreement, because he knew exactly what she was talking about. She dropped the alcohol wipes to the side and reached over for the Neosporin, dabbing some onto her finger and then reaching back up to resume her work.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “That you got—stuck, I mean. Here.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize, Mr. Pratt.”

“I feel partially responsible,” he admitted, feeling some of the tension flee his shoulders. “You know, being law enforcement and all—”

“Hold still, please.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “I guess what I mean is—sometimes it feels like a real failing on our part. All of those people, I...”

He paused, and Arden leaned back, giving him a pat on the knee. “That’s alright, Mr. Pratt,” and her voice bloomed with comfort. “Where was I?”

“Up at your house, with the dogs and maybe one of John’s men.”

“Right. I wasn’t allowed to leave, you know, on account of the—” She gestured with an elegant hand. “Cult running amok.”

He nodded. “Cult number two.”

Arden smiled, and continued, “And then just a few days ago, after one of them started killing those folks in Fall’s End, Jacob came up to get me.”

The way she said it made him feel, a little uneasily, that maybe he was misreading it. Jacob came up to get me did not sound like Jacob came to pick me up because I’m his prisoner.

And then she said, “He was worried, you know. Only having a radio up there. I know how to use a gun, but I’d prefer not to, if I don’t have to, and—”

“Sorry,” he blurted out, “but are you—”

She blinked light eyes at him, almost owlishly, like she didn’t understand the question. “Am I...?”

“With? Them?” Pratt gestured towards where the chapel lay, beyond the bunkhouse walls. “The—Eden’s Gate?”

“Oh!” Arden laughed, almost sheepishly; he felt a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him too, almost hoping for the relief of her assuring him that she was, in fact, not in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

She came to a stand and pulled a bottle of ibuprofen and a granola bar out of the kit, dropping them in his hand.

“Eat the bar before you take the ibuprofen,” she told him, “or it’ll—well, I’m sure you know. Upset stomach, and all that. Do you want to take a shower?”

Pratt’s fingers curled around the ibuprofen bottle. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden replied, not sounding very sorry at all, “I guess I just thought it a bit silly. Who else would I be “with”?”

His stomach somersaulted, sinking viciously. Suddenly, the granola bar—which had certainly been sitting in the kit for who knew how long—looked even less appetizing than before. While his vision swam for a second, the woman carried on conversationally, as though she had not just revealed herself to—

Well, to be in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

“But—they think the world is ending,” Pratt blurted out, lifting his eyes to look at her finally. “And—doctor, all the people they killed, and—”

“Don’t strain yourself, Mr. Pratt. You’ve been under quite a bit of duress as of late, I think, and it would be best to try and keep those stress levels down.” She moved to the small pantry beside the bathroom, shuffling around and producing a few towels, leaning into the bathroom to set them on the counter. “Though, you do bring up a funny point—have you been listening to the news? I suppose you haven’t. I remember listening to the news before all of this business went down and thinking that the world had ended a long time ago. We were just a bit behind, all the way out here. Do you want to take a shower?”

Blinking furiously, Pratt searched his brain for the answer; he muddled through the disappointment raking down his spine, the delicate little hope that had been fostered at the prospect of finding someone who was kind and not under the Seeds’ thumb being crushed beneath the weight of the reality of his situation.

“Yes please,” he managed out, his voice hoarse.

“Alright. Eat that bar first, so you don’t pass out in the hot water. And Mr. Pratt?”

“Y—” He had clumsily ripped open the granola bar and shoved half into his mouth, the fear of being seen as disobedient when Jacob Seed was within radius flickering like a wildfire through his body. He swallowed thickly, the dry food feeling like it was sticking to the inside of his mouth. “Um, yes?”

Her expression colored sympathetic, Arden reached down and fished a water bottle out of the case, dropping it in his hand.

“The honorific isn’t necessary,” she told him. “Remember, Arden is just fine.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled. “I mean—Arden.”

She smiled, this time with teeth. “Good. You holler if you need me.”

I won’t, he thought, even though she was probably preferable to anyone else coming to his rescue.

Maybe he really would rather be dead.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Scarlet insisted that John stay at the house while they went to the boutique. It was all a big show of his mother-in-law attempting, he thought, to be polite, though she failed miserably at it; and as much as John wanted to argue that it would probably be best if he came along—considering their late-night visitor—he could tell when a battle was a lost one, and when it wasn’t.

“Do you think you can do that, Mr. Seed?” she asked, pulling the objectively ostentatious fur coat around her shoulders and buttoning it. “Remain in my home for a few hours, without causing me any problems?”

He said, “I think I can certainly give it a shot,” to which the blonde rolled her eyes.

“Please do more than that.”

“Rest assured, I am fully capable of behaving myself, Mrs. Honeysett.”

He couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Every second he spent in her presence, being reminded of how little she liked him given how much she didn’t know about him—or care to get to know about him, anyway—he thought, I cannot fucking wait to get back to Hope County and the resurgence of the Family. I cannot wait until that is my only fucking problem. Anyone else and she would have been thoroughly cleansed; clearly, Wrath ran in the family. Just the thought of it made his fingers itch.

Elliot had looked tired already, standing at the door and letting her mother go first. As soon as Scarlet was out the door, carefully picking her way down the front steps, John’s hand went to Ell’s hip; her lashes fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t jerk away; only tensed, considering the act of balking and pulling away from him but not yet committing. So there had been progress.

Her free hand came to his shoulder, resting there uncertainly. “Please don’t do anything to my mother’s house.”

“As much as I would love to, I will refrain from my wretched impulses. I am a man of God, after all.” He grimaced. “Do you think she’ll like me more if things are immaculate?”

“Ha-ha. She certainly will not.” She paused, letting out a little breath. “Okay. Back in an hour.”

He felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Ambitious.” His hand drifted to the small of her back, and he said, “Ell, before you go—”

“John, I don’t—”

Elliot turned to look at him at the same time that he stepped forward, closing what little distance there was and rapidly; she blinked, and her eyes flickered to his mouth instinctively, like she was expecting it—like she’d gotten used to the affection when he closed in on her like that. The gesture sent a little thrill through his stomach.

Mine.

“Don’t let her stress you out,” John murmured, keeping his voice low between just the two of them. “You’ll look good in whatever you pick.”

She turned her face away, cheeks going pink. “What’s this, huh? Still trying to make up for being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

He grinned. “You really have gotten brattier.”

“Goodbye, John,” she said, and then he leaned in and kissed her; the connection made every part of him sigh, collectively, as though he’d just been waiting for it.

Waiting for her.

Yes yes yes, it all said when she didn’t pull away, his fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater at the small of her back as her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, yes, mine all mine.

Elliot did pull back after a moment, putting a bit of space between them—though it seemed more to catch her breath than anything else. She only pulled back enough for their eyes to meet; John’s gaze darted downward, watching pearly teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, worrying it there for a moment.

“To answer your question,” he continued as casually as he could, “that’s not how I intend on making that up to you.”

“So you agree?” Elliot asked. Her voice came out evenly, despite the color blooming underneath the freckles on her cheeks. “You were being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

“I did so miss our banter.”

“Bunny,” Scarlet called impatiently from the driveway, “the boutique is going to get crowded if we don’t get there when it opens.”

“I’m coming!” Her gaze darted back to him. “The best way to make it up to me would be to say the words out loud,” Elliot informed him as she inched toward the door. “So that baby can hear them, too. At least you’ll have been more honest around our child than with me, if we’re keeping a running tally, and we should—”

He tugged her back from the doorway again, lighter, more playful as he went in to kiss her a second time; but she pulled back, just out of his reach, hand planted firmly on his chest.

Elliot said, “I told you not to get used to it.”

“I’m not,” he answered lightly, “just taking what I can get.”

“Elliot.”

“Coming!” Elliot cinched her coat up more snug, closer to her throat and where the scar lay expertly over her sternum, and snagged the keys off of the counter to the beat-up Honda Civic John had lifted from Eden’s Gate. Right. He couldn’t wait to hear Scarlet’s input on that car ride.

The redhead made it down two steps before she paused, turning and looking at John and going, “Um, bye,” in a tone that was more sheepish than he anticipated; it was almost shy, and it caught him so off-guard that he didn’t even get the chance to muster a response before she was making her way across the snowy driveway.

“Drive safe,” John called, once he’d gathered his senses a bit more. Elliot glanced at him over her shoulder and then ducked into the car, closing the door and beginning to pull her way down the drive. He waited until they’d turned onto the freshly plowed road before he turned back into the house and closed the front door behind him.

Boomer had seated himself in front of the window, letting out a little whine as his tail swept along the floor.

“C’mon, furry sentinel,” he sighed, not risking putting his hand within biting reach. “Just you and me today.”

The Heeler whined again, apparently thoroughly displeased at this news, and stayed rooted at the window to watch for his girl to come home.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he hit the redial button on the number they’d gotten a call from that morning and waited as the phone rang, pacing around the polished living room. It rang enough times as he idly adjusted glasses on a bar cart that he thought for certain no one would pick up—and then the phone clicked, and a warm voice came through.

“Hi, John.”

He blinked in surprise. “Hello, Faith. How’d you get this phone?”

“Isolde passed it to me when she saw your call. She wanted me to tell you that she’s too busy to talk to you.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like everything’s operating as normal, then.”

“I suppose.” Faith paused. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I am.”

“With Elliot?”

“Yes, she—” John cleared his throat and made an effort to sound as unbothered as possible. “She’s very concerned about Deputy Pratt’s well-being.”

“We’re taking good care of him. Will you tell her that? Better than he’d be getting out there, anyway,” and she said the word out there with such a surprising amount of venom that John realized he’d nearly forgotten about the Family’s reappearance. Well, there couldn’t be that many of them left, could there?

And then Faith said, “A lot of us are dead, John.”

His hand went to the mantle for a little support as he leaned against it. There was a bit of a bite to Faith’s voice—almost accusatory. A lot of us are dead, she said, as he stood in the plush home of his mother-in-law while they went dress shopping for a Christmas party. It occurred to him that none of his siblings—nor Isolde—were aware of what they’d been dealing with the last couple of days; they must have felt like he was getting off easy.

“The Father says we only have a little while longer,” she continued, “and that if we can’t fix this in time, we won’t wait for you. He’s been alone, a lot. Talking to God. Praying for more time, for you.”

The words made his stomach wrench, a little. He would have felt worse if he didn’t know already that there was an exit plan in place, one that Elliot was already on board for. “We’re only here for another day, and then we’re leaving” John replied. “The sheriff mentioned some—Federal agents. I don’t want to rouse suspicion and bring them down on us again.”

“Do you think it’s Burke?”

“Maybe.” He pressed his forehead against the stone mantle. “Probably. No one’s come storming in yet.”

“I hope it’s him. I hope he follows you all the way back here.” And then, darker: “He has a lot to apologize for.”

John made a low noise of agreement. It felt good to have a conversation with someone who seemed to be on the same side as him, for once—no bickering with Scarlet, no bickering with Elliot, and no bickering with Isolde. As of late, it seemed he was only capable of incurring arguments; though that did seem to be changing quickly with his wife.

“We’re having a service soon. Did you want me to tell Joseph anything?”

“Ah, no, that’s alright. I just wanted to let you know we had a plan.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No,” John said again, more quickly and with a bout of unease sprinting up his spine. “No, that’s alright. I’ll let you go. We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Alright.” Faith’s voice lightened when she added, “Tell Elliot I said hello.”

Bad idea, he thought, but said, “Of course,” and hit the end call button. It wasn’t until his entire body relaxed that he realized he’d been fully tensed, waiting for some kind of verbal blow—and though there had been a few, he felt...

Fine.

I feel fine.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Joseph was praying for more time for them. They’d make it back without a hitch. And then, when the world ended, and took the remainder of the Family with them—

Well, that would be all the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“My children.”

The heaters rattled, clicking in the lukewarm air in a steady, mechanical heartbeat. Candles lit throughout the chapel drenched the members of Eden’s Gate in a strange, golden glow, and as Joseph’s voice carried all the way to the back where Staci sat between Jacob and Arden. He could see in the front row sat Faith and the dark-haired woman—who he’d come to understand was Isolde Khan, John’s old business partner—and there was a moment where Joseph’s eyes fixed on her before they lifted back to the congregation.

“God has truly been testing us,” the man continued, pacing away from the altar the front, hands folded behind him. “As you know, I have spent a lot of time in silence and solitude so that I might be the most open to receiving from Him. For the longest time, I thought—had we done something wrong? Had I led us astray? Were we being punished?”

An uneasy murmur rippled throughout the crowd. In the front, Pratt could see Isolde writing something down in a notebook; he wished he was closer, so he could see what it was—what was so interesting that she was taking notes now, of all times? What could she possibly be doing?

Preparing for the worst-case scenario, he thought idly, shifting in his seat. Jacob’s eyes cut over to him and he cleared his throat. The shower had done nothing to ease his nerves.

“But I’ll tell you—devout, and loyal, we have not been left to the wayside.” Joseph stopped, pressing a hand onto a woman’s shoulder, squeezing. “I have heard His voice. I have received His word. We are not only followers of God’s word—we are His soldiers.”

The noise that passed through the congregation this time was brighter, agreements—it must have felt good. Not just passive sheep, to be shepherded; soldiers. Capable of violence. And they were.

“We are His warriors.”

The woman Joseph’s hand was on was getting teary-eyed, and when he departed from her to sidle his way down the aisle, she all but collapsed in on herself, folding in half to bury her face in her hands. Another attestation of acknowledgment rippled around him, louder.

“This world is a wretched, vile machine, taking in and spitting out sin, flooding our garden with locusts,” the Prophet continued, his voice lifting in volume. “We are, my children, the only people who have the great fortune of seeing this—of knowing what no one else in the world seems capable of understanding. God has told me—”

Sick, Pratt thought dizzily, I’m going to be sick.

“—that a life of bliss awaits us, if we can only...”

Joseph paused, as though he needed to look for the words, as though he hadn’t been reciting this all day in preparation for the sermon; Pratt knew that he must, the assured cadence of his voice coming so firmly that there was no way it wasn’t rehearsed.

“...look past the dread, and the fear,” he continued earnestly, allowing his hand to be taken by another member, “because fear is the language of the Devil—if we can look past it, and dedicate ourselves fully to His cause, there is only happiness and serenity waiting for us on the other side of this.”

“How do we do it, Father?” a man to the other side of Jacob cried out, his voice a panicked fever-pitch. “How do we show Him we’re devoted?”

Joseph’s head turned. His gaze landed on Pratt, lingering before lifting to the congregant. “We’ve got to stop the machine.”

Optimism flooded the crowd. An easy solution. Stop the machine, like it was nothing. Like they weren’t dealing with a group of people who killed as easily as they did.

“Throw your bodies upon the gears, upon the wheels, upon all the apparatus,” Joseph intoned dutifully, pacing back toward the front. “Whatever it takes to bring the machine to a grinding halt. We can no longer passively take part in the End—we are warriors of God, and our divine right is not instinctively endowed. It is earned. And we will show that we have earned it by exterminating these interlopers invading our garden.”

Pratt’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Eden’s Gate members came to a stand around him; loomed in his vision; eclipsed what little murky light reached him. Cheers and applause rolling around in his head. He thought for sure he’d heard this all somewhere, before—

Oh, yes. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all! The irony of Joseph lifting lines from an activist’s speech was not lost on him.

A heavy hand gripped the collar of his shirt, hauling him to his feet. “Stand up,” Jacob muttered. “Good posture’s important.”

He steadied himself on the pew ahead of him. Amidst the chatter of the congregation, eventually quieted down by Joseph’s patience at the front of the chapel, he could hear renewed excitement. More life had been breathed into the peggies than he’d seen in a long time—well, considering that he’d only been here roughly a day, and the whole place felt like a ghost town even now, that was saying something.

“Please,” Joseph called lightly, “join me in prayer.”

Heads bowed. Pratt let his chin drop to his chest, but his eyes didn’t close; his gaze darted to his right, where Arden stood, hands clasped politely in front of her. Her head did not bow for prayer.

He was only vaguely aware of the words coming out of Joseph’s mouth, redirecting his eyes back to the floorboards beneath his worn shoes. Lord, we pray that you might show us guidance and wisdom in these uncertain times; show us how to be most like you, for only you are perfect...

Elliot was going to come back to this. She was going to come back to this, and he was going to have to figure out how to get her out of here without any of the Seeds noticing. Helmi had said, meet me out back, by the river, in three nights, but he couldn’t keep track. Had it been one night? Two? Less than one?

“I am your Father,” Joseph was saying. “You are my Children. Together, and only together, will we march through the Gates of Eden.”

A rousing amen echoed around him. They milled about, chatting excitedly—perhaps delighted to have a focus for their ire, for their agitation. The members of Eden’s Gate looked worse than Pratt remembered. Dirtier. Thinner. More exhausted. He thought that it must be nice to have a purpose—

Fuck me, not that shit again.

He filed out of the row behind Arden, and with Jacob behind him, following her to the front where Isolde and Joseph stood. They were speaking in low tones, bundled close together; she tapped her ten against the front of her notepad in what looked like an agitated tick, but he couldn’t hear what it was she was saying. By the time they were close that he might have heard, Joseph lifted his head from where he’d bent a little to speak closely and looked at him, smiling.

“It was nice to see your face in the crowd this day, Deputy Pratt,” he said, his voice warm. “Did you enjoy the sermon?”

Pratt opened his mouth, and then closed it. He didn’t want to play this game.

“Go on, Peaches,” Jacob prompted, clapping his shoulder.

The nickname sparked something angry inside of him, like dragging a match against the sandpaper side of the box. If there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to kill them, Elliot had said.

Pratt turned his gaze to Joseph. “I thought the Mario Savio part was a bit much.”

A surprised, abrupt laugh barked out of Jacob. Joseph’s expression remained flat and serene. In fact, the only person who seemed to have any negative opinion about his words was Isolde, narrowing her eyes as she turned to look at him fully.

“We’re not exactly looking to hit notes with the intellectuals in the crowd, Deputy Pratt,” she informed him coolly. “They don’t care who said it first. They care who said it better.”

“Y—” Pratt swallowed. “Okay, well—”

“‘Okay, well’ shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “Or I’ll have Jacob take you out back and put you down like Old Yeller.”

“You can’t,” he protested quickly, “Elliot said—”

“Do you think I care in the least what some woman five states away said?” Isolde cut over him quickly, the elegant, soft roll of her accent a strange and unsettling juxtaposition to her words. “I’m getting this ship in fit fucking order, and that means I don’t need you inspiring dissent. Anyone with an opinion that is less than glowing, radiant, gorgeous—they get taken care of, whatever that means. Got it?”

Pratt closed his mouth tightly, until the pressure was beginning to build between his molars. I just have to make it until Elliot gets here, and then—and then I’ll—then I can get—

He took in a little breath. “Yes.”

“Peachy.” Isolde flashed a smile that was all-too-saccharine, and then turned to Joseph. “Let’s sit.”

“Of course.”

They departed to a pew just to the left of them. Jacob was grinning at him, wolfish.

“Thought about telling you she wrote it,” he said, “but that was much more entertaining.”

“You look pale, Staci,” added Arden, her voice light as it redirected from Jacob’s apparent joy at his suffering. “Maybe you should go lay down. I don’t want you straining any of those injuries.”

Okay, he thought, and maybe the words came out of him but he couldn’t tell; he couldn’t tell anymore, but he did want to go lay down. Lay down, and close his eyes, and sleep until Elliot got back.

He’d never been happier at the prospect of seeing an ex-girlfriend.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When they arrived at the boutique, Sylvia was standing outside, bouncing on the balls of her feet in what Elliot could only assume was an attempt to get warm. It was difficult, to focus on something as inane and arbitrary as dress shopping when she knew that Pratt was back in Hope County, dealing with God-knew-what the Seeds were throwing at him.

Well, the Seeds. And more. The Family, who were supposed to be dead, and—

I hear stress is bad for the baby. A familiar accent, wasn’t it?

“Well, are you just gonna sit in there all day or what?” her mother asked, having stepped out of the passenger side.

“Did you invite Sylvia?”

Scarlet sighed. “I thought it might be nice, for you.”

It was an unexpectedly sincere gesture on her mother’s part. She swallowed a thick emotion down, clearing her throat and managing out, “It—is, mama, thank you,” before she got out of the car and took the keys with her, heading towards the front doors of the main street store.

“Howdy, Freckles!” Sylvia greeted her warmly, throwing her arms around her in a tight hug. “Been a few. Wyatt’s still got your Jeep, he’s been runnin’ it a few minutes a day to make sure the battery doesn’t go bad.” She smiled brightly, turning to Elliot’s mother. “Mrs. Honeysett, you look mighty lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Sylvia tugged the door to the boutique open, ushering them inside so that she could trail in after. The inside of the store was toasty warm, making Elliot regret having worn a scarf, but it was too late now—the coat and scarf combination were doing the work to keep her scar covered.

“I just love this place,” Scarlet sighed, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. “What do you think, Elliot? Maybe something blue. I’d put you in green, but with that red hair, you’d look like a Christmas ornament. Blue’s a nice winter color—very fashionable.”

“Sure, mama,” Elliot replied, brushing her fingers along the silk of one of the dresses. The last time she’d been in anything that blue and nice had been back in Hope County. At her “baptism”. The same one Burke had been dragged to, the same one that John had held her under for just a little too long for, maybe distracted by the Marshal’s arrival back then.

“Psst.” The sound of Via’s voice caught her attention, pulling her from the waking memory. The blonde had pulled what appeared to be the most atrocious Christmas gown that could have been looked at off of the rack, holding it up and lifting her eyebrows as Scarlet chatted enthusiastically with the store’s saleswoman.

“Stop it,” Elliot said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, dead serious, Freckles.”

“It has mistletoe on it, Via.”

“How else am I supposed to fetch a husband, if not by readily-accessible entrapment?”

Well, she thought a little dryly, that is how John got a wife.

It was odd, to think of the moment with anything less than hostility—to have come to a point where there were things more pressing than a marriage that, in the end, might not matter anyway. John had said that he knew the baby didn’t mean she’d take him back; had acknowledged there was no guarantee. For once, he’d shown up in her life with every intention laid bare for her to see.

Maybe not every intention. But she’d root them all out, eventually, and pretend like it hadn’t become something of a game, to catch John in a lie and watch him squirm.

She let the boutique’s owner show her around, clearly making quite a show for her mother, and politely turned down any suggestions for a deep v or off-the-shoulder type of garment. Sylvia had picked out a few; most blue, some blush, a few red, and then loaded some into Elliot’s arms.

“Try ‘em on!” she chirped. “Yes, even the green ones. Maybe your mama doesn’t want an Elliot Christmas ornament, but I do.”

Elliot heaved a sigh, though it was only half-sincere—anything delivered with Sylvia’s bright, cheery smile, she was hard-pressed to feel anything less than good about. Maybe that was dangerous, to be so comfortable with someone.

Or maybe, she thought, closing the dressing room door behind her, that’s just how having friends are. You remember what that was like.

She did. As she undressed and zipped the back of one of the red dresses Sylvia had selected—thoughtfully aware of the fact that she’d want most of her chest covered—she regarded herself in the mirror. There was that stranger again, flushed cheeks and bright eyes staring back at her. A familiar nose shape, a familiar slope of her cheekbones—but the rest of her. Where had she gone?

With one hand she pushed the door open, the other one lifting the back train of the dress as little as she walked out. A grimace had planted itself on her face, even despite Sylvia’s elaborate applause at her appearance.

“Oh, bunny, you look darling,” her mother sighed, having turned to take a look. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”

“Not big on the sparkles,” she admitted.

“I like them. You’ve always looked good in red, though. That fair complexion of your father’s.”

Sylvia grinned. “Try on a green one. I wanna imagine how you’ll look on my tree!”

Elliot stuck her tongue out at the blonde, turning around and scurrying back into the changing room. There were a few more dresses—even a green one—that were in the running, but eventually, she’d settled on a floor-length piece, dark blue velvet and halter-topped to get the most sternum coverage. When she’d redressed and rejoined the group outside, her mother was beaming as she gossiped with the boutique owner.

“Elliot’s quite modest,” her mother said conversationally, “and she’s already married, you know.”

“Thank you, mother,” Elliot sighed, a little smile fighting its way onto her face.

“Whatever are you still wearing your coat for? Your face is all red.”

“I’m—” She paused, swallowing. “Still cold.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Cold? It’s eighty degrees in here. And your face is all red.”

Sylvia had glanced up from across the store, neck-deep in dresses of a warmer shade. Elliot could feel the eyes on her—her friend, her mother, the boutique owner—and she cleared her throat and tugged absently at the tag on the dress.

“It’s fine,” she said after a minute.

“Well, at least take your scarf off.”

“I think it’s a lovely scarf,” the owner tried, a little helplessly.

“Mother, it’s—I’m fine—”

But her mother moved too quickly for her to realize what was happening; her mother’s hand unwound the scarf with expert ease, and then froze, her eyes fixed on what Elliot thought assuredly was the little of her WRATH scar, revealed.

Her stomach rolled. Heat flooded her body, worse than before—it was the kind of sticky-wet heat that came with the threat of throwing up, the kind that crept up the spine and gripped by the nape of the neck. Elliot felt her lashes flutter; she dropped the dress abruptly and yanked the scarf out of her mother’s hands to wind it securely around her neck again. The boutique owner had quickly turned to the clothing rack, as though something very emergent had occurred on the inanimate objects.

Stupid. She was so stupid. She should have just worn a sweater. She shouldn’t have looked at her scar that morning and thought, maybe it is something to love, she shouldn’t have ever risked the chance that her mother would see it, stupidstupidstupid—

“My God,” Scarlet said tightly, the tone of her voice washing Elliot with shame. “What did you do?”

I’m sorry, she wanted to say, automatically. Mama, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m not good anymore, I’m not—

“Phew, I sure am dressed-out,” Sylvia announced, having come over. “I’ll have to go home and weigh my options. Ell, you wanna head outside for some air?”

“I think that’s best,” her mother replied curtly, before Elliot could even think to formulate a sentence. “I’ll finish up in here.”

She thought about trying to say something—trying to explain, maybe, what it was that had happened. But how could she? Her mother had suffered through the years she’d inflicted pain on herself, after daddy and after Mason, and she had told her mother she was better, now. Healed. Good. What could she say, to make it alright?

Because there was no world where she could say, I didn’t want it, and mean it.

Via’s hand fit snugly in hers, tugging her lightly out through the front door of the boutique onto the street. It wasn’t until she took in a lungful of cold, dry air that she realized she’d been holding her breath; her lungs ached, her head swimming, and she was gripping Via’s hand too tightly.

“Hey,” Sylvia said softly, “s’okay.”

It’s not, she thought miserably, it’s not okay, I’m not okay, I want to go—

Where? Where could she go?

I want—

Nowhere? Anywhere?

—to go—

“Home,” she managed out unsteadily, “I should go home—”

Sylvia gave her hand a squeeze. “You want I should give your mama a ride back to the house?”

“Yes.” She swallowed, sniffing. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, Freckles. Sure. You just—maybe you just take a little drive for yourself, collect your thoughts.” Via paused, and then leaned a little to catch Elliot’s eyes; though her vision blurred from the threat of tears, the blonde still smiled a little. “You gonna be okay all by yourself?”

It was a strange question to ask, but Elliot knew what she meant. Are you safe? Alone?

“Yeah,” Ell replied in a thick, watery mumble. “I am.”

“Okay. Can you give me a call when you get home?”

She nodded weakly. Via pulled her into a hug, tight and gentle all at once, enough to make the dam break; just for a little, just for a minute, the tears streaked down her cheeks and caught up in the fabric of the scarf where it wadded against her jaw.

My God, what did you do?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, pulling back and sucking in a sharp little breath. “Um, I’m really—s-sorry—”

But Via shook her head firmly and brushed some of the hair back from Elliot’s face, wet from her tears. “Don’t apologize. Go get a little breather.”

She fished the keys out of Elliot’s pocket for her, putting them in her hand and hesitating.

“Promise you’ll call,” she reiterated.

Elliot nodded. “I—I promise.”

“Okay. No take-backs.”

“No take-backs.”

Via gave her another hug before ushering her towards the car. As she climbed in and turned the key, her hands shaking, she thought about the way her mother had looked at the scar—with disgust. Horror. Shame. Via hadn’t looked at her like that, when she’d seen it. She’d seemed embarrassed, at having put Elliot in such a position; but not like that. She hadn’t looked horrified.

John didn’t look at it like that. He’d spent a lot of time last night, tracing the shape of the scar with his eyes, with his mouth, reverent and adoring. Makes you hungry, doesn’t it?

At least leaving would be that much easier.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They came back separately.

When John heard the front door open, he’d been starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He poked his head around the archway to look out in the foyer, only to find Scarlet standing there, furiously unbuttoning her coat and dropping her gloves into the drawer. Two dress bags hung on the coat rack.

“Ell outside?” he asked casually, coming around.

“Certainly not,” Scarlet replied tartly. “She’s—”

And then the woman let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment—for the first time, Scarlet Honeysett looked to be composing herself, which he thought she was nearly incapable of losing sight of. It seemed even the impenetrable armor of the Honeysett matriarch had its own weaknesses after all.

His tiny little thrill at the sight of Scarlet looking troubled was short-lived, however, because she said, “My daughter walked into the boutique sporting this—wretched scar—”

Oh, he thought, suddenly.

“—never been so humiliated in my whole life—”

Oh, no, because he knew exactly what she was talking about and Elliot would be—

“—have no doubt, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet bit out viciously, “that scar is new and you have certainly not influenced her away from such activities.”

He needed to find Elliot. She would be distraught; why hadn’t she come home with her mother? And why wasn’t Scarlet more pressed concerning her daughter’s well-being?

“And where is she?” John asked, ignoring the stinging anger bubbling in his chest. Wretched scar, she’d said. Like it wasn’t beautiful. Like it wasn’t gorgeous. Like he hadn’t spent a whole night looking at it, running his hands and mouth over it, knowing that Elliot had looked at him and wanted it and trusted him and if there was something more devoted, it was carrying someone’s child. “Elliot? Where is she?”

“Taking a moment to regain her senses,” the blonde replied sharply. “She has vowed to be home soon. Mr. Seed—”

He had gone to reach for his coat, pausing at her words and looking at her expectantly.

Scarlet twisted the gloves in her hands for a moment, her brows pulling together.

“I just think,” she finally said, “that as her husband, you are responsible for her as much as I am. You have to be taking care of her when I’m not around.”

“I do,” he replied.

“Evidence says contrary,” Scarlet snapped. “She has come back to me with more—damage—”

The sound of a car pulling up outside snapped John’s attention elsewhere. He knew that if he stayed much longer in the conversation, they would be leaving sooner than what they had planned, if only because Scarlet wouldn’t tolerate him in the house for the things that he wanted to say to her. Damage, he wanted to say, that is only as bad as it is because it’s compounding on your incessant need to brush aside her problems like they’re nothing, like she didn’t need help then.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pulling his coat on and opening the door. The rush of cold air bit at his face and hands; Boomer came rushing out around his legs, springing down the steps and hurrying to the driver’s side of the Honda. John was only vaguely aware of the door closing behind him—and it didn’t matter, anyway.

She didn’t open the door when Boomer got there, scrabbling at it for her eagerly. She kept her hands on the top of the steering wheel and pressed her forehead into it, the engine ticking as it cooled. When John got there, he reached for the door handle to tug it open. Elliot hit the lock button.

“Ell,” John said, “open the door.”

She lifted her head tiredly from the steering wheel. Where her hand sat over the lock button, her fingers trembled a little, and her face was flushed—not with health, but with the sickly red of feverish, panicked crying.

“Baby,” he tried again, a little more urgently, putting his hand on the glass of the window, “Boomer wants to see you.”

Elliot’s eyes were fixed on his jacket. “Would you—” She stopped, her voice muffled by the glass, and then she took a deep breath and said, “Would you even be here if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“What?” John blinked at her.

“If I didn’t have the baby,” she tried again, her voice thick and watery with unshed tears, that pouty lower lip trembling, “would you have even come for me?”

He stared at her. It had never occurred to him, that there might be a world in her head where he didn’t come for her, where he didn’t find her, where he didn’t try and bring her back.

“Of course I would,” John said, drawing her eyes to him. “I love you, Elliot.” And then, more urgently: “I love you, with or without the baby.”

She looked away from him, then, staring out the other side of the window, fingers curling uselessly against the steering wheel even as the keys lay in the passenger seat—like she wanted to run. Like she wanted to floor it, and go somewhere, anywhere.

“Open the door, Ell.” He swallowed thickly. “Won’t you?”

The door lock clicked. He tugged at the handle and it opened with ease, Boomer instantly shoving his face into Elliot’s side and whining, tail wagging so furiously his whole body moved with it. John pushed the door open the rest of the way and reached for her, and her hand caught his wrist and pulled, and she buried her face into his chest and trembled like a leaf in a breeze.

“I’m so tired,” she moaned miserably into his chest, hiccupping with grief, “I want to go home.”

John wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head and keeping her tugged close.

“I know,” he said. “We’ll go. We will, I promise, Ell, okay?”

“Please—” The redhead pulled back to look at him. “I can’t—you can’t—lie to me, anymore—”

“I know,” John said again, a little helplessly, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. She was clutching him so tightly he was sure her nails would leave marks on his skin, even through the fabric of his clothes.

“I won’t.”

#far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #john seed/female deputy #fic: witching hour #john seed x female deputy #my writing #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #this chapter is about as long as the last one but also feels so much: bigger #thank u to everyone who reached out to me for the last two chapters it literally !!!!!#makes my whole fucking day #when i get feedback or even just to chat with some of y'all #*smooches u*

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favefandomimagines · 4 years

Text

Soul Surfer 11

AN: last chapter of soul surfer! this is the ‘epic’ finale and i hope you all like it! just wanna say a quick thank you to those who have been so invested in this story! it means so much that people actually like this! an epilogue is coming and then those little blurbs with violet and jj!

Again: rafe is not canon in this story!!!

Violet had driven her and JJ back to her house, after spending the night on the beach. Neither wanted to go home and Violet didn’t want hear the questions from all of her friends.

She knew sooner or later she was going to have to talk to her father about what she found out but she was ultimately trying to avoid that conversation.

The two teens stepped into the house and saw Nick and Violet’s father seated at the kitchen counter.

“Violet Elliot you scared the hell out of me! Where have you been?” Her dad lectured as he pulled her in to a bone crushing hug.

“I was uh, playing Nancy Drew.” She joked. Rob looked from his daughter then to JJ, hoping for some sort of explanation. “We found out that Vivienne was using Ward Cameron to get her parental rights back. All while committing fraud.” Violet explained. “What are you talking about?” Rob asked.

Violet ran a hand through her hair as she sighed. “Mom told Ward that she was the heiress of an oil family, had loads of money and was going to make Ward a shareholder or something. So then he’d use his fancy lawyer and all his money to get her parental rights back.” She explained.

“That explains a lot. She asked me to get her a fake ID once but I said no.” Nick interjected. “See? She’s literally a psycho, dad. Can we call the police?” Violet asked. “Vi, this is serious. Odds are Ward Cameron called the police the second you told him your mother stole money from him.” Rob said.

The four were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. All heads turned towards the front door, everyone completely silent. “Violet, honey, I know you’re home.” Vivienne’s voice rang from the other side.

Eyes fell on Violet as she clenched her jaw. “Violet, don’t.” Nick said. She marched towards the front door and opened it and if looks could kill Vivienne would be six feet under.

“You have some nerve showing up here. After trying to take me away from my dad and make me break up with my boyfriend.” She snapped. “Violet, let me explain.” Vivienne said. “No. You don’t need to explain anything, Vivienne. I know the truth. You have been and always will be a terrible mother and you are going to jail.” Violet said.

“You have no proof. You just overheard a boy who has a crush on you.” Vivienne rebutted. “I’m sure Ward has proof. And Rafe wants my forgiveness so I’m sure I can get some.” Violet countered.

Rob walked closer to JJ and placed a hand on his shoulder. “How about you go back to your friends? Just in case this gets messy.” He said quietly. “But I-“ JJ started, not wanting to leave Violet.

“She’ll be okay, don’t worry.” Rob interrupted. JJ was hesitant at first but then nodded his head and slipped out the back door of the house.

—

It had been over a week since anyone had last spoken to Violet. Her and JJ’s last in person interaction had been the one at her house and no ones heard from her since. Except her and JJ frequently texted one another.

Of course there were rumors. Some say the FBI came to the house and arrested Vivienne on site. Others say Violet and her father packed up and moved again to get away from Vivienne.

But JJ didn’t believe that. He knew the truth. He was the only one who knew what was actually going on.

The Elliot’s finally went to court. The judge heard about Vivienne’s illegal attempt to get her daughter back and pushed up the court date.

Turns out Vivienne hadn’t been paying child support so she got felony charges as well as committing credit card fraud and tax fraud. Point was, she was going to the state prison for a very long time. And Rob got full and official custody of Violet.

But once that was over, Violet was free to return to her normal life with her friends.

JJ had the idea to throw a party at the Boneyard to celebrate the end of Vivienne’s reign of terror. No one knew why he had the sudden urge to party when his girlfriend was AWOL but John B thought it would help him feel better.

“I still don’t understand why we’re having a party when Violet’s basically missing.” Kiara commented as she helped carry kegs to the beach. “She’s not missing, trust me. I know where she is.” JJ replied.

“You’ve known where she’s been this entire time and you haven’t told us?” Pope questioned. “She told me not to until everything was sorted out.” JJ answered. “So that means everything is sorted out then?” Kiara asked. “Yeah. Hence the party. Don’t know if she’s going to be here but we’re going to celebrate for her.” JJ explained.

Though he knew Violet was going to be there but it was a surprise to everyone else. Mainly the Pogues.

Violet was back at home, getting herself ready for the party at the beach. “Well this is eerily familiar.” Ron commented, leaning against his daughter’s doorway.

“Except the devil incarnate isn’t here to ruin it.” Violet said. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore. So please try to live your life.” Rob told her. “I plan on it. We can go back to Sunday morning surf sessions, making banana pancakes on Saturday’s. All of our traditions. Especially now that Nick’s here.” Violet said.

Rob smiled at his daughter before placing a kiss on her forehead. “I’m proud of you, Vi. You haven’t had it easy and yet you still have that shocking amount of optimism.” He said. “I get it from you.” She said.

“Now go have fun, kiddo.” He told her. Violet smiled up at her father before exiting her bedroom and walking out of the house.

The party at the Boneyard was in full swing. People JJ didn’t even know were there but all he cared about was searching for Violet. “Who could you possibly be looking for?” John B asked his best friend.

“Uh, just making sure Rafe and those Kooks don’t show up.” JJ lied. John B bought it in enough time to turn around when JJ spotted Violet. Though they were at a party, he wanted her all to himself.

He slipped away from the group and made his way towards the brunette girl. The second he reached her, JJ wrapped his arms tightly around his girlfriend. Afraid that if he let she’d slip through his fingers again.

“I missed you so much.” He said quietly. “I missed you too. Two weeks on the mainland was two weeks too long.” Violet said. “I love you, you know that?” JJ asked. “Yes. And I love you too.” She replied.

Before she could mention the party, his lips were on hers in an instant. They both were touch starved and physical tough was definitely Violet’s love language and not being able to do that for so long, made her feel terrible.

“Violet? Is that you?” Pope’s voice interrupted the two. “Remind me to kill Pope.” JJ said. Violet laughed at her blonde boyfriend before she was basically tackled by her friends. “Where the hell have you been? Do you know miserable Sarah and I were without you?” Kiara asked.

“It’s a long story and I’ll explain later but now, we’re at a party so let’s just have fun.” Violet answered.

And did her friends deliver. It had been a while since they were just able to have fun together without any drama getting in the way.

Violet was having the best time and she didn’t think anything could ruin it. That was until she spotted Rafe walking on to the scene.

She still hadn’t had the courage to speak to him. And she didn’t even do anything wrong, it was all his doing. Yet there was no attempt from him to make things right between the two of them.

JJ followed his girlfriend’s gaze and spotted the Kook he hated across the beach. “I’ll be right back.” He announced. “JJ,” Violet started. “I’m just gonna talk to him. No fighting, I promise.” JJ said.

The girl gave him a skeptical look but let him go anyways.

“What are you doing here, Cameron?” JJ asked. “I wanted to apologize. I’ve been a dick and I’m not proud of my behavior. I’ve been clean for a while. I realized the coke made me act all crazy. That and wanting to please my dad. So I’m sorry.” Rafe answered.

“I don’t think I’m the one you need to apologize too. Violet defended you. A lot. Even when your own sister didn’t. And you screwed her over. If anyone deserves this apology, it’s her.” JJ replied. “She won’t talk to me.” Rafe rebutted. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I will go get her for you. Just, don’t screw anything up.” The Pogue said.

Rafe gave him a grateful look before he went to go get Violet.

“Vi, come with me.” JJ instructed her. “Where are we going?” She asked. “Someone needs to talk to you.” He answered. “No, JJ, I don’t want to talk to him. He’s an ass.” Violet countered. “He’s trying to say he’s sorry for being an ass. I can’t believe I’m trying to convince someone that Rafe Cameron isn’t a dick.” JJ told her.

Violet looked from her boyfriend to Rafe before groaning. “Fine.” She said. “Five minutes. That’s all you get, Cameron.” JJ added before walking away.

“What did you want to say?” Violet asked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted my dad’s approval so much that I didn’t think about how much it would hurt you. If I’m being honest, I liked you. I liked you a lot and I saw my chance to get you and I took it. I was selfish thinking that money was more important than that. I’ve been clean since that night. And I know I don’t deserve to even be your friend but if you’d let me, I’d like to try.” Rafe explained.

Violet was quiet for a moment, feeling a sense of deja vu as Rafe stood in front of her.

“How many times have we been here, Rafe? I’d say this is your third attempt at an apology. And you hurt me and the people I love the first two times. How can I trust you’re not going to do it again?” She questioned.

“This time, I promise you, I won’t mess it up. Not again.” He said. Again, she went quiet. “Okay. I forgive you, Rafe. Please don’t make me regret it.” Violet finally said.

Violet could see Rafe’s shoulder fall in relief at her words.

“Okay, your five minutes is up. Violet, let’s go.” JJ interrupted. “Can Rafe join us? He also needs to apologize to everyone else.” She asked her boyfriend.

JJ was hesitant for a moment. But if Rafe didn’t even try to pick a fight with him, why shouldn’t he give him a chance?

He nodded his head before turning to Rafe. “You try to take her from me and I will kill you.” He threatened. “I just want to be friends. That’s it.” Rafe said.

The Pogues were skeptical at first. Forgiving Rafe and being ‘friends’ with him didn’t seem like something they could do. Sarah was on board with it. She had noticed a change in her older brother after what went down with him and Violet. Violet was making him a better person and for that Sarah was grateful.

It was going to take multiple trial runs for Rafe to be redeemed in the rest of their eyes. But they figured an apology was a good start.

—

The party was well over and JJ and Violet were laying on her balcony, staring up at the stars.

Violet was pointing out the different constellations she knew, thinking that JJ was actually listening to her. But he was caught up in his own world as he looked at her.

“What are you staring at?” Violet laughed. “You. How beautiful you are and I don’t know how the hell you agreed to be with me.” He answered.

“Do you wanna know why?” She asked. JJ furrowed his eyebrows but nodded. He wasn’t expecting her to actually tell him. “Because you feel like home. I feel safe and content when I’m with you. Like nothing bad can happen to me when I’m with you.” Violet said.

JJ couldn’t really find the words to reply to her so he leaned forward and kissed her gently. They had a lot of time to make up for but were stopped by the sound of Violet’s dad’s voice.

“Dad entering the room, please stop whatever you’re doing.” Rob announced. JJ closed his eyes momentarily, at the second time him and Violet were interrupted.

“What’s up dad?” Violet asked, sitting up. “I’ve been doing some thinking. Since JJ spends almost every night here anyways, I redid the guest room for him.” Rob started.

Violet and JJ exchanged a look, neither aware to the fact Rob knew JJ had been sneaking into Violet’s room.

“I don’t know why you can’t stay at home or why you sneak in at ungodly hours and you don’t have to tell me but now, JJ, you’ll always have a place here. And you can stop sleeping in my daughter’s room.” He finished.

“Now no funny business. I’m too young to be a grandfather.” He joked before leaving the room.

The couple looked at each before Violet let out a small chuckle. “Looks like you don’t need to stay at John B’s anymore.” She said. “I can’t believe your dad actually offered me the guest room.” JJ said.

“He has a feeling something is going on at home but he doesn’t want to push or pry. You’ll tell him when you feel like you need to. He just wants you to have a safe place.” Violet said.

“Your dad likes me that much?” JJ laughed. “Yes, believe it or not he does.” The girl next to him replied. “Well thank god I treat his daughter so well.” JJ teased.

JJ felt at ease in that moment. Understanding what Violet said about feeling safe with the other person. Feeling as if nothing can touch him as long as he was with her. He was at peace with himself.

Being with her as she quickly pointed out more stars and constellations and telling what planet was where. It was a perfect moment for him.

A perfect moment for the boy who hasn’t had an ounce of peace in years.

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#imagine #imagines #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron #rudy pankow #jj maybank x reader #kiara carrera #john b routledge #pope heyward #sarah cameron

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fvrxdrm · 4 years

Text

City of the Living Dead

Chapter 6

"September 28, 2:30 am... It's down to just me and 3 others. No weapons...no ammo...and too many skirmishes have drained us mentally and physically. We're not gonna make it... Officer Phillips once suggested we escape through the sewers. Apparently, there's a secret tunnel under this place left over from its museum days. I brushed her idea off before, but now, it's not sounding all that bad. Yeah, there's no proof there's even a tunnel or that the sewers aren't infested with zombies, but I don't wanna sit here and wait to die, either. It's a long shot, but I'm gonna try to find out what I can about that tunnel... Elliot Edward," you read, "Shit. Rest in peace, buddy." You placed the transcript back to where you found it and proceeded in scanning the room you and Leon were in.

It was an office of some sort with mahogany desks occupying the center, swivel chairs pointing towards every direction, some paperworks piled in a stack and some (or rather most) cluttered all over the tables and floor. It looked like a hurricane together with an earthquake and a tsunami clashed and crashed in the area.

"Leon, w-" your head twisted and turned as you looked for best friend and even called out to him when you found him just staring at something on the ceiling, his trembling lips pinned in between pearly-white teeth, eyebrows furrowed upwards, and eyes looking like a dam was about to breakdown because of too much pressure. You went towards where he was standing and followed his gaze. You gasped. He was looking at stringed triangle banners with letters printed out on each of them

WEL COME LEON

Your face began to mirror Leon's but a pained smile differentiated yours from his as a sudden rush of memory enlightened your brain. "Hey, look, the design's the same as the banner I surprised you with when we were 15," you said, raising an arm to point at the triangular flags.

Leon chuckled softly at what you said and nodded while a sneaky tear flowed down his cheek in a tiny stream. "Yeah."

"Come on, Leon! I worked hard for this." You hauled on your friend's wrist and led him towards his room with a strain as Leon's languor held him back.

"This better be good, Y/N. You fucking woke me up and I'm really close to fucking strangling you." His voice was a little hoarse from having just woken up right before you pulled him off of the couch and he was still lowkey tired because of the three-hour rest he had last night, but as much as he wanted to throw you out of his house and fall into a well-deserved slumber again, he was into surprises and was curious as to what you had in store. So, he went along with it even though he was pretty much a sloth still.

"I promise you'll love it." You chortled.

Leon sighed in defeat before loosening up and letting you pull him towards where you wanted to take him for this so-called surprise with a rub of his crusty eyes.

When a familiar door came into view in front of you, you covered Leon's eyes with one of your hands and twisted the door knob, revealing a bedroom with a banner hovering over Leon's messy bed, before lightly pushing him inside.

"All right, here we are," you spoke as you removed your hand from your face, moving right beside him to watch Leon's face as it shifted from being enraptured to crestfallen real quick. You guffawed in a boisterous way at his reaction and plummeted down to the ground whilst clutching your stomach in a joyful pain.

YOU SUCK LEON

"Really, Y/N? This-this is what you wanted to show me?"

"It's true though, you actually suck!"

"Come on, you know you only won in Street Fighter because I let you," he whined. You stood up from being laid on the floor before clutching onto Leon's shoulder for dear life.

"For 20 times? Really?" You laughed again, "nah, you just suck, bro."

Leon narrowed his eyes at you with lips pressing tightly in a thin line and turned towards you, his feet moving slowly in tandem as he approach you with a spurious anger, his hands closing into fists.

"What?" You asked with a nervous chuckle and feet backing up in rhythm with his laggard advances.

"You think I suck?" His voice imitated a dark tone. Had you not been slightly scared - which you hated to admit - you would've busted a gut at how ridiculous it sounded.

"I mean, yeah, it's already said in the banner, dimwitt."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Well, let's see who sucks now!"

Welp, that's my cue!

You dodged Leon's attack by the skin of your teeth, stumbling on a stupid pencil for a bit, before proceeding to run around the house to avoid Leon's "spider fingers" as you call it and making a tiny bit of a mess. However, your luck has gone away and he eventually caught you when you accidentally tripped over the leg of a chair, throwing you into his bed and tickling each spot that would make you squirm and and laugh.

"I still suck, huh?"

"N-no, fine...y-you don't...s-suck," you cried in between heavy breaths and hysterics. Satisfied with your remark, Leon stopped his fingers from moving and plopped down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before he pulled you closer to his body and spooned you. "You still couldn't win yesterday though."

"Yeah, well, I know a million ways to win your heart though."

"Fuck off, Le-le." Leon tsked at the nickname.

"Y/N, that sounds awful as fuck."

"Whatever." You felt his lashes kiss the nape of your neck as he closed his eyes to give them another four hours of rest, your own following afterwards when you heard Leon's muffled voice vibrate against your shirt.

"Hey, you wanna be my date for homecoming?"

"I thought you already asked Lexee to be your date."

"Dante already asked her out, so..."

"Okay, fine, I'll be your date." You squeezed his hand before intertwining your fingers with his and smiling when you felt him kiss your hair.

"Thanks, Y/N. Good night."

"It's 10 in the morning, dumba-"

"Shh... Rock-a-bye baby..."

"You do suck though." You light-heartedly nudged Leon's side and wrinkled your eyes in a grin, chuckling when he returned the gesture with a titter.

"I really don't," he retorted back.

"Sure." You took his hand in yours and gently squeezed it in a comforting way to ease the two of you before placing a feather's kiss on the back of it. "Come on, we still have a job to do."

*****

Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is...to unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names. Input the letters in order of our desks. There are 2 locks- 1 on each side of your desk. Make sure you get them both. Basically, your first task is to remember your fellow officers' names, but you figured that much out, right? Good luck, Leon. By the way, it might take a little work to get Scott to give you a straight answer.

Lieutenant Branagh

Scrawled in a corner between drops of blood on the paper was an additional note the lieutenant had written while he and his fellow officers were isolated and trapped, and it read:

Be glad you're not here, rookie.

"Remember your fellow officers' names..."

"I think that means the initials of my supposedly co-workers' names should be the password to open these locks on my desk." Leon stood up from where he was knelt down on the floor and casted around from desk to desk, unlocking the padlocks on his table and claiming the prize after accomplishing his "first assignment" - a magazine for his beloved Matilda.

You smiled when Leon pulled out the gun he's had since the beginning of his adult years, another retention reminding you of the peaceful days you once had before you started walking right into confusion.

Matilda was a gift Leon's father had given him on his 18th birthday, a few months before he died of cancer. He was happy about it, and knowing how his family had supported his decision on him becoming a cop, his heart fluttered inside and he couldn't be more grateful about it. Leon held onto it everyday, even becoming a bit hesitant about leaving it behind whenever he went to school. And when his father passed away because of said illness, he grasped onto the weapon the same way he did when his dad was still alive, if not more.

"Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, happy birthday... Happy birthday, Leon... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEON!"

Leon's cheeks stretched in an almost painful way as everyone erupted into cheers and confetti fell from the ceiling. Each person was wearing cone-shaped hats and the living room was decorated with different ornaments colored in his favorite hues. His family was there and so were his friends, and oh, how could he almost forget...

It was his 18th birthday!

"So, what do you think?" You spoke from behind him. He turned around to see you smiling like an idiot and tugging on the string of a party you picked up from the floor.

"This," he began. "This is amazing! Wh-"

"Well, son, the candle's almost melting. Wanna make a wish?" Leon's dad emerged from behind the small crowd with a three-layered cake balanced on top of his palms. The icing of the pastry was blue, edible police-related finishing touches garnished it with such perfection he almost didn't want to eat it for the sake of admiring and staring at the cake, and a single candle formed into the number 18 as an emphasis to his recent age was placed on top with a tiny flame dancing around in the air. Leon closed his eyes and wished for the best before blowing the candle, watching as the fire disappeared into a swirling smoke. Everyone rejoiced once again.

When voices had began dying down one by one, Leon's father called his name and picked up a box from underneath the table after placing the cake down where it wouldn't fall down.

"Leon, you're going to be attending the police academy soon and in the next few years you'll be the cop you always wanted. So, as a gift, I give you this gun." He opened the rectangular cardboard box where a gun laid and presented it to his child, Leon's eyes sparkling in delight at his very own weapon. "I know you'll be taking good care of Matilda."

"Matilda?" Leon asked in confusion.

"You know, like, Mathilda from Leon: The Professional," his dad replied. Leon chuckled in response before he carefully took the gun out of its container, still a bit iffy about touching it.

"I'll be taking good care of this, dad."

"I know you will."

"You still have that gun?" You spoke as you gestured towards his firearm.

"Yep, she still looks good as new. I didn't want to break my promise," Leon responded. He turned his gun around to show you just how much he kept it safe like a mother would to a child. Your E/C orbs twinkled in admiration, a feeling in your heart you had kept for a very long time flittering in a joyous manner for the first time since you last saw him.

"Nothing's really changed, huh?"

"I don't want to change anything for now...especially now that you're back here with me."

*****

So, I found this image on google and an idea suddenly popped into my head lmao.

Anyway, WE'RE BACK! I was busy in school blah blah blah. I think yall know that already.

#leonkennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leonxreader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #residentevil2 #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic

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dian-morey · 3 years

Text

The End (What Happens in a Dying Brain)

tw: death, dying, medical (brain mentions, mainly in second paragraph)

Synopsis: After Dian’s fall, what are his last thoughts of?

What happens in a dying brain, exactly? From a scientific standpoint, we know exactly what happens.

The neurons firing, zapping back and forth, slow. But that takes time. They actually did a study on rats, go figure. And they found that after about a minute all the electrical activity surges one last time. After it’s all dwindled and their EEG shows no activity. One last triumph of nature and then the neurons stop. They just stop. It’s called ‘the Wave of Death.’

When brain function ceases, your brain, that magnificent thing… it just turns to goo. It’s not a muscle, see, it’s just the softest of tissue held together by electricity coursing through it. It’s held together by you coursing through it. It is you. Everything that makes you who you are rests there. It’s kinda magical in its own way. Yeah, yeah, I’m a nerd.

I’m somewhere in between those two stages right now. After death, pre… whatever happens next. It’s been less than a minute. I know this to be true, and yet, it feels like I’ve been stuck here for an eternity.

Drifting.

So we know what happens in a dying brain on a physical level, but what about psychological? I’m living proof, well, not really… but proof that we remain conscious. At least as long as those neurons are still firing, however slow they may be. I can see them. Lighting up the darkness with a myriad of colors I never knew existed. And even though it is breathtaking… I have no breath left.

This light show is a once in a lifetime experience. I should be grateful. But I don’t want to see the last sparks of me streaking across the blackness behind my eyes. I want to see my mother, my father, my brothers, that girl from undergrad and her smile. It always made my heart flutter, even now I feel as if it could jump start the muscle as it stands still in my chest. Hope she’s doing well. As I think of each of the people who touched my life, memories of them fill the darkness.

The girl from undergrad, Katherine. She was leaning in for the last kiss we’d share. Just before this she told me she accepted an offer to go to a school in Boston. As much as it hurt to be happy for her, I was. I haven’t thought much about her since she and I lost contact, but I think she was the first woman I ever loved. Is that why I am thinking of her in my dying moments?

Devyn, hesitantly moving his hands; he’s testing out his first sign and then it clicks. I’ll always remember the look on his face. He can communicate effectively now. I was honored to be a part of his journey.

Elliot, sleeping on my couch after a long night. I remember watching the sun come up after staying up the whole night with him. I would have given up years of sleep to spend nights like those with him again.

Sebastian, nonchalantly mentioning that he feels safe around me. At the time it left a sour taste in my mouth. I wasn’t anything special he could catch. Now all I feel is an ache, wishing I could have just been happy he felt he could open up to me.

Isaac, bent over with laughter as he had just accidentally turned my hair bright green. I was almost sick, begging him to turn it back. It all worked out in the end, but looking back I can laugh at it too.

Mazhar, bushy tailed and bright eyed as he opened his acceptance letter. He got his dream job and I really was green. He left a few weeks later. I tried to save face, but he had to have known I was bitter. I’m sorry, Mads… I really am proud of you.

Gem, so young and pent up as he stepped out of the police car. I could tell he was scared. I was too. Mama and Papa were getting older, I was worried they wouldn’t be able to handle a kid so… volatile. I was so wrong. Gem, you aren’t volatile. You’re misunderstood. I just wish I had more time to get to know you the way you’re so afraid to let us.

Mama and Papa, sitting at the dining table so late at night. I shouldn’t have been awake, but I snuck down the stairs to hear what they were whispering about. They were talking about me. About how they didn’t want me to feel as if they loved me less if they adopted this boy. They might not have known then, but they gave me the best gift they could have. A large and loving family. I never thought you loved me less. And I never should have thought less of myself for being surrounded by amazing individuals. I could have been a better son. I’m sorry.

More images flew past my vision, or whatever oblivion this was, all of friends and other memories that shaped me. Some too personal to share, sorry, even in dying moments I have some sense of privacy. I think this should count towards respect for the dead, letting me have my moment and all.

The end of the film reel playing back came shuddering by, leaving me alone in the darkness yet again. But it wasn’t filled with the flashes of my neurons any longer. Just a singular soft white light that seemed so far, but isn’t this supposed to be all in my brain? How long has it been? Is this it? That’s the infamous white light that leads into the great beyond? I’m scared, oh I am terrified. And then all of a sudden I’m not. Not when the warmth of the light encroaches and washes over me.

This is the end and it’s nothing to be afraid of.

#I AM EMO #The End (What Happens in a Dying Brain)#self para #my boy :((

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thelittlestcheshire · 3 years

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Self Para 006: But It'll Be a Long Road Together Word Count: 1734 words Note: I’m as emotional in the club over this as Ches is, in all honesty. This is considered mostly fluff, I think? It’s fluff in my definition of it, at least. If anyone has any questions, please feel free to dm me, but I’m pleased to welcome Clover to the Luxor family. TWs: None! I know, it’s a mcfreaking first for me.

After all of this time, Ches couldn’t believe today was the day. When had they started this process? How many times had they sat down with the administration to discuss things, how many months had she talked to a trainer and breeders and looked for a suitable candidate to ensure that they were setting her up for success? Even now that Ches was finally going to bring home her service dog in training, it was hard to wrap her head around. She was finally taking that next step. All those months of research and working towards this had finally led her here, and she was excited.

She knew it was going to be hard work; she knew that, but she kept running through the list of things she needed to do today. She’d gotten her dorm room completely puppy-proofed, and the lake house and she’d already had plans in place for places like Elliot’s room, and when she dropped by The Driskells’ rooms. Toys, travel bags, the crate set up. Now all she needed was the dog.

“Are you nervous or excited?” Emmett asks her as they drive. She’d considered asking Zander, or Balo, or even Elliot if they’d go with her, but she was glad that he’d said he could go. She didn’t have to drive, which she appreciated, because that meant she could focus on Clover on the way home.

“Both.” She answers, honestly. “Excited this is finally happening, nervous I’m going to fuck it up. A lot of owner-trainer’s first dogs wash...”

“You’re not technically owner-training, you have a professional who specializes in service dogs helping you every step of the way. With how much this means to you, I’m not worried about it.” Emmett brushes off, and while she knew he had a point, she was fortunate to have so many tools at her fingertips, guidance she knew people would kill for, hell the fact she was even fortunate to be in the position that Luxor was allowing to have a service dog in training on campus - that she had an extremely strong support system there with her in the process. Yet, there was still that voice reminding her that if she fucked up - her dog would wash. There was a chance her dog could wash even if she did everything perfectly, and she was going to have to live with that if it did.

But that was only more motivation to do her best. “Everything could be stacked in my favor, and we could find out in two years she’s just not suitable for this line of work. There’s a lot to keep in mind.” She reminds him as she reaches forward to turn up the music. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“I wanted to talk to you about prom anyway...” Emmett shrugs, and he starts to ask her questions about the event as he drives, and she answers them. It wasn’t hard, she’d actually enjoyed prom. Other people having dramatic falling outs wasn’t her business and while she had friends involved in the chaos, it wasn’t really her business unless one of them brought it up to her. She could comfort them without getting in the middle, right? And she doubted Sav, Maddie, or Marcello wanted her in the middle, and if they did, they’d tell her about it themselves. So, she’d turned it all off, focused on Elliot, tried not to panic despite the fact chaos made her uneasy. Chris and Alek being missing was already concerning enough to make her sensitive to that sort of thing, so it was better not to acknowledge it. Plus Elliot was amazing at grounding her, he always made events easier to survive through.

When she got her service dog fully trained, it’d be even easier. Elliot couldn’t always be there, no matter how much she appreciated him. This was a good thing, she knew that. Her doctors wouldn’t have suggested it if it wasn’t.

Now she just had to hope she wouldn’t mess this up.

—

“You know when you said you were getting a puppy, I expected her to be younger.” Balo points out when she comes to visit for the first time.

“She’s only 12 weeks you know, she went to my trainer’s home first, evaluations, wanting to make sure she’d actually be a fit for me.” Ches shrugs, “apparently it’s easier to test her if they’re living with her for four weeks or something.” And she didn’t mind the help honestly, Clover seemed to be doing well with the crate so far. Although she was still working with her on that just in case - after all, it was better to make sure she was actually okay for when Ches went to classes, as Clover wasn’t ready for that kind of environment.

Honestly, she probably wouldn’t be by the time Ches came back to school in the fall, either. But it was a work in progress, and at least she had Luxor working with her in the meantime. For now, the focus was on making sure Clover was an obedient puppy. Tasks, public access, those were hurdles for later in the summer, maybe even fall. Right now the priority was getting the housebreaking down, and the at-home behaviors, before she worked up to seeing if she could get Clover to pay attention to lessons in outdoor dog-friendly places, and then eventually moving up to indoor dog-friendly places, so on and so forth.

“You’re clicker training.” The blonde notes, gesturing to the clicker beside Ches. “That seems like a good plan honestly, positive reinforcement and all.”

“She’s food-motivated, makes my life easier. Good girl.” Ches gives Clover another piece of kibble from her pocket as the golden retriever chews on one of her own toys, ignoring the look that Balo is giving her. “My trainer says we should reward desired behaviors. I desire her to calmly chew on her own toys, and yes, this is what she meant - she specifically told me to reward her for this. She’s technically earning her lunch by just doing dog things I like so... She shrugs. It seemed like an effective way to handle it so far honestly. “Training sessions for breakfast, puzzle-box for dinner, it’s been working really well so far.”

“When do you guys start on tasks?”

Ches shrugs, “the first step is the foundation work, the second step is starting to teach her tasks, third step is protecting her mental development until she’s old enough for full-time work. Fall, I think? But I won’t be able to rely on her that much for a long time. Her brain won’t fully be developed until she’s two.”

“That’s so long, I guess it makes sense though. Why’d you start with a puppy though? Wouldn’t it be easier to go through a program or start with an adult dog for it?” Easier was a word for it, definitely, but as much as she wished she could speed up the timeline there really wasn’t much of a chance to do that. Not with what Ches needed from a service dog, Clover needed to work with her, and they both needed to work with a trainer, and the best chance of success really was with a puppy so here she was.

“I need a psychiatric service dog, and every trainer I’ve seen online, or in person, all agreed that they need to be owner trained. Plus, programs really don’t do much for civilian adults anyway. They only like working with minors and veterans.” She explains, “so here we are, owner-training with the help of a private trainer who specializes in this specific type of service dog. And since I’m so lucky I’m even able to do this at all, my lucky Clover.” She gestures to the dog, turning her attention back to Clover.

Oh no, she shouldn’t have glanced away and Ches immediately reaches for a toy and whistles to get the dog’s attention before she could actually get into trouble. The puppy comes running over, and Ches starts to play with her again as she listens to Balo respond; “oh! That makes a lot of sense then. So you are going to be working with her on the foundation stuff like sitting and staying and stuff over the summer and then you’ll move onto task stuff?”

“Yup! Basic puppy stuff, staying focused while working with me, behaving on a leash, working in dog-friendly locations, socialization, that sort of thing, and the start of tasks but nothing she’s expected to actually do at this point. Like I could start deep pressure with her but not in actual situations she’d actually need to do it because she’s nowhere near old enough but we’ll get to that when she’s a bit older.” She continues to play with Clover, “I’m hoping I’ll be able to commute next year, that way it’s a bit easier. She’ll have more room to play and stuff, less people going in and out, that sort of thing. But, we’ll see.”

“You’ll still hang out with us if you commute, right?” Balo asks as if that was ever a question. For a moment, as she continues to play with the dog, she glances at the blonde.

“Of course I will, you’re one of my best friends. I’ll leave the Mercedes with Zander if I have to.” She technically was already doing that, anyway. She turns her attention back to Clover quickly before she continues. “No matter what changes next year, you’ll still have me. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She can hear Balo heading towards the door to her dorm’s door. “I’m going to leave you two to it, but thank you for answering my questions.”

“Thank you for coming over.” Ches knew Balo wasn’t a fan of dogs, on average she tried to avoid them, and Zander had warned her a golden retriever especially could set Balo off, but, she appreciated that Balo had come over and tried at the very least, even for a short while, to be around Clover and ask some questions.

“I’ll see you later!”

After Balo’s gone, Ches grabs a second toy so she can alternate between them now that Clover had her undivided attention. She knew this was going to be a long road, but she was on the right path. She was just going to hope she remembered that when things got rough again.

#it's so fucking weird not to tag tws on a self para #I mean thanks Ches but Katie.exe is like ?????#musings ( elswood family )#when i'm with you i am healing ( clover )#a hundred thrown out speeches i almost said to you ( self paras )#all of my heroes died all alone ( musings )#all you cool people better leave now 'cause it's about to happen ( balo | zander )#Emmett Elswood

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marlahey · 4 years

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@rochey1010 going back and forth in long-winded replies seems like unnecessary effort for both of us so I hope you don’t mind another text post as I fully articulate my thoughts. as I’ve said before, you’re obviously entitled to your own opinions, but you’ve now seemed to make a lot of assumptions about me a fan/viewer/general consumer of media that I feel like I should clear up. you’ve also made some further claims about the show I’d like to pick up for discussion. If you want to speak further please feel free to respond but of course don’t feel obligated. This’ll be the last public post/reply I make and we can go back to ignoring each other in the tags!

Well i love Eliott/Lola's friendship and i have an upcoming post on that as i said in other posts. I love lola too but i'm sorry i didn't just start watching this show because lola was invented and there's a w/w love story. I've been here for seasons and carried over from OG. I have investment in eliott for personal reasons (mental health) and elu because duh. Their stories have been long running too as i said. And you don't have to be a main to set up a plot/arc. The things between them have been set up since S3 with minute par minute talk, S4 and Idriss, S5 and the cheating perspective, and now S6 and Lola friendship. That is intentional. Do you think it's a coincidence that Lucas talked about pansexuality and eliott having more choice in S5 and suddenly Eliott has a friendship with a girl. That lucas abandonment issues haven't been resolved and are now coming to the forefront because of this friendship? That max has stated that Eliott feels he can save someone from a darkness he himself went through, that eliott himself was sorta saved from the shadows by Lucas. That neils/david specifically stated that this character can help someone even though he has bipolar disorder. That with Eliott's arc there is a focus on his SKAM. That we now have new info about it serving the season. If you understand writing. These things aren't put there for fun. They are there to imply/hint/foreshadow events actions to come. That there is a character now on the show with Lola basically female eliott. Do you think these are all coincidences. This plot we are seeing has slowly been set up not just since S3 but actually heavily developed starting in S5. And that if you now go back and watch S5 you see our main players being set up for this plot e.g dasille relationship, daphne's ED, Eliott and his individuality, Elu trust/insecurity issues, Eliott's art and it tying into seasonal themes, Lola herself and her outlier persona etc. I don't know whether you are but there are many fans have migrated over from espana just for this season. But you have to understand there is a long term fanbase here that love Eliott, are invested in him and have been waiting for more of his insight. We are now getting that and we will talk about him. He's a hugely popular character as is Lucas and their love. I love both and i will talk about both. Sometimes i won't talk much About lola and talk more about eliott, sometimes i'll connect them and discuss their relationship, sometimes i'll make a post about just about lola, daphne, tiff, benny, movie references as i have. But this is my blog and i'll post what i want to post. You don't have to read any of this stuff. The tag is a big place, just scroll by. As for the theories- just theories. And in my theories i believe these characters are going to make mistakes, fail and grow e.g. lola self Destructing again but being her own hero by the end, eliott and lola being dragged down like lucas said but showing the strength of their friendship by the end, lucas being proven right but also proven wrong by the end. Like i said specific dialogue now being used is not just there to fill the script e.g. "and i have lucas. I can't lose this" "i think one of you may bring the other down" and eliott is heading for a rock bottom as is lola. Again just my thoughts. 👍

While I find it odd that you seem to be gatekeeping the skam france fan community, to be clear I have seen the entirety of three iterations: og, france, and austin. I believe I started OG during s2 or 3, and have seen Fr and Aus from the beginning. I’m not as interested in other versions as I’m very familiar with the plots/characters by now. I’m partial to france as a bilingual canadian as it’s nice to exercise that part of my brain; I’ve also studied/lived there briefly and have some very close friends from france so that amplifies my enjoyment. I’m also bisexual, so I also find this ‘only here for lola + w/w’ when you yourself admit to being emotionally invested in the show’s most dominant queer ship dichotomy very awkward. to be honest, I think many skam’s fandoms tend to fixate on the esak ship and their season. friends have seen other iterations and confirmed this for me. it happened with elu as expected so I was really unsurprised when maya was introduced and fandom immediately put a lot of their investment into shipping two characters of the same gender. nearly every fandom in general does this: teen wolf, glee, supernatural to name a few – even harry potter. I’m not really a fan of the romantic subplot in lola’s season. she is not elliot 2.0 for so many reasons; she’s her own person and she doesn’t need a romantic partner to be a compelling character with a compelling story. that being said, I liked elu’s season. I particularly love maxence’s elliot; he’s my favourite even. I was thrilled to see him onscreen however briefly after S3 every time he appeared. now he’s finally his own person outside of his relationship with lucas and I couldn’t be more pleased to see that. I’m not sure how idriss and elliot reconnecting after the attempted kiss falling out plays into lucas’ insecurity or their relationship. it’s perhaps a reminder of his bipolar disorder or the fact that he clearly had friends/relationships before lucas, but I’m not sure how it’s relevant to the season at hand. the biphobia discussion with arthur preceeding lola’s introduction as the new main is not proof that lucas’ supposed abandonment issues are founded in any way, or that he even still has them when we meet her. by insisting on it, you’re perpetuating the harmful idea that any bi or pan person will be tempted to cheat or leave (physically or emotionally) when presented with literally any person whose gender opposes their current partner. this is something that skam fr had literally left unaddressed for so long even with representation in alexia and elliot, and I was so thrilled when it finally came up. it’s very uncomfortable that you’re now using that important conversation as apparent proof that lucas will be abandoned or betrayed, inadvertently or not, by his pansexual boyfriend. I know that daphné was meant to be s6′s main and skam fr wasn’t given the rights by og’s creator. so it makes sense that she/her relationship/struggles feature heavily in her sister’s season. I’m personally thrilled cause I love her and lula is a wonderful actress. that being said, not everything is foreshadowing. not every single interaction or conversation will return to further plot or character. sometimes storylines are just resolved or dropped and awareness raised is just awareness raised. sometimes it’s wonderful and sometimes less so. I understand writing. I’m saying this as a literal former english teacher (ignoring capitalization for aesthetic lol) and assistant in film/tv post-production with an MA in media studies. “Lucas, you have nothing to worry about, it’s not like that between us.” “I know, he explained it to me.” I’m not sure how much clearer the literal show can be about this issue. spoiler or not, it’s been made abundantly clear that lola and elliot are not romantically involved. even more importantly and I’ve said this on my blog before, you’re allowed to have intimacy with someone without forcing it into a defined familial or romantic relationship. it doesn’t mean that someone’s partner should necessarily feel threatened or abandoned and says a lot more about that person’s insecurity than either individual in the friendship. we’ve also already discussed how much I dislike this turn for lucas’ character as elliot’s apparent MH saviour so it’s not worth repeating again. as for elliot saving lola, well he literally did that already. I’m not sure what you mean by lucas ‘being proven right and proven wrong’ by the end, but you’re obviously adamant that something will happen. I have also seen maxence’s interview a few times. I’ll not argue with the ‘lucas saved elliot from that shadow’ because it literally came from the actor’s mouth, but maxence doesn’t say he can save anyone else from their struggles, but help them and I think that’s a really important distinction. this whole saving idea doesn’t seem healthy at all, especially as lola and elliot grapple with their mental health. it seems like people want to see a ‘rock bottom’ (whatever that means) for them both and it makes me a little uncomfortable. addiction and MH struggles should not have to reach a breaking point in order to be considered resolved or cathartic; they don’t even have to be resolved, because they’re not a plot device. they’re a reality for so many people. the show does a good job of not romanticizing them but some of the things I see in the tag are just... yikes. as for his ‘dark’ side and the less than happy elu moments, I’d argue that maxence may have meant literally punching out what’s his face to save lola and the subsequent argument(s) with lucas, since that interview came out just before ep 4. but there’s still several eps to go so I could be totally wrong. who knows. it’s your right to theorize on your own blog of course and it’s not my intention to be mean. I’m just trying to further the discourse in a respectful way. I do feel that you may put a little too much stock in what’s literally said/seen and assuming a lot in the unseen gaps, rather than considering a broader context. to wrap up though, lucas is free to have this (however hurtful) fear, just as you’re free to believe it’ll for sure come to pass. I dread seeing either lola or elliot spiral out, but as 2020 has taught me, I very rarely get what I want lol. thank you @cakepleasee for helping me sort out my thoughts!

#skam france #skam fr #elu #lola lecomte #elliot demaury #whew this is a whole ass novel

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sceptilemasterr · 4 years

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MW Act 2, Scene 2 - Dinner Confrontation

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

Main Pairings: Dave x Sam

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite

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

Summary: Dave, Sam, Rhea, and the analysts go out to dinner for some team-building... and obtain a clue from a surprising source.

Previous Scene: Off-Duty

Masterlist: Link

INT. ELLIOT’S RESTAURANT - EVENING

A waiter, whose name badge simply reads ‘DANIEL,’ stands at the entrance to Elliot’s, which is clearly an expensive, upscale restaurant. He smiles at an unseen group standing behind the camera.

DANIEL THE WAITER: Welcome to Elliot’s. Do you have a reservation?

DAVE (O.S.): Yep, should be under ‘Reyes?’

Daniel glances down at his clipboard, flipping through it for a moment. Then he looks up.

DANIEL THE WAITER: Ah, yes, I see it. Right this way, please.

Daniel turns and walks further into the restaurant. One by one, the group follows him, in order: Dave, Reza, Mirasol, Nikhil, Rhea, and finally Sam. All but Sam are dressed in formal outfits. As they take their seats, Daniel shoots a brief look at Sam but does not comment.

DANIEL THE WAITER: I’ll be right back to take your orders. Enjoy!

He walks away as everyone opens their menus. Sam scowls.

SAM: He gave me a look.

DAVE: To be fair, I did warn you to dress up. “Texas Shootout Chic” isn’t exactly the usual dress code at Elliot’s.

SAM (defensively): Look, I didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes with me-

RHEA: Hey! I did offer to lend you one of my dresses, you know...

REZA (teasingly): Looks like you aren’t talking your way out of this one, Sam.

Sam shrugs.

SAM: What can I say? I have my style.

NIKHIL: Well, I approve. Dress codes are unnecessary and overrated, after all.

MIRASOL: You’re dressed up.

NIKHIL: That is entirely irrelevant.

The banter is halted for a moment when Daniel returns and starts pouring everyone water.

DANIEL THE WAITER: Can I interest any of you in some drinks?

SAM: Hmm. I’ll have a whiskey. Neat.

Dave raises an eyebrow. Sam shrugs.

DAVE: Could you stop being such a cowgirl for five seconds?

SAM (smirks): Couldn’t turn this off if I tried.

As the others place their drink orders, Daniel eventually gets to Rhea.

RHEA: I’ll take a martini.

DANIEL THE WAITER: ...Very funny, miss.

RHEA (indignantly): I’m twenty-three!

She hurriedly pulls out her I.D. to hand to him, as the rest of the group laughs good-naturedly. After Daniel checks the I.D. for a moment, he hands it back to her and leaves.

RHEA: Do I seriously look that young?

EVERYONE EXCEPT RHEA: Yes.

Rhea sighs. Reza pats her on the shoulder reassuringly as the conversation resumes for a few moments. Eventually, Nikhil leans toward Dave.

NIKHIL: I don’t see Rebecca here. Is she coming?

Dave shakes his head.

DAVE: I offered, but she’s staying late at the precinct. Says she’s got a big new lead on the La Huerta case to follow up on.

Sam sighs in frustration.

SAM: We’ve got a big new lead on our case, you know. Wish we could be workin’ on it right now instead of wasting our time here...

RHEA: Wait, am I missing something?

DAVE (to Sam): Learn to relax a little, would you? We’ll get a lead sooner or later. Just gotta be patient.

SAM: Easy for you to say. At this rate...

As Dave and Sam continue to argue, the sound of the restaurant door opening and closing can be heard.

DANIEL THE WAITER (O.S.): Welcome to Elliot’s. Do you have a reservation?

The sound of cash rustling is heard.

LI (O.S.): We do now.

DANIEL THE WAITER (nervously): Right, right, of course. This way, please.

Daniel enters the main dining room, nervousness clearly showing even through his professional demeanor. He starts crossing toward a table in the far corner of the room, followed by three individuals. First is the enigmatic woman known only as LI, who strides powerfully through the dining room with a distinctive, unshakable confidence. Behind her is her right-hand man, RYE, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, surveying the area with a scowl on his face as though everything he sees is a potential threat. Finally, trailing the two of them is ERIS, tense and agitated, clearly uncomfortable in her dress and looking as though she’d rather be anywhere else.

DANIEL THE WAITER: Your table will be right over here.

Dave, Nikhil, Reza, and Mirasol all tense up, immediately turning their gaze to their table and trying as hard as possible not to notice the newcomers. Sam, however, does not follow their lead, and Li gives her a glare.

SAM: Hey. What’re you lookin’ at?!

RYE: You. You’d better watch yourself...

Gazing curiously at Sam, Li turns her gaze to the other occupants of the table... until she notices Dave.

LI: Wait. I know that face. Reyes?

Dave and the others all groan, knowing that Sam has inadvertently given away their position. Dave reluctantly faces Li.

DAVE: Congratulations, it’s me. What do you want this time?

Li crosses her arms, scowling down at the group.

LI (annoyed): I want to have an enjoyable evening out with my friends, Reyes. But of course you’d just assume I’m up to no good. Without any proof.

MIRASOL: Can you blame him? After everything you’ve--

Dave gives her a look, and Mirasol falls silent.

DAVE (casually): Believe it or not, sounds like we’re here for the same reason you are. So how about we stay out of each other’s way tonight, huh?

SAM: Sorry, am I missing something? Dave, you know these people?

DAVE (sighs): Unfortunately, yes.

ERIS: What was that?! Li, can I--

LI (sternly): Eris.

Throughout the exchange, Rhea has been studying Li intently. Suddenly, she lights up with excited recognition.

RHEA: Oh! Wait, I know who you are! You’re Li, aren’t you? The criminal mastermind? The master thief, the genius behind the Geneva Job and the Monaco Heist, the international woman of mystery who--

Her eyes go wide and she covers her mouth as she realizes what she is saying. Li laughs as Rhea visibly shrinks in her seat, mortified by what she has just blurted out.

RHEA: Oh God, I’m saying too much again, aren’t I? I should probably just be quiet.

DAVE: Yeah. That might be a good-

Before Dave can finish his sentence, Sam abruptly stands up, charging roughly toward Li.

DAVE: Wait, Sam! Stop!

Sam ignores him, only to find herself grabbed by Rye and Eris. Mirasol, Nikhil, and Reza tense, but Dave waves them down. Li smiles.

LI (laughs): Picked up a new partner, have you, Reyes? I gotta say, I like her.

SAM: You’ll like me a lot less as soon as your goons let me go! Now tell me, where can we find Tull?

LI (genuinely confused): ...What?

SAM: Don’t play dumb! Doesn’t take a genius to figure out a criminal mastermind might be the one behind all of this!

RYE (to Li): Want me to punch her?

LI: Let’s not make a scene.

The camera pans around the group to reveal a large group of restaurant staff watching the incident. Sam notices this as well, and after a moment’s hesitation, she relaxes and steps back. Rye and Eris let her go.

LI: You people are all the same: jumping to conclusions with absolutely zero proof. For what it’s worth, I had nothing to do with the Tower Murders. Trust me.

SAM: Bullshit.

Li shrugs innocently.

LI: Hey, don’t get me wrong, we aren’t above criminal activity: stealing here and there, a little fraud, a little extortion... but murdering innocents? That crosses a line. Believe it or not, we do have standards.

RYE (angrily): If we ever got our hands on Tull, we’d kill him ourselves.

DAVE (to Sam): Gotta admit, she ain’t wrong. Li’s record speaks for itself.

SAM (skeptical): Alright, then... if you hate Tull so much, care to give us any leads?

LI: Ha! Like I’d ever help out a cop.

She frowns, thinking for a moment. Then she looks over at Rhea, who somehow manages to shrink even further in her chair under Li’s piercing gaze.

LI: You... you’re not law enforcement, are you? And you’re definitely too innocent to be a celebrity. What’s your angle?

RHEA (nervously): Me? Oh, I’m nobody, just--I’m just a journalist, that’s all! Honest!

Li smirks, and her gaze softens slightly.

LI: Huh. Well, you seem like the genuine type. (to Rye) That ticket stub. Would you kindly?

After a moment’s hesitation, Rye fishes in his pocket, then pulls out a small, torn ticket stub and hands it to Li. She holds it out to Rhea, who takes it.

RHEA (curiously): What’s this?

LI: A clue. From one neutral party to another. (smirks) Give Tull my “regards” when you catch him, would you?

RHEA: Oh! Wow, uh, thanks-

Li, Rye, and Eris turn to continue toward their table. As they walk away, Li turns back toward the group, gazing at Dave.

LI: Reyes. Tread carefully. Tull ain’t just some psychopath. The people he runs with... This is bigger than you realize.

Li continues walking toward her table.

DAVE: Wait! Li, what do you mean? What’s--

LI (firmly): This conversation is over.

Dave turns back toward the others at his table, shrugging. Sam looks curiously at Rhea.

SAM: What is it? What’d she give you?

Rhea holds the ticket stub out, and everyone leans in to get a closer look.

RHEA: I’m not sure... but it might help us find Tull.

_______________________

Next: Technicality

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

MW Tag List: @griselda1121

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stardew-imagines-me · 5 years

Note

That was quite fast, I hope this settles down. But I do like to ask something last minute, so here it goes! Can I ask something for Alex, or someone else if you prefer. Maybe him finally feeling like he is nothing like his father, and seeing his s/o and his kid(s) as proof of his realization? Hope you take it easy! :D

This is really long but jiodwoiehdiowe I loved this prompt so much!!

It took a long time to get to this point; Alex being able to watch his family run around the farm, dodging large spurts of water that whipped from the hose that you had grasped between your hands, yelling loudly at your children who clutched at their sides laughing. Teenagers, children. Sometimes he’d lay awake at night just thinking about the events of his life, thinking about how much further he had gotten than his father ever did.

He’s had these realizations many times before, but each one different from the last. His first was when you two had just gotten back from a long day of tending to the animals, pulling crops and catching fish in preparations of expanding your home. Alex hadn’t questioned the idea, even if he did, it was your home after all and he was just grateful you let him live with you - he knew you’d scorn him lightly and pout if you knew he still had thoughts like these.

Confidence, something he knows all too well and yet, still lacks the correct amount. Confidence you slowly helped him build in himself, the right kind.

That night, you had flung yourself over his side on the bed, freshly showered and dripping. He laughed and tried pushing you off of him when you would shove your sopping wet hair into the back of his neck - truth be told, it was something so small and domestic that left Alex aching for more affection, more love to receive and give.

Eventually, you settle down next to him, his arm wrapped around the side of your waist and pulling half of your body under his so you two could shield the cold of nightfall. He was nodding off to sleep when you suddenly blurted only thing that had been on your mind for months.

“Let’s have kids,”

You swore you’ve never seen Alex so panicked and shocked before, and it took everything inside of you to not flinch when he reeled back from your touch. It hurt, was there some misconceptions? Maybe this really was all too sudden..

“What..?” He asked quietly. You knew not to take it personally, but you couldn’t mask the disappoint you felt.

“I.. Alex, I want to have kids with you,”

He looked somewhat troubled as you two laid there, staring at each other. “Sorry, this is so sudden - I wasn’t sure.. I didn’t… I’m sorry. It’s just, I see you around Vincent and Jas and you always look so happy, and since we’ve been married for nearly two years now, that, god I don’t know,” You’re rambling tirelessly, averting your eyes as you sit up and face him.

“Are we not ready?” He hates how sad you look, he never wants to make you sad but honestly, he’s terrified right now. He sighs and brings himself up as well, resting a hand on your thigh and looking up at you with as much vulnerability as he can.

“It’s not that we aren’t ready, I really do love children, I always have. And I love you,” His hand clenches slightly as he thinks about his words, “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to be a good dad. Mine was never around, he left when I was young, you know this, and what if -” He’s cringing at his own words.

It’s odd seeing someone so strong, so beautiful shrink into themselves. You wish you could kiss it away, you wish you could tell him he doesn’t have to explain but he does need this, it’s something that’s hard for him to talk about on his own.

“I want so badly to have children, I want to see you holding our kids and I want to complain about how hard it is to raise them. I want to teach my daughter how to play gridball and my son how to read.. I can’t promise you I won’t be like him though, I can’t even promise myself,”

Together you cried and talked about the future, reassuring that everything would be alright and he would never be like his father. Going to bed well past midnight was worth it since you watched the worry dissipate in his eyes. This wouldn’t be the first talk, and you were ready for that. It’s a long road towards healing, the least you could do was whisper gently and circle your thumb against his cheek as he fell asleep beside you.

The second time was when he held his daughter tight against his chest after a long night of laying down, getting up, feeding, rocking, laying down and repeating. It had gotten to the point where you got up against your better judgment and helped him put your daughter to sleep. Alex was sat in the nursery’s chair, just staring down at his precious daughter in his arms when he finally looked up when you had cupped the side of his face and kissed his temple.

“She loves you so much,” you mumble tiredly against his head. He realizes he’s crying when you wipe off the bottom of his chin with your sleeve. He does his best to muffle the exhausted, overwhelmed sob that starts to rip and tear roughly against his chest. He’s so in love with his tiny family, that was one thing his father didn’t learn.

“Oh, my baby,” you soothed softly, letting him cry quietly while your daughter slept in his arms. Maybe he might be a good dad someday, he was already doing better than his own, but that hadn’t stomped all the fear time in its entirety.

“Let’s have another,” You watched in hushed laughter as Alex cried harder, letting out wet laughter and lazy nods. His tiny family was going to grow at this rate if they had more nights like these.

One after another, days passed swiftly and he found himself caught in the events of every day life. His little daughter became a big sister in no time, a baby brother of her own to care after and soon to be a baby girl to follow right after him. You had a good laugh with Eveyln and George as Alex looked absolutely beat at the talk of a fourth child. Perhaps that would be a good pillow talk topic, but right now as your three children played in the yard with Sam’s kids, he was satisfied with where he was in the present.

His insecurities seemed to be put on the back burner as he helped his eldest daughter put on her backpack for the start of preschool and helped both his other kids into their highchairs for a quick breakfast. When they did reappear out of the blue, they were stomped back down when his baby boy would call his “daddy” over just so he could help him draw pictures. The pride he felt hearing his children call him daddy was immense and endless.

His confidence as a father grew with his children. His youngest daughter was co-president of book club in their 5th grade class with Elliot’s son and although he himself wasn’t the best at reading, he would always help her learn new words or phrases.

His eldest daughter was loud and energetic, taking after himself in every way possible. He beamed when she would explain how her coach scouted her out for the high school gridball team, explaining how she would most certainly be one of the most gifted in her team. He might’ve cried a bit that night when you had cuddled up next to him.

“She said I was the best dad,”

His son made him just as proud as his daughters. He was very interested in art, and best friend’s with Leah’s daughter who was another gifted child in their middle school. He had watched his little boy scribble trees onto blue craft paper grow into (still) his little boy who had won art competitions with his paintings at such a young age. His children were one of the things that kept him working, moving and experiencing.

“Thank you,” Alex whispered against your bare neck, ignoring the dripping water from your hair that drenched the collar of his shirt. Ironic considering this was the exact situation that got you two into this in the first place.

“Hmm? For what?” You ask, turning around from under him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Thank you for granting me three beautiful children and keeping me strong,” It was a short sentence, only lasting so many words but the meaning behind each and every one of them was sincere. It took years to get here, but he was finally able to admit that he would never end up like his father.

“I love you so much,” He whispered against your lips and kissed you passionately. It took years, but he found love that he never expected and a life that he never experienced himself when he was younger - a life that he used to be scared of.

It took a long time, but he’s no longer afraid; he’s proud of you, of your children and how far he made it even when his father doubted every fiber of his being. Maybe, just maybe, he had always known he would be more of a man than his father ever had been.

#sdv alex #sdv imagines #sdv headcanons #sdv angst #angst #sdv

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bobasheebaby · 5 years

Text

70 Scrubs Prompts

Yup, another prompt list. Most of these are actually light and funny, though some are a little heavier. I tried to pick ones that would work outside of a hospital setting. Again it’s super long so cutting at 15.

1 “And who’s to say this isn’t what happens? Who can tell me that my fantasies won’t come true? Just this once ... “ — John JD Dorian

2 “Look NAME, I don’t know if it’s possible for me to put how I feel about you into words, but I guess I’ll give it a shot. I never really believed I’d find somebody that I love as much as you. I love you more than anything in the whole world. NAME, I love you more than FRIEND.” “Oh my god” “It's kind of hard for me to say, but it's true.” — John JD Dorian and Elliot Reid

3 “I grew up on the street ... No, not the hood. The Sesame Street.” — John JD Dorian

4 “As I looked at all the relationships around me ... Some that had gone on forever ... some that were reigniting ... and some that had just begun ... I realized something: It should have been me.” — John JD Dorian

5 “NAME, you can’t test love. When I met NAME, it seemed he/she was more in love with his/her best friend than with me.” “Honey, they’ve got that almond biscotti FRIEND loves, so I was wondering if I could borrow some money so I can get him/her some.” “No, you got him/her a present yesterday.” — Carla and Turk

6 “You’ve been wrong so many times that I'm not even going to say something is wrong anymore. I'm going to say that it's 'NAME'.

— Perry Cox

7 “I just took a pregnancy test, just tell me when a minute's up.” “I just put some pizza rolls on the microwave oven; the minute that bad boy rings we're good to go.” “Oh, my god, I can't stand it, 30 more seconds.” “OK baby, don't get too excited, they have to cool off for at least a minute.” — Carla and Turk

8 “So, uh, you going to lunch with your brother/sister?” “Yeah, I... well, you know, I would've invited you, but I already made the reservation for two.” “So call and change it to three.” “Ohh, I'm not gonna mess with that hostess. You know, she uses sharp tones.” — Elliot Reid and John JD Dorian

9 “Nothing in this world, that's worth having comes easy.” — Bob Kelso

10 “Yeah, I'm not that great with kids. They've got such tiny hands. It's creepy.” — Elliot Reid

11 “I love this moment so much, I want to have sex with it.” — Perry Cox

12 “Oh, my God! I'm gagging and vomiting at the same time. I'm... I'm gavomiting!” — Perry Cox

13 “So he/she has a cute butt. Everyone has a cute butt. I have a cute butt.” “You should bring it in someday.” — John JD Dorian & Carla Espinosa

14 “The problem with people who only want what they can’t have is that once they have what they want, they don’t want it anymore.” — John JD Dorian

15 “I guess when you care about someone, you’ll do whatever you can to make ’em happy.” —John JD Dorian

16 “The truth is, it is all your memories, the joyful ones and the heartbreaking ones that make up who you are as a person” — John JD Dorian

17 “‘Cause even if it breaks your heart to be ‘just friends’, if you really care about someone, you’ll take the hit.“ — John JD Dorian

18 “The easiest way to lose something is to want it too badly.” — John JD Dorian

19 “Sometimes in life when you get what you want, you end up missing what you left behind.” — John JD Dorian

20 “Sex is only good for two things. Making babies and revenge.” — Jordan Sullivan

21 “What's going on?” “I love you too dumpling, but I have to work late. I'll make it up to you this weekend.” “NAME’s on the phone with his/her mom/dad/parent, so we're taking five.” — Jordan Sullivan, Ted Buckland and Perry Cox

22 “By the way, NAME’s here but I'm not going to kiss and tell.” “Oh really? Cause I just got your text that said "bone city".” “Oh really? That came through?” — JD and Elliot

23 “You're gonna love it here, sport.” “Get out while you still can.” “Uh...” “Seriously, get out while you still can.” — Bob Kelso, Ted Buckland, and Keith Dudemeister

24 “Ted, what are you doing?” “I like to do stomach crunches after lunch.” “Ted, lunch was four hours ago.” “Yep, I wasted most of my Tuesday.” “It's Wednesday.” “Aw, man! I missed SHOW!” — John JD Dorian and Ted Buckland

25 “Well, it took a whole tube of gel, but I finally got my hair down.” “No one male or female ever cared, NAME.” — Ted Buckland and Perry Cox

26 “Thirsty, huh?” “Helps the tears taste less bitter.” “Cheers.” — John JD Dorian and Ted Buckland

27 “I have to get ready man. I want my date with NAME to be perfect. What do you think about a romantic horseback ride on the beach?” “Ooh, like you and I did for your birthday.” “Yeah but except this time with two horses.” — John JD Dorian and Turk

28 “I am wearing red. Should I not be wearing red around her?” “She's pregnant, she's not a bull.” — Elliot Reid and Turk

29 “This is why the headache didn't go away, it is actually pronounced 'analgesic', not 'ANALgesic'. The pills go into your mouth.” — Turk

30 [She/he sees NAME holding a beer] “What are you doing? [He/she threatens to open it] “You better not open that.” [He/she opens it] “Okay, you better not drink it.” [He/she takes a sip] “All right, You better not enjoy it.” [He/she expresses enjoyment, person A bitch slaps his/her beer] “Did you just bitch slap my beer?” “Are you calling me a bitch?” “Yes. Yes, I am!” — Carla and Turk

31 “Is there another guy on this planet who is that sensitive?” “Okay, let it out. I've got you. NAME has got you. Hold me tighter, a little too tight...There is a good spot.” — Turk and JD

32 person a “This plan is fool proof.” Person c “That is impossible. You two are involved.” Person c “We will see about that!” [Person a and c crash into each other as they try to walk away] — JD, Perry Cox and Turk

33 person a “I don't think we have anymore wine. NAME, can I have some of yours?” [Person C’s narration: I felt like NAME was starting to blame me for all of this.] [person b Spills his/ her wine in person c’s face) “I spilled mine too, honey. You know what you should do? Ask for some NAME’s.” [Person C Spills his/her wine on his/her crotch] “I spilled mine too.” — Carla, Turk and JD

34 “Wait NAME! I have an idea.” “You have another idea? Well I've got to tell you, I'm done with your ideas and not just for now but forever! Okay, are we clear on that?” “It's a good one.” “I'm listening.” — JD and Turk

35 “He/she is not allowed to dream about me. It gets too freaky in there.” “Cirque de Soleil freaky. One time, he/she was skinless.” — Carla and Turk

36 “How often do you make love?” “Twice today.” “Actually it was three times. You were asleep for the last one.” “Wow, that really happened? I thought it was weird that you were in one of my sex dreams.” — Marston, Turk and Carla

37 “How was your first stress-free day?” “Horrible. And you?” “Worse. Let's make a baby. If it doesn't work this time I'll kill myself.” “Not helping with the stress.” — Carla and Turk

38 “Dude, there you are. Two things; First, the aliens are here and they're wearing track suits.” “Oh, that's Nana.” — Turk and JD

39 “Are you nude right now?” “Yeah! How'd you know?” “Your voice is always higher when you're nude.” “That's true.” “It's not weird you know that at all.” —JD, Turk and Perry Cox

40 “You know, I actually like NAME. So, don't do that thing you always do.” “If you're referring to the game "Find the Saltine", relax. I don't even play that with NAME anymore.” [Later] “Behind your ear.” [Withdrawing Saltine from behind his ear] “My friend, you have found the Saltine. Uh, but, don't tell NAME we're still playing.”— Elliot Reid, JD and Turk

41 “Dude, he/she keeps a hug schedule with his/her friends!” “Okay, NAME ... looks like someone's getting crossed off their 2 o' clock spot and getting penciled in for never! How does that feel? Does it sting?” Person B Narration: He's hurting! Hug him/her ... hug him/her now! — Turk and JD

42 “Dude, don't sweat it - It says here that the ostrich is generally a docile creature.” “Thank God!” “It also says their kick can kill a man!” — Turk and JD

43 “Just don't repeat the same mistakes you made with me. For instance, don't speed down the road pretending your brakes are out. I don't care if it got you laid once in high school. It is not funny and I still have not forgiven you for killing that pony.” — Elliot Reid

44 “NAME, I don't photograph well. On my driver's license, I look like Gary Busey.” — Elliot Reid

45 “We have a very complicated past.” “Yeah, I hurt him/her, and I'm not proud.” Person B narration: I'm a little proud. — Elliot and JD

46 “NAME and I keep it superficial.” “Love the superficial. Dynamite teeth today!” “Oh thanks buddy!” “Sparkly.” “Yeah!” — Elliot and JD

47 “Will you tell me what NAME’s fantasy was?” “Nope.” “Did it involve chains?” “No.” “Whips?” “Mm-mm.” “Candle wax?” “No.” “Role-playing?” “No.” “Lasers?” “Mm-mm.” “Hamsters?” “Negative.” “Was he/she a Mexican apple thief?” “If only ...” — JD and Elliot

48 “Why don't you just move into my place?” “Oh, great, then we'll be two losers under one roof.” — Elliot and JD

49 “NAME, what you said before ... I knew you were right. Anyway, I'm sorry I got mad. You were wrong about one thing, though - we are moving forward.” “NAME, I'm thirty years old; I'm single, I'm homeless, and I'm pretty sure I just soiled myself.”

— Elliot and JD

50 Person A “Ohhh, my God, you're right.” Person B “Don't let him/her be your puppet-master.” Person C “Hey!” Person B “Hey.” Person C “What's up?” Person B “I have a headache.” Person C “Take some aspirin.” Person B “Don't tell me what to do! You're not the boss of me!” — Carla, Elliot and Jake

51 “I've never connected with a guy/girl like this before. I mean, even though it's only been two weeks, I already feel like I know NAME better than I know myself.” “What does he/she do for a living?” “I should know that.” — Elliot and Carla

52 “Look, the reason I've been acting so weird and having my friends hang around us all the time is because I really think that we have a shot for something great, and I don't wanna go and ruin it by sleeping with you too fast. I mean, what was I supposed to do?” “Well, you...you could have just told me that.” “Yes, but you're forgetting I'm a crazy person!” — Elliot and Jake

53 “I've seen the Wiggles live in concert ... twice.” “Did they perform 'Big Red Car'?” “They opened and closed the show with it. It was awesome.” — Perry Cox and Turk

54 “What's wrong with me?” “You're an annoying, whining man-child.” “That question wasn't directed to you!” “What question?” — JD and Perry Cox

55 “I’m notifying all my old boyfriends/girlfriends today that I'm officially off the market.” “I'm sure the 'pulse' setting on your shower head will be devastated!” — Elliot Reid and Perry Cox

56 “If there is one thing I have learned, it's that you can't schedule love.” “I think your credit card statement would beg to differ.” — Bob Kelso and Perry Cox

57 “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present, Man/Woman Not Caring.” [points to self] — Perry Cox

58 “If you're worried about people seeing your ass, do what all the other girls do and tie a sweater around your waist.” — Perry Cox

59 “Should I talk slower or get a nurse that speaks fluent moron?” — Perry Cox

60 “Do you actually listen to yourself when you speak, or do you find you drift in and out?” — Perry Cox

61 [thinking] Why don't I ever listen to me? — JD

62 “And you know what else? I quit!” “No you don't!” “Well I'm leaving early today!” “No, you're not! You're coming back to my office to do busy work!” “Fine, but I'm getting a soda first!” “Whatever.” — Ted Buckland and Bob Kelso

63 “Your dog is creepy.” “Aww...be nice to Rowdy. The guy we bought him from used to keep him in a box full of old hats.” — Elliot and JD

64 “I thought we cared about each other ...” “Oh please, if you didn't want to sleep with me, you'd have done the same thing.” “Well, I'll tell you one thing, the last thing in the world I wanna do is sleep wit'cha now!” “Do me right here.” “Okay.” “See!” — JD and Elliot

65 “Huh! I put all those fliers up, and nobody wants me to live with them!” “Oh, come on, NAME. I'm sure you'll eventually find a roommate who's a... clean, non-smoking vegetarian that rinses the shower thoroughly after each usage.” “Oh, well, if you don't, it gets mildewy.” “You know, you should move in with my friend: Anal McLooney.” — Elliot and JD

66 “You know, I've been thinking a lot about us lately.” “Me too.” “God, you drive me crazy.” “Oh, you drive me crazy!” “Sometimes I just lay awake at night, thinking about how unbelievably lucky I am to have you in my life.” “Sometimes you're so controlling it makes me want to strangle you..” — Paul and Elliot

67 “Tonight, I am going to make all of your fantasies come true.” “You know, NAME, I would be happy just to have sex above the covers once.” “Yeah ... never gonna happen.” — Elliot and Paul

68 “You know, it's funny... when I said "I love you," it was an accident - and I never really loved you at all.” “That is an absolute riot.” — Elliot and Paul

69 “Okay, here's what you do: First you say that, even though our relationship is ending, you don't have any regrets.” “Oh, my God! Are you actually telling me how to break up with you?” “You're right. Go ahead.” “If you could just start me off, that'd be super.” — Paul and Elliot

70 Person A “You never explained that U2 thing, did you!” Person B “You know, I've been thinking about it, and maybe it's not such a bad thing that that happened! Right? I mean, things have been going really well between us, and maybe it was fate! I could've been looking at my Bel Biv Devoe CD and said, "I love Bel Biv Devoe" - which I do, by the way. And I'm not ashamed of it.” Person A and B “That girl is poison..." Person A “NAME, look, I just think that if you guys are meant to get to this point, it'll happen... naturally.” Person B “You're right! "I love U2!" Dammit! Why do I always have to say every little thing that comes into my head!? Ugh, I really wish you wouldn't stand so close to me after you take your hummus break. See! I didn't need to say that! I'm gonna tell him.” Person C “Love you!” Person B “Love you more!” Person A “Ugh!” Person B “You know what - brush your teeth, then judge me!” — Carla, Elliot and Paul

#scrubs prompts #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #drabble prompts #scrubs quotes #john jd dorian #christopher turk #carla espinosa #perry cox #bob kelso #ted buckland #elliot reid #long post

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