#just jacob seed ship things

[cullxtheherd]

𝓲'𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 . . .

[wrathfulrook]

Wrathling - Chapter 6

Series Rating: E

Ship: John Seed x Patience Ekner (deputy oc)

Word count: ~4.7k

Series masterlist

Read it on ao3.

“Fractured rib,” Dr. What’s-His-Face said at her gasp of pain, while he gently palpated her sides. He’d introduced himself to her, but she didn’t care to commit his name to memory.

Scribbling something down on a legal pad, he addressed Jacob. “Normally I wouldn’t suggest bed rest for a fractured rib. But, with the other wounds and contusions, I think she should spend two or three days in bed, minimum, maybe up to a week.”

Jacob nodded pensively, showing a level of interest Patience found surprising. “Does she need to wear a compression wrap?”

“No.” She doctor shook his head. “It could do more harm than good by restricting her breathing. She should ice her rib every few hours for the next couple days, as well as any of the more painful bruises. The wound should be cleaned, and its bandage should be changed daily,” he said, gesturing to the stab wound on her thigh. “More often, if needed. Watch for any signs of infection, including fever. Practice standard care for the new tattoo.”

Jacob nodded along with every new instruction. “Should the pain become unmanageable or interfere with her sleep, give her one of these pills. Just don’t overdo it. They can be habit-forming.”

The doctor ripped the note from the pad and passed it to Jacob, along with a small orange bottle of pills. Aside from when he’d first introduced himself, he had ignored Patience the entire time she’d been in the infirmary. She’d never felt more like a pet at a veterinarian, and she’d actually been treated by a veterinarian before. She wasn’t sure if he just had a terrible bedside manner or if it was just because Jacob was there.

Folding the note and tucking it into his pocket, the Herald turned to Patience and asked, “Can you walk, or do I need to carry you?”

She scoffed indignantly, despite the fact that walking was actually incredibly difficult and painful. She’d rather fall flat on her ass than let Jacob Seed carry her around. She only hoped that wherever she was to be kept was close by.

As she hobbled down the hall, she let Jacob help hold her upright, only because she had no other option. He slowed as they, finally, approached an isolated door down a long hall. Jacob let her fall onto the bed just inside as they spilled through the door. She worked to situate herself as painlessly as possible on the extra-long twin bed while Jacob closed the double-doors to the balcony, locking them with a key he deposited into his pocket.

“Can’t have you running off on me.”

Patience rolled her eyes and gestured up and down her bruised and broken body. “I don’t think I could.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have a good sense of self-preservation.”

“Good enough to know I should leave.”

He snorted out a laugh, but otherwise ignored her words. Pointing things out in the small space he told her, “Bathroom is through that door there, but there’s no tub. So, no showering until you’re off bedrest. Record player’s on the dresser and albums are in that cabinet over there. I’ll get some clothes brought up for you. I’ll have someone come up to bring you meals, refill your water, and clean your wounds. Try not to get up too often.”

Patience was surprised. “You’re actually letting me go on bed rest?”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

A wave of revulsion flowed through her at that, and she made no move to hide it. “I am not yours.”

“Well, if you’re not mine, you’re John’s. And I’d take care of what’s his, too.” He smiled cruelly.

“John is the one who did this to me,” she said stonily.

“Well, Johnny’s always played a little too rough with his toys. Something you might want to take into consideration.”

She continued to glare at him, but stayed silent.

“I have things to attend to. I’ll send someone in with dinner for you in a few hours, and I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Why?” she muttered, absently picking at the pilling blanket below her.

He snorted again. “For bed. I know I have a lot of responsibilities, but I don’t actually sleep at my desk.”

A cold wave a fear washed over her. “For bed? This is your room?” She looked around the room with new eyes.

“Sure is.” That cruel smile was back. “Wouldn’t do to keep the Mrs. in a separate bedroom.”

Her eyes widened in shock and anger. The Mrs.? Patience didn’t even know where to begin in refuting that statement. She would never marry him. And even if they would be married, they weren’t now. And wouldn’t a religious cult frown on that? Besides, did he really think he could keep her here? Even injured, the Resistance would look for her. And she would kill Jacob before she let him lay a single finger on her.

Instead of any of those things, she said, “It’s a twin bed.”

“It is.”

She hated how calm he stayed while pressing her buttons, and liked to imagine she’d be able to keep it together better if she wasn’t in excruciating pain. And kidnapped.

Taking a shaky breath to compose herself, she said, “I’d rather stay outside in a cage.”

“Well, that isn’t up to you.” With that, he shut the door behind himself and left her alone, the lock clicking ominously into place.

That asshole.

Of course this was Jacob’s room. It was so obvious once it was pointed out to her. The old-fashioned record player, the balcony access, the red accents throughout the space, including the bedspread she was laid out on. The twin bed had thrown her for a loop, especially after seeing how John lived at Seed Ranch, but it was utilitarian in a way she thought Jacob might be pretentiously proud of.

Patience took a deep breath that, of course, hurt her fractured rib. She was tempted to get up and check the doors, but it wouldn’t matter. Jacob wouldn’t be sloppy enough to grant her an escape route and, as she’d pointed out him, she wouldn’t be able to make it very far even if she did get free.

She considered getting under the covers, but the amount of movement and adjusting it would require would hardly be worth it. Instead, she turned her head, burying it in the surprisingly soft pillow. Suddenly assaulted by the scent she’d recently come to associate with Jacob, she whipped her head back up to stare again at the ceiling.

Three days. A week at the most. That’s what the doctor said. She could do that. Just heal. Regain her strength and get the fuck out of dodge. Rest…

Patience opened her eyes when the door slammed loudly shut. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, the bright fluorescents a shock to her system.

“Sleep ok?” Jacob asked in his low timbre. He strode into the room and stripped off his jacket, tossing over the edge of a chair. He toed off his boots and ran a large hand through his hair, looking at her expectantly for an answer. As if this was routine, normal. A regular domestic exchange.

She stared blankly at him.     

“Slept heavy it looks like,” he said, gesturing to the bedside table.

On the table was a tray of food. A sandwich in saran wrap, a whole apple, a baggie of pretzels, and bottled water. Beside the tray was a folded pile of clothes in that shade of white that Adelaide had once dubbed “Peggie mayonnaise.” She hadn’t heard anyone enter before Jacob, so she must have really been out of it.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head no without thinking, still processing, not fully awake. Jacob took the tray and put it on the floor outside his room before locking the door again. He left only the water and apple on the nightstand, in case she “changed her mind.”

“It’s late. Go into the bathroom. Use the toilet, brush your teeth, whatever you need to do. You need help getting up?”

Once again, she shook her head no. She pushed herself up and swung her legs onto the floor. She managed to keep herself silent, though she was definitely grimacing. Rising to her feet and hobbling toward the bathroom, she was hyperaware of his eyes on her. A few steps before she reached the bathroom, she turned back and spoke for the first time since he’d returned.

“Pass me the clothes.”

���You can change out here.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she otherwise remained unmoving. Jacob acquiesced, crossing the room to gather and hand her the clothes. She took them and yanked her arm away from him, in spite of the ache the motion produced.

 She slammed the bathroom door behind herself as he called with a smile in his voice, “Just shout if you need help changing!”

Patience looked at her reflection, hardly recognizing the woman in the mirror. Her long hair was messy from sleep, but her eyes were still rimmed by dark circles. Small cuts and bruises were interspersed with her freckles. She looked terrible, but mostly she looked tired.

Being kidnapped, tortured, and sold off into marriage will do that to a girl.

Scanning the countertop and medicine cabinet didn’t yield a hairbrush, though she did find a comb. It would be woefully inadequate on the amount of hair she had, so Patience just skipped it. A new toothbrush, still in the plastic wrap, sat beside the toothbrush cup holding a used one. Though it was clearly set aside for her, she ignored it as well, turning her attention to the clothing.

Unfolding the pile, she found a pair of socks and a tank top. The sweater included was very thin and slightly oversized. But it was thankfully plain, not emblazoned with their bastardized cross, so she pulled it over her head. The only bottoms in the pile were a soft pair of shorts, presumably to keep her thigh wound accessible for cleaning.

Dressed in a shade of white nearly matching her pale skin, she looked like a bruised, bed-headed specter.

Despite the hours of sleep she’d just gotten, she was still exhausted. Exiting the bathroom, Patience was confronted with Jacob standing just outside the door. A lot of Jacob. A lot more than she’d ever want to see.

The soldier stood before her, arms crossed and legs apart, emulating the stance he’d been in when she arrested his brother. Unlike that time, though, he was wearing only a pair of boxers and the chain around his neck. Now that they were visible, she could see that his scars went all the way down his body. They looked like they had been horrifically painful to receive, and if he were somebody else, maybe she would’ve felt sympathy for him. As it was, she simply brushed past him and made her way to the bed.

She and Jacob didn’t speak to each other as she climbed under the covers, relief washing over her at the feeling of lying down once again. The relief was short-lived, though, as the bed dipped under the man’s weight when he sat down. Patience froze, muscles tight, and squeezed her eyes shut against the dark. She had been almost certain, based on what he’d said earlier, that he intended to share the twin bed with her. But feeling him slide under the blankets and press his large body against hers was another thing all together.

He draped an arm over her, squirmed around in the small space, and finally settled comfortably. Patience opened her eyes, staring into the dark, breathing shallowly, as quietly as possible, trying not to move. To not draw any undue attention to herself.

But when Jacob moved his leg over to cover hers, his coarse, red body hair brushed against her exposed skin and let out a small squeak in surprise. He chuckled lowly and brought his rough lips to her ear, his beard brushing against her jaw while he whispered.

“Relax, honey.”

“Don’t,” she shakily said, fearing the worst from this man who’d claimed she ‘wasn’t bad to look at.’ She was in no shape to defend herself. “I’m on bed rest.”

The hand draped over her rubbed small circles over her stomach. It may have been intended to soothe, but it only served to scare her further.

“Just sleep. I’m not going to do anything.”

She nodded rapidly, further brushing their faces against one another.

Not believing her, he sighed and told her, “I won’t touch you unless you want me to. You might end up married to John, and I don’t think he’d take to kindly to his brother having fucked his wife.”

She nodded again, ignoring his crudeness and unwilling to refute the claim that she’d marry one of them. If that was the only thing keeping his hands on this side of her clothes, she’d nod and agree with him all night.

“Sleep.”

He followed his own command much faster than she did, eventually falling into repetitive snores, his hot, humid exhalations puffing against her neck. Stuck between him and the frigid wall, Patience had trouble relaxing enough to sleep. But somehow, eventually, she did sleep.

And when she woke, she was blessedly alone.

Light streamed in through the uncovered window, the sun warming her face. She was again greeted by the discomfort of her various injuries, but she was hardly surprised. Turning her head, she was confronted by a handheld radio with a sticky note affixed to it. It took her a moment to decipher the messy scrawl, which read “Finish the water and apple. Then radio me.”

The note was unsigned but obviously from Jacob. She wanted to disobey just to piss him off. But the fact was that she was starving, parched, and in pain. And she imagined she probably wouldn’t get ice or painkillers until she let him know she was awake.

So she cracked the seal on the water bottle and downed the entire thing without pausing for breath. She doubted it was drugged and, honestly, wasn’t so opposed to the idea that she felt bothered to check. Drugs brought pain relief, after all. She flattened the empty bottle and started in on the apple.

Red delicious. Ugh.

She grabbed the radio and, assuming it to be programmed to the correct channel, called out for Jacob.

“Be right there,” was his only response.

Damn. She’d hoped he would just send someone to help her. Now she had seeing him to look forward to first thing in the morning. Great. Patience didn’t know where his office was, but it couldn’t be too far away, as he was entering the room within only a few minutes.

He set down a new water bottle and first aid kit and dragged the chair out of the corner of the room to sit beside the bed.

As he folded the blankets down over legs, exposing the bandaged stab wound on her left thigh, he abruptly said, “I’m not interested in playing games.

Yeah. Apparently not, given that opening.

“Okay…?”

“So here’s what’s going to happen– you’re going to end up married to me or to John. That is a fact and there’s no way around it. You’re not escaping. You’re not getting rescued. This is happening.”

Patience raised one arching eyebrow and scoffed.

Intentionally jostling her while he rebandaged her leg, he said, “The sooner you can accept that, the smoother this all goes.”

“Have you considered that I’m escaping, though?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “I don’t know if my brother talks to God or not. But I do know that he hasn’t been wrong yet.”

She pointedly did not respond to that.

“You can choose John or you can choose me. I frankly don’t care who gets you, as neither of us are too eager to take you. So, here’s what the deal is: You can marry whoever. But if you marry me, I have conditions, as I imagine John would. We don’t need to like each other; we just need to get along in public. You’d be faithful to me, and I’d be faithful to you. I would expect consummation of the marriage.”

Patience raised a shocked eyebrow at both the statement and the matter-of-fact way he said it.

“You would need to contribute,” he continued. “You wouldn’t need to join as a soldier if you didn’t want to. You could hunt or fish, work in the mess hall, laundry facilities, whatever. You would not be allowed to aid the resistance in any way. You would have to be loyal to the Project. And I’d expect you give me the Whitetails’ location.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not going to do any of that.”

He brought his warm hands to her chest, removing the bandage from her tattoo and cleaning it with a damp cloth. He gingerly smeared it with ointment, and she sneered at his hands on her skin.

“I can make it easier for you. I can get you in my chair, condition you to feel love and loyalty to me or my brother.”

Patience froze in fear at his words. “…Joseph told you not to do that. It has to be real, he said.”

“Relax, honey, I’m not threatening you,” he said calmly, covering the tattoo once again. “I’m offering you an easy out. No guilt. You’d be happy enough.”

She leveled a glare at him. “You put me anywhere near that chair of yours and it will be the last thing you ever do.”

He simply snorts out a laugh in response. “Cute.”

Patience just crossed her arms petulantly over her chest while Jacob pulled the blanket back over her lap.

“Uncross your arms and take this.”

Jacob held out an ice pack wrapped in a stained kitchen towel, which she gratefully took and placed gently against her rib, grunting quietly at the cold. She continued to hold it lightly to her side as Jacob fiddled with the tray he placed on the bedside table, opening another bottle of water and grabbing the orange pill container.

“Do you want a painkiller?”

She nodded.

He placed the pill in her waiting palm, and she restrained herself from making a displeased face as his large fingers brushed her skin. She dry-swallowed the pill and hoped it would take effect quickly.

“Are you hungry, honey?”

Her eyes narrowed once again. “Don’t call me that.”

He continued to stare at her, unemotional, waiting for her to answer his question.

Eventually she answered. “Yes.”

“You slept through breakfast. The mess hall starts serving lunch in about two hours. You can have a snack in the meantime.” He gestured loosely to the tray. “You want a granola bar? Nut mix? Banana?”

“A banana and granola bar.” She fought her initial instinct to say please.

He peeled the banana himself before handing it to her, presumably because one of her hands was occupied with the ice pack. She resented it anyway.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom? Need any help getting up?”

“No. I’m fine here,” she said tersely.

“I’m busy for the rest of the day, but I’ll have someone bring you lunch when it’s served.”

Patience did not respond.

“I’ll leave the radio here for you. It’s tuned to my channel if you need anything or want to talk.”

Want to talk? She curiously arched an eyebrow.

He sighed. “The whole point of this is to get to know each other, see if we’re compatible. Can’t do that if we spend all day apart.”

She scoffed.

“You will leave the radio on and you will answer when I radio you. Understand?”

She pointedly did not answer, which he apparently read as agreement, as he pushed the chair back into the corner and gathered up the tray before leaving the room. He told her to rest before exiting the room and closing the door behind him, the lock clicking ominously into place.

Patience slid further down into the bed after he left, finishing her banana and fuming quietly. After tossing the peel in the trash bin, she grabbed the radio off the nightstand. A radio wasn’t just a means of communicating with Jacob. It was a means of communicating, writ large. Had he really been so stupid as to leave her a radio? Or did he simply trust her not to use it? She doubted that immensely. Maybe it was a test of some sort. Perhaps he had his men monitoring all the frequencies, waiting to see if she reached out to the resistance behind his back.

If that was the case, she was certainly willing to risk it, to take whatever punishment he would deem fitting for that. The chance alone was worth it.

She grabbed at the radio and attempted to switch the frequency. Unfortunately, the dial didn’t turn. Of course. Patience firmly grasped the dial and pulled, breaking the cap off the radio and exposing the mechanism beneath. Though she never actually seen one before, she was fairly certain it wasn’t supposed to look like this. It had clearly been tampered with, soldered into the base to keep it on this one frequency. Jacob’s frequency. She flipped the off switch and set it back on the table.

So much for that.

Patience set the ice pack on the table and slowly, carefully, rose to her feet. Despite Jacob telling her not to yesterday, she was going to take a shower. She felt disgusting and there was certainly nothing better to do. Just because there was no tub, didn’t mean she had to stand. Nothing was stopping her from sitting on the shower floor. Maybe the hot water would even help soothe some of her pain.

Once in the bathroom, she shed her clothes and bandages and placed a towel on the floor just outside the shower where she could reach it once she was finished. She took the only bottle in the shower off the ledge and moved it to the floor where she could reach it while sitting. It was a bottle off off-brand men’s three-in-one, one of those soaps that claimed to be body wash, shampoo, and conditioner while not actually doing a sufficient job being any.

Kidnapping, brainwashing, and murder aside, Patience felt quite comfortable saying she could never marry a man who voluntarily used three-in-one.

She turned on the water, triple checking she was happy with the temperature before she sat on the floor, out of reach of the dial. She sat on the cool shower floor, hissing in pain as the hot spray hit her tattoo and her cuts and wounds. The first thing she intended to do when this shit show was over and done with was get that fucking tattoo either removed or covered up.

She rubbed the scented wash into her body and hair as her muscles relaxed. Though, she couldn’t be sure if that was the hot water or the painkiller finally kicking in. It didn’t really matter though. She just leaned against the shower wall and relaxed…

“Rook…!”

Patience opened her eyes to someone calling her name and shaking her shoulder, jostling her sore body as they did so.

“Hey… stop that…”

“Rook, come on, wake up, what are you doing?”

Looking down, she found a towel covering her nudity. The water had been turned off, but her fingers were pruned. Strong painkillers, then.

“Rook.”

She looked up, startled to see Staci crouching beside her, worry in his hazel eyes.

And Patience was suddenly alert, sitting upright abruptly, despite the twinge of pain it caused.

“Staci? Oh my god, Staci!”

She threw her arms around the man she hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Rook…” He gently extracted himself from her arms. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Who gives a shit? Staci, how are you? Are you ok?”

He didn’t answer, simply hoisting her up as she held the towel to herself.

“Can you get dressed on your own?”

His voice was softer than she was used to. His shoulders were slightly hunched. Small differences. Barely noticeable. Oh, but they spoke volumes…

“Staci…” He didn’t react to his name, and so she just nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can get dressed.”

He nodded worriedly, stepping back. He turned his back on her, giving her privacy while not leaving her unattended. She didn’t dare ask him to leave. Seeing her cocky friend so uncharacteristically meek… It unsettled her.

When she was dressed, she cleared her throat, letting him know she was done. He gingerly escorted her back to bed and tucked her into bed as though she were a child. He sighed, as if in worried exasperation.

“Rook, you have to take it easy. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out you were pushing yourself like this.”

Patience scoffed. “Jacob? He doesn’t give a shit about me and the feeling is mutual. And if he’s really that pissed I took a shower, he can get over it or shove it up his ass.”

“Patience,” he sighed.

That froze her. Staci had never called her by her name. Not that she could remember at least. From her day on the job, he’d playfully hazed her as ‘Rookie.’ He’d been the first to shorten it to ‘Rook,’ giving her the name she’d been known by most of her friends and allies in the county. Hearing him use her name like that felt wrong in a way.

“Patience, he’s not going to just get over it. He’s going to get mad at you. And he’s really going to get mad at the people he assigned to take care of you.”

Him, he meant. She had done something that would upset Jacob, but Jacob would take it out on Staci.

Fuck.

“…I’ll fix it. I’ll apologize and let him know it was all me.”

Staci sighed in exasperation as he offered her the lunch tray.

“Don’t. That’ll just make it worse. Just don’t do it again.”

“…Ok. Sorry…”

Patience allowed the awkward silence to remain as she ate her food, with Staci simply supervising, watching her eat, but seemingly not really seeing.

Eventually, she broke that silence, warily speaking. “Staci… it’s me. You can talk to me. It’s not like I want to be here. I’m not on his side, you know that, right?”

He scoffed, like she was the one being foolish. “See, that right there is your problem, Rook. You’re way overestimating your hand. Whatever you think you know about Jacob, whatever you think goes on here- it’s worse. You need to start playing nice with him.”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, is what we need to do. I’m not going to just stay here and play happy housewife to Jacob fucking Seed, are you nuts?”

He shot her a look. It was odd, him looking at her like that, like he was world-weary and wise while she was foolish and naïve. She really didn’t feel a man who just months ago had been pulling over attractive women just to shoot his shot ought to be looking at like her like that.

“Playing happy housewife to him is a hell of a lot safer than being his enemy.”

Staci took the handheld radio off the nightstand and turned it back on. She wouldn’t be turning it off again, not now that she knew he would be held responsible if she did. He took the empty food tray and left, shooting her one last pitying look.

And pity from this version of Staci was definitely not welcome.

She was only afforded a few minutes of peace before Jacob’s voice crackled over the radio.

“What do you want for dinner? Bison or elk?”

Her answering tone was biting, freshly livid with him after seeing how Staci had changed. “I thought I didn’t get to choose? The cafeteria decides what we get and all that?”

“Well, tonight you do. Bison or elk?”

She frowned at his no-nonsense tone. “Whatever. Elk, I guess.”

“Elk it is. I’ll see you in a few hours. Radio if you need me.”

“Don’t fucking count on it.”

[mamusiq]

For Good- Wicked Male Duet

(Jacob Daniel Cummings & Peter Gibbons)

I'm limited. Just look at me. I'm limited. And just look at you. You can do all I couldn't do.

So now it's up to you, For both of us. Now it's up to you.

I've heard it said, That people come into our lives for a reason Bringing something we must learn.

And we are led to those Who help us most to grow if we let them. And we help them in return.

Well, I don't know if I believe that's true But I know I'm who I am today Because I knew you.

Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun, Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood.

Who can say if I've been changed for the better But because I knew you I have been changed for good.

It well may be That we will never meet again in this lifetime. So, let me say before we part:

So much of me Is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me like a hand-print on my heart.

And now whatever way our stories end I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.

Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea. Like a seed dropped by a sky bird in a distant wood.

Who can say if I've been changed for the better But because I knew you…

Because I knew you… I have been changed for good.

And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness For the things I've done, You blame me for.

But then I guess, We know there's blame to share. And none of it seems to matter anymore.

Like a comet pulled from orbit (Like a ship blown from its mooring) As it passes the sun. (By a wind off the sea) Like a stream that meets a boulder (Like a seed dropped by a bird) Halfway through the wood. (In the wood)

Who can say if I've been changed for the better. I do believe I have been changed for the better.

And because I knew you… Because I knew you… Because I knew you I have been changed… For good.

[temyougood]

Day 5- Ship

Soft John × Main!Levi scene from way later in their timeline.

He felt a little bad the flowers were sprouting up now. Winter had to be around by now, and they would just die. Wow, he's been doing this whole Eden's Gate thing for months, hasn't he? He didn't think he was doing any good either; it was a slow fight. Every day he felt more and more like a weak coward, especially with the Whitetails. And he didn’t even want to think about Jacob. At least he could escape to his cabin.

Levi stretched out on his porch. It was getting colder during the day, but he didn't mind. It was better than sweating his ass off every minute. His eyes fixated on the garden in front of him. He remembered his heartbreak coming back and seeing it torn up; now he felt nothing as it grew back. He tilted his head back at the sound of footsteps, his muscles tensing up. He breathed out upon realizing it was just John. The man sat down next to him with a smile. It was gentler now. Levi's body leaned closer to him. “Hey.” He breathed out.

John's hand went to his thigh, rubbing the fabric of Levi's pants. “Are you doing alright? You ran out here pretty fast.” He muttered softly.

Levi nodded. “Oh, yeah. I'm fine, just a lot on my mind is all.”

“You think a lot, Levi.” He stiffened at the response from John. He met his gaze.

“I guess I do.” He chuckled. His eyes fell back onto the garden. “Do you still believe in Eden's Gate? In your brother? The Collapse and all that?” He questioned curiously.

He could hear John shifting next to him. “In a way, yes. I believe Joseph got some things right; I mean, just look at the state of the world.” His voice was closer.

Levi nodded. The flowers weren't fully in bloom, and yet Joseph Seed wished for the world to end soon. He snaked his hand till he found some part of John to hold onto. “I don't fancy the world ending when I don't get to see all my plants grow.”

“Would you like it to happen afterwards?” John asked.

He gave a small smile. “Touche.” He tore his gaze away to look at John. His hand went up to run his fingers through his hair. His eyes lingered on the various cuts and the dirt under his nails; it never looked like this before. “I've really changed, huh?”

John ran his own hand through Levi's hair. “You're not the same one who hid himself in the back of the church.”

His smile faltered at the comment. He withdrew his hand, resting it back on his lap. “I— I sometimes wonder if it would have been better if I had never gone to the services. Maybe I could kill and maim better if I didn't know Peggies beforehand.” He didn't wish to say it, but it was a thought in his mind. Everyone else in the Resistance was able to kill Eden's Gate without any moral objections; some made it all game. Why couldn't he be like that?

“I, for one, enjoy your gentle nature.” John interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe we wouldn't be at this point if there were more Levi Bennetts in the world.”

“They all wouldn't be able to handle that much pressure, John.” He laughed out. He made a fake explosion noise with his mouth and hand motions to go along with it. John's cackle filled the air. Levi didn't know what took hold of him. But as soon as he stopped his laughing, Levi slammed his lips into John's. He took them for a desperate kiss. John began to pull away but soon pressed himself deeper into it. John's eyes closed at it.

Butterflies fluttered through his stomach as Levi pulled away. His lips begged for more while parting open. He grabbed hold of John's arms to steady himself. John cupped Levi's left cheek. He stared at the man before scoffing. “You're still a good kisser.”

[inafieldofdaisies]

Ship edit and snippet | The Deceiver and The Wolf | vol. 1 / vol. 2

“It was probably nothing but [at that moment] it felt like the world.”

Mercedes placed the last pieces she had selected for him to 'model' out of a deadman's closet then turned to face Jacob with a triumphant smile, a pesky reminder to what he had haphazardly agreed to without thinking she was actually serious. "I'm not trying any of these.", he muttered, his frown only deepening when he realized if she had gone as far as to actually put together outfits, she was about to force him to wear at least one of them for more than a couple of minutes. Her dark eyes narrowed, shining in determination, "You promised." "It was a joke." A snort left her at the excuse, "I thought you don't do jokes." The glare that usually worked on his men and resulted in them scattering out of his sight had no effect on her, only prompting her to cross her arms over her chest, signaling she wasn't backing down. Goddamn it, woman. "Just one, Mercedes.", the words were but a bitter hiss that won a smile out of her, "So pick accordingly."

"Oh, how generous, Mr. Seed.", her focus returned to the bed that was covered in clothes, index finger running over her lip as she set on making her choice, "You're lucky whoever lived in this cabin was your size. Which reminds me… do you know what happened to him?" "No." His voice was even, emotionless, hiding the lie. Truth was, he had a very good idea of the McNeills fate - Stella had fallen victim to crossfire while the man whose clothes he was about to put on, had become just another failed participant in his trials. Zachary was weak, like so many before and after him, and the moment he had learned about his wife's passing, breaking him had turned into even less of a challenge. Something stopped him from uttering out those morbid details, even when Jacob knew they were bound to put an end to this form of torture she had come up with so early in the morning. The exact price would have been watching her carefree smile disappear from her face. Just power through it. "Off and the rest, too.", she ordered eventually, pointing at his field jacket. He made no move to undress, "Did you even pick anything yet?" "Yes. Now, clothes off, Jacob. Or do you need my help?" "Bossy.", he smirked despite his sour mood, refusing to let how uncomfortable he felt deep down show, "Maybe I should take you up on the offer, would certainly make all this worth the hassle."

Mercedes rolled her eyes as he threw his jacket at her, and she caught it without missing a beat, "Keep your undies on." "Yes, m'am." The sarcasm wasn't lost on her. "Keep this up, and I'm going to make you try on the Clutch Nixon Halloween costume this guy has. You sure would pull off that cape." His hands froze right when they were undoing his jeans, "You wouldn't dare." She cocked her head, sending another grin his way as she watched his progress, "We both know, I absolutely would." Seconds later, she was holding onto everything he was used to wearing while he stood in the middle of the bedroom in just his underwear, "Happy?" "Very. Now turn around and no peeking in the mirror, mister." He complied with a sigh, deciding to get things over with faster, now that he had made it past the point of no return. Jacob felt her approach before a hand appeared to his right, offering him a pair of pants that were thankfully green. Familiar. I can do this. He reluctantly put them on, avoiding his reflection as she passed him a shirt in a lighter shade of green, then a darker colored sweater. The realization she was sticking to what he prefered wearing hit him as he slipped the woolen garment over his head, and she helped him drag it down over his chest, speeding up the process. "See. Wasn't I right?", her hands set on his upper arms before he slowly lowered his eyes to the mirror in front of him for the first time since she had put the whole game in motion.

"I'm not wearing it out.", he grumbled out as he stared at himself, almost not recognizing the man looking back at him. He couldn't remember the last time he had worn civilian clothes. "Pretty please?" "No." She laughed at his sharp reply, coming to stand next to the mirror, "You look dashing." "Compliments won't get you anywhere, sweetheart." The way she bit her lip was the first sign of trouble, "A deal then?" "Absolutely not." He grabbed the hem of the sweater, readying to strip it off when she raised an eyebrow, challenge visible in her gaze. "What are you afraid of?" "I'm not afraid of anything.", he snarled, "I have no time to play dress-up." "You're not even a little bit curious what I will suggest?" "No." He was lying again, and the fact he hadn't removed any of the borrowed clothes told her as much, urging her on. "I will wear whatever you pick tomorrow." Silence took over the room, her steeled expression and demeanor telling him she stood behind her suggestion, further confirming it with the pinkie she offered him. "Deal, Jacob?"

Blue eyes shifted to her hand and then back to her face, "Aren't you worried?" Mercedes released a huff, "About what? You dressing me from head to toe in camo and tactical gear until I'm blending with the woods better than the goddamned trees?" "Last chance to back down.", he tried again, knowing full well she wasn't going to, that the warning was ringing hollow. "I've been told I can pull off even a potato sack." The matter-of-fact statement John probably would have classified as prideful, had he been there. "Deal.", he nodded as he wrapped his pinkie around hers, adding under his breath, "Am I really that predictable?" "Just a tiny bit."

[desireandduty]

How do you feel about when people write Anakin or Padmé but do not like the ship? Or who take Luke and Leia and make them Anakin and someone else's kids?

Ummmm ok… “do not like the ship” as in never ship them at all? It’s one thing to not autoship and to prefer to only write with muns whose interpretations you vibe with. And I get being multi ship. I have plenty of writing partners who also ship Anakin with people other than Padmé. Technically my plots with Emrys are with their OCs Jacob and Aeron (even if they use Hayden as FC.)

But I genuinely feel that if you don’t like Anidala as a ship, then you don’t like a significant part of the plot line of the Star Wars saga, of those character’s motivations and character development. Ultimately I am a “ship and let ship” person, so I’m not going to tell those people they can’t write what they want or belittle them for their ships. I definitely would not write with an Anakin who didn’t ship Anidala/didn’t vibe with my Padmé. I cannot write her as only friends with Anakin.

As for the second part of the question… sorry but NO. That is Padmé erasure, and I am NOT here for it. If Luke and Leia had a different mother, they would not be the same characters. You would have two OCs. Nurture AND Nature both play a role in the kind of person you turn out to be. Without Padmé as the other half of the twins’ genetics, you get different twins.

If this is something you write (and genuinely I’ve never seen someone who does this?!), I’m just unequivocally gonna say that’s crap. You’re erasing Padmé’s legacy both physically and in the narrative. Leia is Padmé’s legacy as a leader in the Rebellion she planted the seeds for (in the deleted scenes of ROTS thanks lucas.) Luke is Padmé’s legacy as the one person who steadfastly believes there is good left in Anakin/Vader and helps him return to the light.

[g0dspeeed]

For Cappie and Eli - Write about one member of your ship asking the other to dance with them.

Thank you! This took forever, but I had to get it right 💕

Jacob Seed was never a dancer. Nope. He would play along for a little bit, humor her advances, but in the end he wouldn’t follow through. The stoic man was many things–many sensitive and complicated things–but someone who enjoyed a dance floor and the inevitable attention that came with it? No, that wasn't Jacob Seed in the slightest.

John Seed though, he was a dancer. Graceful, confident, but like with other close, vulnerable matters, to dance with John felt off-kilter. There was an insincerity to it, she felt, as if that charismatic man with the pretty eyes and pearly smile was performing some unspoken expectation. Even with body against body, the dance could be sensual on the outside yet feel so hollow within. John tried, in his own way. She could give him that. Perhaps she only hoped that the dancing would stop when the music did.

Which brought Cappie De La Costa to her current conundrum: Who was Eli Palmer? Did he dance?

In the few months that they were a “thing”, Cappie regarded Eli as somewhat of a boy scout. He was wholesome with grit. Eli was kind, compassionate, a bit shy, but when it came to protecting his rights or withstanding pressure from the Powers That Be, Eli wasn't afraid to speak his mind. Cappie watched him argue with Deputy Hudson once, talking circles and circles about property rights and the Second Amendment in a voice dripping with righteous conviction until poor Hudson threw up her hands and stormed off. Reserved, too, in a somewhat paradoxical way, but nevertheless Cappie liked to coax him out of his comfort zone as often as Eli did her with their long hikes about the Whitetail Mountains.

But she wouldn't push it too hard, not with dancing. Why? Cappie couldn't quite say. She could hazard that her recent romantic relationships left her insecure, jaded. She was less sure-footed in navigating what was and wasn't worth trying with her new boyfriend. So why push it? 

Why risk ruining a good thing?

As Cappie spiraled in the anxious pits of her own mind, Eli observed her wash down the bartop with vigor, a lukewarm beer bottle pressed to his lips. The bartender and the Whitetail leader were alone at the Spread Eagle, the pleasant quiet allowing her brain to rack up more uncertainties when it came to one Eli Palmer, and for Eli to appreciate her face under the glow of warm, bar light.

Then, a long sigh left Cappie. She could feel his eyes, those dark, lovely things, lingering on her face. His attention brought no anxiety, just something else that made her heart flutter.

“Quit it,” she muttered as a blush bloomed on her cheeks."

“No. I don't think I will.”

She didn't need to look at him to know that Eli was smiling.

“Thought you said tonight wasn't so bad?” he reflected. “Didn't seem too busy.”

“It wasn't. Just, I dunno, thinkin'. That's all.”

A heavy pause followed. She tried to look busy, her hands flitting about the bar to organize glasses and liquor bottles as nonchalantly as possible. In the wake of her killing that conversation, Cappie heard a small hum and wood creak. She looked up to observe Eli crossing the space, stopping before the bar’s old jukebox. The planes of his face, the hooded eyes and the straight slope of his nose, were illuminated by soft, yellow neon. Cappie took a moment to gaze at his figure, those broad shoulders, a strong back, those taught legs made for hiking, jumping, and climbing in the wilderness. That firm ass.

His voice, a laxed timber made lower by the hour and the mood, blended with the hard clicking of jukebox buttons.

“Who puts the music on this thing?” 

“Um, I think your boy Wheaty does,” answered Cappie. “Think Casey makes him food as payment.”

Another hum, then Eli moved to fish through his camouflage jacket. She smirked.

“If ya need a quarter–”

“‘M good,” said Eli, the found coin slotted into the machine before she could argue. He clicked a button.

A funny smile spread across her lips when a beat rapped through the empty bar, a sort of building rhythm with a snare drum, steady and promising something good. Eli turned around to meet her stare, his head bobbing to the beat. 

“Oh yeah?” chided Cappie. 

“Yeah,” answered Eli, his brown eyes skirting away from her hazel even as he crossed back over to her. His own cheeks spoke of some embarrassment, pinked sweetly like her care for him, but when his beautiful eyes returned to meet her, Cappie could see that fire inside them, burning hotter than ever.

His beer was set aside, leaving his hands free to wander. They took her hand, a silent request to abandon her duties in favor of walking more to the center of the bar with him, his hands calloused but tender in their touch. Her heart raced like wild horses.

“You don't, you don't dance,” she mused in a whisper, the way Eli brought her closer to his body a bit distracting. 

With a hand on her hip, Eli looked thoughtful.

“Nope."

They swayed for a moment, slow despite the lively song he selected. Cappie savored the warmth of his eyes, the shy smile that teased his lips. Her own smile was spread across her face, awestruck and nervous, as if he was about to end the charade at any second.

“Ain't a dancer,” went on Eli. “But I'll dance with ya, Cap.”

“Why?”

The question fell out of her mouth before she could check herself. It was out there, and Cappie needed to know–

“‘Cause I like ya, that's why,” Eli said with a small chuckle, flavored by nerves. “Might not be as good as you, but I'd like to be, gorgeous.” 

Despite whatever anxiety he felt, Cappie beamed. Eli grinned when Cappie pulled away to spin, their fingers twisting so to not let one another go until she curled back against him for a kiss.

✨

And here's the song playing on the jukebox

[kyndaris]

Oh! Bento, My Bento!

After a slew of interactions with less than stellar individuals on Hinge, I started to despair whether or not dating was for me and if I ought to put an end to this strange experiment of mine to find a significant other. In fact, after having someone just talk at me about how great Japanese light novels were in comparison to 'western literature,' I changed my dating preferences to women only.

Why, you may ask?

Well, I was exhausted by men. And two, because for a while I've been questioning whether or not if I wanted a man in my life.

Confession time.

During high school and even at university, I never had crushes on anyone. In Year 8, I was told that another classmate might have had a crush on me, but while I tried to suss out their interest because I was flattered by the fact (although I thought I was toad in terms of the looks department - and I honestly still think I am), I never did get a proper read of his interests and began to doubt the claims made by my friends.

In fact, for a lot of my life, I've been told by others whether or not I've 'crushed' on others. But when I try to explore my own feelings on the matter, I've not thought of them as romantic. In fact, romance is a thing I've struggled to understand.

How DO you know if you like someone in that way? I've certainly never wanted to jump anyone's bones and the mere thought of engaging in those acts turns me off.

It's why I've often wondered if I was asexual. After watching a video where a YouTuber explained their own personal experience, I'm starting to think I truly do sit on that asexual spectrum.

But men, women or anything in between, that hasn't precluded me from romancing fictional characters. And in fact, I've enjoyed my time with many a great digital construct be that Garrus Vakkarian or Riku or Morrigan. Then, of course, there's the fact that I ship any and all types of relationships although some of my favourites in recent history has been Imogen Temult x Laudna, Catra x Adora, Kaz xInej, Arenza x Grey and Tifa Lockhart x Cloud Strife (although, I wouldn't mind Tifa and Aerith somehow becoming a pair in Remake). Of course, I also read some very questionable ships like Jacob Seed x Female Deputy...so take what I enjoy reading with a grain of salt - particularly if it has anything to do with AO3. There's a lot of messed up stuff on there.

So, don't read it!

You've been warned, dear readers.

Still, it was the trip that I went on in March this year that solidified that perhaps my interests were a little bit fruity. Despite the fact that the woman was married, there was something magnetic about her personality and I wanted to be around her. Sure, I wasn't going to immediately jump her bones but I did want to know as much as I could about her.

And when I think about a few of the interactions in the past, it's been the same. I might not have admitted it to myself but during a trip to China camp back in 2008, there was another girl that I really wanted to get to know better. It was somewhat disappointing to know that she was also popular with the boys too, but a part of me wished that we would be best friends.

Did it mean I wanted to be romantically entangled with her?

Who knows. I was unsure of my actual feelings at the time though I knew there was a strange sort of obsession on my part to be a really good friend to them.

But the wider implications passed me by.

I didn't know if that made me gay or not. In fact, I never truly pondered that question properly until now. Especially when in high school, a friend pretended (or at least I thought they were pretending) to be overly amorous with me and I never felt inclined to return it.

Heterosexuality had always defined my understanding of romance and I never much challenged it until more recently.

In any case, back to my dating!

Before I was unceremoniously kidnapped by a group of my friends for an impromptu road trip down to Canberra for Oz Comic-Con (and thereby proving White Coat correct that maybe I do go to a lot of conventions), I met up with another hopeful at a small cafe in Chippendale called Something for Jess before we toured the Oh!Bento exhibit at the Japanese Foundation.

This man, from a purely objective standpoint, was probably one of the better candidates that I'd met. Dikotter (my code name for him) had a good job as a software engineer, was always intent on self-improvement and had his own interests that didn't become his entire personality. There was a maturity to Dikotter that I appreciated and found common ground with - especially when it came to our discussions after we toured the Oh! Bento exhibit and Fortress and were sitting at a dessert bar for nigh on two hours.

Dikotter was a man that didn't just talk at me about his latest hyperfixation or how strange it was that he had such 'normie' work colleagues that didn't understand video games. Rather, he was much more introspective and was able to provide more thought-provoking questions than I'd expected.

In fact, I probably came off as the less intelligent of the pair of us as he asked what I might do if I had access to a billion dollars.

He also respected that I didn't feel comfortable talking about my job and we somehow ended up on a semi-serious conversation about dictators and the echoes of current China with Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution.

Hence the codename.

We had both read Frank Dikotter's work on modern Chinese history. And that's not something I ever thought I would share with anyone I've met on any of my dates. Most of the time, I've had the same discourse on favourite video games as men try to think of something interesting to talk about without realising how quickly they limit themselves by making these things the dominant subject.

So, yes, meeting a fellow intellectual and one that knew how to dress well (or at least not in an unironed shirt and cargo pants) and was good at making conversation/ a lively debate on the pitfalls of socialism/ communism was something I most definitely appreciated even though I wasn't sure if we had any romantic chemistry.

Does this mean there might be hope for Dikotter? Maybe.

As yet, I'm still unsure where I swing when it comes to pursuing a relationship. Do I actually fancy the fairer sex? I, honestly, don't know. But I'm also hesitant to commit to Dikotter in saying that we'd be endgame.

A part of that may come from my ambivalence in terms of romantic relationships but I think that if we do become friends, it will definitely be a much more interesting partnership than I've known with most except on the odd occasion when I chat with individuals much older than I am and who have a wealth of life experience to draw on for their thoughts and opinions.

[reiverreturns]

[20 Question Fic Writer Tag]

Tagged by my darling @milfeivor. I may not have written consistently in months but BOY do I like talking about it.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Twelve

2. What is your AO3 word count?

122,303

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Well I'm not writing much at all at the moment (bad menty health innit) but over the last year it's been pretty much entirely Top Gun Maverick, with some Assassin's Creed in the background just for funsies

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Quiet Promises (TGM) - 418

For Those We Left Behind  (ACV) - 383

Calefaction (TGM) - 292

Attrition (ACV) - 225

When We Collide (We Come Together) (TGM) - 184

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to every comment I get because I think it's common courtesy when someone's taken the time and effort to leave one. I'm a little bit out of practice though (kiss kiss kiss grovel grovel grovel @ those left on read in my inbox)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Blessed Are The Meek (FC5) maybe? A canon-compliant character study of Jacob Seed and his fucked up cult family has no iteration where things turn out well in the end.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't know actually - maybe Quiet Promises because I just really enjoy that ending and it's one of the only bits of published fic I've written I can reread and not want to edit more. If I ever finished writing the last chapter of Swim Until You Can't See Land it would probably be that but I'm just so very very lazy.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I had a tumblr anon one give me shit for not putting icemav in a fic but it was so fuckin weird to get I just deleted the ask. My brother/sister/comrade in christ I am the most niche rarepair stay-in-my-lane kind of fic writer. I am not a popular author in any fandom I write in. Why on earth would you think I care.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I try to write smut once a year when Eurovision sends me into my annual bisexual frenzy. It's not very good (my smut, not Eurovision)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Short answer is no. Long answer is no with the exception of a Pacific Rim/Assassin's Creed crossover which I keep as a never-to-publish deliriously self-indulgent writing exercise to dip into when I don't feel like being perceived through words. I've got a whole Hytham/Jacob thing going that I'm fucking feral for which is soooooooo big brained of me imo.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. I've read fics before where I can pick up a clear influence from my work on theirs but nothing like a straight up copy + paste.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah. I've considered translating my own fics into Scots but it feels like a lot of effort for the sprinkle of folks who might read it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I wouldn't be against it. I did a lot of rp writing back in the day with OCs and I really liked the collaborative aspect of it.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I don't pick favourites I love all my insane children equally. I will say most ships I gravitate towards have a doomed by the narrative / love doesn't conquer all but it's enough in the moment kind of dynamic and I can trace that back to some of my early favourites (Ten/Rose, Merthur) to now (Kassidas, Eivor/Vili, RebelCaptain, so on)

15. What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will?

For Those We Left Behind. I have a lot of love for that fic but it is very reflective of the time in my life when I started writing it (bouncing off the walls bored out my tits under lockdown.) Lots of enthusiasm and energy to pour into it but little patience or planning. I look back on it as an unwieldy, rambly thing. I still do pick at it (and want to keep updating) but if we're honest I don't think I'll ever quite reach the finish line beyond the pieces that are already firmed up in my head.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I can turn a tasty metaphor on occasion. I tend to think I have a strong handle on the characters I write the perspective of and put a lot of effort into making them feel true and honest to the source material.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot - there's a reason why I tend to write canon compliant/canon adjacent and it's because it gives me the bones of the canon to work from. Pacing is a perpetual struggle. My attempts at smut are laughable.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

If it's done to serve a narrative purpose and/or show something about a character, sure why not. Absolutely abhor written out accents though (unless, again, for a very specific narrative/character purpose.)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter and Stargate. There's probably still some 12/13 year-old Reiver fic floating around in the internet ether that I hope no one is ever subjected to again.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

I honestly don't have one - everything I've published I've loved at one point or another for a variety of reasons. Gun to my head I'll say Quiet Promises because I think it's one of the highest quality fics in my catalogue from an editing, pacing, and character perspective. Writing isn't about the technical skill to me though, it's about how it makes me feel and the audience feel, so no favourites here.

Tagging is still dogshit on desktop so consider this an open tag to anyone who wants to do it (but @ me I'm so nosy and want to read the responses)

[incorrectfarcry]

Staci: Hey, do you mind locking that door?

Jacob: Fuck your door.

Staci: YEAH FUCK MY DOOR DUDE, FUCK IT! I’M SO SORRY FOR ASKING.

[toxic-ship-tournament]

ROUND 2 / SIDE A / POLL 1

Deputy Dean Sinclaire x Jacob Seed (@derelictheretic) vs CEO x Arowana (@owo-whats-bliss)

who makes up your ship?:

Deputy Dean Sinclaire x Jacob Seed

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

It all starts with Jacob kidnapping Dean, or having his chosen kidnap him for him technically. You know, how most loving relationships start. Then it goes into Jacob starving Dean for weeks, mentally conditioning him, psychologically torturing him and chipping away at his mental resolve until he breaks and becomes the perfect murder machine; which is when Jacob tricks him into killing one of his closest allies. (Not to mention his initial goal was to make someone deserving of killing him, romance in self destruction via outward force and so on and so forth). After all of this you'd think they hate each other and honestly a part of Dean does hate him but another part of him craves his praise and attention and he knows he's too far gone at this point and the only person who could love a monster is another monster. He's everything he ever feared he'd become and Jacob is the now steady force holding all his broken peices together. Congrats to Jacob for literally making him worse! And congrats to Dean for making Jacob unhealthily obsessed with him and making him feel something for the first time in years! Even if it was possessiveness and a twisted version of love! They beat the shit out of each other on multiple occasions, sometimes before or during sex. They threaten to kill the other's families and almost go through with it a few times. By the end Dean is willing to kill anyone who tries to hurt Jacob and Jacob is willing to do the same, they're tragic, they're toxic, they're the worst, they make everyone uncomfortable and they'll probably die covered in each other's blood. But at least they'll be holding hands <3

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

Tag: #ship: Only Us Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4GDAKjOCyUKxWqw7acgzgi Pinterest: https://pin.it/2WOuuEp

****

who makes up your ship?:

CEO (human) and Arowana (the weird fish thing)

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

They do extremely unethical experiments on people together under the guise of saving them, but Arowana is just using them to eat the people while telling CEO that that was a last resort. CEO is hopelessly devoted to them, both romantically and religiously, and uses everything he has financially and emotionally to support whatever they do (even to him). Arowana is initially only using him, but falls in love and becomes unhealthily obsessed, threatening to harm those who look at him. CEO is a human, Arowana is a god, keeping him alive no matter what happens to him. (Also, Arowana does have a human form, they're just not in it 80% of the time.)

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

None of those, but I think about them to the song "Hakidasu" by Mao Sasagawa and "god, please () me, a monster"

[wrathfulrook]

James Rook

James Rook is 15 years old and has never known who his father is. But when he finds out who his father is, he realizes it's his mom he may not know. AU, no collapse.

Ship: John Seed x Patience Ekner (deputy oc) [past relationship]

Rating: T

Word count: ~4.9k

Read it on ao3.

Maybe James Rook was naïve. None of his friends trusted their parents the way he’d trusted his mom. None of them considered their parents their friends. Until recently, he’d thought his close relationship with his mom was simply a result of being raised by a single mother. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

It was easy to sneak away.

Now 15 years old, his mom had assumed his recent distance from her was just a bit of teenage rebellion. But it wasn’t him. It was her. All of her lies and secrets. He hadn’t even known his mom’s real name until recently. What kind of mom does something like that?

The more generous part of James’ mind reminds him that he grew up happy and loved. That his mom gave up a lot for him; he knows that. Based on what he’d been able to find – and he’d found quite a bit; it had been national news at the time – changing her name was likely just a desire to protect herself, to protect him. That generous part of his brain tells him that there’s no way his father was a good man. If he was, James wouldn’t have been on a Greyhound and travelling cross-country to visit a prison.

James loved his mom.

But the less generous part of him seethed in anger. What kind of mom hid her kid’s origins from him? That part of him also ached, felt shattered. He felt like a fool. And he felt betrayed. How was he ever supposed to trust her again?

~

When it all ended, when the National Guard came, they all ended up behind bars. Joseph, Jacob, John, and Faith. Tucked away where they could never hurt anyone ever again. In the aftermath, her own name and face were plastered all over the news. Her statements were used in each trial, printed in papers nationwide. And so the courts had been all too willing to grant her petition for a name change. Patience Ekner ceased to be, and Patience Rook was born.

Patience Rook left Hope County, left Montana, never to go back. She put it all behind her and moved forward, the only reminder she chose to keep, the new surname she took, her nickname from those brutal, bloody days. Of course, there were other reminders she hadn’t chosen. The tattoo of her sin, for one. Wrath, he’d assigned her. Not that she ever believed, but she found wrath fairly fitting at the time.

In hindsight, he’d chosen wrong. It shouldn’t have been WRATH she spent hours getting covered up with flowers that she didn’t think particularly suited her. No. In retrospect, it should’ve been LUST.

But the tattoo wasn’t her only reminder of that time, of him. There was also the child she’d birthed, the child she adored. Her son.

Hers.

But, oh, did he look like his father. His hair dark where hers was blonde, eyes blue where hers were grey. He even had that same charming smile, the one that had worked so well on her those many years ago. The only thing of hers she could see on her child were her numerous freckles. But while her freckles remained always, her child had outgrown them by the time he hit high school.

Every now and then, he would say something, make some face, talk with his hands in a way that she was hit full force with the memory of his father. Both the horrible things he’d done and those stolen, secret nights they couldn’t keep apart from one another…

But mostly, usually, she looked at her boy and saw only him. James. Her perfect miracle baby. The gift that made everything about those dark days worth it in her eyes. He had been such a happy, smiley baby. Always giggling and gurgling. He’d been talkative long before he learned to speak. Always so sweet and kind. Petting her hair and telling her “Okay mommy… s’okay mommy…” as she purged herself of a stomach bug he’d brought home from daycare when he was too small to even form full sentences, while she in turn tried to reassure her baby that mommy was ok.

Even now, he was her perfect child. Still sweet, still happy. But now his own person. And she was so amazed by the person he’d become. He was funny. Funny in a way she never was. And so clever. Amazing grades as well as a quick wit… Patience loved her child and she knew how much he loved her too.

Even despite how he’d recently been pulling away.

~

James wondered how many signs he’d missed over the course of his life. How obvious it should have been. His mom had always told him she didn’t know who his father was. He recalled once, in one of his earliest memories, that she’d told him she chose his name because she’d always liked it, but also because she thought his father would like it too.

He’d asked her about it later, and she said that she’d never said it. And he believed her. He was so little at the time; it could’ve easily been a false memory. He still wasn’t sure it wasn’t. After all, he had a memory from around the same time of flapping his arms and flying like a bird throughout the house, and that memory felt equally as real.

But whether or not she’d told him his father would like his name, she knew. His mom knew who his dad was the whole time. Because he looked exactly like one of them. The Seeds. The cult leaders. He couldn’t know which was his father, but one of them was. He looked exactly like John Seed. The Baptist. The sadistic monster who tortured and murdered and starved innocent people. Just reading about his crimes had been enough to give James nightmares for a week.

He didn’t know whether or not that man that was his father, but he was related to him. There was no way he wasn’t. He’d been able to find some footage of the court proceedings against him, and it filled his stomach with an uncanny dread. Like watching an older version of himself. The same smile he saw every day in the mirror, the same gestures, speaking with his hands in the same way James did. Even his voice sounded familiar. Not the same, but certainly not very different from the way James sounded to himself in videos.

If John Seed wasn’t his father, he was at least his uncle. One of those men – John, Joseph, or Jacob – was his dad. His mother, the woman regarded nationally as a hero, the deputy who brought the cult to justice, had had a child with one of the cult’s leaders.

James had spent the past weeks learning everything he could about the Project at Eden’s Gate. And he was horrified at the thought that his mom would ever willingly have any sort of relationship with any of those men. He almost hoped she hadn’t. But if one of those men was his father, and his mom had in fact not been voluntarily involved with any of them… No. James couldn’t stomach the thought of that either.

No matter what the circumstances were back then, the situation now was that James had told his mom he was spending the long weekend camping with a friend’s family, when in reality he was on a bus to Montana to meet the man who might be his dad.

It had been surprisingly easy to contact John Seed. Apparently, you could write a letter to anyone as long as you knew their name and which prison they were at. James’ first letter hadn’t received a response. Probably because he had intentionally been a bit light on the details. Eventually he’d tried again, this time including his mom’s former name and, after much mental back-and-forth, a photo of himself.

And that had received a response.

John Seed had written back, though he didn’t say much. And via snail mail, they had arranged to meet. John Seed had even offered to fund the excursion, but James had declined, instead saving his allowance and taking small amounts from his mom’s purse every now and then, little enough each time not to be noticed.

He’d never stolen before, and he didn’t feel good about it now. But James liked to think himself honorable, and he would find a way to pay his mom back every cent he’d taken once he’d figured out who his dad was.

And hopefully John Seed could tell him.

~

Patience wasn’t nearly as obtuse as her son thought. Oh, how she sometimes missed those simple days when he believed she knew everything.

No, Patience knew that James had something going on. She didn’t know what it was, but she had a few ideas. As a mother, she had quite a few worst fears – drugs, alcohol, vaping… But those were just fears. James was a smart boy. He knew better than to get involved in something like that. Plus, he’d been exhibiting no signs of substance abuse. He was just suddenly more secretive and private than before. She had a more realistic suspicion than drugs.

Sex.

She feared her baby boy had become sexually active. 15 was so, so young for that. Patience had never even been kissed until she was 19. She’d been a little awkward growing up, a bit of an ugly duckling. Not James, though. Yet another way he took after his father. He’d always been a cute boy. Her son had taken a girl to the middle school dance. Kids had had crushes on him his whole life. He’d already had three “girlfriends” in his young life.

And so, what if his recent distance was a result of him starting to have sex?

Moms were meant to worry after their children, and Patience was no exception to that rule. But she’d always tried to be open, honest, and educational about sex. He should know enough, be responsible enough, to do what he was ready to when he was ready to. And inform her when he was ready for her to know. After all, a child asking where babies come from while only having one parent… James had been aware of the concept of sex from a very early age, especially with her claiming not to know who his father was.

Patience sometimes felt like she should feel guilty about lying to her son about something so serious as his parentage. Especially because that one lie involved a million more. James didn’t know about her time as a deputy. He didn’t even know she’d ever lived in Montana. He didn’t know their family name was actually Ekner. There were a lot of tiny lies that went into covering up who his father was. But she didn’t feel bad. Not even a little.

Because she was keeping her baby safe. Safe from publicity. Safe from her past. And safe from John Seed.

~

James had never felt more out of his element than when he was checking in as a visitor at the prison. That is, until about twenty minutes later when he was sitting across the table from John Seed.

John Seed wore a beige correctional jumpsuit and his hands were cuffed to the table, which James hadn’t been expecting. Despite this, the man seemed completely at ease. He was well-coiffed, his salt and pepper hair slicked back, his facial hair neatly trimmed, and the crows feet around his eyes creasing when he smiled genially at him. He had clearly aged in the past 15 years since the news coverage James had found, but he was certainly recognizable, and still eerily familiar.

“So, you’re the deputy’s son… It’s nice to meet you, James.”

“Nice to meet you…” James floundered on what to call the man across from him. John? Mr. Seed? He opted to let the sentence dangle awkwardly.

“You can call me John.”

James nodded. “John.”

“I’m assuming you have many questions for me.” John dove right into it and James felt a bit flustered. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, though, and doubted anything would seem normal in a situation like this.

After a brief pause, he spoke. “Yes… Like I wrote in my letters. I think you or one of your brothers may be my father and I-“ James swallowed uncomfortably, a too-obvious tactic to buy time to build courage. “I was wondering if you knew who my father was.”

John smiled. The smile seemed friendly on the surface, but there was something in his eyes that James couldn’t place.

“I am. I’m your father.”

James nodded, surprised that he didn’t feel surprised. Logically, he knew it could have been any of the brothers. Logically, he knew that it was likely his close resemblance to the man across from him that made him feel any sort of connection. But the moment John confirmed it, he realized he’d known. He felt, somewhere deep inside of himself, that John Seed was his dad.

“So… you and my mom…?” James let himself trail off, not really sure what he was asking, or how he should ask it.

John nodded, one eyebrow raised, as if impressed by the audacity of the unspoken question. “Yes. We were involved. In secret, of course. We met up more than a few times, none of which were terribly romantic.”

James understood the implication and asked no follow up questions. John and his mother hadn’t been in love. They weren’t dating. They just… were. James didn’t love the idea of his mom being some guy’s late night booty call and didn’t particularly want to think about it. But at the same time, he’d spent his whole life believing his mom didn’t even know who his father was, so it wasn’t exactly an unbelievable idea.

“Is she well, your mother?”

James nodded.

“And where does she think you are right now?”

James blinked in surprise. “How-?”

John laughed, not unkindly. “She’d never let you come here. Not in a million years. Not to see me.”

James didn’t like the emphasis he’d put on the word “me,” some red flag going off somewhere in the back of his mind.

“She thinks I’m at a friend’s.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes when he spoke. “No, she doesn’t.”

James didn’t know what to say to that.

“Tell me, James, have you been raised in the faith?”

“I- what faith?” Surely John knew his mother never subscribed to the cult’s beliefs.

He shrugged. “Any faith.”

He shook his head no. “No. We’re not religious.”

John just hummed contemplatively but didn’t look surprised. Nor did he look surprised at the next, sudden question.

“Did you know about me?” He hadn’t even known he was going to ask the question until it was out, tumbling past his lips.

For the first time since his arrival, John’s face lost all traces of humor, of ease, of amiability. His eyes, the same eyes James saw every day in the mirror, bored into his own.

“No. No, I never had any idea. If I had known I had a child, I’d have been there for you. For her.”

James doubted that very much. Not because he doubted John; he had no idea whether he meant that or not. He doubted it because, even if he wasn’t locked away behind bars for the rest of his life, he knew his mother would never let this man near them. That’s something he would have known even before he found out just what his mother was capable of, what she’d done in Hope County. More than he trusted that the sun would rise tomorrow, he trusted that his mom would do anything and everything in her power and beyond to keep him away from any perceived threat.

And he knew his mom considered John Seed a threat.

John brushed past the serious moment easily, that same easy smile sliding back into place. “Tell me about yourself, James. A father should know some things about his son, don’t you think?”

James warily nodded. “…Like what?”

“Anything. Everything. What classes are you in? Do you have any hobbies? You’re 15, right? When is your birthday?”

“Uh- yeah. 15. I’m a sophomore. My birthday is June 21st.”

Though his facial expression didn’t change, James knew he was doing the mental math. And given that he didn’t say anything about it, the math clearly checked out.

“Are you driving?” John asked.

James shook his head no. “No. All the summer birthdays have driver’s ed in the spring semester. I have my permit, but mom’s only taken me out driving once, in a parking lot. I didn’t do very well, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. It’s like anything else – you just need practice.” John smiled kindly, and James could almost forget the horrible crimes he was convicted of. In fact, if he wasn’t wearing the khaki jumpsuit, he was sure he would’ve let himself. “And what about school? How’s school? Your grades?”

“Fine. As and Bs, mostly. I’m taking all the regular classes. And my electives this semester are Spanish, debate, and study hall.”

“Debate? How are you enjoying that?”

James shrugged, uncomfortable bragging about himself. “It’s fun.” He left out that he was captain of the underclassmen debate team.

“And Spanish is an elective?” John asked in an interested voice. “Does your school not have a language requirement?”

“No, it does. Two years. But I want to take Spanish for all four. I just meant, I’m taking Spanish as opposed to French or German.”

John nodded. “That’s a very intelligent choice. Does your mother help you with your Spanish studies?”

James nodded, a bit taken aback that John knew his mom spoke Spanish. It wasn’t like she spoke it often. He was surprised it came up in their time together. “Yeah, sometimes. When I was first learning last year, she labelled everything in the house. And she’ll speak to me in Spanish sometimes when I want to practice.”

“She sounds like a wonderful mother.” John spoke softly, kindly, genuinely pleased.

“She’s the best.”

~

James had returned when he said he would, but he was very light on the details. When she’d asked how camping had been, all he said was “fine.” But she knew he hadn’t gone camping. She’d called the parents of the family he claimed to be camping with, and they were home.

James was lying.

Would he really lie about spending the whole weekend with a girl? He never used to lie to her.

Patience had gone out and purchased condoms, dental dams, and a few other small but useful things and left them in the top drawer of James’ bathroom. She considered leaving him a note, assuring him they didn’t need to talk about it if he didn’t want to, but eventually decided that leaving no note would convey the same message.

She was fairly certain she had James’ sudden secrecy figured out until a few days after his return. James had just gotten on the bus for school, and she was about to head to work. She pulled out her phone to check her banking app, debating the financial pros and cons of stopping for a coffee on the way.

She froze.

She double-checked that the name at the top of the account was hers. Then triple-checked. It was. She went into her checking account, to see where the staggering windfall of cash had come from.

And then she threw up.

~

James couldn’t focus at all. He hadn’t taken a single note, hadn’t read anything his teachers wrote on the board. He’d even been called on in government class, but he hadn’t even heard the question. His mind was elsewhere. Back in a Montana correctional facility with his dad.

His dad who was friendly, who missed flying his planes, who wished his siblings were housed in the same facility. His dad told him what each of the small tattoos on his hand meant, who laughed kindly when James clarified the latest teen slang he’d used, who promised to keep in touch and had already kept his word – a letter had arrived in his secret PO box just yesterday.

The same dad who was and remained a religious extremist, who’d used his legal knowledge to cheat people out of their homes and businesses, who’d cut off food supply to the Holland Valley. The same dad who’d tortured people, who’d skinned people, who’d murdered people.

James thought that meeting his dad would clear things up, but he’d never felt muddier…

~

John had aged well in the intervening 16 years. He had lines around his eyes, and his hair and beard had gone salt-and-pepper, but it worked. He looked just as good, if not better, than he had when she last saw him. How was it possible to age so well in prison? It hardly seemed fair.

He smiled at her from across the table, with that same charming smile and those sparkling white teeth. “Deputy. What a wonderful surprise.”

Patience glared at him. “Cut the shit and don’t call me that.”

“Patience Ekner.” The smile didn’t leave his face. “Or Rook, now, isn’t it? Cute.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you find this amusing, truly, but I actually need to speak with you.” They fell back into their old banter so easily that it startled her.

John leaned easily, comfortably, back in the cold metal chair. He nodded for her to continue.

“What the hell is that money?”

“It’s for my son,” he answered easily. Too easily. As if it were the most normal, natural statement in the world.

Patience had to restrain herself from leaping across the table and throttling him like she should’ve all those years ago.

“My son!”

All the mirth drained from his features and she was faced with the stony, terrifying look that lingered in the nightmares of so many Hope County residents.

“Our son. That you hid from me for 16 years.”

“He’s 15.”

“Pregnancy, dear. Also hidden.”

“And for good fucking reason!”

He scoffed. “I don’t think there’s any reason good enough to keep a father from his son. And James agrees with me.”

If looks could kill… well, John would’ve been dead long before he got her pregnant. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you even say his name.”

“Why not? It’s a perfectly good name. Strong, masculine, Biblical. I’m pleasantly surprised. I’d have expected you to name a child Björn or something ridiculous like that.”

Patience rolled her eyes. “Believe it or not, John, your opinion didn’t actually factor into what I named my child.”

He smiled softly. “Yes, it did.”

“John, I am only here to tell you to leave us alone. And to take your money back. I don’t need it.”

“It isn’t just for you. It’s for James.” How calmly he spoke did nothing but piss her off even further. “I’m assuming you didn’t react well when James told you he’d visited me.”

Patience stayed silent and John grinned as she fell into the obvious trap.

“Oh…?” His tone was thick with blatantly-faux surprise. “He didn’t tell you? And I suppose you didn’t tell him you were here now?”

She remained silent, glaring.

“Interesting. It seems you’re both talking more to me than to each other.”

“Stop it. Just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

John shrugged. “I can leave you alone, yes, but if James wants a relationship with me, I have no interest in denying him.”

As Patience left, she heard him call out to her back, “You still look wonderful, Deputy!”

~

James heard his mother slam her bag down onto the table first thing when she came home. He walked into the kitchen to greet her.

“Bad business trip?”

His mom looked at him with a look he couldn’t place, one he’d never seen before.

“…Mom?”

“I wasn’t on a work trip, James. I was in Montana.”

Oh. That was the look. She knew. Of course she knew. James had never lied to his mom and he was apparently not very good at it. Not like her. He tried to quash down the unkind thought.

He also tried to quash down his initial impulse to apologize. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Well- at least, looking into this and contacting his dad wasn’t wrong. And he wasn’t going to apologize for that. The stealing and the sneaking off to Montana… that might warrant an apology.

“James…” Then his mom was rushing towards him, taking him into her arms, holding him so tightly she was practically crushing him.

And then he was hugging her back.

“How? How did you find this out?”

James sighed. “I was doing a Wikipedia deep dive on cults…”

His mom raised one eyebrow, perplexed. “Why were you doing that?”

He felt his face redden as he thought about Millie from geometry class. But he explained nonetheless, “My friend Millie is into true crime. She was interested in Jonestown, so I just… did a little research.”

He nearly jumped, he was so startled when his mom burst into raucous laughter. Seeing the look on his face, she tried to pull herself together.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry; it’s not funny. Just, that we got into this mess so you could impress a girl!” She laughed again and kissed his forehead. “Oh, you are so my son…”

James grinned at the joke.

“So. How did you realize?”

“I look like him.”

She nodded. “You really, really do.”

“I saw some videos of some of the trial.”

She nodded again, squeezing his arm in support. “That must have been hard.”

“I saw lots of interviews with you, too. Ekner?”

“Yes, Ekner,” she smiled kindly. “That was my grandpa’s name. It’s Swedish.”

James nervously chewed his lip, in much the same way his mom often did. “Yeah. You look Swedish.” He paused. “I don’t.”

“No. You don’t. I don’t know where John’s family is originally from.”

They were silent for a long moment until he finally spoke again. “Why?”

“Why what, honey?”

“Him.”

“Oh.” His mom looked down, as if gathering strength. And then she was honest with him. Truly honest. “You have to understand, it was like the world was ending. Not like the Peggies thought – that’s what we called the cultists, Peggies. Not literally, like them. But like the world as I knew it was ending. We had no phone, no TV, no internet. I was the last law enforcement officer left, and I wasn’t enforcing any laws. I was just trying to save people where I could.

“Everyone was armed. And everyone was using their arms. There was no food. I went hungry a lot. Hunted and fished when I could. My home, along with lots of others, had been burned down. I slept in abandoned cabins, unoccupied bunkers, and in trees stands. People were trying to kill me and I killed people. Always in defense of myself or others, but I’ve taken lives.

“I never thought I’d see a day where I could check the news on my phone, drive to work, go out to eat with friends, go on a walk unarmed… It was a completely different world. It was a war. Horrifying. The things I saw… well, I’m sure you read about them.”

James nodded. “I saw some pictures.”

He was once again pulled into his mom’s arms. “I’m so sorry, James. I never wanted you to see anything like that. I’m sorry you had to. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I want- Just keep going.”

“Ok.” She nodded and continued, “It was basically the end of the world. And in spite of everything he was doing, he was charming. And we became… well, obsessed with each other. Rivals, almost, though that makes it sound trivial. Taunting each other over the radio, going out of our ways to make each other’s lives harder, even in ways not specifically related to the cult or the resistance…

“And then it just sort of happened.

“And then it kept happening. In spite of everything he was doing. I knew it was wrong. And it’s not that I didn’t care… it’s that I didn’t care enough.”

“…Oh.”

“But I can’t regret it because it brought me you.”

He returned her small smile.

“And I’m sure you’re angry with me. And I’m sure you’re hurt.”

Yes and yes. But he didn’t respond.

“You’re allowed to be upset, you know.”

“I am,” James admitted.

“Everything I’ve done has been to protect you. He’s not a good man.”

“I know.” He looked down at the linoleum flooring beneath them. “But he’s still my dad.”

“Just biologically.”

James simply shrugged. “Maybe. But shouldn’t I get to decide that?”

His mom’s eyes watered with unshed tears and her face became pink in an effort not to cry. “You can’t trust him, honey.”

James wasn’t sure he could trust her either anymore. But he knew in his gut he would trust her again someday. So, he spoke honestly. “I don’t trust him. I just want to know him.”

“I don’t think he’s the kind of person anyone can truly know.”

“Did you know him?”

His mom hesitated a long time before telling him, “I’m not sure.”

“Oh.”

She gently squeezed his arm again. “I can tell you what I do know?”

James looked into his mom’s eyes and nodded once. And for the first time, she began to tell her son about his father.

[megraen]

What colour does your oc/ship's love feel like ?

Tagged by @cassietrn for this quiz, who has a habit for tagging me in many thing lol

Abigail Fehn - Soft Fresh Green Nice breeze, bare feet and freshly cut grass. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's protecting your eyes from the sun but enjoying the light rays still, it's laying on the grass and feeling it tickle your neck. You look to the side and they look back at you, full of hope and plans too. You plan together and laugh all day and your sunburn will feel like them. Your love is delicate, hesitant. A well curated binder full of collages for a future you can't be sure will come, but you keep going, you keep planning, you keep squinting at the sun and smiling, and running your hands through the grass so it will smell better. You keep holding onto the bright sky even as the sunsets, even as the starry night stares back. But you keep on holding, you keep on dreaming, you close your eyes and feel the sun on your skin and convince yourself that the sunburn is good, it's something to hold on to, just makes it linger a bit longer. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's sweet and wonderful and it keeps love alive, makes the world a better place. You run your hands through the grass, clench your fingers tighter and keep making plans. And I can only thank you and hope I can learn to love like you someday.

Jacob Seed - Deep Staining Red Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

Tagging: @socially-awkward-skeleton @voidika @derelictheretic @vampireninjabunnies-blog

[locustandwildhoney]

5 Songs I've Listened to Recently

Tagged by @g0dspeeed ❤️

Actually this is from a Farcry playlist tooooooooo thank you for tagging me

1. Hades Pleads by Parker Millsap

IDK why but something about this song and its vibes just feel like John and the Deputy getting into a car chase

2. Expectations by Katie Pruitt

Ive been listening to this nonstop the past week and its on my Faith Seed playlist now.

3. Allies or Enemies by The Crane Wives

Another John one, this time for John and Dee, I dont really ship them but they have one hell of an interesting dynamic to me.

4. Good Times by the Lone Bellow

THE MOST DEE/JACOB SONG OF ALL TIME. I'm not even sure if I ship them properly but this would be them. Also its just such a jam. It will get you dancing.

5. Saint of Lost Causes by Justin Townes Earle

This is on the Jacob Seed playlist because its just really him, the lyrics "throughout time between the wolf and the shepherd/who do you think has killed more sheep?", just the entire thing sounds like a monologue he would give

Tagging @necrodancing666, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @henbased, @deputy-sennaviste, and @n00b-vegas, and anyone else who'd like to join in!

[inafieldofdaisies]

3, 6, 17, 18 for john and sabrina?

Questions from this post.

3. Jealousy issues? From the two, John is the one that deals with jealousy more (a reason why he looks at Calahan weird, when he should be more worried about Leslie as competition and his feelings, if we're being honest), Sabrina isn't really about holding onto the past and who he has dated, etc. He could go as far as name dropping a person and she'd look at him and go: "Okay, and your point?" then crack a joke about him sinnin'.

Between her main wip and the au, I'd say AU Sabrina is more jealous, but even then it's not something extreme.

6. Double Date? Thoughts? Who?

Doable, but very prone to end in chaos:

Mercedes and Jacob: While the girls would absolutely get along, the Seeds would probably be delivering a dose of awkwardness. I feel like John would keep saying the wrong thing while Jacob just side eyes him and grunts out a response when it gets absolutely necessary to do so. Mer would roast the shit out of John, for sure, she kind of thrives on making people uncomfortable for kicks. Sabrina would try her hardest to stop the double date from ending in disaster.

Cal and Mary May: John would be on the verge of either getting killed or killing one or both of them, while Sabrina is regretting her choices. 😂The other ships aren't much better as option, either.

17. Morning rituals? Those two definitely compete in who would wake up first; snuggles until it's time for them to get up and start their day, coffee on his bedroom balcony (esp when it's chilly but not too cold, Sabrina loves the fresh air early in the mornings), breakfast (he's attempted to make it one time and it ended in disaster).

AU: if he's out of town or not sleeping over at her place, he'd call her so they can have a few minutes to themselves before going to work, otherwise they have a regular morning together, end up dropping Savannah at school before Sabrina heads to work and he sets on dealing with stuff regarding the impending trial.

18. Evening rituals?

Making dinner (John would mostly help around, making her and Savannah laugh), hanging by the fireplace (while Sabrina shoots daggers at Joseph’s portrait… one day she’d get actual darts and throw them, or straight up use her throwing knives and watch for his reaction) or outside while Sabrina plays her guitar, shower (with John butting in everytime, “We’re saving water, Deputy” -> “I though you were rich, Jonathan.”).

In the AU, she’d also probably force him to watch a TV show and he’d complain how she keeps guessing the bad guys (“You must have seen it before, Detective.”), dining out whenever they could.

[derelictlovefool]

Shiptober Day 22

Prompt: Trouble Sleeping

Ship: Faith Seed x Deputy Dean Sinclaire

Warning(s): Vague mention of drug withdrawals

Words: 1, 050

Tick.

The blanket wrapped around Faith's shoulders was scratchy, it tickled her cheek and caught on every loose hair that touched it.

Tock.

She was warm, for the first time in a long time she wasn't going to bed shivering, curled up in a ball and clinging to herself.

Tick.

Yet she couldn't sleep, tired blue eyes staring at the face parallel to her own. Messy brown hair falling over the deputy's forehead and cheek as he soundly slept beside her. Dean—she'd finally learnt his name. It suited him.

Tock.

He looked serene, even with his face bruised and covered in small cuts. His breathing was gentle, one arm tucked under his pillow and the other laying in between them. Faith couldn't help herself and snuck her hand under his; she smiled when he squeezed it. He was warm. Almost unbearably so, like she was laying next to a human furnace. But she didn't mind, she honestly liked it. It was better than the cold.

Tick.

She shuffled closer, sticking one of her legs between his, nuzzling her forehead against his and closing her eyes as she listened to the slow inhale and exhale of his breath. The clothes he'd brought her added another layer of comfort, it felt good to be out of that stupid dress. They were his clothes, a large shirt and sweatpants—exactly what she'd expect him to have in his closet. He seemed to prefer comfort to appearance and she appreciated that, she used to be the same.

Tock.

She wondered if she could be like that again. She was on the other side of her withdrawals now, which had been violent and anything but pleasant, but she could feel that spark of hope in the pit of her stomach bubbling away. Dean bringing her to Dutch's bunker had probably been the best thing he could have done for her and she was thankful. Thankful he didn't just put a bullet in her head like so many of his allies felt she deserved. Maybe she did, but she was being given a second chance.

Maybe she'd end up in jail but what did she think was going to happen? Maybe the world would end like Joseph said and she'd be trapped in this bunker for seven years. That wouldn't be so bad, if she had Dean with her anyway—Dutch she could live without.

Tick.

She didn't want to worry about all of that right now, she wasn't even sure she was going to make it to that point. If Joseph found out she was still alive… She didn't dare try and guess what he would do. It wouldn't be good. 

She opens her eyes, freezes at deep pools of chocolate brown blearily looking back at her. Maybe she would be fine, maybe the man slipping his arm over her shoulder and pulling her into his chest would protect her. Like he said he would. Maybe she'd be able to believe him, over time. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face away in his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling her own.

Tock.

He smelt like gasoline and blood, not things so easily washed off and it made her cringe. She'd put him through so much right alongside the people she'd tried to make her family and she hadn't cared how much damage she'd done to him. She was regretting it with each passing day. She was regretting it right now, his fingers brushing through her hair with a heavy tenderness only making her want to cry. She'd cried so much in front of him.

Tick.

He wasn't what Joseph said, he wasn't what John or Jacob said either. He was a good man, with a good heart; just trying to do the right thing. Even if that meant doing things that heaven couldn't forgive him for in the end. He seemed willing to make that sacrifice, he wasn't a man of any faith—hah—so he wasn't afraid of any divine judgement or punishment. Faith thought maybe that's what had gotten him this far.

He believed in people, people that could have his back and hold him up when he was about to fall. His faith was in his friends and family, the bond they shared and the strength they had together. Faith envied him. She thought she'd found that with Eden's gate—but she wasn't anything more than a means to an end. Anyone could have been Faith, it hurt to realise, it hurt to accept. But she hadn't meant anything to Joseph. She was just a vessel of one of his stolen dreams.

Tock.

She had the opportunity to do something different, be a part of something good. Even if she was only helping from the sidelines at the moment. She knew she wouldn't get forgiveness from a lot of people, she knew Tracey would ever forgive her, she didn't blame her. Dean, it was hard to figure out what he forgave and what he didn't. He held her accountable right along with the rest of her 'family' but he didn't persecute her. It felt like he understood, if only a little, the reason why she had done what she had.

And he'd decided that reason was enough to help her. 

Tick.

"I can hear you thinking—go to sleep,"

His voice is raspy and rough, the bruising on his throat no doubt making it painful to utter out the words. They fall against her hair and Faith sighs in gentle frustration, cuddling closer to him. She had been trying to fall asleep for hours, her mind just wouldn't stop chattering in her ear.

"Sorry," She murmurs, her own voice hoarse and quiet, lost on the scarred skin along his collar bone.

"S'okay,"

Simple. Being around him was so simple. She had forgotten how much she craved this. It wasn't as easy as she had wanted but it was better than what she had. She breathed in deep as a tired kiss was pressed into her hair—It was okay. They were okay, for right now, she didn't have to worry. For right now the County was still, she was as safe as she was getting. And she had Dean. Or more like Dean had her.

Tock.

And she really wanted to break that fucking clock.