#–or the guard dog title and only the seeds know their full name and everything

[derelictdumbass]

"you... remembered that?" or "I heard what you said... no one's ever talked about me that way before?" + Jonn Seed?

ilu fren thank u again (am I going to thank u on every one of these yes I am fight me)

Title: Not a Diva

Ship: The Angels Baptist

Words: 1,244

Nadine walked swiftly down the bunkers corridors, past crates and boxes of supplies. Any members or chosen in the way basically flung themselves to the walls to make room as he passed by, none of them wanting to be in the way of Eden Gate's guard dog. his brown eyes stayed focused ahead of him, not giving any of them a glance as he made his way to one of the main rooms of John's bunker. He was taking stock today and he'd checked all the others except for this one, when he was done he planned to go to Faith's bunker and then Jacob's after that.

He wasn't pleased to see three chosen meandering in the large room, they glanced at him as he entered but quickly turned away when they saw it was him. Nadine ignored them, beginning to pick up lists sat atop the crates and taking note of the supplies. The children's loud talking became hushed as they spoke among themself and Nadine ignored it as he went on with his work.

Their hushed talking grew clearer as Nadine walked closer, trying to focus on the lists of inventory and not the chosen's words. He caught whispers of John's name and not so flattering words that made his jaw clench, a year ago he would have broken their jaw already but Joseph hadn't been too fond of them putting members of their project into the infirmary. So he held himself back and walked onto the next crate.

"He can be a bit of a Diva, don't know why the father let's him act like that, he makes us look like a joke,"

Oh. Oh, That was it.

"Do you want to repeat that?" Nadine asked, slamming the paper down on the crate and sharply turning around to face the three men. Anger burned clearly in his eyes and the men collectively straightened their backs and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Brother Dean–"

"John is not a diva that walks around with his head up his ass, he's smart, he's fucking brilliant. Everything he does has a meaning. Did you forget none of this would be possible without him, everyone here in this project owes John everything. Joseph wouldn't have gotten this off of the ground without him," Nadine nearly snarled, stalking towards them and stopping in front of the one they took as the main instigator. He shook his head uselessly, mouth opening and closing as the others looked on anxiously.

"I didn't mean anything by it—" He croaked out, shrinking under Nadine's intense gaze and looming figure. Nadine doesn't let him finish, not caring for their excuses.

"You did. You all think he can't hear you but he can and he doesn't deserve to listen to all the shit that comes out of your mouths. He gave away everything to be here, to make this happen. He deserves a little more gratitude than he's getting so maybe next time show a little fucking respect." He growls and the men all nod in unison. They looked like sad excuses for men standing there, cowering with their tails between their legs. It only served to make Dean angrier.

"We're sorry brother Dean," They all sputtered, but the apology fell on the wrong ears and Dean shook his head in disgust at their use of 'brother'. They weren't his family, not if they spoke about John like that.

"Get out of here, maybe do your job instead of gossiping like teenagers," Nadine snapped, glaring the men down as they scurried away from him with fearful eyes. Maybe they'd go to their actual posts and get some work done. Useless idiots.

With a sigh heavier than Saturn Nadine turns and stalks towards the wall, grabbing the overall stock clipboard and angrily scrawling down the supplies he noted. Footsteps alert him to someone entering the large room and he turns, ready to bark at any underlings that came in but stopping short at the sight of a familiar coat and vulnerable blue eyes.

Nadine gives an acknowledging nod to the youngest Seed, the man giving a slower more tentative one in return. His eyes were swimming with something Nadine couldn't place this far away so he simply turned back to the wall and returned the clipboard to its place.

"How was Joseph?" He asks, knowing John had gone to see his brother an hour prior.

"... He was fine," John's voice is soft, thoughtful. It makes Dean turn and watch as the Herald walked further into the room, looking off down the corridor the three chosen had left. Nadine's stomach dropped, he really hoped John hadn't heard that conversation, or anything the three idiots had said about him. But with the upturned curve of his brow Nadine could tell he most likely had.

"Are you alright?" He asks gently, John nodding softly and turning to meet his gaze.

"I heard what you said…" John paused, searching Nadine's eyes for something before a pained smile stretched across his face, "No one's ever talked about me that way before," He laughed humourlessly, avoiding Nadine's eyes and turning to inspect one of the crates. It made Nadine's heart twist painfully to see him in such a state.

"I'm sure Joseph–"

"No."

Silence. 

Nadine bit his tongue, the flat and sharp way John replied making him regret his words. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold the Herald of Holland Valley, to soothe that look on his face and ease the pain swimming underneath his cracking facade. 

"I'm sorry," Nadine murmured instead, stepping forward so they were side by side but not daring to move any closer.

"Why are you sorry?" John asked with another dry laugh, looking over at the other man who stared down at the crate with bubbling anger in his eyes.

"You don't get enough credit,"

"I'm not doing any of this for credit Nadine, I'm doing it for Joseph,"

"I know,"

More silence. John sighed, leaning closer and resting his temple against Nadine's shoulder. Nadine gently resting his head against his, letting him know the touch was welcomed. Nadine took that moment to take hold of John's hand, interlocking their fingers and giving a reassuring squeeze. John smiled faintly, eyes squeezing shut for a moment and just soaking up the warmth and the unspoken understanding.

Nadine hoped he knew even if no one else was, he was grateful for everything John did and that he would be there for him no matter what happened. He'd follow John to the ends of hell and back if that's where his path took him, he'd turn his back on Joseph and the project in an instance for the Baptist and he felt no shame for it. Everything Joseph gave him could not compare to the peace John gave him every day.

"Are you done for today?" John's voice is quiet when he speaks, not wanting to disrupt the calmness in the air. 

"If you want me to be I am," Nadine answers without hesitation and John chuckles, this time it's a genuine sound and Nadine smiles. John removes his head from Nadine's shoulder but keeps their hands intertwined, looking down at them and gently caressing Nadine's knuckles with his thumb.

"I think we both deserve some rest," John murmurs, blue eyes meeting Nadine's soft brown ones with a tiredness Nadine could feel in his own bones.

"I think so too,"

"Let's go home."

[darkhymns-fic]

“Welcome back.”

With Lloyd, Colette had never felt more at home.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Zelos Wilder, Phaidra Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for Colloyd Week, Day 7: Free day! And yep, this is a day early because quote day fic isn’t finished just yet. But this is also about a quote so it fits the theme still?

--

Colette had always been searching for a place to belong to.

When she first met Lloyd, it had been by chance. She didn’t meet him on his first day of school, when he had already been fifteen minutes late, earning a frown from the new professor but forgiven when he explained how far he traveled just to get here. It had not even been on one of the few trips that Lloyd had gone along with Dirk to Iselia, the dwarf picking up supplies to fill up their food pantries, and any extra seeds and tools for the vegetable garden he was just starting. On the former, she had been away at the Church for her routine lessons, and on the latter, she was always at home, the language of the angels swimming in her head as she devoutly read the scriptures from heavy tomes.

When she was already receiving her lessons as the Chosen, they only told her about her fate once she turned six – all with fanciful words of how she would take her place in heaven with the goddess and rest peacefully. But even back then, she understood the meaning of it.

So one day, with that knowledge deeply part of her, Colette had to leave her room, her house, and the books far away, so that she could breathe. She left in the middle of the day, thinking only to go as she snuck through the front gate to the forests surrounding Iselia, all before they would implement guards to prevent such a thing from happening again. She walked and walked, until the brush at her feet grew darker and the trees closed in, until the light dirt pathway slowly started to vanish.

She walked until she couldn’t anymore, the sun all but blocked out from the thick boughs overhead. There was no more path to lead her anywhere, the entire floor overtaken by snaking roots and shrubbery. The air felt cold around her. The shadows stretched wide, making the woods feel like early evening when it was still in the middle of the afternoon.

Or had she really lost track of time?

She stumbled over a stump – or it could have simply been a pebble, or only air. But she fell onto her knees, her hands clutching the grass between her fingers, thinking over and over the words that the priest had left her. And her grandmother, trying to soften the blow, with peaceful hands that stroked through her hair, but not denying the truth of what it all meant.

“Chosen, you will be like a friend to the world. And once you grow older, you will have to leave, but that is what happens to all of us,” Phaidra had tried to soothe, an old scripture book still laid at her knee along with Colette’s head. “It will just be a little sooner than most…”

She felt a hand take her own – but it wasn’t familiar, and it fit inside her own like a puzzle piece.

Colette blinked. She saw that she was on her feet again, grass stains on her bare knees, and on the sleeves of her dress. And right in front of her was a boy, his hair sticking up in wild ways, his eyes blinking along with her own. In a red shirt and suspenders that held up dark shorts, she wondered if this was someone from school that she couldn’t seem to recognize yet.

“Hey! Where were you going? It’s dangerous down this way!” The boy’s palm was just against her own, a little damp, scuffed with dirt. She realized why that was so.

“Oh! But my hands are dirty…” she could only trail out, still feeling a bit light-headed. Hadn’t she left her grandmother in the kitchen, and then had gone out the back door? What would she think…?

The boy tilted his head, the motion of it catching her attention. It reminded her of the neighborhood dog that she always wanted to pet whenever she saw it. “Are you okay? You were walking by yourself and being really quiet…”

She saw in his other hand that he held what looked like a long stick. The end of it was freshly snapped, like a jagged point of a knife. He tapped it against the ground, keeping in an even tempo.

“Ah? Where… am I?” Colette arced her head to look around her, but the trees looked unfamiliar, and she could hear the rapid flow of a river nearby. But this wasn’t anything like the small glades that were in Iselia. “Who are you?”

Another blink, and there was something about his eyes. Full and matching the shade of the tree bark, yet catching the light of the sunshine. They were in a sunny place now, the previous shadows from her wandering gone.

“You should tell people your name first before asking theirs, you know!” The boy huffed, but then looked embarrassed right away. “I mean…I guess I did just come up to you. I’m Lloyd! I live here. Well, near here. Not this place though. There’s a lot of mean wolves around.”

And still, Lloyd hadn’t let go of her hand. He was gently leading her away from the darker part of the forests, back out into the light with the pathway, with the flowers that lined parts of a nearby field, white petals drifting in the breeze. And on that same pathway, she saw what looked to be the largest dog in the world.

Colette had almost forgotten to say anything, still dazzled by sights out from the shadows, by the dog that looked so fluffy to the touch, wondering what it would be like to dig her hands through the fur – and by the boy next to her, his eyes still catching that light.

“I’m…Colette. I’m the…” She paused, and suddenly the title that she had always known felt deeply heavy in her chest. She couldn’t finish.

“The…girl that got lost?” Lloyd finished for her, grinning wide then. “You’re silly! I was playing with Noishe when I saw you. You shouldn’t wander off! Or, that’s what my dad says.”

The dog named Noishe padded up to her, ears drooped low, sniffing at her curiously. She reached out to pet it, and the warmth she felt from scratching the dog’s head was the same as Lloyd’s hand in hers.

“I was lost,” she admitted, but the smile touched her lips easily, feeling refreshed. “But then you found me.”

And since then, it was hard for Colette to forget the shape of his grin, the touch of red on his cheeks. From playing? From the sun shining down on them both? Or because their hands stayed together? She remembered how much she didn’t want to grow up then, even more than before.

“Well, it’s good I found you,” Lloyd admitted. He was leading her and Noishe up a hill, past the rushing river, and soon she could see the shape of something in the distance. A house? Right in the middle of the woods, almost as if out of a fairytale…. “But I don’t know how to get you back home…”

Colette looked at the house as they moved closer; the weather vane in the shape of a rooster on top of its roof, the wooden shed to the right, the multitudes of potted plants that lay near the front door. She pointed at it suddenly. “There,” she said with full conviction. “I live there.”

“Huh?” Lloyd blinked, back to her then back to the house that looked so far off from everything she had known. “You do?”

“Well…today I live there. Maybe not tomorrow.” Colette scuffed her shoes against the dirt, excitement running through her chest, like the rush she had felt when she ran through the woods with complete abandon. But different this time, because she knew where to go. “Is that okay?”

Maybe another boy would have found her strange, or weird to suggest such a thing. But Lloyd only laughed, and excitedly pulled her along the makeshift bridge across the river.

No one had ever accepted her so easily.

“Sure it is!” Lloyd said, his happiness beaming out from the eyes that she couldn’t look away from. “So… welcome back, Colette!”

--

In the Church, the priests taught her the language of the Angels; an ancient script that only those of the cloth and the Chosen they watched over would be able to decipher. They taught her to memorize the landmarks of the journey that she would travel to, the names of ancient heroes that conversed with goddesses and how she would one day be as close to such figures when the time came. They taught her to watch and listen from a distance.

But Lloyd taught her to use her hands.

When Lloyd had first come to Iselia, she’d see the way his fingers would tap on the desk, (and ever since they first met, he’d always choose the desk closest to her – as long as he wasn’t late) starting off light, then faster, louder until the Professor would shush him across the room. But his hands wouldn’t stop moving then. Instead, they’d take something else, like the pencil he’d been chewing on, or the small little carving knife he always liked to carry around. Sometimes he’d draw lines on the paper, or carve them onto the wood.

And no matter what, he’d always show her what he made.

“That’s dad,” he’d point out to her, tracing the jagged edges of a beard, sprouting so wildly from a circle that was his father’s face. “You remember him, right? He’s really big!” And of course she did, recalling the adult with thick arms and a heavy beard, the way his laughter boomed inside the home when he first met her then. He hadn’t minded that she wanted their home for her own, at least for that one day.

Then Lloyd would draw a shape that she was familiar with, a furry creature standing on four legs, standing a head above the sketchy scribble that was Lloyd’s father. Scritch scritch came the sounds of Lloyd’s pencil on paper, his tongue just sneaking past his lips in concentration.

“I can’t draw at all,” she said, fingers curling around her dress, all as she kept scooting closer to Lloyd to see his work better.

“Huh? How come?” He sounded so curious. And though she still only knew Lloyd for a little bit, she didn’t think he was teasing her about it.

“Ah, it’s not really something meant for me?” It was the best way she could explain it. Why would a Chosen need to learn to draw?

“But you want to, right?”

“Well…”

Lloyd’s hands, even back then, had dwarfed her own. She felt the calluses against his palm as held her wrists gently, the lightness of his fingers as they seemed to dance over her knuckles, adjusting the shape of her hand. The pencil he gave her slipped easily into her grip.

“Just copy mine here. Try drawing Noishe!” He grinned at her, all teeth and stretching his cheeks that she thought she could see dimples. It made her stare, fascinated, and how this was something no one had told her about at all.

With his hands guiding her, she learned to draw for the very first time. It wasn’t anything particularly amazing, and her own doggy was lop-sided, complete with uneven ears and an oversized tongue. She had tried to capture the likeness of Noishe on that first day she had seen him standing beside Lloyd, on how the light made the green of his fur that much brighter, like the fields that surrounded Iselia.

Yet even as she saw the stark difference between her and Lloyd’s, his voice thrummed next to her in pride. “See? You can draw just fine!”

“Lloyd! Are you bothering people now?”

Raine’s voice was sudden, and with that, Lloyd had to let her go. The warmth of his hands left, even though she could remember the shape of it.

But still he smiled at her, inclining his head just a bit until so that only Colette could see. Only for her.

When she would go back home, she would try to practice drawing too, all within the margins of her own scripture books; little butterflies and happy dogs, and the wide-eyed smile of someone that filled her head during the day.

Her heart felt so, so full.

--

It was only natural for people to leave their home, to leave their friends behind.

Colette was just doing it sooner than most.

Outside, as the floorboards of the balcony creaked underneath them both, she went over the lie in her head, turning it over like a fine piece of jewelry. In the dark, she could hide away any small tells, any moments that Lloyd would catch her in.

She had to try not to laugh, because how easy it was to just let it free, a small giggle filled with every worry and fear in its waves.

“You know, this will be the first time we ever go somewhere that’s not just in Iselia.” Lloyd leaned back against the railing, his smile lighting something within her that it was almost too painful. But she took it as something good, something she would remember once she was on the last leg of her journey and… “We’ll get to see the whole world together!”

A world where she could be so easily lost, maybe forgotten. But she should want that for him, at least. “That’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it?” she asked him, remembering the little dreams he’d tell her she’d ride on Noishe, his hand over her own to keep her steady, fingers entwining through green fur. “I think in a regenerated world, you can finally do that even more.”

The moonlight caught his eyes, and already she wanted to go and embrace him. But wouldn't she just trip right into the wood, with his hands reaching to keep her balanced? “Yeah. Maybe after the world’s regenerated, we can go on another trip together too. How about it?” He said it so casually, as if such dreams were not nearly as impossible as touching the stars in the sky. “But maybe once you become an angel, we can go back home for a little while. Is that okay?”

It was childish for her to wish for anything different.

In her heart, she brought with her the scent of oak as she left with Raine and Kratos in the early morning, the remembered texture of finely polished wood when she had leaned on the railing with Lloyd, looking up at the stars. And she kept the shape of his smile, lit up by the moon, tracing it over and over in her head.

Even if she had to lose a friend, she could keep parts of it, couldn’t she? These small memories that kept her mind afloat as she walked further away from home.

And when Lloyd lived in the new world, maybe, if he wanted to, he could do the same for her.

If he wanted to.

--

For a while, after Remiel called her forth and she felt her heart shatter in her chest, Colette had been adrift.

She knew of death, but she didn’t know how it would be for her. Would it be like the shutting of a door, cutting off light for her and leaving her in the dark? Or would it be like going to sleep, stuck in dreamlessness, never on the verge of waking up again?

Instead it was like she was floating out to sea, half-blind, with no compass to point out her way, and no sail to take her home. And through it all, she was left with the imprints of memories she had trouble placing.

She remembered the shape of the temple she would pray at, the scent of the tea her grandmother would make for her, the sad smile her father would sometimes have… and Lloyd, his hand in her own.

The longer she was away, the more she was beginning to forget.

Colette drifted as voices danced around her, half-remembering who they were, until she would forget again. Sometimes, she would still feel a hand inside her own, yet find nothing there.

And other times, she would see shadows out in the distance. The faces of friends she knew, and friends she didn’t yet. It was strange to see the new among the familiar, but in all of that, she could still see Lloyd, a passing ship that she tried to call out to. But, he couldn’t hear.

Or did he not want to hear her?

In all her drifting, she felt alone. And the fear that came when Remiel took away the last remaining thread of her humanity was her only companion.

There’s nowhere for you to go.

Colette tried to grip back the hand she could still feel. But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. Even if she sometimes saw his face.

Lloyd will grow up. He will go away, the fear inside her said, continued to say. And you want to keep him locked in place?

When Sheena had spoken to him back in Sylvarant, he had smiled and laughed. She saw that now, in passing, like quick flashes of light. When a man with brilliant red hair had half-embraced Lloyd, he had grumbled but didn’t push him away. When a girl with eyes so familiar spoke, Lloyd would always turn to her.

She didn’t want him to keep from meeting these new people, new friends.

But then, what of her home?

Nowhere to go.

For a time, she stayed out in that nameless ocean, drifting and drifting, slowly losing her way. It was hard to look out for any familiar light through the darkness, easier to try and sleep. Still, she thought she felt that hand, the same hand that had brought her up to his house with no hesitation. But isn’t he gone? the fear in her kept asking. Why would he stay behind for you?

It was difficult to not be selfish.

“So that I could have a home to go back to.”

In that ocean of darkness and fading memories, she felt the hand there, remembered how it held the broken pieces of something precious. She would have accepted it as it was, kept it locked within her grip that she wouldn’t even give way to the angels. And once, when light flooded her senses, when she felt such a force try to take away a precious gift, she was able to keep that promise to herself.

Faces that she knew and didn’t know, all of it so much that she couldn’t even stay standing. But there was solid ground, and there was a hand to bring her back to her feet.

“Colette!” Lloyd called out, bringing her near, almost embracing her if it weren’t for the remnants of dirt on his jacket (and she could strangely recall a rigorous climb up a cliffside..) “You remember me?”

“Lloyd! Of course I do.” She felt the weight of the necklace on her, keeping her rooted, no longer adrift. “I think with this… I was able to find you.”

His smile always left her warm, left her nerves singing. “Heh, welcome back then. We missed you.”

Only did she realize just then – could a home be more than a place, but a person that lights your way?

--

There were little figurines on the stand, half of them already covered in snow.

“Are you looking for a souvenir?” spoke the salesman of the cart, decked in multiple layers, his mittened hands grasping one of the small things that had nearly drowned within the white. The finer details of its ears pressed flat against its head, the snout that made up its front, along with the embedded gems that served for its eyes – it all reminded her of something so familiar. She felt bad just getting one, and clumsily handed the gald to the salesman, carrying both charms in her shaking hands.

Was it because she was afraid? Or just so cold? The chill spread across her now unmarked skin, made her bones feel stiff, made her lungs ache from the sting of the cold air. Was she still afraid it would all go?

“They bring you luck,” the salesman had told her just before she left, his smile hidden away in the caverns of his scarf. “And we could all use a little luck nowadays.”

She wondered if she would have such luck now. She couldn’t stop shivering as she went to Zelos, asking a dear favor of him as she gave him the snow bunny to bring to Altessa. “Maybe he’d like it?” she asked of the other Chosen, wondering if he thought she sounded so childish just then. “It could go with his home, or maybe he could give it to Tabatha once she’s…”

Zelos patted her shoulder, and something in his motion felt more freeing. Maybe even relieving. “Anything for you, angel. Don’t mind doing a little delivery if it means I get to leave this place.”

“Ah, you don’t like the cold?” she asked him. But, no, she could see the smile on his face too, hear the little snicker that left his throat. “Or is it something else?”

“Don’t worry about it… but thanks for asking.” Zelos placed the bunny in his pocket, more carefully than any other gift he had ever received from a lady. “But you still got that other one, right?” He nodded to the snow bunny still clutched in her hands. “Make sure to give that guy a good home, too.”

Home has always meant something else to her, and maybe Zelos saw that too. With a wink, he left with the others on the Rheairds, and soon found herself rushing back to the inn, the cold biting her cheeks.

“Welcome back, Colette,” Lloyd had said to her, his gift hanging from her neck with a comforting weight. But in words, she heard something else too when he said that…

Or was that just wishful thinking?

Colette was all shivers as she rushed towards the inn, boots sinking into the snow, soaking them through. One charm flew across the ocean in the dark to reach a kind but grumpy dwarf, reminding her of Dirk in small ways, if not all. 

The other stayed clutched in her hands, small enough to hide away from sight. It was nothing more than a toy, a childish thing, yet it felt as nice to her as the necklace she wore. 

"Lloyd," she called out once she'd had the courage to knock on his door, to see him silhouetted against the windowpane and the snow flurries just outside. The room was doing all it could to stay warm with the heater in the corner, but she didn't mind the chill. It kept her awake as she kept asking. "Do you wanna go for a walk?"

She hated her own doubts, how much she worried for Lloyd to choose something else. But his smile to her gave her the answer, even before he spoke.

Home was warm with him.

--

“Welcome back, Colette.”

“Thanks.”

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“Ah well, I really like it when you say ‘welcome back.’

“Uh? Why?”

“Do you remember when you said it to me when I returned to my normal self?”

“You mean the time at Fooji Mountains.”

“Yeah. I was so happy. When you tell me, ‘welcome back,’ I really start to feel like I’m really back.”

“I see. I’ll say it at any time and as many times as you like!”

--

Colette was running late.

She had spent so long in Iselia throughout the evening. The temple where she had once endured hours of lessons and ritual was now a refuge for the orphans of fallen cities such as Palmacosta and Luin. The teachings of Martel couldn’t leave her, even after everything. She couldn’t help the prayers that fell naturally from her lips, or the soft remembrances of helping others. Many priests still made their pilgrimages, though it was now that they would stop at Iselia, to follow the once-Chosen in her charity.

But she hadn’t meant to stay so long…

In her haste, she had decided to use her wings, though only doing so once she was far enough away from the village. Easier to get past the trees and the steep cliffsides, the winding of the river that would make her circle around if she were on foot. But she could still follow it, knowing where it would eventually lead to.

She heard Noishe barking up ahead. “Ah, Noishe!” she called out, pink fluttering behind her, trailing stars as she saw the shape of the dog running across the grass – and the shape of a home she had long grown to know.

At the door, silhouetted by the firelight inside, was Lloyd. He waved both arms to her, his jacket unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his shoulders. “Colette! Welcome back!”

She hadn’t really meant to fly that much faster – already she was going at a fast pace as it was. But the sight of him made her want to fall that much quicker to the earth. Already Lloyd was there to catch her, his arms moving around to clasp her tight, feet stumbling to keep them upright.

“S-Sorry..” Colette apologized, winking in both amusement and shame. “Guess I must have tripped.”

“In the air?” Lloyd laughed, his voice traveling through her in a steady rhythm as they stayed close, one that she was beginning to know by heart. “But I can tell it was a good day for you.”

A nod, hands pressed lightly to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “It really was. But, I’m glad to be home again.” She stayed there, in his hold, with the crackling of the fire in the forge nearby, hearing the footpads of Noishe as he walked around outside, happy enough to sleep knowing that everyone was back home. They were only staying here for a few weeks while Dirk was away, and then they would need to go back on their journey, but…

“What is it, Colette?” he asked, his voice soothing, his words sincere. He hadn’t let up his grip.

“Do you think you could…say it again?” She could fall asleep in his arms if she let herself, and there were times that she did, never having felt safer than she did right now. “I just like hearing it.”

She felt his hand – the hand that had once pulled her out of the dark – lift her chin to kiss her. It was just one of many that he gave to her, but it left her in a sea of sweetness all the same.

“Hey, Colette,” Lloyd whispered against her hair, then kissing her forehead lightly. Even within this home, and the cold wind at her back from the still-open door, she felt his warmth over everything else. The necklace around her neck and pressing against skin, the figurine she could feel at his chest, still tucked close. All these things that made her feel like she belonged. 

“Welcome back.”

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 21- The Seer

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count:4640

Warnings: None

AN: This one’s kinda boring, but it moves everything along.

20- Always A Hero Comes Home

...

A new thrall bounces quietly about the room, lighting all the candles in the chambers now that darkness has descended over Kattegat.

Her name was Geirdis, a frightened little thing, possibly a few years younger than Artemis herself. She was dutiful, doing what was expected of her, except Artemis felt she was in no position to be giving the poor girl orders. Even now she felt a slight discomfort with her presence, knowing she could do all these simple tasks herself.

Artemis was once in her place, serving a haughty prince, but somehow, that all felt so long ago. As far as she was concerned, she was just Kattegat's blacksmith, second only to Arvid's father and his young apprentice. She preferred it that way as it resembled the simple life she once had. Her only privilege was that she slept beside the king, nothing out of the ordinary here in Kattegat, but something shameful where she was from.

There was a chill in the air that night, the signs of winter rearing its head. Clusters of ravens cawed into the night sky loud enough to spark her curiosity, pulling at the fur draped over the window for a glance. The dark creatures circled about the trees and were hard to make out in the darkness. The more intently she stared, the closer they seemed to be, until suddenly one appeared opposite the glass, its large wings flapping wildly as it cawed, its beady black eyes looking straight at her.

She lets out a yelp, stepping back while placing a hand to her chest in an attempt to calm her beating heart.

"My lady?" Geirdis calls out to her. She turns her attention away from the window in favor of looking at the young blonde girl, her chest slightly heaving. Geirdis eyes her for a moment, a look of confusion clouding her face.

Did she not hear the cawing of the raven?

"Please, there is no need to address me in such a way." Artemis finally says to her with a sigh, shaking her head to dispel the sudden shock that ran through her bones. Such titles were a nuisance, why should she be regarded in such a way? She was no lady.

Her eyes landed on Geirdis's hands, in which she held two luxurious garments, one a rich red, the other a soft blue. 

"You are the kings intended, my lady, I must," Geirdis says, walking over to place the dresses upon the bed, "The seamstress has made these for you upon the king's orders."

Both dresses were exceptional in design and beautifully crafted. Made of wool, they were meant to fight the chill that would soon take over Kattegat. Embroidered in a delicate way, with precious stones stitched within, they were fit for a woman of noble birth. Artemis gravitates towards the blue dress, admiring the small sea pearls and the delicate silver stitching that she could never have mastered herself. The wool was soft, much softer and prettier than anything she'd ever owned.

"When did he request these?"

"About a fortnight ago, my lady." Ivar seemed eager to plan the festivities. It made her smile.

"My lady!" Aria's familiar voice calls from behind the leather curtain. The redhead peaks her head in, waiting for permission to enter.

"Aria, it is far too late," Artemis rolls her eyes but motions for her to come in, "How did you manage to slip away under Erik's nose? And don't call me that!" Aria laughs, quickly glancing at Geirdis's nervous form before answering.

"He is asleep, quite exhausted from certain activities," The younger thrall blushes but says nothing while Artemis shakes her head,"And Dafi let me in, of course. I like him by the way, the king has given you a handsome guard." Artemis snorts at Aria's obvious promiscuity.

"I only wanted to let you know, the Jarl intends to go back to his lands after your wedding ceremony." Aria says with a sad smile. Artemis frowns, but nods in understanding. She hadn't had the luck of making many friends, and Aria was the best of them, besides Helga.

"But," Aria continues, "At least I will see you as a bride before I go. It feels like only yesterday that I was teaching you to mend, and now you are to be marrying a king." The green eyed girl laughs, quickly taking Artemis into a tight embrace.

"I wish there was something I could do for you." Artemis says sadly. The Jarl would never dare part with his favorite thrall. Geirdis's light eyes widened at their interaction before turning her head at the sounds of her mistress's dog barking in glee, followed by the familiar thumping of a crutch.

"My king!" Geirdis bows her head, with Aria immediately following suit. Ivar carefully walks in, pushing past the leather curtain. He looked massive standing at his full height. He wore his usual leather, but it was simplistic. Upon his shoulders was a small pelt of grey fur, giving him the appearance of a giant wolf. He purses his lip, surprised at the red head's presence before his eyes fall to Artemis.

"Why don't you just buy her from Erik?" He asks nonchalantly, making his way over bed and gently moving the dresses away, "Leave us." He says to both the thralls with a lazy hand gesture. They bow before him once again, making a quick exit.

"I don't think the Jarl would appreciate that very much," Artemis answers him with a smile, "She has her...duties."

"And yet, I always find her in your company." Ivar replies, yawning as he leans back against his elbows. He had risen early that morning, out scouting with Hvitserk and Heahmund on the whereabouts of his other two brothers. Still no luck.

"I happen to enjoy her company." She says, grabbing his crutch and kneeling before him to remove his metal cages. He hisses silently, the pain inevitable, but let's her finish the job.

"Wear the blue one." He grunts suddenly.

"Hmm?" She moves from the iron to focus on how the candlelight illuminated his features perfectly.

"For the wedding," He says quietly, "Wear the blue one."

“What of the red one?”

“Blue is more your color,” Ivar shrugs, “I just wanted to give you options.” Artemis grins, cocking her head at the timid little look he was trying to hide.

"If that is what you wish," She says to him teasingly, "Thank you for the lovely dresses." She smiles when he waves his hand with a light snort, a flush spreading over his cheeks. She places his braces and crutch aside for easy access in the morning before climbing atop the bed behind him, working the braids and twists out his hair. Her nails scratch lightly against his scalp, and he groans in delight, like a kitten purring in her arms.

"You will make a lovely queen." He says, eyes closed as he lowers his head to her lap, a sweet smile on his playing on his lips.

"You think so," She sighs, gently pulling at the small knots that had formed during the day, "But will I be the right queen?" She says this more to herself than to him, but Ivar cracks a blue eye open in response, his brow pulling together in that innocently confused fashion.

"You are worried," He states, perhaps knowing more than he let on. He knew that the prospect of marriage frightened her, her usual nervous antics in plain sight. It was not because she felt any less for Ivar, he knew that. He guarded her heart as she guarded his and it was absolute, a life line that the fates wouldn't dare to cut. A love had blossomed where no one thought a seed to grow.

"How is a foreigner to rule your people?" She asks him.

"They will become your people too, baby bird. Do not be so fearful."

"Why do you make it seem so simple, hmm?" Artemis scoffs but continues massaging his scalp, effectively releasing the sighs and groans of a hard day, "You have been a prince all your life, and now a king. Your people have always respected you."

It was Ivar's turn to scoff.

"You think my legs have given me any respect?" There was something in the way he said those words, almost like a twinge of anger, maybe even sadness. When they left his mouth she knew she'd said something wrong.

"The children always laughed at me, the people spoke ill of me, my own father left me on a hill to die," Ivar chuckles darkly, placing an arm over his face, as if the physical action would guard him against his memories. "I have been underestimated my entire life, and yet, I've earned the respect of the army, and I've earned the respect of the people. Now who do they follow? A cripple, but a true son of Ragnar." He removes his arm away from his face, his eyes searching hers. What he saw was uncertainty. He brings a hand to trace a finger down her soft cheek, causing her eyes to flutter gently.

"A true follower of the gods." He says softly, swiping the very tip of his finger over her lips. Closing her eyes, she removes her hands away from his silken dark strands, letting them fall over her lap.

"I’m sorry," She says weakly, "I did not mean-"

"You'd make an excellent queen." He cuts her off, grunting as he pushes forward to lean against his elbows again. Carefully, he turns his torso to face her. His loose hair in waves shape the sides of his face, a brightness in his large eyes. In that moment he did not appear to be Ivar The Boneless who so many have created fearsome stories of.

"What makes you say so?" She questions stubbornly, sliding off the bed and taking hold of the dresses to carefully store in her brown chest at the foot of the bed.

"You are not selfish, nor prideful," Ivar lists, "And you have worked along side the people of Kattegat. You know of their struggles and they know of yours. Your hands bare the mark of hardship. Who will understand their needs better than you and I, hmm? Come here." He extends his hand out for her to take, and when she does, he gently pulls her into an embrace.

"You have been blessed by the gods," He says against her hair, a repetitive of his. She closes her eyes at his warmth surrounding her, "You may not see it now, but you will in time. This is where you were meant to be. Right here."

Artemis cracks a smile, sitting beside him. Her hand follows a path that led from his leather covered chest, to his broad shoulders. She removes the fur, her hands finally settling on the nape of his neck, absentmindedly weaving her fingers in his hair. She burrows her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply.

"You mean in your arms?" She asks knowingly, and could feel the smile growing on his lips before he placed a kiss atop her head, and then shifting to bend lower, molding his lips with hers.

"Mhm. In my arms."

...

"That dog of yours is no hound." Heahmund comments in Greek, watching with lazy eyes as the once abandoned creature stomps about with large paws, his black wrinkly face covered in drool. The beast quickly sniffs at the dying grass before turning to Heahmund as if he heard and understood the comment.

Artemis smiles, watching as the bishop bends low, beckoning the large pup over with his hands. The dog wastes no time in stomping over, large tongue hanging out his mouth as he ran, almost taking down the bishop with his brute strength.

"Then what is he?" She asks, raising her bow and aiming her sharp arrow at the target hammered to the tree. Taking a deep breath, she lets go of the tight bow string, hurling the arrow into its destination with ease. The arrow head pierced the center of the wooden target, and she cheered. Her aim was nearly perfect, and the new arrow heads she had forged had done its job.

"He's a mastiff, a guard dog. The Lords in England use them to protect their castles."

"Hmm.” That explained why he guards the chamber entry with Dafi. She whistles, and the pup forgets Heahmund in favor of his mistress, who scratches behind both his floppy ears lovingly. In his excitement he barks in glee, tongue lapping out at her.

"What did you name him?"

"Heracles."

"A famous Greek." Heahmund hums in approval. Heracles was almost as large as Ivar's adult elkhounds, and far from the little abandoned pup she had found back in York. Left behind in Vestfold along with Ivar's hounds, King Harald's men had brought the beasts back once Ivar had established his rule in Kattegat.

He did not sniff the ground rigorously, nor fetch things as hounds would, but his massive size was extremely intimidating, and he had a fierce loyalty and sense of protection towards the woman that took him in, as well as the king, who had now grown a softness for the english creature.

Readying her bow, Artemis takes her stance once again, straightening her back in well practiced movements. Another arrow shot perfectly, but before she can prepare the next one, Heahmund clears his throat.

"Ivar has been speaking of plans for the wedding."

His tone was so nonchalant, that Artemis missed it at first, pulling the arrow from her quiver. She hesitated, turning to him to give her full attention. She knew it was a matter of time before he'd mention that he knew.

"Has he?"

"Is this what you want?" Heahmund countered back, his steady eyes on her, making her feel quite small. He always had that effect, and was one of the reasons why she had disliked him so much from the start.

"Why? Will you try and change my mind?" She challenges. Heracles immediately sensed her foul mood forming, bouncing over to sit by her feet.

"You are a Christian," The bishop  starts, "A union between a Christian and a heathen is unheard of."

"Ivar has told me his uncle married into Frankish nobility."

"For that to be finalized he had to be baptized as a Christian. And what will you have to do? Convert to their pagan ways?"

"I recall you speaking to me of destinies." Artemis forms her stance again. The next arrow flies but slightly misses its mark. She sucks her teeth, pulling out a another arrow. "And for once, you may have been right." Her eyes were so focused on the target that she had missed the skeptical look on the older man's face. She had not seen, but he raises a brow.

"What are you talking about?"

"A raven."

"A raven." Heahmund repeats, unimpressed.

"I am told they are a symbol of the god Odin."

"What of it?"

"The day of the battle I was visited by a raven..." She trails off, lowering the bow as she tried to figure out how to continue without sounding like a mad woman. Heahmund crosses his arms, still unimpressed.

"What happened?"

"I saw him." The bishop was quiet for a moment as if in thought, until he shook his head with a chuckle.

"Do you hear yourself?"

"I saw him." She insists, "He changed the outcome of the war."

"You speak blasphemy," He says. He wasn't wrong in saying such things, but it still annoyed her greatly. In response, Artemis prepares her bow and shoots the arrow at him without warning. The arrow struck the tree behind him, and he flinched when he heard it whizz by. If it were any closer, it would have grazed his cheek. He glares at her.

"You irritate me." She says with a shrug.

"You are already losing your way. You do not wear your cross." Her hand shoots up to her collarbone, fingers grazing her skin bare of any significant trinkets relating to her faith. She rolls her eyes in the way she learned so well from Ivar.

"Do you think it wise to give such opinions when the King had elevated you to a commander and an advisor. He could have killed you."

"I did what was necessary to survive."

"And look at you now," She let's out a sarcastic laugh that further infuriated Heahmund, "Alive and well, with much privilege. Do not try to sway my mind again, Heahmund. These decisions are mine to make."

"You act like these warrior women." The bishop shakes his head, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. "Pray for deliverance." He says, brooding in his usual manner as he mockingly bows to her, walking away like a sulking child that didn't get their way.

Artemis huffs, sticking her tongue out at his retreating figure before pulling another arrow and aiming it towards the target.

...

Prayer had often been her source of comfort when she had nothing left to do but recite the Lord's Prayer over and over again in her mind as they taught her in church on Sunday mass.

She'd pray in the darkness when the howling winds of Kattegat would shake the foundations of the Ragnarsson's old cabin. She felt an emptiness that could not be filled, often muttering the familiar words to herself as she lay in her cot.

Usually no answers came, but it still made her feel even the smallest hints of warmth and safety, especially in her darkest times when she felt trapped and alone. So Artemis did exactly what Heahmund had suggested: She prayed.

She prayed with eyes tightly shut and hands clasped together, though she felt she didn't know exactly who she was praying to. Her mind focused on the familiar ways of worship, visualizing the paintings on the walls of the church that displayed the biblical stories one learned as a child.

But her focus wavered and her heart stung and ached. It told her what she had seen the day of the battle was real, and while the stinging and aching pulled her into the direction of something unfamiliar, the bishop tried to keep her grounded.

He had set up a makeshift crucifix made of old twigs, impaling it deep into the earth, located deep in the forest where no one but he and Artemis would know of. She visited the grounds that he consecrated less, and instead, found herself learning and exploring the ways and culture of the northern people, sinking in the knowledge of their beliefs that were as tightly rooted into the earth as an ancient tree.

Artemis knew what she'd seen. How could she deny the man with the bloody eye and his band of ravens? How could she deny the death of Lagertha's men and the death of Lagertha herself?

Sometimes she would envision the face of the dead queen, blue skin and empty eyes. At times it would keep her up into the late hours of night, when Ivar was fast asleep in a dream state. She wouldn't have done it, she wouldn't have had the courage, nor the strength to even think about ending a life, but it had come to her so easily in those moments, that it had to be divine intervention.

Weeks earlier Hvitserk had returned to her the golden cross and the silver hammer. They were placed neatly atop her wooden chest of clothes, shining like holy relics in the flickering candlelight.

Ivar would step into their shared chambers at night, finding Geirdis has long been dismissed. Artemis would sit at his desk, rubbing her thumb over the pendant of Mjölnir in an almost trance like state, while the golden cross lay abandon atop the old wood he had stabbed and carved with a knife one too many times in his youth.

"You ought to go visit the seer," He finally says to her one night, comfortably tucked in bed, "He may help you."

"Is he the man that reveals prophecies and futures?"

"Mhm."

"No." Artemis mutters into his side, her eyes fluttering close in her weariness.

"And why is that?" Ivar questions, placing a toned arm behind his head and settling into the furs, "Our marriage is in a week. I do not want you to run away because you are unsure of what you want."

She ponders his words for a moment. She'd never put into account that Ivar was worried as well. She had been so preoccupied in her own troubles of faith that she hadn't thought perhaps he was worried she'd leave him. When it was obvious she was distracted, Ivar brings his other hand to gently play with her hair, enjoying the little sighs that escaped her. After a few minutes, he brings a finger to playfully tap her temple.

"Your mind will be the death of you, baby bird."

"I'm not running away," She says suddenly, shifting her body to look at him. He had this look of uncertainty she'd never seen before.

"Go to the seer," He insists, "It may ease your mind, and mine." He mutters the last part.

"Very well." She huffs, placing the pendant in her hand beneath the mounds of pillows for another night of safe keeping.

"Good." Ivar murmurs tiredly. He gently pecks her cheek with drooping eyes, turning to blow out the flame of the candle beside him.

...

She stares at the hut before her, repulsed by its appearance. It was dirty, even from the outside. The wood was rotting away and the plants that weaved themselves between the planks of rotting wood were withering and dying.

It was not an inviting sight.

Heracles sniffed about her feet, curious of the smells surrounding them.

"I fear I will not like what he has to say." She says to herself, her beast staring up at her. Shen sighs in defeat, dropping her head with eyes closed.

The seer was well known around Kattegat, a most revered man, yet the most feared. He had a power beyond human understanding, blessed and cursed by his gods to a life servitude.

Artemis has heard of his kind before. In ancient Greece they were known as oracles, priestesses of Apollo with the divine power of prophecy and interpreting the future. Of course, in the Christian world, it was viewed as the devil's work, but pushing those thoughts aside, she takes a deep breath, wiping her clammy hands down her skirts.

"You stay here." She looks down at her large pup. He tilts his head, blinking at her. Leaving him with a pat, she enters into what she felt was like decending into hell.

She was met with a dark ambiance, the type of place any Christian would identify as a witches lair or perhaps the home of the devil himself. Seashells and dried herbs hung from the low ceiling and the smell of smoke and other things she could not identify invaded her nose. Candles were lit just enough to see the steps one took, and just enough for her to want to turn back. Before she could make that decision, a voice calls out to her.

"Why does the foreigner visit me?"

Artemis stops in her tracks. It was her first time she had heard his voice. It reminded her a bit of Heahmund, scratchy and breathy, almost painful for him to speak.

"Well?" The seer awaits her answer.

She slowly turns back, searching for the source of the voice. She finds him laying upon a bed of furs, his hands interlaced over his cloaked covered body.

She'd never forget such a face, void of emotion, sickly looking, with severe scars for eyes and soot colored lips. He was malformed, creature like, with spindly fingers and skin resembling the melting wax of the candles that surrounded him.

"I was told you have answers." Her voice sounded so small compared to his, eaten up by the small fire blazing under a cauldron bubbling with something that contributed to the unpleasant smell.

"I only see what the gods allow me to see, child." The seer moves, sitting up slowly. He extends a hand out with his palm open.

Artemis grimaces. This was the part she had not been looking forward to. Stepping over the scattered furs on the floor, she grasps his hand. She hesitated, lips hovering over the waxy skin before tentatively poking her tongue out to lick a stripe across his palm.

The seer takes his hand back, grunting in approval before speaking.

"What does the future queen wish to know?" She didn't know how to respond. It was strange to hear the title from someone else besides Ivar. She steps back slowly, plopping down upon the old fur rugs before answering.

"I wish to know of your gods," She starts hesitantly, "I was raised as a Christian-"

"I know of your twisting faith, child."

"-But I have seen your god." She continues.

"The All Father reveals himself to whom he wishes." Artemis frowns.

"But why?"

"It is not our right to question the will of the gods." Was all the seer said.

"I questioned everything since arriving to Kattegat," Artemis says, placing her hands on her knees and squeezing them in frustration, "What have I to do with them?"

"The gods work in mysterious ways, is that not what you Chrisitans believe about your God?"

"Yes, but-"

"The same principle applies here. The only problem is that you are afraid to accept what is real and what is not." She turns away from the ancient man, letting out an shuddering breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in.

"But why me? I was just a slave-"

"You have the ability to see, yet you are blinded." He rasps out.

"Well then, what is it that you can tell me?" She bites out. The seer grunts out a bitter laugh at her impatience, his own wearing thin.

"A shadow looms over you, whether good or bad, I cannot see," Artemis swallows roughly, a lump lodging itself into the center of her throat. The seer let's out a tired and sickly breath before continuing.

"A child shall be born, the eye of the raven. Winter draws near and so will the enemy, lurking like a pack of wolves in the dark night. They wait for Sòl to set,"

The birth of a child? But Ivar is incapable-

Artemis remains quiet, interrupting her own thoughts. Her brows furrow and the deformed man immediately chuckles, as if reacting to her confusion.

"You will find hardship beside the crippled king, foreigner. Being his queen will not be easy."

"Then who am I to be his queen?" She responds quietly, her eyes reflecting the colors of the fire as she stares intensely into its flames.

"It has already been written," The seer replies, laying back down upon his scattered rugs, "The king has been touched by the gods despite what anyone thinks, and they have chosen you to be his partner. None of this is by chance. You have given him a heart, and for that, the All Father has given you his favor. Trust in the gods, and they will have trust in you."

"But what must I do?"

"Honor the gods, invoke the All Father, and you shall be blessed. Now, go and face your fate," The seer says to her, "Leave me to rest,"

Artemis's legs shook as she stood, glancing at the seer who heaved and coughed, his breathing hard and harsh. She gives him a nod of respect, knowing that despite his lack of vision, he would know.

"Foreigner," He rasps out to her before she could make it to the splintering door. She looks back at him, her eyes lingering on the black hood that hung over his deformed face. The corner of his dark lips lift up ever so slightly into an almost taunting smile before speaking.

"Lagertha may be dead, but her spirit lives on."

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @ostra814 @leilabeaux @zumzum96​ @rastakami23

[triscribe]

Foster Witch

Don’t mind me, posting some notes about my new project for all and sundry to see...

How often does a kid get to say their new foster parent is an honest to goodness, spell-casting, ritual-singing witch? Well, Becky Jones is now one such foster teen, though she’s been in and out of enough homes not to be convinced by first impressions alone.

But the longer she spends with Ruth Rivers, the more Becky starts to think that, even without the magic stuff, her new caretaker is a pretty cool person.

Through the mundane days of school and homework, to holiday road trips across the width and breadth of the country, these two individuals are going to discover that, sometimes, there is no greater magic that the bonds of found family.

Main characters:

Becky Jones - seventeen, about to start junior year of high school, gets approached by Ruth during her children’s home Visiting Day. “What, you just saw me sitting over here reading instead of mingling, and decided to come say hi?” “Yeah, pretty much.”

Ruth Rivers, aka Natalie Ruth Bridger - thirty, independent artist, farmer, writer, and witch, has decided to take a big step in her life by bringing a teenager into it. “Let’s put it this way: I’m definitely your caretaker, but Parent is a title you get to decide to use or not. I’m perfectly happy being referred to as your foster aunt, foster cousin, foster roommate who can drive - whatever you feel comfortable with. Bottom line, I’m responsible for your safety and well-being. Beyond that, I’d like to impart some life lessons I would’ve considered helpful at your age, along with homework help, a broadening of your media horizons, and- well, whatever you need, really.”

Pass and Grae- Ruth’s familiars, a female golden retriever and male gray cat, respectively. They both enjoy lounging, whether that’s next to the woman or in any warm spot in general, and sometimes lend themselves to spell-casting. “You always have to ask their permission. Cats never do anything they don’t want to, and ordering rather than asking is the quickest way to cause them to ignore you out of spite. Dogs are generally more obedient, but it’s still polite to offer them the option of saying no.”

Other animals on Ruth’s property include half a dozen hens, a rooster, two lesbian ducks, a pig named Mister Dug, a guard donkey called Bobette, the retired stud bull Milkshake, three nitwit sheep and their goat leader, and Grae’s extended relations who keep the place clear of rodents, snakes, and such (including his parents, two aunts and an uncle, various siblings, half-siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews). At some point in the story, Becky finds and brings home an orphaned squirrel, whom she names Queer, and even after growing up and moving back outside, he sticks around the homestead, recognized by the rest of its inhabitants as one of their own.

Additional characters:

Scooter Zimms - Ruth’s neighbor just down the hill, a grumpy old man who minds the animals when she goes out of town and checks in from time to time to make sure she’s taking proper care of herself too. “He’s what we call an Ironclad Marshmallow - once you get past the rough exterior, he’s just a softy inside, one who thinks it’s good to have a local witch around and that you can never give a cat too many treats.”

Kay Blandersen - one of Becky’s classmates and former foster roommates, who has a hard time being non-binary when very few of the adults responsible for them care to understand the term. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the Nelsons are nice folks - but they just, don’t get it. And I don’t get the feeling they’re really invested in trying to get it, either.” “I’m sorry, kiddo. I know how that feels. But, hey, you won’t be stuck in a small town forever; sooner or later you’ll be free to get out into the great wide world, and there’ll be a whole crowd of folks who do get it, whether they’re the same as you or not. And it’s going to be great, I promise.”

Joshie Dell - another classmate and local trans boy, also a social outcast who, along with Kay and Becky, find a warm welcome in Ruth’s home. “My dad’s been pretty cool about it, but now whenever my aunt and uncle come by they get rude, and he argues with them, and I just- I want to be me without putting a strain on everything, y’know?” “Yeah, I know. At the end of the day, though, you are only responsible for yourself, and they are the ones responsible for their actions. There’s no shame in cutting off ties to people who can’t accept who you are.”

Ticah Woods - an old college roommate of Ruth’s, who first introduced her to the proper ways of magic, and with whom she exchanges occasional letters. She stops by at one point to drop off some felted soap, garden seeds, and a new embroidery pattern for stitching spells of subtle protection directly into clothing. “I could’ve done more to hide the magic stuff from her, but honestly, from day one Ruth seemed like the kind of person who would do well with it, either as an ally or a witch herself. So, I started casting spells a bit more openly, and after watching for a while she asked if I’d teach her some stuff, and like they say, the rest is history.”

Marsha Bell - Ruth’s mom, who she converted into witchhood via the benefits of familiars, and runs a visitation farm down in central Texas. The girls go visit her for the winter holidays. “Nattie! Oh, I’ve missed you so much, c’mere and give me a hug- And you must be Becky! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Nattie’s told me a lot in her letters, but I can’t wait to get to know you in person!”

Aerie Strangeness - a witch friend of Ruth’s who lives in Tennessee. She hosts the girls for a night on their summer trip up north. “Oh goodness, I’ve known Ruth here almost a full decade, now - a mutual friend put us in touch on the internet because we share a love of storytelling, actually. It was just coincidence we both happened to be magical, but for sure a happy one!”

Emma Bridger - Ruth’s paternal aunt, also a witch, who lives in Philadelphia, far away from anyone else in their family. The girls stop by to visit her on their summer trip, using a Witch Way to get from the outskirts to the heart of the city and skip traffic or overnight parking fees. “Well, actually, neither of us knew the other was a witch until Ruthie first visited by herself as an adult, oh, six or seven years ago at this point. We’ve stayed in touch a lot more since then.”

Gail Hills - Ruth’s best friend, also a witch, who lives in Massachusetts, where she visits for an extended stay every summer. The girls spend two weeks with her during July. “Ha, no, just Gail - but Ruth likes to claim it’s short for ‘Abigail’, so she can pull out my ‘full name’ whenever she’s pretending to be mad at me over something.”

@yogurtbear242, @danger-flammable, you two ought to have fun reading this one. ;)

[theprojectatedensgate]

The Lamb of God (A FC5 multi chapter: Chapter one

Ft OC: Brooklyn “Ariel” Carter

The Beginning

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, 

“Montana... Big Sky Country... The Treasure State... People got a lot of names for it, I just call it home.”

“Lived here my whole life, still amazed at how beautiful it is.”

“Maybe that’s what blinded us to how ugly the people were getting.”

“And everything became perfectly still...”

“Good day to you Brother.”

“You don’t understand, no one took these groups seriously.”

“They were religious. Militant. It was a Goddamn Cult.”

“The Collapse is upon us my children...”

“They started buying up every farm for miles. Then the radio station. Not long after that they even had the fuckin’ cops.”

“Their own sovereign religious state. Built right here under our noses.”

“Ain’t no one comin’ to help us. Government can’t do shit. We’re on our own.”

“God demands we save those lost souls whether they want to be saved or not.”

“People don’t want to believe groups like this exist.”

“People are scared, man.”

“...Some will wish to harm us... Some will wish to destroy all that we have built here together... And some will betray us...”

“We don’t know what he’s capable of... Who? Their leader.”

“Joseph Seed.”

“They call him “The Father.””

“And those in the outside world are blind, they do not believe, they have no faith. Shhh.... But I will make them see...”

                                                  SERVICE LOST

“Hey Rookie... Rookie!”

Brooklyn’s mind reeled as she lowered the phone, the images of the man digging his thumbs into the cameraman's sockets flashed before her. The unsteadiness of the Chopper threw her from  thought, the Sheriff’s voice on the headset cutting through her.

“You’re wasting your time, there’s no signal out here.”

The Marshall shot her a grimace, glancing down to his to a paper in his hand. That must be warrant. Her gut lurched, they were going to arrest the man. The man who had just slaughtered someone without a second thought, The Father, Joseph Seed. Pratt’s voice came through the headset.

“The found footage, where was it found exactly?”

The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous glance out the window.

“Just outside of the Holland Valley.”

“Crossing over the Henbane now.”

Out of the shadows of the Whitetail Mountains, a large block of white came filled her view, a stark contrast against the blue Montana night. Brooklyn lent closer to the window, her mouth dropping at the sight, Hudson exhaled through the speaker.

“Oh, fuck. There he is.”

A giant statue, arms out stretched, book in one hand, his other raised to the sky. Brooklyn couldn’t believe her eyes, a huge sculpture, The Father himself.

“Crazy MotherFucker.”

“Jesus.”

“Holy shit.”

“We’re officially in Peggie’ country.”

“How much longer?”

“Just long enough for you to change your mind, so we can turn this bird around.”

Brooklyn furrowed her brows, picking at her nails. She watched The Marshall and The Sheriff in silence. Why would he want to override a federal warrant? It’s all their asses on the line back at the Department if they didn’t go through with it. She had never met the wanted man before, only skimming quickly through his profile. He didn’t seem that dangerous at first, a calm looking man with certain notes of intensity, but after watching that video, after watching the Sheriff, she was beginning to doubt. The Marshall furrowed his brows, cocking his head to the side.

“You want me to ignore a federal warrant, Sheriff?”

“No sir. I want you to understand the reality of this situation: Joseph Seed, he’s not a man to be fucked with. We’ve had run-ins with him before and they haven’t always gone our way. Just sometimes... Sometimes, it’s best to leave well enough alone.”

The Marshall toyed with the paper, and Brooklyn watched him with anticipation She had heard things, whispers and rumours in the office, Joseph Seed was a madman, he would kill all who stood in his way. As a cop she couldn’t really rely on conjecture, they needed actual evidence. Which the Marshal had been more than happy to provide, he had been talking non stop about the case  since he arrived in Montana. Brooklyn listened to him politely, all she knew was they had to bring some man of God to the station who had a potential to turn nasty, nothing more.

“Yeah well, we have laws for a reason, Sheriff. And Joseph Seed is gonna’ learn that.”

The Sheriff sighed. Ahh good old Whitehorse, never got on well with the city folk. He sent Brooklyn a knowing look, she smirked straight back at him.

“Pratt, open a call with dispatch.”

“Ten-Four.”

Whitehorse pushed the mic to his lips, taking a deep breath.

“Whitehorse to dispatch. Over.”

The radio crackled with interference, Nancy came through on the end.

“Go ahead, Earl.”

“We’re approaching the compound, Nancy. Over.”

“Roger, Sheriff. Still planning to go through with this? Over.”

Whitehorse shook his head, breathing a sigh.

“We are -- Unfortunately-- Still trying to some sense into our friend the Marshal. Over.”

The Marshalled glanced at Brook, smirking and shaking his head. Her faced breached a smile, attempting to stifle a giggle.

“Alright. He’s lucky I’m not there... If you get into any trouble you just let me know. Over.”

“Ten-Four. Over and out.”

Pratt closed the call to dispatch, his grip still firm on the bird, he turned to Hudson, scoffing and titling his head to point at Brook.

“Maybe we shoulda Nancy along with us instead of the Probie. These Peggies wouldn’t fuck with her.”

“Pratt!”

“Hey fuck you Staci.”

The Marshall raised his brows at her, and turned in his seat. Whitehorse winked and she sent him a confident grin.

“Why do you keep calling them “Peggies”?”

“The Project at Eden’s Gate. P.E.G. Peggies. It’s what the locals call em’.  You know they started off harmless enough a few years back. But now they are armed to the teeth. Hell, they’re lookin’ for a fight.”

“Are you scared, Sheriff?”

He didn’t answer, and a bile rose up her chest. This was Sheriff Earl Whitehorse, he didn’t spook easily. He had taken her under his wing when she had arrived, if he was afraid, she needed to be too. Brook fiddled with her phone, her mind flashing to images of Cultist with belts of ammo wrapped around their necks, AR-C’s slung over their shoulders. She wasn’t a stranger to cults, growing up with her daddy’s stories in the ATF. She was proud of him and followed his path into law enforcement. She knew crime well, training for it everyday back home. Dealing with a cult directly however? That shirt had not been worn. Pratt disrupted the silence.

“We’re here. Compound’s just below.”

Brook lent forward towards the window again. Rows of white houses surrounded by a wire fence and trees, A church sat proudly at the head, white, fitting in with it’s surroundings. The pale moonlight and the flaming bonfires below basked the compound in an eerie light, a lump formed in her throat.

“Oh my...Jesus.”

Pratt exhaled sharply, attempting to keep the bird steady, Hudson exhaled along with him, sharing a glance.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Last chance Marshall.” The Sheriff’s voice stern.

The Marshall’s gaze lingered over the side momentarily before sighing and facing Brook. He looked at her with confidence, and she sent him a supportive nod.

“We’re going in.”

The Sheriff glanced upwards, swallowing before regaining his composure.

“Set her down.” 

Pratt hesitated, shifting in his seat, his expression full of concern.

“Pratt.”

“Roger, that.”

The slowly sunk to the ground, dust and dirt blowing up around them. The size of the church seemed to grow and so did the lump in Brook’s throat. She took note of the entryway, “Church of Eden’s Gate” wrought into the white metal fence. The Chopper hit the ground with a thud, bouncing it’s passengers in their seats.

“Dispatch, you still there?”

“Yes, go ahead, Sheriff.”

“You don’t hear from us in fifteen minutes send in everyone. Call the goddamn National Guard if you have to. Over.”

“Yessir, Sheriff. I’ll be prayin’ for you.”

As the blades of the bird died down, Whitehorse removed his headset, the rest of the team following suit, he turned to face them.

“Now listen up, Three rules: Stick close. Keep your guns in your holsters and let me do the talking.” He nodded at the Marshall. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Rookie?” 

“Yes sir.”

“Alright everyone, stay sharp. Let’s go.”

They scrambled out of the bird, Brook climbing out last, her eyes widening as she took in her surroundings, the video made sense. Their own sovereign religious state... Built right here. Pratt raised a thumbs up, keeping an eye from the Chopper. Whitehorse, Burke, Hudson, walked in a row, heading towards the Church.

“He’ll be in the Church. Stick close,”

“Eye’s open, these folk can spook easily.

That’s when Brook saw them, the “Peggies.”, just like she had seen on the found footage from those missing bloggers. Men with ragged, grown out beards, standing around the bonfires and keeping watch. There were women too, long un cut hair, guns slung around them just like their male counterparts, keen eyes trained upon the strangers. They adorned with light colour sweaters, the church symbol on their front. Dog’s barked in the distance and the smell of dirt, wood smoke and gunpowder filled them. There was something else too... Ammonia like. Brook trailed behind her squad mates, transfixed on the sights around her. The people had a thousand yard stares, the look of someone who knew all there was to know, experienced all there was to experience. It un-nerved her. Hudson must have noticed Brook’s reluctance spinning around to look at her.

“Brook! On me. Stay loose, huh?”

Brook straightened her composure, marching confidently forward. Mutterings came from the crowds of people, she only picked up a few sentences.

“We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“What are they doing here?”

“Be calm. Stay calm everyone. Just go about your business. This doesn’t concern you”

The Sheriff’s words had no affect, the crowd still focused on their every move, whispering and glancing at one another, glaring at the officers. 

“Somethin’ tell’s me they do not like law enforcement.”

Hudson nodded at Brook, before placing a hand on Whitehorse’s shoulder.

“Sheriff, I don’t like this.”

“Everything’s fine Hudson... Everything’s just fine.”

The Marshall stopped in his tracks, turning to the officers with astonishment.

“Jesus Christ, you’re wearing badges aren’t you?”

“Yeah but they don’t respect the badges much out here.”

“They’ll respect the nine millimetre.”

“Not every problem can be solved with a bullet Marshall...”

They carried on their way, passing the white buildings. Brooklyn noticed they were all named in Latin, she furrowed her brows  trying to figure out what it all meant. The Church loomed over the compound. The Moon casting a gloomy shadow beneath it, voices grew louder as they grew nearer. A familiar tune, hummed out by a choir of people. Brook almost found herself singing along, before shaking her head and focusing on the Church door. The same symbol on the cultists clothing, the Church of Eden’s Gate. There was writing etched in the wood, she couldn't make it out, layers of dirt and dust covering the lettering, she moved to brush her hand across it, pulling back as the Marshall wrapped his fingers around the handle, Whitehorse grabbed his arm.

"Woah, Marshall. Now we do this, we do it my way: Quietly. Calmly. You got it?"

The Marshall rolled his eyes, outstretching his arms in defence.

"Fine."

"Hudson on the door. Watch our backs. Don't let any of these people get in. Rookie -- On me."

Hudson stood with her back towards the Church, her hand ready at her side arm. The Sheriff turned to the Marshall once more.

"And you, just try not to do anything stupid."

The Marshall smirked at him, placing a gloved palm onto his shoulder.

"Relax, Sheriff. You're about to get your name in the paper."

Brook shot a look at Hudson, who also rolled her eyes. She glanced back towards her, concern on her expression.

"You'll be fine."

"I know."

Brook shot a reassuring smile back, turning to follow the Sheriff and the Marshall into the building.  Whitehorse pulled the doors open gently, the soft glow of candles illuminating the outside. Brook saw the backs of cultists, the long shadow of a man, stretching across the floor boards. A stern, powerful voice that reverberated and echoed against the walls of the building caught her attention.

"Something is coming. You can feel it, can't you? We are creeping toward the edge... And there will be a reckoning."

She moved forward, sticking close behind her colleagues, she caught eyes with the people in the pews, who rose to their feet as they walked on. Fear tingled at her neck, she kept her eyes forward.

"That's why we started The Project. Because we know what happens next..."

Her eyes started to adjust to a tall figure, stood upon the podium, the source of the voice.

"They will come. They will try to take from us. Take our guns. Take our freedom... Take our Faith!"

Brook turned to glance at the doors, the Peggies had started to crowd behind her. Panic surged through her chest and she tapped at the Sheriff's arm. He sent her a nod of acknowledgement, before nodding towards the figure.

"But we will not let them."

The Marshall picked up on Brooklyn's uneasiness, sending the Sheriff a look of confusion at the lack of action.

"Sheriff, c'mon."

"Just hold on, Marshall."

The figure was in  clear view now, dressed only in black jeans, Black boots surrounded by candles and a rosary clutched in his hand. A belt buckle that matched the symbol that shone behind him, enlightening his features, the symbol on the church. He hair was tied up in a bun, yellow shades fixed on his eyes, a beard like the others, tattoo's and scars adorned his chest and arms. Brook squinted to examine the markings. Two swallows resting below his collar bones, a crown on his chest and below that a lamp with the word "Eden" written onto it, what looked like a verse of some sort written along his waist, flowing down to his abdomen. She examined his scars, the word "Wrath" etched onto the underside of his forearm, "Lust" just above the lining of his pants.

"We will not let their greed, or their immorality, or their depravity hurt us anymore!"

"Sheriff-"

"Do not pull that trigger. Remain calm..."

"There will be no more more suffering-"

"No fuck this." The Marshall shoved the warrant forward. "Joseph Seed! I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm!"

Brooklyn looked behind the preacher, taking note of man who stood to his left. A well dressed man, dark hair slicked back, long coat and sunglasses upon his head. He too had a beard, and Brook smiled a little at the resemblance. The man caught her gaze, raising at brow at her expression, heat flooded through her and she turned her attention back to the wanted man.

"Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see 'em!"

Joseph raised his arms, pointing towards the officers.

"Here they are... The Locusts in our garden... You see they've come for me."

The peggies started grouping in front of him, forming a protective barrier. Brook's heart thudded against her chest, her eyes flicking between the defensive crowd and Whitehorse.

"They've come to take me away from you. They've come to destroy all that we have built!"

The crowd started yelling and yowling, raising their guns in the air as they pointed and shouted them. Brook's hand instinctively went for her side arm, the Marshall followed suit. 

"Alright, now. Put your guns down. Put your guns down!”

The Sheriff raised his hand against the Marshall and Brook, shouting over the Cultists, confusion gracing her features.

"Now hold on, do not touch that service weapon! Hold on and stand down! Stand down! Everyone calm down!"

Joseph stood off of the podium, silencing the crowd, he placed his palms on two of his followers, glancing back as the man on his left stalked behind him, his gaze fixed on Brook. He moved over to the right, now in clear view, crossing his hands behind his back. Joseph looked back at his followers with a grimace, as they awaited instruction.

"We knew this moment would come. We have prepared for it. Go. Go..."

He gently pushed them forward and the follower looked around with anticipation. Another figure had come into view behind him, a red headed man, arms crossed over his chest, a military jacket rolled at his forearms. He stood to his right, also staring at Brook. She began to feel like a caged animal, the Sheriff was right, they should have turned around. Reluctantly, the cultists started walking out of the church, sending filthy looks towards her. One more figure had joined the men behind him, a woman, dressed in a white knee length dress with flowers and bare footed, dirty blonde tresses snaking over her shoulders.

"God will not let them take me."

Joseph raised his arms in the air, facing towards the heavens. her

"I saw when the Lamb opened the First Seal, and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say, "Come and see..."

The Marshall tensed up, taking a step towards him.

"Step. forward." He lowered his arms, walking closer to the officers, raising a finger to point at the Marshall.

"...And I saw, and behold, it was a white horse..."

He looked over at the Sheriff, before finally meeting Brook's discomforted expression, his blue eyes filtered green through the glasses, boring into her with a powerful intensity, she felt like he knew everything about her, she felt vulnerable under his gaze.

"...And Hell followed with him..."

He extended his arms towards her , palms facing upwards as he pressed his wrists side by side. Readying himself for the hand cuffs. The Marshall smirked, shaking his head in his typical fashion.

"Rookie -- cuff this son of a bitch."

"God will not let you take me."

The spotlight was on her now, she stood in front of this man, a stage fright freezing her in place. He stare tore though ever fibre of her being, as if this man knew all the answers, for every question known to mankind. She reached a shaky hand into her back pocket, fumbling with the cuffs.

"Rook! Put the cuffs on him!"

"Put down your guns, take your friends and walk away..."

A small voice in the back of Brook's mind spoke to her, telling her she should drop this and leave. The staring of the group behind Joseph only served to make this worse. Trembling slightly, she slapped the cuffs around his wrists. The holy man stared at the floorboards, before shaking his head and smiling at her calmly.

"Sometimes the best thind to do... Is to walk away..."

Brook placed her hands on his shoulder, spinning him around to face the door, with one hand on the cuffs and on his shoulder, she pushed him toward the exit. The Sheriff nodded at her with approval, sending her another wink.

"Let's go."

The group of three that stood behind Joseph, watching the whole scene unfold, observed in silence as they walked their leader from the Church. The Marshall and the Sheriff both shoved the doors open, to meet Hudson's' terrified expression.

"We have to get the fuck out of here."

The sounds of engines from Trucks started pulling up outside the church, the crowd of people larger now, heckling and cursing at the officers. Brooklyn walked on with caution, keeping a firm grip on her prisoner. The peggies shouted, the dogs were barking.

"Marshall you take point."

"On it."

"Stay on the path Rook."

"Yes sir."

The Marshall grew skittish, unable to focus on everybody at once. A cultist lunged for him and he elbowed them into the ground. Hudson became panicked.

"Burke!"

"Everyone keep back!"

Hudson glanced back at Brook, her eyes wide with fear.

"Rookie keep up!"

The cultists came closer, almost cutting off their path to the bird.

" I am a US federal Marshall and I am ordering you to stand back!"

Rocks started raining down upon them, the drew their service weapons, pointing behind Brook. She ducked, speed walking towards the Chopper. The Marshall fired shots into the air, causing the cultists to move out of their way.  Hudson clambered into the bird, beckoning Brook with her hands.

"C'mon! C'mon! Get in!"

"Pratt! Get us outta' here!"

They stumbled into the chopper,  the blades whirring to life, the air filled with the noise of people shouting and an engine. Brook shoved Joseph in first before seating herself, the Marshall and Whitehorse following. All hell broke loose, people started throwing themselves at the bird, crying for their Father, scrambling all up the sides and clinging on to the aircraft. The Sheriff threw on his headset, calling for dispatch.

"Nancy?! Nancy are you there?!”

One of the peggies managed to get a hold of the Marshall's arm as they liften from the ground, he shot at them watching them drop like a stone. A woman grabbed hold of Brook, but she pushed her out of the Bird. Chaos was unravelling, Hudson, Pratt, Whitehorse and Burke all shouting over the top of each other. But something caught Brook's attention, she look at Joseph and noticed he was singing. The same song from the church.

"Amazing... Grace... How sweet... The sound..."

The chopper shuddered roughly, the sounds of metal crashing together made Brook's gut tie into knots. They started spinning, falling from the sky, another Peggie was thrown off the side, the speed of the fall increasing, Brook's hands clasped into her seat, the Marshal was pressed up against his, eyes firmly shut as he started to scream. 

"We're going down!"

The Sheriff grabbed ahold of Brook's hand and squeezed, but she was fixed on Joseph, she couldn't tear herself away.

"That saved... A wretch... Like me..." The tree's became a blur, her chest tightened with a lack of oxygen. She forced her eyes closed, bracing for impact.

"Was lost... But now I'm found..."

The smacked into the ground at speed, the bird rolled with the impact, flipping twice before landing. Blackness pooled in Brook's vision, her head becoming dark. Josephs voice becoming muffled as she faded.

"Was blind... but now... I see..."

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