#Mentioned/Implied Abuse

[apricitywinterswrites]

I Didn't Want Trouble, I'm the Boy in the Bubble (But Then Came Trouble) - Feveruary D01

I Didn't Want Trouble, I'm the Boy in the Bubble (But Then Came Trouble)

Chapters: 1/2

Word Count: 1,976

Summary

Tommy winced, a pain slowly spreading across his back as he waited almost anxiously for Dream's arrival. It wasn't usual for Dream to be late. Even less usual for one of Dream's visits to be in the afternoon after near months of it always being first thing in the morning. He wasn't sure how, or why, but he felt like it was going to be a bad visit when he did arrive, which only made Tommy all the more anxious. The knowledge that his 'feelings' were always correct, in some form or another, only made him feel worse, and not with anxiety. He felt sick to his stomach. Even at just the brief reminder of everything he'd predicted as a child, Tommy felt sick to his stomach. He almost felt like crying, but there was always the possibility that Dream could show up while Tommy was crying. Dream never liked it when Tommy cried.

Or, or, the one where Tommy grows wings while in exile and Philza and Technoblade just also happen to be planning and staging a rescue. Neither expected, nor planned, for an appearance of wings... or Tommy latched onto the closest person for comfort. Title from | Boy in the Bubble | by | Alec Benjamin | This fic was inspired by "An intervention from the rulers of the Antarctic Empire" by Sircantus on Ao3!

Day 1 of Feveruary2025 (@feveruary) || "How did you end up like this?"

You can also read | I Didn't Want Trouble, I'm the Boy in the Bubble (But Then Came Trouble) | on Ao3!

Warnings Include: Heavy Hurt/Comfort, One Scene is Graphic for Pain and a tadbit of Injury, Mentioned/Implied Abuse, Mentioned/Implied Child Abuse, Mentioned/Implied Psychological Abuse, Mentioned/Implied Manipulation, Tad bit of Kidnapping, Brief Panic Attack(s)

……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ………

Tommy was fine that morning. He woke up feeling fine, he'd gotten ready for the day feeling fine, he'd even made it through Dream's visit feeling fine. But then he saw a feather laying at the entrance of his tent. A single black feather.

A single black crow feather.

It had felt like there was just a tidal wave of memories rushing through his mind. All the times he'd cooed at crows that always hung around where he lived as a small child. All the small feathers he collected and kept safe. Or the ones that he'd sacrificed after… conversing with them some.

It had reminded him on cold nights when one of his mentors from school would bring him home with them because Tommy wasn't safe at home. It reminded him of dark wings that would wrap around him after a nightmare, something so unpreventable that Tommy was surprised that his mentor's dad would still try. Every time that Tommy was over for the night, Philza had tried to soothe away Tommy's nightmares.

Tommy hadn't seen a crow, or even their feathers, since Philza had joined the server.

Seeing one laying so innocently in front of his tent after so long almost… scared Tommy. He'd definitely felt like a bucket of ice water had been dropped down overtop of him. Afterwards, it had felt like Tommy had just begun to slowly feel worse and worse.

He'd rushed to pick the feather up, holding it so carefully in his hands with wide eyes and a racing heart. He was quick to shove the feather into his inventory, turning and sitting on the sandy beach with his knees pulled up to his chest as he began to cry.

He'd ignored the caw of a crow that sounded so different yet so familiar.

Tommy winced, a pain slowly spreading across his back as he waited almost anxiously for Dream's arrival. It wasn't usual for Dream to be late. Even less usual for one of Dream's visits to be in the afternoon after near months of it always being first thing in the morning.

He wasn't sure how, or why, but he felt like it was going to be a bad visit when he did arrive, which only made Tommy all the more anxious. The knowledge that his 'feelings' were always correct, in some form or another, only made him feel worse, and not with anxiety. He felt sick to his stomach.

Even at just the brief reminder of everything he'd predicted as a child, Tommy felt sick to his stomach. He almost felt like crying, but there was always the possibility that Dream could show up while Tommy was crying. Dream never liked it when Tommy cried.

Tommy swallowed as he started pacing, a feeling of restlessness filling him the longer he waited by the Nether Portal that Dream used to visit him most days. He never came by boat. He used to, though. Back during the first month that Tommy had been exiled.

He would use that over Tommy's head all the time, his hands having gotten hurt too many times by the old boat ores and the splinters. The only reason he probably still didn't come by boat was because the ores had snapped and the boat had sprung a leak somewhere that Dream couldn't find to fix.

Tommy sighed, looking up at the sun to see if he could figure out what time of day it was. He'd never been the best at telling the time with the positioning of the sun, that had always been more of Wilbur's thing… He looked away as a feeling of frustration began to rise up in Tommy… Before it was quickly wiped out by a deep seated guilt.

Dream took time out of his day, out of his very busy schedule, to visit Tommy. Those visits could always be stopped, even without warning… Without warning.

Tommy felt a jolt of realization before a wave of pain rushed through him. Both literal pain and the emotional kind that always annoyed his friend. Tommy stumbled away from the Nether Portal, tears welling up in his eyes against all of Tommy's best interests.

During Dream's last visit, Tommy must have done something to upset or annoy Dream enough for him to stop visiting. That's why there was no visit today. The answer seemed so obvious, now that Tommy had remembered some of Dream's hurtful jabs. No, that was a mean thought.

Dream had never meant to be hurtful, and it wasn't fair to think of any of his actions as such. Dream had only been trying to help Tommy. He'd been trying to help Tommy learn and understand. And Tommy had failed.

A quiet sob escaped Tommy as he dropped just outside of his tent. His back felt like it was on fire and it was starting to scare him. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. And Tommy wanted it to stop and it wasn't stopping.

Tommy flinched as something landed next to him. He forced his eyes, which had squeezed shut at some point from his knees touching the ground and then, to open. He turned his head and found that there was a crow staring at him with a look akin to curiosity in its eyes.

Tommy flinched, less than before, as the crow hopped just a tad bit closer.

"Hello," Tommy greeted. His voice was shaky, which wasn't that surprising. It always was when he was hurt, or hurting he supposed. He swallowed as the crow came close enough to bump its head against his cheek. "It's been a long while since one of you has been near." The crow tilted its head curiously.

Another wave of pain washed over Tommy. He yelped, turning his head so that he was looking down at the sand that he was currently kneeling on top of. He could faintly feel the crow bumping its head against Tommy's cheek, crooning softly.

Tommy was panting lightly when the wave of pain ended. He was panting slightly, which he only noticed when the crow trilled lightly. There was a seemingly slow pattern that the crow was mimicking. A mix of trills and chirps that didn't take Tommy barely any time to realize was the crow walking him through a breathing exercise.

He could remember hiding in the forests, crying and panicking because he was hurt and lost. He'd run out there when his father had gotten mad at him and hadn't intended on getting lost. Nothing usually went how Tommy wanted it to. He could also remember how the crows around his home had learned how to communicate with Tommy, at least in a sense. When he was to panicked to listen, they would make patterns.

Patterns that usually followed breathing patterns.

Tommy took a breath in at the start of the next trill, breathing in until it ended and then holding as the crow chirped. The next trill had him releasing the breath. Then the two of them repeated the pattern. Over and over and over again. And then for some more time after that, just to make sure that Tommy wasn't going to start hyperventilating at quick movements from his little friend.

By the time Tommy had calmed down, he'd felt too exhausted to move. Well, too exhausted to move past turned and falling onto his eyes, his eyes opening briefly to stare at the crow who was trilling curiously, trilling in concern.

"Thank you, little friend." Tommy uttered quietly. The pain was, surprisingly, gone. At least, for the most part. Tommy wasn't sure that the pain would ever leave him again but he found that was okay… so long as he was uninjured. Tommy wasn't sure how he would fare if Dream thought he needed to be taught another lesson.

He felt a jolt of hurt at the thought of Dream. He was quick to stop the line of thinking before he worked himself up again.

The tiny crow made a purring sound before taking off into the air. Tommy didn't have the time to feel sadness at his 'little friend' leaving before the crow was back, landing on his chest now that Tommy was mostly on his back. Tommy smiled at the warbles of comfort as the two of them settled.

Prime was Tommy tired, he noted as he yawned suddenly. He hoped that the tiny crow wouldn't mind if Tommy fell asleep. Tommy wasn't going to be able to fight off sleep, even if he tried. And Tommy didn't have the energy to try.

He fell asleep to the soothing warbles and gentle waves.

He woke up screaming as a burning sensation came from his back. His back felt like it was burning, on fire, and like he was being stabbed all at the same time. It was tight, and tense, and Tommy couldn't pull his shirt off fast enough with the fear that his shirt had somehow caught on fire. It didn't.

A sob broke from Tommy's throat, eyes widening in surprise and shock before he was squeezing them shut, another scream coming from him as he twisted onto his stomach. The sand hadn't been the nicest to fall asleep on, and it definitely hadn't helped his back when the pain had come back.

Tommy struggled putting his arms up by his head so that he wasn't getting a mouth full of sand every time he screamed, he had a feeling this was going to be going on for a while and he wanted the reassurance he wasn't going to eat sand.

He didn't know when this was going to end. He wished he did.

A feeling of helplessness washed through Tommy, making him only feel worse as he got a sickening feeling of something in his back moving. He gagged, choking on a sob as he tried to open his eyes so that he could at least see his surroundings. The only thing he knew for certain was that it was dark out.

And the dark meant mobs. Mobs that would want to kill Tommy. Especially while he was down and weak and hurt. Tommy couldn't move though.

He was in too much pain to move.

Tommy sobbed freely into his arm as the pain continued to run through his body. It had spread throughout his body at some point after Tommy had moved onto his stomach.

Another sharp pain, different from the others, ran through his body and Tommy screamed before his teeth bit down into his arm.

He choked on the taste of iron in his mouth but it was like he couldn't get his jaw to listen to him. His teeth were locked in place.

Tommy was sobbing and choking slightly on the little blood that was in his mouth. His back was on fire and Tommy screamed.

"Oh Toms, how did you end up like this?" Tommy groaned lightly, eyes fluttering and looking around him in pain filled confusion. It felt like there was a haze over his mind, like a blanket had wrapped around his senses and was dulling everything. He groaned again as he spotted someone kneeling over him. "Oh Tommy, what happened? What did I miss?"

Tommy noticed that there was a lot of green and black, which initially made him think of Dream, but Dream didn't wear black. Ever. And with how dizzy Tommy felt, he couldn't possibly think of who it was kneeling over him.

"We have to go if we want to get out of here without a fight." Another voice spoke. Tommy looked over, his head lagging behind his command, and found a lot of pink. Tommy groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as arms slipped underneath him in an odd way and lifted him up.

He cried out in pain before everything around him faded out.

[anendtopursuit]

not to gush too much abt neil newbon's performance as astarion (and stephen rooney's writing for him) but like. he's discussed on streams before how conscious the decision to make him feel like he's constantly performing is (regardless of outcome; theatrical spawn astarion & operatic ascended astarion), and how stephen rooney leaned more into the whimsy and fun of the character based on things he saw in his portrayal (hence astarion progressively getting funnier and more charismatic through game development). but the thing that drives me absolutely mad tbh is the moments where all of it drops and he's suddenly so sincere, because it hits you like a truck to the face.

his voice going all soft and quiet and brittle when he describes cazador instructing his spawn to torture themselves. his mannerisms shifting from seductive and playful to a little more nervous. but the one that always gets me is in the graveyard romance scene, talking about what cazador has taken from him, how it was taken by force; "but he did take it," in this voice that's so full of sorrow that it almost sounds hollow, muffled by none of his usual pomp and theatricality, when even in cazador's palace his admissions of upset were sandwiched between attempts to brush it all off. dear god.

[cupcakeslushie]

Recovering your autonomy vs Completely cutting yourself off from your support system. FIGHT!

This happens sometime after the ongoing Kendra reunion comic, but not far enough along that the brothers have figured out how to navigate certain landmines.

Donnie is still re-adjusting to communicating his needs in a confident manner. Sometimes he gets a little too worked up, and lets the panic take over. He regrets the yelling later.

…The next morning

[carto0ncritter]

One thing I noticed in this shitshow of an episode is how fucking ungrateful Stolas was for everything Blitzø did for him since he came to his place.

Him being a spoiled rich white asshole:

I hate his facial expressions so much, you have no idea

I can guarantee you care about these 'nice things' more than you care about your daughter btw

Oh, we also have, let's see here...

*insert the entire montage of Blitzø (Stolas' victim) trying to cheer his abuser up since he's now in love with him thanks to good ol' Stockholm Syndrome*

Seeing that cigarette reminds me of when Stolas uh... *checks notes* called Blitz an 'itty bitty imp (racist)' despite him clearly hating it, grabbed his cheek and used his horn to put out his cigarette (not to mention Blitzø's severe trauma being related to fucking fire)

Okay so anyway, I think Stolas said "Oh, when have you ever asked" bc Blitzø stole from him and his family 25 years ago. correct me if I'm wrong here but isn't it manipulative af to bring up smth that happened that long ago, also it's totally unrelated to the current situation. I swear it's like a grown ass man saying to another "Oh I still hate you because, uhm, remember that one time in 3rd grade when you stole my pencil..."

So... if Stolas still holds this against Blitzø, let me ask: why was he ever "in love" with him in the first place? Answer? He wasn't. Stolas only used this imp for his sexual fantasies and for him to get to experience his "fairytale romance"

P.S. Imps are a race his privileged ass has always been racist towards and he hasn't ever attempted to, uh... try to understand them better? Understand how they live? I mean if you truly cared about your "boyfriend," Stolas, you'd have put in SOME effort to change your mindset/behavior and WOULDN'T HAVE EVER SEXUALLY COERCED HIM

He also r@p*d you blitz

And no he didn't do much, he's powerful af. Using those powers isn't rocket science heck he turned an imp to stone in s1 he can protect himself but is apparently the "bottom" in the stolitz "relationship". Also no, him leaving Octavia clearly isn't a huge deal to Stolas otherwise he'd have fought to earn her forgiveness and not just sulk like a wimpy loser. YOU ARE NOT ONLY A GROWN MAN STOLAS, BUT A FATHER. At least you were supposed to be

So was not thinking about your daughter until you lost everything, apparently

AGAIN WITH THIS SHIT??? WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT A TRANSACTION AGAIN

Alright I'm signing off until the next season drops, if that ever happens

This episode sucked, but kudos to our girl Via who was smart enough to see through her "father's" bs 👏

ALSO HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO THE CRITICAL COMMUNITY (and to non-toxic stans too)!

[spark-river]

Headcanon:

Sometimes the brothers fight with Mammon. Full on screaming and anger because they think he stole something or he actually did. While this can lead to physical fights, the brothers are not always looking for one. At these times they get especially upset when they raise their hands to get a point across and Mammon's first reaction is shielding his head as if about to be hit.

Levi isn't good with this kind of thing so he'll continue seething for a minute before storming off and hiding in his room. Now upset that his brother thought he'd hit him even though he wasn't planing on. He can't quite place his feelings but ends up leaving his room later on in the same day and subconsciously searches the house for Mammon. When he does find him he just ends up curled close to or even against him. Levi refuses to acknowledge what is happening, partially because he doesn't understand his own emotions.

Asmo doesn't have such a complicated reaction, he just gets upset because how can his brother think he'll ruin his pretty face?! Mammon will get reassured Asmo is not looking for a fight, even if Asmo's a bit incredulous about it.

Satan won't notice his reaction if he's in a fit of anger. Later on he'll silently remark to himself that Mammon's reaction was appropriate.

Lucifer will acknowledge Mammon's reaction, tell him he's not going to hit him and continue his lecture. He actively makes an effort to keep his hands down or clasp them behind or in front of his body.

Belphie is too lazy to properly yell.

Beel will immediately stop what he was saying and look like a kicked puppy. He hates when his brothers think he'll hurt them. He's most likely to hug Mammon to reassure him before continuing in a calmer manner. Beel is very aware of his build and how he's intimidating even if Mammon is the stronger one.

[misseligon]

This is the most stupidly self indulgent oc ever, throws found family upon ye.

More info about the boyo

(File Template made by @glow-and-vamp)

[galactic-rhea]

i am sooo desperate to see more art of shmi skywalker because i love her so much so thats DEFINITELY my doodle request lol

The original Skywalker, you're so right about it.

Also I have her a good friend, I'll call her...idk, Tei Demma (she is another slave, obviously).

[genderqueerdykes]

queer communities: please take a moment to read this ask sent by a nonbinary parent discussing their 11 year old transmasc child's experience if you don't believe that transandrophobia is real or that you don't think man hating hurts queer people.

i recently received an ask from a nonbinary parent whose 11 year old transmasc son is dealing with suicidal thoughts and regret because of these behaviors being so common in queer spaces now. he can't escape it, even his friends are awful to him about it and he has to apologize for being transmasc often. he is being robbed of his childhood because people are already forcing him to adopt the "man" role and take heat for it even though he is literally 11 years old.

please take the time to read his story. this is real. it hits hard. this is not just petty fighting online. it gets carried into the real world. those people don't stop believing those things just because they logged off. they're real people. all of these things affect real people because the people behind the posts are real and what they say stems from how they behave.

would you rather see dead trans boys instead of living trans men?

you know the rush you get when you fuck with someone? its temporary, and it creates a howling void. the way you treat that other person? Can stick with them for life. you getting your kicks out of abusing and bullying children has real world consequences. how would you feel if a trans boy actually ended their life because of what you said to them online? you'd say you'd feel proud, but you wouldn't. you won't feel good if it actually happens.

do boys not exist or do they get a special pass and are only killed once they're men? saying things like "kill all men" and pressuring trans men and boys to stop being trans or become more feminine or leave trans spaces altogether is hurting people in the real world. it's not just a funny haha thing you say online, it's happening. and the worst part is that it's the norm. not all transmascs have the ability to have any power over you at all. some transmasculine people are boys, not men. some are children you are not justified in mocking young transmasculine people because they're boys. they're not even men yet. trans boys aren't getting the chance to even become men, let alone be persecuted for it.

please stop. it's making children consider suicide. and don't you dare say "good". like how could a child dying because they were tortured mentally by adults and kids older than them dying ever be a good thing? they're vulnerable. trans boys are vulnerable. you're picking on vulnerable children. you're picking on adults who have already gone through this a million times before. enough. please stop bullying transmasc children. stop doing it to transmasc adults, too, stop doing it to all transmascs. but please stop making kids feel this way. that "petty teenage discourse" is a thing that carries over into the real world and hurts kids. teenagers are kids. preteens are kids. this is hurting the younger generation. why do we see this as okay?

this in and of itself is an example of transandrophobia. please stop. let trans boys grow up to be happy trans men who live long lives. they deserve it. protect trans kids includes transmasc kids and kids who are trans boys. we're shutting down these conversations. you can't keep doing this to other trans people and act like it's funny and cool and whatever.

like seriously, stop. dead children aren't funny.

we're done.

thank you.

[citrusai]

taash said "they were doing it" and people ran with the interpretation of an npc that doesn't know solas or the history of the elvhenan even when bellara interjected and said, no, that's not right. that's not how it was for the elvhenan. they formed bonds before they had physical bodies. and people ran to doompost or create weird anti-solavellan shit even though mythal & solas refer to each other as old friends and when she releases him there is no tenderness or love in it. it is the act of unchaining a dog from his post, the stepping down of a general. but to each their own ig.

[pigeons-paintbrush]

i couldnt NOT make this, like come on the guy is WEARING HIS OUTFIT

the white shorts with black stripes?? the black t-shirt?? COME ONNNNNN, you cannot dress like that and not immediately make me think of killer sans. i HAD to make this into killer. i had to. (esp since the evil dad energy fit so well too...)

meme source (i dont have tiktok so idk who the og creator is)

this took me hours. for what. why did i add so many little details (please stare at them.)

[a-j-s-the-only]

Would you rather be alone in the woods with a man or a bear?

“a bear would stop at death”

“we aren’t choosing the bear because we’d think we’d survive.”

“I’d rather feed a bear and it’s cubs than feed a man’s sick fantasies”

“people would believe me when I told them I was attacked by a bear”

“people would stop the bear”

“if I survived a bear attack, people would call me a warrior, not a whore.”

“a bear wouldn’t come into my room again.”

“A bear would do it out of survival, not enjoyment.”

“I wouldn’t have to see the bear at family reunions”

“a bear wouldn’t rape you.”

“if it was a bear, who’s going to ask me what I was wearing?”

“bears live in the woods, not in your house.”

“I wouldn’t be told to forgive the bear.”

“a bear can kill her or leave her alone, and a man has that and a million other opportunities.”

-a collection of women, and men

[cowboywithacunt]

Meeting another country guy who's still pretending that he's a girl to his friends and family. Still putting on his girl clothes, using the stupid name he was given at birth. I get it; his family is a piece of shit. They probably wouldn't take him seriously. Hell, he hasn't even told me yet; I can just tell by the way he acts, by the things he's said to me under his breath, by the way he gives my body jealous glances, by all the questions about hormone replacement and top surgery he's asked. I know he wants to be a man like me. I can tell.

So, I started calling him a good boy. Gave him a shortened version of his girl name that's more masculine. Let him borrow my clothes. Let him keep some. 'Accidentally' slipped one of my old binders into the box of old shirts and pants I was letting him take. Bought him a more masculine set of bath products for Christmas. Left the contact info for my endocrinologist on the counter while he was over. Making sure to compliment him on his muscles, his body hair, encouraging him to stop shaving because it's stupid for anyone to do it.

Noticing how much happier he's been lately. How much flatter his chest inexplicably seems.

I mention one day after going over to his place that his parents are such assholes. That I wouldn't mind letting him stay at my place if they ever got to be too much.

It only takes a few weeks for him to come to me with a new name, a new set of pronouns, asking to stay at my place while he figures things out, starts the process of medically transitioning.

I'm just happy to see him being himself. I'm happy to see him happy.

Gonna help this boy learn to be a man. Gonna learn him a thing or two about being like me.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about select mutism Wade and how fucking freaked out Logan gets about it. Like Wade got home 30 minutes ago and hasn't said a damn word to him. He's walking around all quiet and almost shy?? Avoiding eye contact but staring directly at them when in the same room. As if watching to see if theyll get up and hurt him or some crazy thing like that.

It gets to the point that when he goes to his room, (attempts) to lock the door (hes literally the one who broke it) and just curls up in the corner of the bed with the entire blanket over top of him.

Logan just kinda peeks in all confused, assumes that he's in pain, and asks to see if he can help at all. "Hey... do you want your pills? Or.. a bath? Are you hungry? Want a puke bowl? Or a hot water bottle?" As he goes through the list in his head of what to offer, Wade is silent the entire time.

".....Wade?"

"...."

"Are you asleep already?"

Under the blanket, he can tell that he's shaking his head no.

"... are you alright?"

"...."

"Did something happen?"

"...."

"...Do you want a hug?"

Another shake of the head.

This is what makes Logan worried. The fact that he didn't want held, a bath, or anything. It concerns him to the point he calls Vanessa (for like the billionth time)

If anything, the phone call makes him feel worse as Vanessa tells him how Wade was first like this after the experiments. How he didn't say anyrhing to her for months and if he was doing that again, he should go interogate who ever he was with to find out what triggered such a big step back in his progress.

"Its so fucking weird he just..."

"Stares at you? Yeah. It creeped me out."

"So now what do I do? With him, I mean? He just shakes his head. He dosn't even want me to touch him."

"Oooh... wait... you haven't looked at the calander, have you?"

"That matters?"

"Logan.. It's scout week."

"What?"

"During this time of year the scouts camp out at central park. It's just something they do.. he probably saw them and thought..."

"Oh.."

"Yeaah... Look, im really busy with work, too. So you're on your own. Just try to keep away. Bring him food. Make sure he's drinking something good for him. Once inawhile ask if he wants to do something. He might try to sleep in a closet. Let him. Trying to force him into a bed will be worse but maybe if you put his stuffies on the couch he'll choose there instead." She mutters, someone calling for her in the background, a manager of some type.

"Okay. Got it."

"Oh and logan?"

"What?"

"You got this."

"Heh. Right... wish someone told you that?"

"No duh. Bye."

And so he does, bringing wade a cup of water and a sandwich. It breaks his heart to see him flinch away and burry himself in the corner like this, watching his every step with such wide eyes.

"Hey.. i uh.. I brought you this." He outs the food down and Wade stares at him.

".. do.. do you wanna come watch a cowboy movie with me..?"

He shakes his head, starting to smell even more anxious with how long Logan lingered around the room. His head lowers, his hand staying by the special pillow. The one that had his baby knife under. Seeing him like this made him feel terrible. As of he himself caused it though he knew it wasn't true.

"Right.. uhm. Well... if you want too.. ill be out here. And.. Ill save you a seat. Okay?"

The tinyist nod.

Just as he was about to leave, he saw the baby doll in her crib, stepping closer to it only to be able to practically hear his heartbeat quicken.

Stopping, he turns. "Hey, Wade? Do you think... I can take Emily? You know.. erm.. daddy daughter time? Right?" He had said it wrong on purpose, hoping Wade would correct him.

"...."

He only looked as if he really wanted to say something, but didn't dare. He shook his head, getting up and quickly coming to 'rescue' the child, sprinting over to snatch her from the cradle only to flinch away, wide eyed and scared.

Logans chest snaps into a thousand pieces. He didn't know what wade was thinking but he had a goos feeling... did.. he really think he would do that to Evelyn? How badly did he think of him to do such a thing?

"Oh...... alright.. erm. W-well bye then." He said, holding back tears as he left, trying to remember that he couldn't be upset with wade for protecting her. He did the right thing afterall.. he just wish he wouldn't protect her from him.

[s1llycilantro]

Hi! I've been checking your saiouma Cinema au and I love it, I'd love to hear more if it isn't much trouble 👉👈

Sure!! Despite what it looks like they have a lot more in common than they initially thought and more than Ouma is comfortable with admitting :3

Edit: rereading tags it appears i've ALREADY said this so I don't have the privilege of being too vague anymore, my bad!

To futher elaborate, Shuichi's relationship with his mother was. Strained at best and downright hostile at worst. She loved him and he loved her but for lack of better words she was.. sick. Eventually she would end up passing away with a lot of questions surrounding her death which left Shuichi to be moved into with his Uncle and Aunt, whom he enjoys the company of much more.

Kokichi and his mom live by themselves, She works but, not very well. It's a constant struggle to make ends meet, her forgetfulness doesn't help whatsoever. So, Kokichi has taken it upon himself to take care of her, even at her worst. Even if it's painful. Because he refuses to abandon her like his POS father did, not when she's given him so much.

[schnuffel-danny]

trying to do an infographic of my headcanons of Jack/Vlad pre-college 😅

it was Them VS The World for years and then Vlad had to go on and die in a freak accident and ruin everything smh 😒

oops they really are just OCs at this point aren't they....

[seedsplease]

The Runaway

A clerical error, they called it. Someone somewhere had listed him as dead, and now he had a living, breathing daughter out there who he'd never met. Until now. Warnings: Past child abuse mentions. References to canon typical violence. Some implied dark themes. Word Count: 9.1k AO3 Thank you to the amazing @minilev who I was very lucky to commission for this piece of Jacob and Calpurnia. I thoroughly recommend commissioning them if you ever get the chance!! Also I am sure that most of this situation is very unrealistic legally but hey shh don't worry about. Please enjoy! <3

The woman exited the car with a click of her heel on cobbled stone. Holding an almost useless umbrella in one hand and clutching a gleaming briefcase tight in the other, she stood and methodically surveyed the sprawling ranch - despite the weather doing its best to send sprays of rainwater into her eyes.

The cherry-stained wood of the house was welcoming and warm, and the lush grounds of the property would give ample room for an inquisitive and creative mind. She also knew there was a river that was only a stone’s throw away that would be a welcome reprieve from heat in the summertime. There was an airstrip behind the house, and the lovely receptionist at the police station had even told her there were supposed to be tennis courts somewhere on the grounds.

It was, in short, idyllic.

She took a few steps up towards one of the multiple entrances to the house, tilting the umbrella slightly into the oncoming wind to try and make it more effective at keeping her dry - and to avoid the flimsy thing flipping inwards. First impressions were everything, she knew; especially with such sensitive matters, and she would prefer to not turn up as a bearer of heavy news looking like a drowned rat.

Eyes glued to the pavement to watch her step, she focused on rehearsing the usual script that came with her profession. Her manner was important, of course; when delivering the news she was, her demeanor was necessary to smooth over any unpredictable reactions. And, when thinking of the one she was representing - ferreted away back in the hotel room across the river - the woman prayed that there would be nothing but ease in these events.

Before she’d even crossed halfway towards the house, she heard the sound of doors opening. A rush of warm but muted light came out from the entrance - a slight flickering in the background indicative of a lit fire, inviting from the chill of the rain. A man dressed in svelte-blue emerged from the warmth of the home, stepping onto the porch with a slow but confident stride.

He stood there for a second, surveying her quickly but thoroughly, before he gestured for her to join him on the front step. She eagerly rushed to do so, giving a quick huff of relief when she fell under the cover of the roof.

Clutching her briefcase tightly - thankfully it had escaped most of the rain - she hurried to try and calm her frazzled appearance; brushing down her jacket and skirt as though it would do anything to help salvage her put-together demeanor. Clearing her throat, she glanced up at the man once more, finally taking him in as her composure slowly returned.

To his credit, he allowed her that period of grace.  

“Good morning,” the man said with a smile that didn’t entirely reach his eyes. He paused, giving a pointed glance to the near overpowering sound of the rain. A few moments passed before it lulled enough for him to speak. “Or perhaps not.” He gave a wry look before continuing. “How might I help you, my dear?”

She faltered for a moment, taking in the sight of him and repressing a frown; he was certainly not the man she was looking for. Did she have the wrong address? The lovely receptionist at the police office had seemed very certain when she’d inquired about the Seed family living in the vicinity. Upon a second look, however, she noticed there was something in the eyes - piercing blue, and slightly too sharp - that seemed vaguely familiar enough for her to chance to continue with a renewed sense of confidence.

“I’m sorry to intrude this morning. My name is Mary McAllister, I’m with social services.” The man’s eyebrows rose, but he remained silently expectant. She withheld a grimace, but continued nonetheless. “I’m looking for a J. Seed.”

The man barked out a laugh.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific, my dear.”

She frowned, and was about to respond before she saw a second man step towards the entryway. He did not leave the house itself, but loomed nearby; eyes trained on her in a way that made her neck prickle like an animal at unease. Camo-decked and broad, with a red-hilted knife strapped to his thigh and arms crossed over his chest, he stared her down with the intent to cow; an expression she was all too familiar with.

Unbeknownst to him, he had utterly given himself away.

“No need,” she replied to the man in blue, while not taking her eyes off the imposing soldier in the doorway. “I believe I’ve found who I’m looking for.”

It had been a rough morning for Rook.

Some idiot had started a fire out the back shed of the goddamn haunted hotel, Miss Mabel was convinced someone had stolen her prized taxidermy fish - she’d forgotten she’d moved it yesterday and decided to call the police before doing the bare minimum of a search - some loser had dropped nails along the Whitetail Road and had punctured her tires, and - to top everything off - the garage at Falls End told her there’d be a few hours wait until someone could come to help. Absolutely brilliant.

The only silver lining was that the Grill Streak was open, and Chad was more than happy to let her plonk herself down in a chair by the window and wait. It could have been worse; she could have been out in the cold, and unfortunately, she was certainly not dressed to be exposed to the elements for hours on end.

As it was, she was content to sit by the window for the slow-trudging passing of the hours, watching little rivulets of rainwater race down the glass as her main form of entertainment, broken up with Chad intermittently coming to the front and checking in on her.

It was about an hour into her dreadful vigil that she saw the girl.

An over-sized flannel was spread out above her head, doing a poor job at keeping the rain away. Her clothes and hair were sodden despite her efforts, even as she tried to shelter underneath a large tree; they weighed her down and were surely uncomfortable to be walking in. Logically, she ought to have rushed towards the diner the second she’d spotted it, yet for some reason, she’d held herself back; trying to stay near the treeline, almost out of sight.

Rook was a deputy in a small barely-a-town in the middle of nowhere; she had enough experience with runaways to clock one at a distance.

She sighed, pushing herself up out of the seat, and called out a quick explanation to Chad out back, before briskly walking towards the glass door. Either the trill of the bell or the sound of the door shutting behind her alerted the young girl to her presence; her head shot up like a deer, furtive eyes latching onto a perceived predator in an instant. Undoubtedly, Rook’s uniform likely gave her no reassurance, and even at a distance, she could hear the clockwork gears ticking in the girl’s head.

Rook slowly raised her hands in the air and lowered her head slightly as she approached, grimacing as she tried to ignore the pinpricks of the harsh rain slamming on the side of her face.

“Hey!” She called out, loud enough to hopefully be heard through the ruckus of the weather. The girl’s head tilted in acknowledgment, but her eyes were narrowed. Rook pretended to be oblivious to the girl’s wariness as she continued. “Hey, the diner’s open! Come wait until the rain goes!”

The girl’s eyes scanned her surroundings furtively, and Rook resisted the urge to groan as she knew that look; that was the look of someone preparing to start running. Fate decided to intervene, it seemed; fate or a very unobservant driver. The truck came careening around the corner onto Whitetail Road with far too much speed to be safe in these conditions, but Rook wasn’t particularly concerned with taking the truck’s details down as the comically large spray of water came down like a burst dam onto her and the girl both.

Rook’s mouth opened in a grimace, no doubt now resembling more a drowned rat than a disgruntled deputy. Across from her, the girl finally lowered her flannel - now at last unable to deny that it was doing little to protect her from the weather. A mixture of frustration and perhaps desperation came across her face, her eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to scan her surroundings for another option.

Despite the pounding rain’s windswept needles against her skin, Rook held out her hand placatingly.

“Hey,” she said soothingly when the rain quietened down enough so as for her to be heard. “I’m not gonna call anyone, I promise. Just come and sit in the diner until the rain goes. That’s it.”

The girl’s eyes were still narrowed, but the chill seeping into her sodden bones was a powerful motivator. She gave one last look around her, before latching back onto Rook’s sincere expression. There was a moment of hesitation, but she eventually gave a short, slow nod.

“Okay,” she mumbled, the sound barely audible.

Moving before the girl could change her mind, the two set off back across the road - finally fortunate as they passed undercover just as the rain came back with a pounding vengeance. Rook gave a look back onto the road, drenched as it was, and wondered whether there’d be some sort of flood warning by evening.

The girl wasn’t focused on the rain, however, but on Rook’s car, pathetically pushed off to the side of the road - poorly shielded from the weather, naturally, but it was likely the punctured tires that caught the eye first.

Rook sighed and shook her head.

“It’s been a rough day,” she said as her only explanation.

In spite of herself, the girl couldn’t help but give a brief snort of a laugh. Privately, Rook celebrated that; perhaps there was hope.

Chad was waiting for them at the counter when they walked into the diner. She turned to the girl and gestured over at him.

“What do you feel like?” She asked, and when she saw the girl withdraw slightly, she rushed to continue. “My treat.”

The girl still looked hesitant.

“The weather isn’t going anywhere soon,” Rook insisted.

“Just…hot cocoa,” the girl mumbled, staring away and out the window. A flush was spreading on her cheeks, but she glanced down as though to hide it. “Please.”

Chad nodded and scurried away, while Rook and the girl moved over to the table where Rook’s bag still rested. They had barely been there a few seconds before Chad re-emerged and looked heaven-sent as he carried two towels in his hands.

“Oh shit, you’re an angel,” Rook gasped out, before snapping her mouth shut and grimacing at her language as she looked over at her young companion. “I mean…oh, fuck.”

Beside her, the girl couldn’t help but give her little huff of a laugh again. Brilliant; Rook was already being a bad influence.

Dejected, her shoulders were lowered as she reached out for one of the towels, while the girl slowly did the same.

“Thanks, Chad,” Rook said, scrunching at her hair to try and remove the worst of the water.

They made themselves comfortable, sitting down by the window once more as the rain pounded against the glass at their side.

Rook tilted her head, and tried not to look too obvious as she peered curiously at the girl, now that they were given a moment of respite. She had dark rings under her eyes, and her nails had been chewed to the quick - little reddish marks by the nailbeds from picking at them.

The girl hesitantly placed her flannel down on the booth beside her - careful to rest it upon the already dampened towel. Her surprisingly dry backpack (perhaps the flannel had protected something, at least) remained seated on the ground, carefully tucked behind her leg.

“So,” Rook began, placing an elbow on the table and leaning down to rest her chin upon her palm. “You must be damned determined to go on a hike today.”

The girl couldn’t help a snort, but refused to meet her eyes.

“Sort of,” she replied, something of a brick wall.

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the eerie whistle of the wind finding a crevice to sing through.

Rook sighed, tossing up which angle she should use.

“You know…there are lots of wild animals around here,” she said, careful to try and avoid spooking her. “Kind of dangerous to go wandering out here on your own. At least without some way to defend yourself.”

The girl’s cheeks flushed red, and she adamantly stared out the window.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I saw a moose.”

Rook’s eyebrows rose, and she felt a flash of panic at the thought of the girl alone by the road with a moose. Perhaps the girl sensed her concern, as she rushed to continue.

“Don’t worry,” she said, shaking her head. “It was really far away.”

Rook wanted to say more, but allowed the matter to drop for now - she doubted it would be particularly useful for her to be too forward with her worry. Instead, they lapsed into a silence again, the girl no doubt waiting for the rain to subside before she could make her dash off into the wilderness with the foolhardiness only a teenager could possess. To what end, she likely hadn’t realistically thought out yet; more like she had a vague destination in mind and only a rough idea (if that) of how to get there.

Rook’s hand dropped to the table and her fingers began to drum a soft pattern against the top.

“So I’m Rook,” she said, and paused for a moment before beginning to wade into the fray. “Look, you don’t have to talk to me if you really don’t want to, but…are you okay?”

“Fine,” the girl replied instantly, flat as a note.

The sound of bricks being laid on a wall was near audible.

“Okay.” Rook nodded slowly, retreating proverbially and choosing another angle to try. “It really is dangerous out there on your own though; is there someone I could call for you?”

“Nope.”

Strike two.

Rook sighed, fingers tapping just a little faster before she made the decision to be firmer.

“Look, I’m not going to try and stop you,” she promised, dropping the animal coaxing voice and falling to a normal register, “but this weather is supposed to last for days, and you’re clearly set on running right out into it again.”  

The girl’s eyes snapped to meet her own, narrowing. Rook didn’t let it deter her.

“So the way I see it is that you go running off and spend the night in that”- she jerked her head towards the window meaningfully - “or you stay here for now and have a chat with someone who genuinely wants to help you.”

The girl paused, and for the first time, a flash of uncertainty came across her face. Perhaps now that the adrenaline of her runaway escapade was wearing off, the reality of the situation was beginning to come crashing down on her.

There was another beat of silence before the girl finally spoke.

“I’m Callie,” she said quietly.

Rook internally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Callie,” she replied with a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A clerical error, they called it. Someone somewhere had listed him as dead, and now there was a living, breathing, sentient human out there who was alive because of him.

Jacob stood by the fireplace. It merrily lit the room in flickering waves of warm gold, a respite from the howling weather outside the door. Behind him, John was scouring through paperwork. He was good at that sort of thing; he’d been a godsend so far with the social services worker, always getting the right details, asking questions that Jacob wouldn’t have even thought to ask. Now he was reading through everything, leaving no stone unturned; this was far too important a matter for a lack of due diligence.  

A child was involved, after all.

Joseph was handling the worker - probably for the best. John was charming enough in doses, but a little bit too sharp-edged if you paid close attention and Jacob was far too out of his depth to be eloquent enough to handle this situation with the care it needed. Joseph, however, was naturally magnetic, could talk to you in a way that made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

Given how integral he was to Jacob’s life, Joseph’s charisma would likely be the greatest asset in convincing the worker. A foolish part of him wanted to hiss at the thought of needing to convince someone that the child - his child - should be under his care rather than anyone else’s, but then he thought of his own parents. Biology, he knew, was the furthest indicator of parental fitness.

At the least, the project’s actions in the county were still mostly discreet; with the exception of a few murmurings of discontent, there were yet to be any justified stirrings of suspicion among the locals - at least, none that the police had taken seriously. That would come in time, Jacob knew, but by then, he would make sure the flock was ready. As such, their official record was sure to look - for the most part - squeaky clean. And if this worker had really been scouring for blood relatives, then he suspected she might be eager to settle for a good-looking option and wouldn’t dig too deeply regardless.

A child.

He remembered the woman who’d sat next to him at the single visit he'd made to a local bar back in Georgia. Going there at all had been a one-time experiment of sorts; the desperate writhing of one seeing the approaching end of his funds as an inevitable death knell. Others he knew found solace in strange vices, and a drowning man could not shirk any hand held before him. But the woman had been pleasant, chattering away at him about ancient history of all things - her profession, he remembered her saying - and taking his brick wall answers in stride.

It had been one of the most mundane human interactions he’d had in a long time. He wasn’t oblivious though; he’d seen the looks she was giving him, hints to the real motive in her approach. When the ball had dropped, he’d found himself surprisingly approving of her bluntness.

“My now ex-fiance fucked his coworker a few days ago,” she’d said, before her mouth had turned downwards. “Been with him since high school.”

Ah.

“Sorry,” he’d replied, the compulsion of social niceties that he’d yet to tamper down.

She’d scoffed.

“Yeah, me too.” Her nose had crinkled into a frown. “Anyway, I want to fuck someone else now.” She’d taken a sip of her drink and given a contemplative hum, pointing a finger at him from over the rim of the glass. “And you’re just my type.”

Soldiers attracted some sort of attention, he’d found out in the past, but disheveled and marked as he was, he hadn’t particularly anticipated that attitude carrying over. But even then, there had seemed to be something more to the woman’s approach.

“Look like him, do I?” He’d asked, raising an eyebrow.

She’d snorted.

“The opposite,” she’d replied.

Part of him was glad he’d said yes; it was enough of a distraction that he hadn’t burnt through what funds remained to him on an impulsive and desperate experiment. She’d been firm that it would be a one-time thing, and he’d had no qualms about that either. It was another type of experiment, he’d thought, and it served its purpose pleasantly enough.

Doing the math now, by the time the kid had been born, Jacob would likely have been in the shelter. Or potentially, he would have recently reunited with his brothers. If the social services worker was right, the woman had probably tried to reach out to find him.

And a single clerical error meant he was only hearing about this kid now.

“Callie.” The social services worker had revealed the girl’s name. “Calpurnia… technically.” She’d given a small laugh. “You can see why she prefers Callie.”

John had smiled indulgently, all too eager - perhaps more than the girl’s father himself - for any information about his niece.

“It’s Roman,” Jacob had spoken up, already standing vigil by the fireplace. All eyes turned to him, but he didn’t elaborate further.

Joseph and John had taken control, moving smoothly through an unprecedented situation. Jacob might have been frustrated at own his inaction, had he the mental capacity to focus on anything else but the reeling of his head.

What did this mean?

He was a weapon; he lived to carve a bloody path for his brothers and their flock to walk safely when the inevitable Collapse of society arrived. He lived to die; to butcher until he too gave a final whimper and broke like the used husk of a weapon he was. He lived to make sacrifices; to do what others could not.

How the fuck did a child fit into that?

His brothers’ eagerness could barely be contained; he knew they already saw some divine ordainment in this, a lost child of their blood being brought into their fold just before the world would collapse. How could that not be a gift from God? But he knew there was more to it; they loved him for all he did to protect them, but they also worried for him.

“You are our protector,” Joseph had told him once, grasping him by the shoulders and bringing his head close enough to his own to see his earnest expression, “but you are my brother.” He’d shaken his head gently, something like sorrow crossing his eyes. “I want to see you live.”

Jacob knew John felt the same. They meant well, but they didn’t understand. That was okay; he made the sacrifices he did so that they wouldn’t have to understand. But he knew they saw this girl as more than just family; she was an opportunity.

Joseph had taken the social services worker through the house, showing where the girl would live. It would be short work to convince the woman, Jacob thought - he’d seen the cross on her necklace, how she’d warmed up when Joseph had introduced himself as a church leader.

Before sitting down to begin poring over the paperwork, John had approached Jacob by the fireplace, leaning against the warm stone and looking towards the front door absentmindedly.

“You know,” John had begun softly, eyes slowly flicking over to Jacob, “our newest dear sister can never be alone with the girl.”

Jacob had immediately understood his brother’s warning.

“Dear Faith will have such thoughts running through her mind,” John had continued, voice light despite his ominous subject. “So desperate to please the Father… however will she take a strange new interloper joining our family?”

Jacob’s mouth had twitched.

“Not as much an interloper as she is,” he’d replied, surprisingly irked at the thought.

“Yes, and that’s precisely what she’ll fear; a blood daughter making the role of a sister irrelevant.” He then sighed, peering over to the table. “And who knows what she might do in such fear?”

John had pushed himself off the wall, reaching out to clasp his elder brother on the shoulder and leaning in to softly speak.

“Little Callie is going to need a protector,” he’d said, before he’d turned to go and begin the arduous labour of paperwork.

Manipulative little shit.

Jacob sighed, looking down into the fire as a nail dug itself insistently into his head. Knowing that he was being manipulated was surprisingly ineffective at preventing it.

“Everything looks to be in order.” John’s voice now cut through the soft silence, a final page flipping back into place.

From the entryway to the kitchen, Joseph and the social services worker peered over at them. Joseph had been taking the woman on an impromptu tour through the house and judging by the woman’s pleased expression, John’s ranch had passed with flying colours.

They congregated by the table; John smoothing down the files with a self-assured smile. The social services worker rushed to confirm the details - the time passing like a blur in Jacob’s eyes, almost seeing himself from a distance standing as a scarecrow off to the side. It was only when the woman spoke that Jacob was wrenched back into reality.

“I’ll make the call,” she said with a gentle smile, nodding at them as she wandered off towards the front porch for a moment of privacy.

Jacob blinked a few times, scolding himself internally for not paying more attention. What was the call for? To meet the girl? To have her brought here? His rational mind was telling him to steel himself; he needed to be strong. He needed to be better than him.

This was family. And he protects the family.

Joseph’s hand came down on his shoulder, making him take a sharp breath and glancing over to meet his brother’s eyes. Underneath the familiar golden glasses, Joseph’s face was solemn but gentle nonetheless.

“This is a gift,” he murmured. “She has been brought to us now, when we can protect her from the Collapse. I know this is what God wanted.” His eyes sharpened slightly, intense but no less intimate. “You know this too.”  

Jacob had never quite figured out the difference between believing his brother or wanting to believe him. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

He nodded, because even without Joseph - even without John - he would have come to the same conclusion himself. His purpose remained unchanged; he would cull the herd, so that his family might live. What did it matter that his family had an extra addition now?

The sound of hurried footsteps made them all turn to see the worker rushing back towards them, phone in hand and looking more frazzled than they’d seen her all day. His eyes narrowed, the foreboding evoking only a cold apathy in him - the best way to steel himself for taking action.

“It’s…the girl,” the worker began, voice reedy and broken as she snapped her head to and fro between all three brothers in a panic. “She’s supposed to be in the hotel. But she's...run away.”

There was a strange sort of thrill, a smugness in his chest that was ill-suited for the concerning situation, something he could never utter aloud. Something proud; something strangely reminiscent of the headstrong and foolish boy he’d once been. Of course she’d run away.

It seemed she was his daughter, after all.  

"I’m sorry for your loss,” Rook said.

The girl nodded, finger thumbing along the edge of her flannel, which still sat damp beside her. Rook could see she was tracing along the shape of two sewn letters, S.F. The thread was faded, but the flannel itself was well-worn.

“How long…” Rook trailed off, eyes carefully scanning the girl in front of her to try and figure whether saying the words out loud would be detrimental.

“Since she died?” Callie finished for her, eyebrows twitching in what might have been annoyance. “A few months.”

Bluntness was preferred, it seemed. Perhaps Rook should have figured that; it had taken her removing the kid gloves to get the girl to even start opening up at all.

"So you’ve got family here?” Rook asked, playing for a bit more nonchalance as she took a sip from her coffee. “People who’ll take you in?”

The girl shrugged, staring down at her own drink.

“I guess.” She lapsed into silence, letting the steam from the mug rise to brush against her face. Her cheeks were flushed red from the cold, but the time inside the diner had helped soothe her somewhat, both physically and mentally. At the very least, she was no longer staring a little too hard at the front door.

“Well, that’s…good?” Rook spoke the words like a question, hesitant and lame.

Callie’s nose crinkled, brows pinching together.

“I had family back home,” she said, the words close to a whine. “Why can’t I just stay with them?” She sniffled quickly, and raised a hand to rub at her nose. Her cheeks were flushing again, and Rook suspected it was also from embarrassment. “This is so stupid.”

Rook nodded, but moreso to think rather than to placate. She knew by now that placating would only be met with derision at best and withdrawal at worst. Presumably, there was a good reason that the girl had been brought here rather than where she’d previously lived.

“What family do you have here?” She asked, voice light to try and distract the girl from her thoughts.

She shrugged.

“A dad,” Callie replied, the word spoken with surprising - or perhaps forced - apathy.

Rook raised her eyebrows.

“You haven’t met him before?” She asked, then winced and hoped she hadn’t come off as judgemental.

Callie shook her head, face turning fully sideways to stare out of the window at the ceaseless rain. Her fingers tugged at the collar of her drying flannel next to her, but Rook couldn’t see her expression.

“Mom said he was dead,” she said, her voice successfully staying even. “They were looking for any family on my dad’s side, and saw he wasn’t.” Rook assumed ‘they’ meant social services. The girl continued, voice turning back into a huff as she busied at her metaphorical and angry, open wound again. “I could’ve just stayed with my aunt; this is so stupid.”

Eager to interrupt that train of thought once more, Rook leaned forward slightly over the table, her fingers toying with the handle of her pleasantly warm coffee mug.

“Do you…not want to meet him, then?” Rook asked, voice as neutral as possible.

The girl shrugged, but stubbornly said nothing. Perhaps she didn’t know the answer herself.

Rook didn’t quite know what to say; she did not want to try and influence the girl’s thoughts - that wouldn’t be fair when she didn’t know her circumstances intimately. She also understood, however, that the alternative was for this girl to go running off into the wilderness or else be forced to stay with her hitherto unknown father and - if she had any grasp on Callie’s personality - potentially sour the relationship entirely.

"Do you know anything about him?” She asked instead; she might be new to the county, but it wasn’t impossible for her to answer.

“They said he was a soldier or something,” Callie replied, shrugging again. “Last name’s Seed.” She rolled her eyes while staring down at her flannel, and muttered to herself: “Stupid name.”

Rook bit back a smile - even she knew better than to encourage that attitude in a teenager - and raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe don’t tell him that.”

The girl huffed a laugh.

Rook thought for a moment, trying to recall anything about a Seed; it was certainly an unusual name and not one she was likely to forget. It took a few seconds, but it eventually came to her; she’d vaguely heard the name mentioned in relation to the relatively new church out by the river somewhere. She wasn’t too familiar with it herself, but the talkative receptionist at the police station, Nancy, spoke highly of them. They’d apparently been quite proactive in the community - setting up a few initiatives and taking over the youth camp near the Henbane River when it had been threatened with bankruptcy.

“Don’t know if it’s the same one, but I’ve heard a little about some Seed family around here,” Rook told her, frowning thoughtfully. The girl was poorly hiding her flash of curiosity as Rook continued. “I think they head up a local church; they run a few things in the area.”

Callie nodded slowly, not looking at her but clearly taking in the information with at least a little bit of interest. Rook wondered whether the girl - or her late mother - was religious; if they were, it could help smooth over some of the introduction, give her and her father something to bond over. Or perhaps she was just being desperately optimistic.

A too-eager churchgoer for the girl’s father left Rook feeling a sense of worry in her stomach. She’d spent only a small amount of time with her, but given the state this girl was in after her mother’s death - the way she seemed to have been dealing with it in a prickly, anger-prone nature - Rook worried whether an exuberant or overly pushy figure in her life might lead the girl to reject him entirely. And that, she knew, would no doubt lead to another runaway attempt - one that might prove more successful than the current one, if the weather was willing.

She began to tap a small rhythm on her coffee mug again thoughtfully.

“Are you…not even a little curious?” Rook asked gently, tilting her head. The girl’s eyes flickered over to her, brow creasing as Rook continued. “What he’s like?” She hesitated a second and her voice lowered as she pressed on with caution. “Do you…really not want to even meet him?”

The girl didn’t answer, but a flash of hesitation came over her. Rook frowned, but didn’t want to press her further as the girl’s eyes fell down to the flannel at her side. Her face twisted into something like anguish, as her brow creased and her eyes welled up in frustration; hand rising only to clench into a fist and fall back on her leg too forcefully to be accidental.

It hit Rook in an instant. The hesitation, the acting out, the runaway; the girl felt guilty. She probably was curious about the stranger who was now her father, she probably did want to see him. But in doing so - in even wanting to do so - did she feel like it was a betrayal? Like she was conceding something; saying that her mother was somehow replaceable.

In playing such a pantomime; the self-sacrificial martyr could see her mother at the end of her days and proudly proclaim that she had never betrayed her. Yet, Rook knew that the sort of person who could inspire such love was unlikely to be pleased with their daughter deliberately isolating herself from a misplaced sense of loyalty.

It was a foolish thought. Yet grief was rarely anything else.

“You’re allowed to be curious, you know,” Rook said, quiet but firm - if this girl had created her own moral restrictions, then all Rook could do was provide opposing permissions.

The girl didn’t reply, still not looking up. For a moment, Rook wondered whether she’d even been heard. She pressed on nonetheless.

“You’re allowed to meet him,” Rook continued.

This time, the girl looked up at her, and in her eyes was the expression of every runaway; someone desperate and lost. Someone who wants to go home, even if they don’t yet know what their home might be.

Rook breathed in deeply, before reaching down to her bag. She rummaged around for a few moments - cursing her own lack of organisation - and pulled out a slightly crinkled notepad and pen. Flicking it open, she scribbled down her work number.

“Here,” she said, tearing the page off and passing it over. “Whatever you decide to do, you can take this and give me a call if you need help.”

She hoped that if things didn’t go well, that maybe having a number to call would prevent the girl from wandering off into the wilderness and never being heard from again. But perhaps, if she knew that there was someone who was on her side, she might feel brave enough to move forward.

A flash of headlights interrupted the moment, and Rook glanced out the window to see one of the local mechanics from Falls End pulling into the carpark. Her eyes boggled - it had only been an hour and a half since she’d made the call; this sort of efficiency was highly disturbing in Hope County.

The mechanic stepped out and glanced over to where Rook’s sad little car sat off to the side of the road, deflated tires looking like a wretched, popped balloon. She swore she saw the man laugh.

“That’s me,” she said, picking up her cooled drink and downing the rest in a large gulp. “I’ve gotta go sort this out.”

She was stepping away and about to head to the door when the girl’s voice stopped her.

“I’ll do it,” Callie said, voice soft and reedy. Her brow furrowed and she cleared her throat before speaking again, firmer this time. “I’ll go meet him.” She shrank again, eyes falling back to the table. “Could you… come with me?”

Rook stood still for a moment, processing. It was certainly not lost on her how difficult it must have been for the girl to ask. Rook’s eyes crinkled as she smiled warmly.

“Sure thing, kid.”

One hour and a phone call to a very distressed social services worker later, they pulled into the Seed ranch.

Rook hadn’t been here before, but she remembered hearing Nancy rave about what a lovely place it was and how it could “really put Hope County on the real estate map!” The last comment had resulted in groans from the other deputies; the last thing they wanted was an influx of rich city folk looking for a novel country house to sit empty until it was used at a whim.

While this sprawling ranch looked large, it did not look empty.

Three brothers stood in the driveway as she pulled in. The rain was gentle now; not pinpricks but a pattering, deigning to relent in mercy for the meeting taking place. Two umbrellas stood tall, offering the brothers some comfort as they watched her car amble into the driveway.

Rook and Callie sat for a moment, the girl’s own window facing away from the men, something she was taking full advantage of as she stared out at the trees without really seeing anything.

“Hey,” Rook said softly. “How are you feeling?”

The girl was silent for a moment, before turning her head to look at her - the rustling of the movement sounding as loud as a gunshot inside the car. Her flannel had dried enough for her to wear again, and she pulled it at the sleeves to draw it tight as a blanket around her.

“It’s huge,” Callie replied, pointedly looking through the front windshield. “That’s a fucking airstrip.”

“Language.” Rook sighed - she really hoped that wasn’t her brief influence - then raised an eyebrow. “Hey, if you want to run away again, at least you can do it in style now.”

The girl snorted, before letting her eyes fall down to her backpack between her legs. Her hands were curled tightly around one of its arms.

Rook gave a quick glance towards the men in the driveway, waiting patiently for them. A woman was stumbling out of the house to join them, awkwardly shaking out her own umbrella - Rook assumed that was the social services worker she’d spoken to on the phone.

She turned back to the girl.

“Shall we?”

“Wait,” Callie said sharply, staring somewhat furiously down at her lap.

A few moments passed in silence, before the girl took a large, almost gulp of air.

“Okay,” she said, impulsively wrenching her side door open and stepping out forcefully - as though afraid she’d change her own mind.

They stepped out into the driveway - Rook having pilfered an umbrella out of the car’s backseat - and walked towards the congregation. From a distance, she’d already figured out which of the men in front of her was the girl’s father - camo-decked, tall and face withdrawn in an expression she’d seen far too many times that day to count.

It was to her surprise then, when the man beside him stepped out from underneath the umbrella and walked towards them. His expression was welcoming, magnetic and he was oddly unfazed by the rain seeping into his bone-white shirt.

Behind him, the other two men slowly followed.

“Hello, my child,” the first man said, smiling gently. He knelt down in front of the girl, a strange move that put him well below her height rather than level with her - something that ought to have been awkward, but the man had an indescribable charisma that managed to pull it off.  

Rook’s eyebrows rose.

“You’re her father?” She asked, trying to keep the surprise from her voice even as her eyes unwillingly glanced over to the redhead coming up behind him.

The man looked at her now, peering up through yellow glasses.

“I am not,” he said, giving a sheepish laugh and a shake of his head. “It’s simply a habit.” He turned his eyes back to the girl in front of him. “My name is Joseph. I am your uncle.”

“You’re the… church leader?” Rook asked, trailing off as she wasn’t certain what denomination she was dealing with.

The man smiled indulgently.

“I am the Father, yes,” he replied.

Catholic, she assumed.

Joseph stood once more and glanced at the tall man behind him.

“And this is my brother, Jacob,” he said softly, smiling down at his niece.

But the girl was not looking at her uncle; her eyes had already latched onto the redhead who had come to stand at his younger brother’s side.

He was staring right back at her.

The two were in a strange sort of deadlock, perhaps not even consciously, yet it seemed to Rook that neither were actually seeing the other. They stared as though seeing someone in a television screen, someone real, someone they could watch without needing to be present - without needing to be perceived themselves. They could see the other, but safely from a distance.

Unlike his brother, Jacob did not kneel to be below the girl’s level. Somehow, Rook knew that Callie preferred it that way.

Joseph gestured to Jacob, even though he surely knew that the two already were well aware of who it was they were looking at.

“Your father,” he said, the words quiet but they could have truly been a whisper for all they still sounded like shattering glass.

The girl seemed to snap out of her strange trance, and whipped her head to the side, face scrunching up into a frown. Her hand reached out to clasp Rook’s, squeezing tightly as a vice with unexpected strength that nearly made Rook wince.

It was a surprising gesture, but perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Rook met the girl’s eyes and gave a reassuring smile. Whether it worked or not was unclear, but at the very least, Callie turned her head back around again.

She did not look at her father, however; her eyes latched onto the frazzled social services worker standing behind the men. Sometime in the past few minutes, the woman’s umbrella had flipped inwards - making her scowl as she was trying to right it. The last of the three men - a man dressed in blue - had been gracious enough to give the woman some coverage with his own umbrella as she worked.

A flash of guilt came across the girl’s face.

“Sorry, Mary,” she mumbled, mouth twisting.

Rook wondered if Callie was aware of how every man in that driveway seemed to hang onto her every word.

Glancing over at the young girl, Mary’s face smoothed out into an exasperated smile.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” she huffed out. Her umbrella back in place, she stepped away from the other man with a grateful nod, and seemed content to stand a distance away and allow the meeting between the girl and her family to take place with a semblance of privacy.

The man in blue, now free, seemed all too eager to approach the others. Of all the men, he seemed the most cautious, however; he appeared to be aware of how tenuous the situation truly was - that their very presence was not going to inherently make a happy family - and thus he wanted to give her some space even as he came to meet them.

Though he could not hide his eagerness, he at least made an attempt to not stare directly at her and risk her discomfort, even as his eyes shined with poorly-concealed curiosity.

Instead, he turned towards Rook.

“You have my thanks for delivering my niece to us safely.” His smile was too sharp, but Rook simply attributed that to the stress of the situation. “You are a deputy, yes?”

She nodded.

“Deputy Rook,” she introduced herself politely, yet continued to keep an eye on the girl beside her, who was intermittently staring at her father (and looking away again) as Joseph tried to coax her into some sort of conversation. Her father, similarly, did not speak a word.

“Then you have my thanks, Deputy Rook,” John repeated, stressing her name.

Rook smiled back half-heartedly, but she sensed the polite dismissal for what it was.

She knew it was time to go.

She squeezed the girl’s hand to get her attention, and the girl turned to face her - breaking off from one of her many staring contests.

Rook passed the handle of the umbrella over to Callie, who frowned and opened her mouth to protest.

“I’ve got others at home,” Rook said before the girl could speak. “You keep this one.”

Callie’s eyes widened as she realised that Rook was about to leave. She managed to somehow squeeze Rook’s hand even tighter, as though it would keep her there, but she said nothing. Pride, perhaps; a desire to not look like a child at the school gate begging a parent to stay.

But Rook was merely an interloper here, after all.

She smiled reassuringly, and with a small nod over to the men, she and the girl took a few steps off to the side for some semblance of momentary privacy. Behind them, Rook could feel the stares of the brothers like pinpricks against her skin, but she paid them no heed.

“Hey, these guys are real excited to meet you,” Rook murmured, the girl’s eyes owlish but intently focused on her. “They want you here. They want to look after you.”

The girl’s face scrunched into a frown again, but Rook saw the genuine temptation in the expression - the hope - and she knew that everything was going to be okay.

And perhaps she might have left it at that. She might have walked away without a second thought, and left the girl to reunite with her family in a picturesque happy ending.

She might have been content, were it not for a sudden, very illogical pang of unease in her stomach.

There was no reason for it - the three men in the driveway seemed innocuous, and she had heard only good things about them from the station’s receptionist. But as she felt their eyes trained on her as she spoke to the newest member of their family, there was a strange, almost primal prickling at the nape of her neck that made her reach down to her jacket pocket.

Discreetly, she caught the girl’s eye, and glanced meaningfully down at the phone that was just visible to only her.

“Remember,” she reminded the girl, who picked up on her meaning instantly. “Anything you need.”

Callie’s eyes narrowed, the expression oddly mature on her young face, and nodded intently.

Rook straightened back up, smiling again and thoroughly unaware that in only a few months, she would receive a message only hours before the county fell into chaos. That the runaway in front of her would make good on her habit once more and Rook would find out that the girl’s father and uncles would tear the county apart to try and find the girl in their own, incredibly misguided attempt to protect her.

And that she and Callie both would find themselves in Jacob Seed’s bunker come the end of the world.  

Rook shook off her unexplained anxiety, smiling down at the girl reassuringly as she stepped back to face the crowd beside her. She bid a quick farewell, and soon watched the back of a flash of red hair in her rearview mirror as she pulled out of the Seed Ranch’s driveway.

She should be proud, Rook knew. She’d helped reunite a family. She’d helped deliver a runaway to her new - and surprisingly large - home. Things were undoubtedly looking up for the girl she’d only barely been able to convince to not run off into the wilderness.

She’d done a good deed today.

Merrily, she drove towards Falls End, and allowed the resurging storm outside to drown out the soft alarm bells ringing in her head.

She looked like him, Joseph had said.

She looked like him, but not like the old man…and that was surely a mercy.

Her eyes were trained on the table - finding some hidden meaning in the ripples of the wood. A flannel shirt - faintly sodden - clung to her skin, a gentle sort of protection against the weather. It might have given her comfort, Jacob thought, seeing the way her fingers curled around the edges of her sleeves like a blanket she could draw over herself to keep her fears at bay.

To keep him at bay. A father she didn’t know, had never asked for, and didn’t want. The way she’d clung to that deputy’s hand like she was half-tempted to ask them to spirit her away. A lesser man might have let her; might have let themselves take the easy way out, to leap on the first opportunity to let the unforeseen daughter willingly scurry back out of their life and believe it a mercy.

But Jacob would be strong. Jacob would not be a lesser man.

A gentle cough - almost missed - came from the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes flickered over to see John standing by with two plates, still steaming from the stove-top. Casting a quick look back to the girl - satisfied she would not go running off into the storm in his momentary absence - he walked over to take the meals from his brother.

“Not joining us?” He asked softly.

John shook his head, despite giving a glance over to the girl with poorly-concealed curiosity.

“Not yet,” he replied. “I convinced Joseph that she will need some time alone with you first.”

With her father, Jacob thought, filling in the blanks with a startled jolt.

John gave a rueful half-smile. “Joseph wanted to argue, of course.”

Jacob could certainly believe it. He hadn’t entirely been convinced of the resemblance between the girl and himself when he’d first caught sight of her - that would be the mercy; to look more like the bright woman he remembered than he who bore the face of a madman. But then he’d seen Joseph’s expression; the way his eyes had softened the second he’d seen her, lips parting in a soundless, almost reverent gasp, and Jacob had immediately been convinced.

Joseph saw the brat of a boy that Jacob had been. Joseph did not see the face of a mad preacher.

Jacob must have been silent for too long, absently staring over at the little girl who was now his daughter, as John gave a soft contemplative hum.

“She has nothing to compare you to,” he said, almost callously apathetic for what he revealed. His brothers had been busy with the social services worker, it seemed. “You have no… replacement father that she is secretly wishing to return to. This family shall be her first…proper harbor.”

A lifetime ago, the calculated nature of his brother’s words might have alarmed him, but now only a deep-seated part of him was callously glad that he would be her only father. A late father, but the only.

There was an even darker part of him that knew there was spite in his gladness; a final chance of vindictiveness to the mad preacher - that in this, he might meet the old man at the end of his days and relish his success at his father’s disgusting failure.

He nodded to John, giving a soft noise of acknowledgment before he took the plates in hand and returned to the table where his…daughter still sat in silence. The sound of his setting the meal down in front of her felt like cannon fire, down to a harsh reverberation ringing in his chest.

The girl briefly looked up, eyes snapping to him quickly before determinedly falling down to stare at the cooling vegetables and meat. Her brow creased, and something like uncertainty crossed her face.

She cleared her throat and paused a moment before she spoke.

“I…don’t know if I can eat all this,” were the first words his daughter ever said to him.

He was silent, hands leaning on the back of the wooden chair for support as he stared down at the girl who looked like him. A spell had been broken, it seemed; a fugue state shattering now that she had spoken to him for the first time. Now, the present truly hit him. Now, it was real.

He blinked abruptly, raising his head to stare away at the distant window - rain hitting the glass like tiny rubber bullets. With one of his men, Jacob might have been critical; the privilege of denying oneself food was one he viewed with no shortage of disdain. But this was his child, a sudden creature to whom he now had a god-given role as protector and living sword.  

“That’s okay,” he murmured in reply.

They lapsed once more into a silence, but this time it felt more comfortable; something they both initiated but were content to sit in. He took his place beside her, setting to eat his own share. The warmth of the fireplace seeped into their very bones, and he imagined the girl was glad for it - having been out in the rain for most of the day.

He wondered if she would try to run again. He wondered what he would do. It was the project’s way to know - and enforce - what their flock needed better than they did themselves. And yet, the thought of trying to assert his own will over his child left him feeling somewhat disconcerted. Would that not be like him?

He dismissed the thought quickly; he would never raise a hand against her, and anything he did would be for her own benefit. The Collapse was coming, and this girl sitting now beside him, digging through her food with a fork and clutching at the hem of a well-worn flannel, would be kept safe from it.

Jacob would ensure it.

I hope you enjoyed! Calpurnia is technically my New Dawn captain, but in my 'canon' au, she obviously never meets Jacob. I wanted to be a little realistic in the dynamic between them here, in that yes, Jacob obviously wants to look after her and takes his role seriously here, but also he is still doing everything that he does in the cult and that will still affect his mindset. I don't intend her to be facing any physical violence in her future from them, but they will of course be trying to 'keep her safe from the Collapse.' Cult leader exceptionalism is playing a big part here of course, but I view that as pretty true to the game - the brothers all have a lot of cult leader exceptionalism going on, so I'm naturally extending that to Callie here too. She gets to go through the gates because she's a Seed, she doesn't have to do anything like atonement (one because she's a child and it's not shown whether that's expected of children in the cult), especially if Jacob doesn't want her to - if Joseph even suggested it, he'd be blocking it, in my opinion. Anyway, thank you for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed! <3