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lindsohalloran · 2 months ago

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general information.

full name lindsay amos o’halloran

nicknames linds / uncle linds ( only by maisie )

age 41

date of birth may 1

place of birth elderslie, scotland

zodiac taurus sun cancer moon virgo rising

gender cis male

nationality scottish

religion raised catholic / non-practicing

orientation homosexual

physical attributes.

face claim richard madden

voice claim richard madden

height 5’10

weight 176 lbs

build athletic / muscular

exercise habits whenever possible but mostly circumstantial

allergies cats + nickel + medical adhesive

hair color dark copper with faint grey + a mallen streak at his hairline

hairstyle short

eye color blue

glasses/contacts no

dominant hand right

tattoos a small black orchid on his inner left bicep

scars too many to count

piercings none

jewelry/accessories garmin instinct 2x solar watch + dog tags

background information.

hometown elderslie, scotland

current residence new york, ny

spoken languages english / gaelic / spanish / belizean creole / igbo / hausa / yaruba / a few other languages very minimally

driver's license yes

occupation private security / previously scottish royal regiment

familial information.

relationship status single

mother eilidh o’halloran ( nee buchanan )

father graeme o’halloran

siblings niamh o’halloran / sister + deceased

other maisie o’halloran / niece and current ward

children none

pets none

personality.

positive traits steadfast + astute + observant + loyal + selfless

negative traits guarded + overbearing + distrustful + suspicious

likes earl grey + cutobrute + air-dried laundry + live music + runner’s highs

dislikes disorganization + rainy weather + selfishness + coffee + sunburn

moral alignment lawful good

mbti entj

Lindsay has always been private, especially when it comes to matters of his personal life, and the outbreak has only seemed to amplify this about him. In his prime, he was a skilled leader and communicator; his nearly two decades spent in service with the Scottish Royal Regiment have left him vigilant and selfless, always at the ready to keep a sharp out for the sake of those close to him, whether friends, family, or battalion. Professionally, he had a sternness about him that was not unkind, often softened by a quiet charisma and sudden and unexpected bouts of dry humor, and own his own time, he lived a life surrounded by vibrancy, more an observer than a participant. He’d frequent bustling bars and cafes and music venues, existing as a stoic fixture in the background, enjoying and observing with a simple smile twitching at his lips. He doesn’t take time for the simple pleasures anymore, and those glimpses of humor, of the lighthearted man he could have been, they’re rarer now than they ever have been.

supplies.

95-ltr. capacity tactical backpack / rucksack

first aid kit ( nearly empty )

two stainless steel water bottles

water purification tablets

utility knife / swiss army multi-tool

solar powered flashlight / power bank

hand-crank emergency radio

lighter / magnesium fire starter

signal mirror

tarp / rope

a children's sleeping bag

small plush rabbit

glock 17 + ammunition

machete + thigh holster

biography.

tw: brief mention of homophobia + abuse + drug use + death

From the outside looking in, the O’Halloran household is almost picturesque; with a modest but lovely two-story in the heart of Elderslie and two children, a son and a daughter, it would appear that Graeme and Eilidh have it all! Graeme has a government job that provides well enough that Eilidh can stay home and mind the house and the children. Lindsay Amos O’Halloran is younger than his sister Niamh by two years, but the pair are incredibly close; their father is strict — they’re mindful of their manners, their marks in school, for fear of his reaction if they don’t — and their mother is … well, Lindsay suspects she hasn’t been in her right mind in years. ❛ The pills will do that, ❜ Niamh tells him, ❛ numb you right up. ❜ She tells him this is why their mother never says anything. Lindsay expects all children must live like this — quiet, obedient. They protect each other, Lindsay and Niamh — best they can, at least. He walks her to class, she helps him with his coursework, and then they hide away in her bedroom and make up stories, elaborate tales of all the places they’ll go once they only get out of Elderslie.

To his credit, Lindsay does well to appease his father and keep relative peace in the house for many years. He learns when to mind his tongue, how to behave. If he yearns for approval, he quickly learns what it feels like to go without. Praise comes in the form of a quiet night — no shouting, no dishes thrown. He is careful to make no mistake significant enough to not be forgotten after his father’s spent a few long nights at the pub. Not until he turns fifteen. All his life, he’s been keeping it a secret; from his parents, his sister … sometimes it almost felt like he was keeping it from himself. For a while, it isn’t hard to keep it locked away; between school, church, and chores, he doesn’t have time for sinful thoughts. He can almost pretend …

His world ends on a brisk September afternoon at nearly three p.m. He’s sitting on his bed with Colin Bigbie from trigonometry, trying desperately to figure out how to calculate angles. And Colin’s tutoring him, which should be helping. It should, but Colin’s sitting so close Lindsay can smell his spearmint gum and he can’t stop looking at his lips, the way he grins around the eraser of a pencil. He still remembers the way his mother shrieks when she opens his bedroom door to find her son pinned under another boy in his own bed, a tangle of lips and limbs. ( How could he have let himself get carried away? How could he have let himself get caught? ) Colin has the common sense to scramble out of the house long before his father comes home. Lindsay is not so lucky. He has nowhere else to go.

Only a few months shy of his sixteenth birthday, Lindsay enlists in the Royal Regiment of Scotland. His mother nearly worries herself into an ulcer over the idea alone, but his father is supportive. Thinks it’s a ❛ wise move, ❜ in fact, that Lindsay could use the structure. She weeps over afternoon tea the day he brings home the forms, cannot even bear to look her husband in the eye as he fills them out. The more unpalatable truth need not be said aloud, for Lindsay already knows it in his heart — as far as Graeme O’Halloran is concerned, he no longer has a son, not in the eyes of God. Perhaps if he leaves now … learns what it means to really be a man, to bring his family respect in lieu of shame, of disappointment … well, perhaps he might return home to more welcoming arms.

This, Lindsay thinks as he packs a sparse duffel the night before he leaves for phase one training, that’s what he wants out of enlisting. He wants to feel like he belongs again. ( Has he ever? Has his father ever actually been proud? ) ❛ No but for christ’s sake, fuck ‘em all, Linds! Honestly! It’s all a bunch a’ shite, and anyway, you’ll always belong here with me,❜ comes a tearful reassurance from his sister over a shared rooftop cigarette the very same night, a possible last ditch effort at convincing him to stay. It doesn’t work! His mind is made up, and when she pinky swears that she gets it, that she understands and she could never hold it against him, Lindsay believes her. He cries when she hugs him goodbye the following morning. In spite of his best efforts, he cannot hide red eyes and mottled cheeks from his father as he climbs into the car. He says nothing, but Lindsay can feel his gaze; he cannot bring himself to meet it for the entirety of the six hour drive from Elderslie to Berkshire.

The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst provides twelve months of intensive training to all prospective young officers. Lindsay is desperate to succeed because, in his mind, there is no other option. He learns to operate on a strict schedule and quickly becomes regimented, disciplined. But Lindsay does not socialize with the other young men in his barracks. Many of them are quick to make friends — he sees them being raucous in the mess hall, hears them slagging off their superiors when they’re out of earshot — but Lindsay always keeps to himself. He never joins in. In his spare time, Lindsay pens letters. They’re mostly to Niamh. He tells her of his successes, embellishes his happiness in neat lines signed with love. The letters he receives back are the highlight of his time at the academy — they keep him going. Occasionally, he’ll write to his mother and father; to those letters, he hears nothing in return. his mother takes his phone calls on holidays — he expects that’s the only grace his father allows — but beyond that, they make no effort toward significant contact.

At least not until he graduates. They all show up, all three of them, but make no mistake it is not a grand affair. He knows from his sister’s letters things have not grown better in his absence but worse; his father’s temper flares and without Lindsay there to take the heat, his mother and sister suffer in his place. At dinner that evening, Niamh announces her plans to move overseas. She’s nearly twenty now, and after all, they’ve got relatives in America, distant cousins in New York, and she intends to relocate with their help. Her news doesn’t go over well; their father shouts, their mother wails, and when they leave, it is with the assurance that the entire lot of them are banned from what was Lindsay’s favorite Italian place in Berkshire for life. In the end, it doesn’t actually matter though, does it? He’s leaving again anyway.

Lindsay returns home for two weeks while he awaits his assignment. He helps Niamh pack and does his best to avoid conflict with their parents. When she leaves for New York, Lindsay is the one who takes the family car to drive her to the airport. ( He finds out that day that maybe he doesn’t know how to say goodbye to his sister without crying. Once can be written off as a fluke, but twice? ) He doesn’t know what to expect when he receives the call specifying the location of his first tour, but Lindsay can be certain that Belize does not even make the list. He didn’t even know they had anyone stationed in Belize. ( If he’s being honest, before he knows he’s going, Lindsay couldn’t have confidently pointed the country out on a map. ) Within seventy-two hours, he’s on a plane. Unlike with Niamh, when his parents leave him at the terminal, Lindsay sheds not a single tear. On the flight, he thinks of this mother’s outpouring of emotion and wonders if it’s sincere. Does she mourn the loss of both her children?

The stifling heat of the South American sun — surely impossibly the same sun that casts clouds over his village back home — fries pale, freckled skin within hours of landing, but Lindsay quickly learns that he enjoys the pain. It provides a welcome distraction. A lucky break, it would seem, because it is found here in no short supply. Tropical Environment Training, it’s called. Or, how to fight in the jungle! From dawn to dusk, he and his battalion trudge through gnarled, swampy undergrowth; they learn to camouflage themselves in the wild, how to use nature and the elements to their advantage. He learns to blink past the burn of sweat in his eyes, to claw his way forward when his limbs threaten to give out. His limits? Clearly he’s been underestimating them all his life! Out here in the harsh wild, nobody cares about his story, where he came from. Nobody cares who he loves. They only care that he can perform. Endure. It matters not who he is, only what he is capable of.

Belize teaches Lindsay O’Halloran that he is a very capable man.

When he first enlisted, it was without a clear, intentional path in mind; he’d known then that he wanted to serve his country, but he hadn’t the foggiest what he could even offer. would he be sent to kitchen duty or put on the frontlines? Were there even front lines? Six months after arriving in Belize, Lindsay completes his training. He’s adapted extraordinarily well to the environment; his superiors watch as he takes lead of his battalion, seizes control to lead his brothers- and sisters-in-arms to safety. He watches his team with the fierceness and precision of a hawk. When his entire battalion completes the program with flying colors, Lindsay is asked to remain in Belize. For someone so young, he displays potential. For the next ten years, Ladyville becomes his new home. He immerses himself in its culture just as much as its jungles; his accent twists the words in a funny sort of way, but he learns to speak spanish and Belizean creole. He drinks belikin and shares panades with locals. He becomes familiar with the forestry, teaches it to hundreds. And he writes to Niamh about all of it.

One day, when she writes back, Lindsay learns he’s an uncle. When his tour ends, he hops on the first plane he can catch to New York so he can meet his niece. Her name is Maisie O’Halloran and Lindsay is convinced he falls in love the second he holds her in his arms. He spends several weeks in the states with Niamh; he sleeps on her couch and spends day in and day out with her to make up for all the time they’ve lost. She tells him Maisie’s father isn’t in the picture, and Lindsay makes her pinky swear that she’s safe, that she’s okay. He wishes he could stay, but he’s given another assignment far too quickly. He tells himself he won’t cry this time when Niamh and Maisie leave him at the terminal, that he can keep it together. He can’t, and they’re both laughing through their tears as she makes him promise they’ll meet here again in a few years and he relents on one condition: she sends him weekly updates on Maisie in the meantime.

When he lands again, Lindsay is in Nigeria. He has been assigned to the UK’s permanent outpost Abuja to aid in the training of the Nigerian military. What he lacks in knowledge about the country and terrain, he makes up for in a passion for the sharing of knowledge, of valuable, life-saving skills. Hausa and Yaruba are more difficult to learn than spanish, he’ll admit, but he spends enough time there that he becomes at very least conversational in a few different local languages. When he returns to Elderslie after another six years, he does not sound the same and the streets no longer look like home. His country beckons him back before he can visit Niamh, but he promises soon. He still writes every chance he gets; she convinces him to start video calling because Maisie is talking more than ever. His parents don’t see their only grandchild, don’t get the privilege. He visits them once while he’s back on home soil. Once in two years. It’s tense. His mother doesn’t recognize him. His father shakes his hand.

It takes fifteen years, but Lindsay can finally feel the weakness in his grip.

Time slips through his fingers faster than Lindsay can stop it and before he knows it, the year is 2023. He’s back in Berkshire and, as it turns out, that little Italian restaurant? They don’t even remember him anymore. Lindsay is in his flat when he receives a phone call from an unrecognized number. It’s his cousins from New York, bearing news of his sister. Grave news. He can barely make out the details over the ringing in his ears the moment he realizes what they’re trying to say. ❛ …it was a break in … she’d just gotten back from work … didn’t even know she’d been struck …’m so sorry … ❜ And just like that, Lindsay O’Halloran’s whole world shatters.

By some grace of God, Maisie isn’t home when it happens. Their cousin had been watching her while Niamh was on shift, had just gone to take her back and opened the door when … ( oh, she saw it, the poor girl saw it! ) Lindsay requests immediate discharge and his years of dedicated service allow him to catch the next flight out of Heathrow to New York. He has to begin making arrangements. It takes six days to find a flat in the city and get Ellie moved into it; with his cousin minding her for a few hours, he packs up his sister’s apartment in a single night. Delicately, he tucks away years of memories into boxes — some he’s seen, many he’s missed out on. He does this alone, and he realizes a truth he’s known his entire life. He will always cry when he says goodbye to his sister. This night is no different. He weeps openly on the floor at the center of her apartment, surrounded by sweaters and pillows and photos — he cries for every little piece of her that he is forced to say goodbye to. His grief echoes off the walls. He gives so much that by the time they bury Niamh, Lindsay has no tears left to shed. He is exhausted. And for this, he is grateful. It allows him the ability to stay strong — he does not do well with emotion, but he knows how to push through fatigue. For Maisie, he will. From this day forward, his needs will forever take the back burner to hers. He is no father, but he will raise her the best he can. He owes as much to Niamh.

To provide for them both, Lindsay secures a position at a private security company called Sentry Solutions. His extensive military and combat training make him the perfect fit for private security, and he finds that he approaches his new career with an inherent sort of dedication. Blame it on the guilt — he wasn’t there to protect his sister, couldn’t save her, but he’ll be damned if he can’t protect everybody else. Most of all, he intends to protect Maisie, to provide her with anything and everything she could ever possibly need and keep her safe. He wants to keep her happy, too, but he knows that’s a more difficult battle won. Though he could count the number of times he’d seen her face to face before moving to New York on one hand, they were hardly strangers; he used to call weekly at minimum to speak to her and her mum, often sent her gifts from Nigeria and then again from Berkshire. This does not make the process of familiarization any easier or less awkward, but Lindsay does his best and eventually, they fall into a routine. He learns what Frozen is and how to dutch braid hair. He wakes up early on Saturday mornings to make chocolate chip pancakes and commits the details of a traditional tea party menu to memory. Every Wednesday starts with a visit to Maisie’s grief counselor and always ends with gelato from the little Italian place on the corner of their block. After a few months, Lindsay starts to believe he can actually do this. That they both can.

And the moment Lindsay thinks he’s finally started to find his footing again, it’s as if the rug has been ripped from beneath his feet again. The world is ending. If it was dangerous to live in the city before, it begins to feel like a death sentence the moment he hears the news. He immediately begins formulating a plan. They need to get out of the city. The population is too dense, the layout of the city too labyrinthine to feel safe. He packs a bag and instructs Maisie to do the same. ❛ Only take what ye can carry, Mais, ❜ he says as if he’d not carry the moon on his back had she told him she wanted to take it along, ❛ only take what’s important. ❜ Her backpack is pink with faux-fur straps, stuffed with crayons and fruit snacks, plushes and photos of her mother; the matching sleeping bag is attached to his own rucksack.

Lindsay expects it will take them some time to leave New York, but no amount of training or planning can prepare him for the chaos and bloodshed that ravage the streets. The streets are gridlocked but the cars are abandoned, some with windows smashed or doors left wide open. Driving out of the city is an impossibility, and every sidewalk, every building is like an active war zone. To think he'd been worried about the barricades. Moving through the city is slow. Every new street, every building promises new threats; if it's not the undead, it's the living trying to ransack them for supplies. Desperate people. Lindsay tries not to fault them ― fear can make people do all sorts of irrational things. He knows this. But if Maisie's safety is threatened, Lindsay does not hesitate to exterminate said threat, living or otherwise.

Distances Lindsay expects might take hours to cover instead take days. Weeks, even. Maisie is scared, confused, but she holds up better than he expects her to. He should've expected she'd be resilient like her mum. He keeps watch while she sleeps, operates on bare minimum and learns how to whittle his exhaustion into something functional and sharp under the cutting edge of adrenaline. He's never been in survival mode for this long. He thinks back to Belize, to the way the sun blistered his skin and the way his muscles screamed for mercy. He'd been able to push through it then for family who didn't give a damn about him, and he'll dig his heels in and survive this too. For Maisie.

When the snowstorm hits, they take shelter in an elementary school. It appears as though it had been used at some point in the recent past as a makeshift shelter, but aside from the biters that Lindsay methodically removes, it has been thoroughly abandoned. ( Some of the ones Lindsay exterminates, they look fresh. He does well not to dwell on this. ) The winter is long and cold and grueling but they survive. Lindsay is careful to ration what food he can scavenge from the cafeteria and, by some grace of God, it's enough to last the pair of them through the coldest months. He's grateful for the sense of familiarity the location provides Maisie; there are books and toys in the classrooms to keep her entertained and enriched. She has the chance to be a child and Lindsay finally has the chance to rest. At least for a little while. Come spring, they'll be getting out of this city.

Lindsay thinks so, anyway, but he's beginning to realize that what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men might actually be true. Maisie falls ill sometime in late February. It's not that he hasn't been keeping track of the passage of days, either, only that he doesn't know for sure when it actually begins. Her sniffles are easy enough to write off as a symptom of the colder weather, of course, but the cough is admittedly concerning. She seems unfazed, so he keeps an eye on it for a few days and intends to wait for it to resolve itself. Only it doesn't resolve itself. Maisie gets worse.

When the fever appears, Lindsay can no longer deny his concern or the way it steadily seems to morph into panic. He's never dealt with this before. He's only been responsible for her less than a year. There are no useful medications to be found in the nurse's office, nothing more than old antihistamines and cough drops in the desks. He's not familiar with this part of the city, and even after scoping from the rooftop, there's not a pharmacy in sight, not that he can tell. It isn't as if he can leave her, either, to go looking further, or even take her along in this condition, out of fear he'll come up empty-handed and make her feel worse in the process. But he's been surveilling the area, watching. He's seen survivors at the Wexley, coming and going. They must have supplies. It's a short enough distance that he could run it from the school even with his pack on his back and her in his arms, and, with no other options, that's precisely what Lindsay does.

#↳ intro #↳ about #bnyintro #the way this got stupid long and took me two days even though he was already a pre-existing muse of mine kshsakl #anyway hmu for plots y'all

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years ago

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tagged by my baby @alexdaydreams

nickname : I don't think I have any at the moment... I don't really remember rn... idk @ddejavvu always calls me pumpkin, so that's something.

sign : sun - cancer, moon- cancer, rising - gemini

height: 163 (5'4)

last thing I googled: skærebræt træ (cutting board wood)

song stuck in my head : the ending of yours by Conan Gray

number of followers: right now, almost 2 months after the incident, I'm at 825 (although it used to be at 1500 😶‍🌫️)

amount of sleep: idk maybe 8 hours? sleep is something I take extremely serious... get your sleep, let your brain rest

wearing: brown sweatpants and a white and taupe striped henley shirt in a waffle kind of fabric. oh, and grey woollen socks. aaaand underwear. aaaaaaaand some normal socks underneath. aaaaaaaaand gold wire-rimmed glasses and my usual tiny gold hoop earrings.

dream job; haha let's not talk about this one

movies/books that summarise you: idk man... something super depressing where the main character just can't catch a break. again, let's not play this game

favourite song: don't have one

favourite instrument: piano

aesthetic : soft, calm, slow, cosy, warm, alleged mindreader, hyper-empathetic (that's not an aesthetic, that's just an autistic trait of mine lol), everyone's mama, huge hippie, covered in both nature and cosy childish tattoos, cool grandma except I'm in my 20's, literal human swiss army knife

favourite authors; hmmmm... idk there are so many. right now, at this point in my life, talia hibbert just hits a special spot in my heart.

random fun fact: I grow some of the best strawberries you'll ever taste. like they are out of this world amazing.

tags (sorry if you've already been tagged): @ddejavvu @magicchai @fleurfairie @fxllfaiiry @fightingdragonswithwho @creelteeth

#tag game #tag games #lea speaks

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cdfreak · 2 years ago

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0, 2, 8, 15!

0: height - 5'1

2: shoe size - 7.5

8: want any tattoos? - yes! matching freshwater sunfish with my fishing buddy @kittyfight and then i think im gonna keep getting tattoos of every kind of fish i catch. also i want something dykey

15: favorite movie - swiss army man or tusk or repo the genetic opera or bride of reanimator or bullet train

#asks

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rillball · 5 months ago

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THANK U FOR TAGGING ME @acasternaut I LUV ANSWERING QUESTIONS :p

1. do you make your bed

if i feel like it i straighten the blankets but nothin too crazy bahaha

2. favorite number

7 but i also equally enjoy 5, 17, 37. i really enjoy the feeling of odd numbers

3. what's your job

grocery clerk.......

4. if you could go back to school, would you

yess i want to learn so many things. i would really like to study human anatomy, music theory, CINEMATOGRAPHY. I NEED TO DIRECT

5. can you parallel park

hell no

6. do you think aliens are real

YYEEAAAASSSS FOREVER

7. can you drive a manual car

i cannot drive

8. guilty pleasure

the movie free guy. also the same as red i enjoy 2014 youtuber music bahaha

9. tattoos

in order of getting them, pacman stick and poke i got in highschool for an embarrassing reason, art from the birthday party's album hee haw, baby dave, and this guy i got from a friday the 13th flash sale :D

10. favorite color

ARMY GREEN and warm yellow, i love a good warm brown like burnt orange

11. favorite type of music

i could never choose one favorite but mostly 80s/90s rock and metal and hip hop, comedy music, musicals, and i love my ultra lounge cd's lol. and electronic

12. do you like puzzles

like cardboard puzzles or general puzzles? both yes but i love puzzles in video games (THINKING UNCHARTED 4)

13. any phobias

SPIDERS. ITS SO BAD

14. favorite childhood sport

soccer :D i played it all of middle school and we'de go to timbers and thorns games alot

15. do you talk to yourself

in my head yes, it doesnt feel natural for me to talk out loud to myself

16. tea or coffee

i like both but if im making one for myself im more inclined to make tea

17. first thing you wanted to be when you grew up

vet because i loved cats soooo much

18. what movies do you adore

i have alot of favorite movies some are missing here

all of the cornetto trilogy but hot fuzz is my fav, the spongebob movie, inception, hot rod, saw, swiss army man, the muppets (2011), napoleon dynamite, con air

ill tag @carugast lool answer my questions 18 boy

#ask game

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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years ago

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Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi 🌸 Patreon

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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me.

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it.

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost.

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl?

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own.

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

If you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!), check out my Sapphic fantasy book as well!

#wlw #sapphic #found family #urban fantasy #writeblr #magical realism #fantasy stories #short story #writing #lesbian romance #patreon late release #femslash #f/f #8k #my work #long post #long post cw

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they-are-a-prolife-autist · 3 years ago

Text

Yeah I’m a feminist. I have extreme religious trauma. I grew up poor. Abused sexually and physically. I am disabled. I am alternative and love to dye my hair and get tattoos. I prefer cats to dogs. I love to read, play piano, sing, and write. My favorite movies include “A Portrait Of A Lady On Fire,” “Swiss Army Man,” and “Braveheart.”

I am Prolife too.

#I am Prolife too #i am Prolife #reblog with your unlikely Prolife story

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eternalspectrum · 4 years ago

Text

she’s never seen the sea

sunlight imprinted on her father’s skin

waves crashing

and his feet smiled tattooed under boyish grin

snapping pictures

with closing eyelids

her father’s face

flush on recollection

the same waves that had clenched like an angry jaw

as his mother pushed him forward like a train car

watch his neighbor drown

tears streaming

eyes connecting

screams muffled

as inhalation suffocated lungs

muscles weary

skin pruning

he was barely a boy

knowing he’d never return

his neighbor

an older man born in Akka

looked dapper at dinner parties

looked helpless that day

his body revolting against death

a pool intent on swallowing him

so many stroking to get on boats departing

who’d have known this gulf would have been their deathbed

she has been beaten

ID checked

body thrown to the ground

fist and feet pummeled

tender flesh

shoulder broken

heart too many times

tear gas inscribed on her lungs

she wrote back on her breath that the canister’s defeat is near

these fields are ours

she said to me

before the Europeans and Brooklynites

before the swimming pools

army jeeps

and barbed wires

before the talks

road maps

and Swiss cheese plants

before declarations rewrote history

those hills met footprints and that can’t be erased

like village massacres can’t be erased

like broken bones policies can’t be erased

like the screams ringing in her father’s ears can’t be erased

we are the boat returning to dock

we are the footprints on the northern trail

we are the iron coloring the soil

we cannot be erased

- Remi Kanazi

art: ‘We Shall Return” by Abu Shtayyah

#palestine #free palestine #art #poetry

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howliteart · 4 years ago

Photo

A rare personal art 👀 My blood elf Monk, Tallorael Riversong!

She swallowed a water elemental as a child when she almost drowned, so now she can only use Frost magic. Which she's against using for violence. So she's a healer... who also punches when needed. She was training to be a frost mage but hated it. Tal eventually found herself in Pandaria and trained in Mistweaving - all the self-control/chi balance stuff helped with controlling the elemental as well. Though it wasn’t until she met Saedryn (her Vrykul gf) and got her elemental binding tattoos that it was solidly under control.

I had thought it'd be really creepy-cool for her face to leak water whenever the elemental's acting up but then I saw Swiss Army Man and that kind of ruined the illusion for me 🤣 The tears can stay though.

#World of Warcraft #warcraft #blood elf #blood elves #sin'dorei #sindorei #monk #mistweaver #xuza art #tallorael riversong #personal art #my characters #non furries

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danaduchy · 7 years ago

Text

NPCs about Seeds

Full script of Far Cry 5 (except cutscenes)

* What were those Seed brothers like? Can't imagine there's anything like a healthy sibling rivalry going on there. * John's the baby of the Seed family. His brothers turn a blind eye to his more sadistic indulgences. * Joseph and John show why it's hard to have a family business. Money and blood mix weird. Even when you're not tryin' to be a messiah. * When you escaped the bunker... John didn't say it... but you could see it in his face. Failure. Things got worse from there... Like he was trying to make up for something. Prove to his brother he could... * Kim and I used to throw these weekend BBs. Open invite. All you had to do was bring something. If you can believe it, the whole Seed family came once. They brang watery mac and cheese. I shoulda knew they were monsters when they did that. * John's on edge 'cause his brother-Father is getting' cranky. What a fucked up sibling relationship those two got. * Maybe John will go crying to his "father". I wanna see Joseph give John a spanking. * Joseph's pissed the hell off. I hear John's sweating like a piggy. * Word's out - Joseph's had it with John. That little punk is backed into a corner now. * Good thing for us John and Jacob haven't sorted out their brotherly nonsense. I mean if we're lucky, they'll just take each other down. If not, well, I'm going to keep some grenades around with John's name on 'em, eh? It's comin' to a head man. * Says somethin' that Joseph didn't save his brother. Family really doesn't mean shit to these people. * Wonder what Daddy Seed is feelin' right now. Oh. Shit. What if he WANTED John dead? Fuck man, I can't think about the big game. We did it here. We kicked ass. That's gotta matter. Okay that’s what I'm telling myself. Yeah, that’s it. * I'm just sayin': If I was Joseph and I had the ability to see into future occurrences, I woulda warned my boy John that he was gon' get murdered... and made some good bets. * I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Joseph tries to spin John's death to his own advantage. * John Seed never had the Father's full confidence, what I heard. But the Joseph loves little sister Faith, and gave her everything her twisted heart desired. * Jacob always tried to look out for his little brother. Imagine what he's gonna do when he finds out you killed him.

* John was always the runt of the Seed family. I'm not surprised that you were able to get him. But I gotta warn you, Jacob's a whole lot meaner than his little brother. * Joseph adopted Faith into their family. She's going to be madder'n a wet hen that you killed her brother John. * John liked to throw his weight around, tryin' to prove how strong he was. Jacob knows he's strong. His actions are more controlled, and he's a lot scarier for it. John was always super emotional, but Jacob's buttons won't be so easy to push. * All this could have been avoided if only a mid-level cable channel gave the Seed family the reality show they deserved. * You know, if any of these Seeds ran for office, they'd win in a landslide. Mind control charisma just oozes off of them. * Come to think of it, the Seeds work just like a political office. You got Joseph, the mayor, and John, Jacob and Faith as his city councilors. It's no wonder they forced me and my people out of office - they already knew how to play the game! * Each of the Seeds has their own bunker. They call them “Gates”. * Know how I sniffed out Eden's Gate's bullshit early on? Only the Seeds were allowed to be angry, everybody else had to be calm--even though we all had our asses in that church because we were mad at the same shit too. But now everybody gets to be angry, 'cause it's a weapon pointin' where the Seeds want it. Protect the project. Transparent motherfuckers.

John

Resistance

* John's always been obsessed with the people in Fall's End. And with Mary May in particular. * Deep down, I think John wants to die. That man has scars that run deep. * John's got a particular ritual he sticks to. You get marked with a video, then you get dunked in the water. When John wants you found, he doesn't stop. Ever. * Nowadays, if you're caught huntin’, John Seed'll have ya' killed. * John's got people getting baptized all across the valley. In rivers, creeks, hell, even in puddles. * John scrawls a fucking tattoo on your chest, then flays you the fuck alive. He nails it to a wall. * If the peggies wanted a heap of food, why didn't they drive a ways to the wholesale club and take that over? Everythin' would be canned and ready for them instead of still in the ground. You can tell John Seed never had to raise a kid. * The cult takes people and then sorts out where they go. Whoever John doesn't keep, he sends to Jacob. Or Faith. * John really puts the dick in dictator. The fucker just loves calling and leaving answering machine messages, too. * John's always wearing a key around his neck. He calls it the key to paradise. I don't wanna know what it unlocks. * I'm pretty sure the family that used to own this farm is long gone. John Seed made an offer. They refused. That's that. * This fertilizer company was bought by John Seed a long time ago. They ran it as a legit business. * This one guy, Les Doverspike. House is northwest. He thought he could prepare for everything... Din't count on... JOHN SEED'S LAWYERING SUPER POWERS! In the blink of an eye, Eden's Gate owned Les' land, bunker, arm, leg, dingleberries, ....EVERYTHING! * I've heard some pretty brutal stories about what happens when John wants you to confess. * The peggies had to have planned all this way ahead of time - they're harvestin' at record speed. I guess they had little meetings... John probably hunkered over his map gettin' a hard-on for the sound of his own voice. Hm... now there's a thought... * The thing that always bugs me about John Seed is, who goes to a lawyer that’s tatted up more than a gangbanger? * You're attractin' a lot of attention, especially from John Seed. John's paying special attention to you. * John wants you real bad. Have you considered maybe he's in some kinda love with you? He oughta killed you like two or three times already but he's playin' cat and mouse. Just sayin', if you find yourself alone with him maybe a good long somethin-or-other could save our necks. * Man, that John, he sure does have a hard on for you. So I'm thinking, you guys should probably just fuck and uh get it over with. * I bet you John gives the best spankin's. Sorry I know that's messed up. What can I say, he brings it outta me. I'm just sayin' maybe we don't kill John is all. Seems a waste of a perfectly good set of buns. * Before you, John never lost his cool. You're driving John literally crazy. * I drank with Joey Hudson back in the day. She doesn't take shit from anyone. John's gonna eat her alive. * I know how these things go, man. Deputy, you better keep skeleton keys and wire cutters and a swiss army knife and anythin' that'll get you outta a hogtie on you at all times, because John is gonna truss you up like a dinner turkey real soon. * Always thought there was somethin' kinda twisted about John. * John the Baptist is an amoral predator, end of story. * John Seed's not gettin' what he wants, so he's pitchin' a fit. * Keep an ear out for John's fucken' plane. He loves buzzin' around in that hunk of shit. * I've known men like John Seed before. Real charismatic. They'll sell ya poison and convince ya it's a health tonic. He'd fit in real nice in Washington... * I had one conversation with John Seed and I knew! I knew... He masks his words as guidance, but deep down there is a selfishness that could only come from pure evil. * John Seed's a piece of shit. When news spread that I was expecting, that scumbag spread rumors that HE was the biological father of my baby. I don't know if he was trying to create a wedge between me and Nick or if he was just doing it to laugh at us. * I hear John Seed was a lawyer or something. Used the rules to buy up stuff in the Holland Valley. The cult must have been running damage control already, because think of what a story that'd make. Unless we're already all tapped out of giving a fuck about the shitty economy and its parasites. Huh. Yeah. He's same old, actually. Same fucking old. * I remember the first time John Seed set foot in this bar. I'm wiping down counters and Ma's countin' the till when I hear her bark, 'What the fuck do you want?' I look up and he's standin' in the doorway. Eyein' me like I'm a meal. Some people 'round here said give the Seed's a chance. I knew they were bad news from the start. * Eden's Gate took this town right from under us. They started buying up all the land, forcing business to shut down and foreclosing on homes.... My parents and me fought back, but John wanted this bar. Told 'em he'd have to pry it from our cold dead hands. So, the cult paid off the county and made it illegal to transport alcohol. We fought back with lawyers, but those leeches bled us dry, too. * Whenever there's a neighbor in need, everybody around here pitches in. A couple days after we told some people I was pregnant, we got all this secondhand baby shit from everybody. John Seed stole all of it the next day. * Heard Pastor Jerome had you saving people from being kidnapped. John Seed did that to me. The fucker made me think he was going to torture me, too. Had me wait in a room for half a day thinking he was going to do it. All that fucker did was give me one of those ink jobs. It was messed up. * John Seed is just a man. He seeks glory and riches. He immersed himself in a sea of self-aggrandizement. He pounds pulpits. He professes principals he neither believes nor practices. He stokes fear. But he is just a man. * Before you came along, John Seed kidnapped me. He has his way of getting a person to say things. It's not about my words. It's about what's in his head. When he was done, I was beaten, toed in the woods, and left to die. * A long time ago, in peaceful times, I asked John Seed what was driving him. He gave me so many answers. All of them lies. * John Seed is a cruel soul who can't be reasoned with. He enjoys making people suffer. * John and the Peggies are taking everything and everyone that ain't nailed down. Even then they just come with crowbars. * After you're marked for baptism and dunked in the fucking river, John drags you to his bunker. God save us from whatever he does in there. * There must be a reason John almost drowns people in the baptisms. It's a power play but there's more to it. * If John really wanted to, he could wipe Fall's End off the map. He's toying with the people there, like a sadistic cat. * John's got a singular mind. Dug up from a serial killer's grave, but still, singular. * There's something really wrong with John. I don't have a name for it but you can see it in that creepy smile of his. * When I first saw him on the cult's videos, John seemed pretty harmless. But when I met him in person, he made the hairs on my neck stand up. * John bought up all the businesses 'round here and promised us jobs but the only people who got work were cultists. * When John asks you for somethin', he's not really askin'. He'll get what he wants from you one way or another. * John wants us all to say yes, but I think he actually really likes it when they say no. Gives him an excuse to get mean. * Anyone who doesn't confess to John gets killed and put on display as a warning to others. It's inhuman. * John doesn't just mark people with a sin, but their houses too. You can see his calling cards all over the valley. * I got a package from John Seed the other day. // What was inside it? // A note that said I was favored and that if I admitted to my sin, I'd be cleansed. * What does John Seed do exactly...? // He messes with your head. Asks you questions. Makes you say shit you don't want to be saying. I... I really don't want to talk about it. * John was right, we all do have one sin that tends to run our life. In a weird way maybe he did give us a second chance. * My old house was a piece of shit. It would creak at night, so bad I thought for sure some boogie man was coming to get me every night growing up. // Heh, aw, that's cute. // Yeah. John gutted and burned it to a crisp last week. * Okay, I need to lighten the mood. This is unbearable. // Oh Lord. // John Seed is so uptight, he takes a ruler to bed to see how long he sleeps. // I'm not in the mood. // John Seed is so uptight, he fell down a coal shaft and found a diamond in his ass a week later. // Okay that's pretty good. * You seen that John guy? Most aggressive grin I ever seen on a human being. Like a chimpanzee before it bites ya. // God what a creep. // I hate to think what kinda life he's come from. // Who gives a shit? He's evil. // What makes a guy that evil though? // It doesn't matter. There are loads of people out there with troubled pasts but they manage not to run an apocalypse murder cult. * Not like John was the peak of sanity before, but he's going straight up coo-coo bananas with all you're doin'. * Sounds like Broseph's mad! Ouuuu, family probs! John's like that little brother who gets held down and farted on, and then curls into a ball and cries. * One thing about John -- the more you ruffle his feathers, the angrier he gets. He can't deal with embarrassment; being made to look bad. He'll start sending out search parties to grab people like us, so we gotta stay frosty. * John's lustin' for a dogfight with you, huh. I bet that kid jerked it to Top Gun or something and now it's the only way he can get a stiffie, is in a dogfight. If you have to kick the bucket I hope that's one of your last thoughts, its a good one. * John's playin' a strange game with you. Dunno what's worse, that sometimes he seems to want you dead, or sometimes he seems to want you alive. * John's no better than his brother's dog, and we all know what needs doin' to a mad dog. * John's huntin' you like an animal. He catches you, you're probably gonna join his other trophies on his wall. * Hey dep, I just wanna say I'm sorry, I heard John's got a partner of yours It's gotta be scary, you know. Probably heard about how John cuts people up and knows all these pressure points and can make you feel pain beyond anything you ever imagined. Anyways don't think about that. I'm sure... I'm sure she's fine. She'll be alright. * Was John dead behind the eyes when you met him? It's not my imagination, there's no soul back there. * I heard there's no spare key for the bunker prison. Just one for John. Control freak. * John Seed, what a fuckin' self-absorbed dick, huh? You just KNOW he jerks off in the mirror, and marvels at his fuckin' facial expressions. * That's John Seed's Ranch. I heard he loved hiding in that castle of his. * John had this place built just for him. Even got a hangar for his fucken' planes. * Look at this place. John's got the worst case of younger sibling syndrome I ever seen. * John's such a neat freak, it's inhuman. * Ugh. John Seed's temple to himself. Fucker's got a tennis court. I ain't never seen anybody play. Just another way he's a hypocrite. * I know everyone's got a bunker out here, but John's is ridiculous. * John's taste in home decor is... awful. * John's been stealin' the planes from all over the Valley. He keeps the best ones at the airstrip next to his ranch. * Of all the Seeds, I think I understood John the least. Inferiority complex, maybe? But he was a lawyer, he could have gone out and, I don't know, been a Wall Street megalomaniac. I guess economic murder isn't as satisfying as direct murder. * John made tattoos look real bad man, I'm glad he's six feet under. You gotta respect the ink. He didn't even learn a proper letterin' or font techniques or nothing, man. No way I'd have even trusted him to touch up my tramp stamp. * With John gone, Jacob will have a harder time building up his army. But he's already got a strong force at the ready.

Peggies

* John Seed's a funny guy. But not 'ha-ha' funny. * Dang, John's bunker is so luxurious. There's parts of this bunker that only John can access. * Deputy Hudson is one of John's "special projects". Every time John leaves here, he's got a big smile on his face. * John's got the only key to the deeper parts of the bunker. We really oughtta make a copy of John's key. What if he loses it? * John knows the human heart. He's been through a lot. It's why I trust him. * I wonder if John's place will survive the Collapse? * I could get in trouble for saying this, but it smells funny in John's house. * Haven't seen John here in a long time. He's super busy. * I knew John loved planes, but I didn't know he also loved boats. I bet John's boat costs more than my old house. * I've never seen Brother John on a boat, but I know he likes to get wet. * You think John fishes? * We need to keep this place tidy. You know how John gets with his baptisms. * Bet we're guardin' John's unreleased films. * I hope Brother John takes me for a plane ride someday. * John keeps all of his favorite things stashed in the hangar. * John wants the word Yes plastered all over this place. Gotta attract new brothers and sisters. * Taking this scrap metal is good forward thinking. John's left nothing to chance. He's a smart man. * Bet John'll be a king after the collapse. * If you're marked, John believes you can be saved. I didn't want to admit my sin at first, but John showed me how to accept it gracefully. * Feels weird turning those people into Angels. I mean, they worked in the store here with us. They cooperated. // Sure, they cooperated. But they were still sinners. There's no going back at a certain point, you know? John said that this was the only way to save them. * I know it's John's will, but...I don't like killing dogs. * John's made catchin' that deputy our top priority. Wonder why John wants the deputy alive. * That deputy's fixin' to get taken into John's special room. * John's relentless, that deputy don't stand a chance. * John's gettin' awful mad. I pity anyone who has to deal with him face to face. * I don't know what's goin' on in John's head, but it's embarrassing. * I thought John had control of things, but lately it feels like he's got no idea what he's doin'. * John's got that look in his eye, I almost feel bad for the people of Fall's End. * John will make everyone atone, even if it kills him. * John was right, they never saw us comin'. * John's so smart. Burnin' what we can't take, so people know they need us, spirit and body. * Last I heard from John, he was real angry. Never knew he had that amount of righteous wrath in him. * Pray you never see John lose his cool. // He never does. // He has though. Some sinner a while back had words with 'im. I couldn't hear exactly, but I heard 'em say the Father's name - I never seen John go so red so fast. // What'd he do? // Well he gets in his plane and wipes the sinner's property off the goddamned map. He rains fire on'em. They're scurryin' everywhere, screamin'. Like a magnifying glass on an anthill. * The Seeds lost a good brother in John. * Maybe John wasn't part of the plan? Maybe this is still what the voice told Joseph? * John's faith wavered, but mine's never been stronger. * I'll miss John's pep talks. * John did so much for the project. He can never be replaced. * John proved his devotion in blood. How can we do any less? * John was always larger than life, it felt like he was immortal.

Joseph

Resistance

* Joseph doesn't like it when his family goes off-book. * I know this is an unpopular opinion, but what if Joseph's right about the end of the world? * That's the first place Joseph ever built. Back when they pretended to be good. Joseph used to preach here. We could have saved us some trouble if we had just set fire to it years ago. * Joseph Seed and his whole family are like the politicians who ran this country into the ground. They sell ya hope and change and all these people buy into it thinking it's gonna be different this time. It ain't. Might as well be buyin' magic beans. * These people in Eden's Gate have been led astray. Joseph Seed claims he loves everyone. Wants them to know the truth. The truth is he preaches vengeance and sows lies. But the words of an evil man ring louder in the minds of the weak... * You know what really gets me? Cult leaders are usually always in it for the money. Just like a pyramid scheme. Joseph ain't like that. I keep tryin' to break this guy down into what he wants from people. If it ain't money, and it ain't sex, what the hell is it? * Joseph's a charismatic son of a bitch. I mean, you've heard him. The pitch. The tempo. The way the words roll off his gentle lips. His mannerisms. I mean he's been speech trained, probably more than any politician I've ever seen. That's how you know he's a government guy. * I know the people of this valley. They're good, hard workin' people. But in bad times, people get scared, start lookin' for someone to blame. Joseph Seed fed on that fear. Told folk the end of the world was coming. Lot of 'em believed him. Truth be told... way things are now? I sometimes wonder if he's right. Folks felt abandoned, grew weary, they needed our help. And we didn't listen, but Joseph Seed did. Joseph Seed wooed people. He told them EXACTLY what they wanted to hear. With those falsehoods, lies, his poison. It's driven a lot of good folks away from the righteous path. * I knew Joseph Seed was bad business when he wormed his way in here a few years back. I imagine the fucking mainstream media would paint us as two sides of the same coin, because they're either lazy or corrupt or both... But to me, it's simple: I'm willing to sacrifice everything for my family, while Joseph Seed wants to burn down the world for his. * Y'know, I had a dream last night that involved me, a bed, whips and chains, and Joseph Seed. Suffice to say there were a lot of conflicting emotions and sensations... * Did you have a vision? Faith dosed me with bliss, and I saw the Father come to me, personally, and tell me terrible things. * I have a lot of pity for Faith. Joseph is the true monster, manipulating that young woman into a weapon. * Who the heck is Faith, y'know? Joseph treats her both like his daughter and his sister. How much does she know? How influential is she? It's all twisted together. * I wonder how many other secret bunkers there are in the county? Joseph procured a whole missile silo and no one saw! * Faith came to Hope County to detox. Like tourism of hillbilly country for rehab. But Joseph took a shine to her and she was reborn. Hell, her real name ain't even Faith, but something rich, like Riley or Rachel. * Joseph believes in Faith. He's entrusted her with all manner of heinous activity out here. We need to take her out. * I can't see what kind of method to the madness Eden's Gate has goin' on. Three heralds of the Collapse? What are they even doin'? // They got a system. Faith sows, John reaps, Jacob... // Steps on your neck? // Deals in belief, I guess. // Nah, that's Joseph's job. He's the charismatic populist motherfucker. Jacob just wants to cull people. * Joseph's just a nobody from nowhere. How'd he get this many people behind him? * There was a time no western religious leader would be caught dead with a goddamned man-bun. Fuck I miss those days. Listen, I get that he's runnin' this big old cult and all but if you're gonna run a big old cult you gotta look the part! Long robe that's a weird color, like puce or something, stringy moustache, head shaved bald like a baby. Not like some kind of lovechild between a hipster and a country singer. * Joseph Seed's family is gone. He's gonna be vulnerable and running on emotion. He won't be thinkin' straight. If we're putting this to a vote, I'd say we close this chapter for good, as soon as possible.

Peggies

* The father's takin' a personal interest in those deputies now... Maybe his visions told him somethin'. * Joseph said that deputy is special. I wonder what he meant by that. * Despite everything they've done to us, I know Joseph would still forgive them. * We have to love the sinners. It's what Joseph would want. * It's been too long since I've seen our Father's face. * Joseph is a gifted songwriter. You haven't lived until you've heard Joseph sing this live. * I heard that the Father got the idea for the Judges in a vision. * Jacob might teach us to shoot, but Joseph guides our aim. * President Seed has a nice ring to it. Wonder if Joseph has political aspirations? * I see why Joseph liked this county. Plenty of silos for what we need to store. * Everyone knows Joseph will not tolerate idle hands. * The Father keeps all the best stuff for his Chosen. Leaves us the scraps. * After the collapse, we won't hear the Father on the radio anymore. * Joseph's disappointed in us, I can tell. We gotta do better. * I hope the Father doesn't take this out on us. * I can't imagine how Joseph feels now, with his brother gone. * With Jacob gone the Father has to have a backup plan for us. He has to. * Our Father was supposed to save us. Joseph wouldn't ever abandon us, would he? * Joseph will know what to do. I just have to find out where he's hidin'.

Jacob

Resistance

* We're in Jacob's territory now. Know how I know? Wildlife is scarce. I'm not one for hunting but this area in particular used to be home to quite a few species. They've either been driven away or taken in for experiments. It's sad. * Jacob Seed's in charge out here. He's ex-military, he's a combat veteran, and he's a psycho. * Faith was Joseph's favorite, but Jacob is his toughest soldier, bar none. * Jacob's got this Chair. He straps people in and breaks them down until their souls are gone. Then he controls their mind. Don't end up in that chair. * I know Jacob's the bad guy and all, but every bad guy thinks they're this misunderstood hero, right? Has anyone ever tried to just, you know, take him for coffee and talk to him? * Strippin' people of their mind and freewill to build an army for The Father, that ain't right. I still can't believe Jacob and Joseph are brothers. * The mind is the most dangerous weapon and Jacob knows that all too well. No one was really prepared for this. * I've seen him up close once and I'll tell ya' Jacob Seed is one scary motherfucker. * Jacob had one thing right. Things are only goin' to get worse and you gotta be ready for it. * I had a dream once that Jacob took me on a hunt. We shot some deer and he asked me to skin them. As I was cutting them open they changed... it wasn't deer. I... I don't think it was a dream. * Whatever you do, don't listen to the music. That's how Jacob gets you. * One of the first places Jacob took over is the old Veteran's Hospital. No one thought much of it at the time. * Careful. Jacob likes to play mind games with ya. * This was an animal sanctuary until Jacob took it over. Looks like he's got some freaky deaky shit goin' on. Jake-n-Bake Seed really had his fingers up in everything up here. * Jacob's completely insane. He's not even trying to hide what he's doing anymore. * Heard that Jacob has been doin' some weird stuff with animals over here... and not just wolves this time. * Jacob's been putting people in cages. Keepin' them there with no food or water for weeks! Almost better if they just killed you. * Eli worked on Jacob's special bunkers, did you know that? Turns out they didn't get along. Who would've thought? * No one is immune to Jacob's fucked up conversion. Once they hit you with that you ain't ever the same. * Jacob, he's knows everything that I'm thinking. He's got the key to my mind and he twists... and twists... and twists. * Jacob... his experiments... he takes us... owns us, speaks to us. He hears us. Jacob... he's in control. He controls everything. * Jacob knows how to get into your head. Twists things around so you don't know what's right anymore. * If Jacob can't find a use for you in his army, you become target practice for troops. * Be careful out there. Friends might not be friends anymore after Jacob's done with them. * I bet the Peggies got an armory here, too. I can't believe how Jacob got them so organized. * Jacob's using everything he learned in the military and twisting it to suit the needs of Eden's Gate. Son of a bitch is a poor excuse for a soldier if you ask me. As long as he's alive my Pops will be rolling in his grave, all bitter and mad. * Have to say, you've ticked Jacob off something fierce. * You wanna bet that Jacob had that three-wolf moon poster as a kid? I bet he was a cub scout, too. Now he's getting his badge for people-skinning and brainwashing. * I'm seeing a lot more choppers in the air. Looks like Jacob's using them to move troops and supplies. * You know, I was dumb enough to work for Jacob a few years back. Who you think built him all those Peggie bunkers? You think I saw any of this comin'? Hell no... * Jacob's new recruits gotta kill someone they care about, just to prove their loyalty. That's messed up on so many levels. * Jacob will be pied that you and the Cougars freed the Henbane River. He'll need a new source of soldiers. * Jacob sees himself as beyond the other so-called Heralds. He views his work as the most important, and that the others' purpose was to support him. * Jacob will break every bone in your body to convert you. He lives for pain. * Jacob would happily sacrifice everyone and everything in Hope County to feed Joseph's Collapse. He doesn't care about Faith. * Between John, Faith, and Jacob, I'd say our mind control freak is the worst. He makes people kill their own family. His own mind's twisted. He's a damn maniac. * I hear Jacob's looking everywhere for you. * You gotta save us from all this darkness. All this death. Jacob's losing it and he's out hunting down more people. He's gonna do anything for Joseph's plan to work. * Cult's got the wrong idea 'bout sacrifices. My neighbor killed his old man 'cause Jacob said so. For fuck's sake, you don't do that. * Jacob's gone nuts 'cause he lost a lot of his precious, mindless soldiers. I'd say it sucks even more to see our own teammates turned against us. * Jacob's pissed. That's new. He's always been the crazy type, but I'm afraid of what he'll come up with next. Stay sharp. * Using music to control people is so in bad taste, but Jacob's song pick, that's gotta say something about him. * How much do we know about this Jacob fella? He seems strong. Got a good setup going on... We ought to take some photographs of him or somethin'. Preferably shirtless... Y'know, for intelligence purposes. Know your enemy. * If Jacob he had an experienced woman in his life, this shit would not be happenin'. I'll take one for the team if it comes to that. Just don't tell Xander I said that. He'll get jealous. * I knew Jacob was trouble as soon as he showed up. I mean, did you see his face? It's all burned and twisted like his heart. * Jacob's got training grounds all over the place. I've seen them out there, shooting anything that moves. * I can almost understand why people follow Jacob. He's knows what he's doin', that's for sure. Mind you he's also a fucken' psychopath kind of a deal breaker for me. * Honestly, Jacob scares the shit outta me, even more than the Father. I've seen Jacob up close, I've looked him in the eyes they're empty, not a single shred of humanity anywhere. * Jacob's one sick fuck. Nailing up bodies? Burning people alive? That's just messed up. * You know what? I think Jacob's scared of Eli. That's why he's tried so hard to get him. * Jacob must be getting desperate and crazy. More troops out here than ever. * Jacob's plan worked. I tried to warn them. I told them not to go back. Jacob's going to win. He always wins. * Jacob was the big, mean, brute of the Seed clan. * Jacob was an example of how a vet can go bad without any help. Still glad he's dead of course.

Peggies

* Hope Jacob doesn't have another surprise inspection. Last one didn't go so hot. * Jacob asks for sacrifices from us all. I gave up my son just so I could understand the Father's pain. * Jacob can turn these animals into weapons for the Father, I've seen him do it. * Jacob calls those wolves of his Judges, 'cause that's what they do. If you're not worthy, they tear you to shreds. * Jacob takes us, molds us and lifts us up to realize our potential. Just like this Judge. Once, it was just a simple wolf. Then it heard the voice of the Father. Now look at it. Stronger, faster... a killer. That's what Jacob does, he makes us better than we were, because only the very best of us will pass through Eden's Gate and on to salvation. * Jacob has asked us to find more recruits for the Project. We have to make them see the light... by force if necessary. * Jacob taught me how to bring a boar down will one killshot. Now I just apply the same logic to sinners. Easy. * Trust nobody, that's what Jacob told us. * Last time I was here Jacob himself complimented me on my shootin'. * Jacob will whip the strong ones into shape. The rest of 'em won't survive training. Jacob sure puts you through your paces here. It's how he makes us strong. * Jacob only wants the strongest of any creature. * Some of the converts have a hard time losing their old notions, but Jacob has a way of getting them to see the light. * If you've ever been in Jacob's presence you know just how powerful he really is. * There is no way anyone would dare stand up to Jacob. They'd be dead in a second. * Jacob's got this county locked down. There's no way they're gonna take him out. * Jacob knows what he's doin'. If he says he's got this bastard covered, I believe him. You know Jacob. He's not gonna give up. * I hear Jacob is furious. We have to try harder. We can't fail the Father. * Jacob's not dead. There's no way. He's too strong to die. * The sacrifice of Jacob must be part of the Father's great plan; we must trust in him. * The guy who killed Jacob. He fucken' cheated. You know Jacob. There's no way he would've lost in a straight up fight. Can't do anything for Jacob, but we can make sure Pratt pays for letting that bastard get away. * Do you think this the father knew about all this? // Of course. It's all part of his plan. // Even losing Jacob? // Do you doubt the Father's visions? // No! Of course not.... it's just... the guys... they have questions.... // Questions? Now's not the time for questions! It's time for action! Do you want to die a sinner? // No! Or course not! // Then get back to your post. The Father needs us now, more than ever! * So what the hell are we going to do now? // What do you mean? // What do I mean? Jacob's dead! That's a pretty big deal, if you ask me. // We still have the Father. It's his plan after all. // Sure, but he had Jacob and the others to help. He can't do it all himself. // That's why we're here. We have to step up, do whatever is asked of us. We can't give up, not now. // Yeah, you're right. Especially with what's coming. // Exactly. Get back to your post, this isn't over yet.

Pratt

* Jacob's caught himself a Deputy. I think it's Pratt. Poor bastard, he's not gonna last a day in there. * Deputy Pratt always came off as a bit of a douchebag, but that doesn't mean he deserves what Jacob's doin' to him. * I'd sure hate to be that Deputy Pratt right now. Jacob's gonna rip him to pieces. He tried to arrest his brother for God sake. * Pratt's days are numbered. One of these days Jacob's gonna have him nailed up on some billboard or something just like the others. * I keep thinking about Pratt, and what Jacob's doin' to him. That poor man's brain's gonna be totally fucked. * Can only imagine what it's like to be left in a cage with nothing to eat for days. God, do you think that's what they're doing to that Deputy of yours? Poor bastard. * I don't think that Deputy's gonna live much longer. I hear Jacob's furious and you can be sure who he's gonna take it out on. * Next time you meet your friend Pratt, be careful. Jacob does things... to your mind... he might not be the same person you remember. Don't say I didn't warn you. * Can you fuckin' believe that guy? // Who? // The Deputy. Pratt. He was wanderin' around behind the cages. // What the fuck was he doin' there? // Who the hell knows. Jacob's probably got him off doing some shit. // Yeah, he's lucky to be able to put two words together after what Jacob did to him! // Seriously. Sometimes I think it's a mistake to put too much trust in these converts. You should come willing to the light, or be struck down. * I.. I was told to feed the Judges but I didn't know where their food was. // Jesus, Pratt. Does nothing stick in that brain of yours? Over there, where it's always kept. // Right! Th..thanks Phil! It won't happen again! // It better not. * I just want go out and hunt down the bastard that killed Jacob and beat them to death.//Don't worry. They'll be here soon enough. We've got their buddy Pratt down here. Pretty sure we're next on the list.//Aren't you worried? They were strong enough to take on Jacob...// Fuck 'em. With the number of guards we got here? They'd be crazy to try to take us on. * Good thing Pratt's out man. He was lookin' like a hipster in a bullfight man. * There's not much of the old Deputy Pratt left, Jacob made sure of that. Almost would've been better that he'd died in there. * Yeah, the Deputy might be free, but I won't say he's okay. No one is okay after they've been through the trials. No one. * Jacob sure did a number on Pratt. Not sure there's much of him left in there. * It's gonna take a while for Deputy Pratt to recover from this... if he ever does.

#far cry 5 #joseph seed #jacob seed #john seed #staci pratt #reference

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