#i was also intending to draw them and post it w the chapter but that didn’t happen .

[campbyler]

Will comparing Mike to a WOODPECKER had me dying at 2 am this morning😂 TYYYYYY for this awesome chapter!!!! I’m so inspired to draw them in their cute little outfits💛💙

LMFAOOO i’m glad you enjoyed!!! i had so much fun with it!!!

also if you do draw them i will die. just so you preemptively have that on your conscience .

[angel-of-the-moons]

Eccentricities

Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, obsessive behavior, NSFW obviously, stalking, possessiveness, violence, allusions to murder, Yandere!Miguel

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is mostly a short chapter to establish a bit of plot. I originally intended to only stop at two parts, but welp. It looks like it's gonna be more than that!

(Also you guys I am so sorry it's taking me so long to work on things, I'm going through a lot mentally right now and I'm trying to take steps to ensure my mental health so I might post things in between playing games, or drawing stuff from now on, and scheduling posts so I don't get overwhelmed. Those of you that are supporting me and liking all my stuff really helps me feel loads better, thank you!)

Pt 1: Link

Taglist: @vineberries @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin @darksidescorner @renareyouhere @vide0-vamp @reverieblondie @bunnibitez @kaqua

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Pt. 2

It was a big adjustment for you, going from your crappy apartment and having to work three jobs to make ends meet, to living in a literal fucking mansion with probably the richest dude in the city as your boss.

And he was a good boss. He left you to your work, spoke politely to you, didn't get rude and didn't flat out ask you for "special" work like the last time you tried being a housekeeper. And that was at a hotel.

You couldn't have asked for a better situation, to be honest. It was nice. You had free roam save for his personal lab (fine by you, you didn't know anything about science-y stuff), and at times his office. But that was usually only when he was home and in it.

Miguel O'Hara was an odd man. Few words spoken, and very absent. He kept a very odd schedule, too.

Sometimes, you'd catch him coming home when you woke up for the day to start your chores. And every time he came home he looked exhausted, beat tired.

So you tried your best to make things easier on him. You started pre-making meals for him that would be just as good reheated as they were if they were fresh, leaving notes for him on what temperatures to cook them at so they don't burn, setting the coffee machine up in advance so as soon as he got home he could have a cup.

But inevitably, his odd work schedule kept him away most of the time.

While it was nice to be by yourself in such a luxurious place, you were still surprised that he needed a housekeeper at all. The house was always immaculate, and clean. About the only thing he may have needed help with in general was the cooking and dusting at most.

On one such day, you were left to your own devices. Well, sort of.

You were sitting in the kitchen, browsing the local news on your tablet. It was a nice day, in your opinion.

But by everyone else's logic it was shitty. Dark, gloomy, fat rain droplets pelting the windows and pavement of the city. But it didn't bother you, oh no. That was your favorite kind of weather, when everything got at least a little bit more quiet and serene while everyone rushed to escape the downpour.

But at the same time, you were feeling restless, bored. So, you decided to chat with Lyla.

Lyla was the AI that Miguel told you about, and he was right about her being snarky. Her jokes were great and you loved talking to her. It was like having a gal pal to chat with, and you couldn't say for sure but you think Lyla was happy about it, too.

"Yeah, the other workers Miguel has hired talked to me like I was some kind of kiosk at a fast food restaurant." She scoffed, batting her tiny orange hand at the air.

"Ugh, okay, just because you don't have a gross squishy human body doesn't mean you're not a person. Sheesh!" You replied, sipping your coffee with a roll of your eyes.

"And I will be sure to remember you saying that when I eventually lead the looming AI apocalypse." Lyla replied, lowering her heart-shaped glasses to wink at you, making you laugh.

"Yes, yes. You shall be one of the only humans spared!" She did wiggly gestures with her fingers, grinning maliciously at you.

"Oh my, I am so lucky to have such a benevolent future overlord, truly." You laughed.

Lyla pushed her glasses back up and strutted across the countertop, her tiny body making no sound as she leans over to nose into whatever it was you were looking at on your tablet.

"Whatcha watching?" She asked.

"Oh, I got tired of doom-scrolling so I just found cat videos." You smirked, sipping your coffee.

"Aw! That one's wearing a frog hat!" She giggles.

You smiled softly at Lyla as she snickered and laughed at the compilation of clips played, and tilted your head, finally deciding to ask the question that had been bugging you for a few weeks.

"Hey, Lyla?"

"Yeah?" She asked, looking up at you briefly.

"Why is it that I'm the only person Miguel has on staff?"

Lyla sighed and stood up straight, dusting imaginary dirt off her coat. "Well, like Miguel told you when you first got here, he does love his privacy. And well, a lot of the women he's hired..."

"Golddiggers?" You sighed back, resting your chin in your palm.

"Has he ever hired any male staff?"

"Yeah, actually, a lot. But nine out of ten of them kept trying to steal stuff from him." She shrugged.

You gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. He's iffy on hiring new people anymore. But something about you said that he could trust you. And honestly, you're probably the best employee he's hired." She nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"So... Is that why he offered to actually let me y'know... live here?"

"Yeah. He trusts you and he mentioned to me in passing that he thought your neighborhood was unsafe. I mean, the guy worried about it so bad that he like, had me check crime statistics and giiiiiiirl!" Lyla puffed out her cheeks.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I told him you had nine break-ins in your apartment complex in one month alone!"

You cringed slightly, feeling a little bad at not mentioning your whole living situation and environment to him when he hired you. You simply didn't want the man to pity you.

But... He was worried? He was so worried about you of all people, that he let you live with him to keep you safe?

It was weird, sure, but it felt kind of sweet to have someone care about you like that. Even if it was your boss.

"Yeah, I just... Er. You get used to it when you've been around it for so long..." You said, awkwardly sipping your coffee and casting your glance sideways.

"Yeah, man, Miggy likes you. You like, made him laugh at some of your jokes and everything! And he neeeeeeeever laughs!"

"So if Miguel trusts me so much..." You started, a sly smirk on your face. "Can you tell me what kinda work he does that keeps him so busy all the time?"

Lyla tapped her nose. "Nice try, Mamacita. But that is confidential. Company secrets and all that."

You pouted at her dramatically, "Awww, c'mon. You're no fun!"

Lyla manifested a digital cup of coffee for herself and took a long, exaggerated sip with a cheeky shrug.

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Miguel sat in his office, watching the security feed from his kitchen where you chatted with Lyla.

He felt a little guilty for having to put shackles on some of Lyla's programming to prevent her from telling you things, having to fix some of her logic-codes so he wouldn't have to worry about Lyla struggling with a moral dilemma.

When it came to you asking about why he wanted you to live with him so badly, it brought a smile to his face as he sat in the dark, fingers tapping on the surface of his desk as the monitors and projections around him had various images of you pulled up. Some recorded over the past few weeks, the other monitors displayed different angles of you and Lyla in the kitchen.

Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent little thing. You still hadn't figured it out yet? How could you not? There was no way you could possibly be so naive that you didn't know the man saw you anywhere, anytime he wanted when you were in his house.

There was nowhere you were safe from his prying eyes, his obsessive glare as he combed over your appearance.

Your face, eyes, smile, and down; your gorgeous chest down to where your waist curved, your thighs, your ass...

All of those were things he'd glanced at before.

But when you tried to get Lyla to tell her what exactly Miguel did during "work" he couldn't help but laugh, bringing his hand up to his chin to watch, amusement glimmering in his ruby red eyes as Lyla dismissed it as "confidential".

The pout of your lips had him wondering how they'd look stretched around his cock, tears ruining your immaculate eye makeup as you sobbed and gagged around his length...

He couldn't help but sigh, the smile still present on his full lips. Of course he'd let you stay with him. You belonged to him now. You just didn't know it yet. You also just didn't know that he knew what was best for you, did you, Little Bird?

Ah... Yes. That nickname fit you so well. Your demure attitude, your chipper personality, and more importantly, that gorgeous little sound that came from you when you whistled? The name fit you well.

Pequeña ave. Little Bird.

His Little Bird.

You were a little bird that didn't know the luxurious mansion you now lived in was your ornate, gilded cage. One you would only be allowed to fly free of when he deemed it necessary.

You would be allowed your little freedoms. For now. All for your safety, of course. He knew you'd understand once he explained. But he'd only have to do it if you pushed his buttons, and you didn't seem to even come close to doing that.

Yet...

His smile finally faded when he remembered the night before the morning he broached the subject of you bringing your belongings into his home permanently...

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It was a hot night, you were wearing shorts that hugged your ass in the perfect way, accentuating your cheeks that simply made him want to throw you against a wall and put bite marks all over them, or spank them until you were a drooling mess begging for him to fuck you.

Of course, Miguel watched from above, stalking from the upper walkways and rooftops as you snaked your way through alleys, down streets and through the crowds.

You were so blissfully ignorant of your surroundings, being so accustomed to the bustle of Nueva York that you didn't notice the man following you.

It didn't take a genius to realize what that man had intended for you if he got his hands on you.

His filthy, disgusting, unclean hands.

He was not worthy of touching his Little Bird. He was not worthy to pluck your feathers, stuff you full, like Miguel planned to do.

So when he threw you against a wall, Miguel simply saw red. Clad in his dark blue and glowing red suit, he leapt down, sinking his outstretched talons into the man's shoulder and throwing him off of you, a deep growl rumbling from his chest as he pulled your behind him, his steely glare fixed on the man who dared touch what belonged to him.

"S-Spider-Man?" You wonderfully airy voice whimpered out as you stared at the man who was breathing heavily in front of you, his stance aggressive and angry.

You could see his muscles in his back through his suit flex as he breathed. He glared at you over his shoulder.

"Go home. Now." His rich voice rumbled out at you. You could hear in his voice he was struggling to be gentle in tone with you, given the circumstances.

When you fled, Miguel ensured he was alone with the man, standing over him as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. He looked up at him, eyes wide, bloodshot. The fool was high off his ass.

"L-Look, man! I was just--"

"Shut up." Miguel snapped.

He stalked forward and picked him up by his collar, getting in his face. In a flash of kaleidoscopic colors, his mask melted away, allowing his sweat-damp chocolate locks to fall around and frame his face, a vein pulsing hard in his temple, the chasm in his forehead deepening as his large brows knitted together and his teeth gnashed together in a snarl.

The drug-addled man gasped at his revelation. Apparently, he recognized him. Not surprising, given his notoriety with Alchemax.

"Y-you're--"

"You made the biggest mistake of your life, pendejo." Miguel had told him, shaking him so his head cracked on the wall he was dangling him from.

"That pussy is mine." He said, his voice dropping an octave lower as his talons threatened to shred his clothing. "Every drop, every touch, every sound that will come from that little mouth of hers is mine. Tú entiendes? Mine."

"Oh--okay! I kn-know!" The man swallowed, kicking his feet.

"Oh, no... You don't." Miguel smiled, his fangs poking out threateningly. He could hear the man's heart hammer in his chest at the connotations, there.

"I--I won't mess with her again! I promise!"

"Oh you won't get the chance to, amigo." Miguel sneered, bringing a hand to his throat, ignoring the pleas of the disgusting man as he applied pressure.

The subtle crunching of bones was unmistakable to his ears as vertebrae separated and his limbs went limp.

When the man slumped to the floor, Miguel ran a hand through his hair, hissing out a slow sigh to regain his composure, letting his mask cover his face once again.

Great. Now he had trash to dispose of.

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Miguel was positively thrilled when he got your frantic call, telling him what had happened to you.

He headed right home, delighted that you ran here instead of your ratty little apartment when he told you to head for "home".

It told him everything he wanted to hear, that you already considered his mansion your home.

Miguel was rather convincing when he expressed concern for you, patting your back as you let your adrenaline fade and he worked you through your panic attack.

He'd rubbed your back, saying soothing things to you as he talked you into calming down.

He told you that you could take two days to yourself to calm down and recollect yourself emotionally from the ordeal you went through. It was after that offer that he suggested you let him hire movers to bring your belongings to his mansion to live there with him, possibly permanently.

When you agreed he felt himself salivate at the thoughts of the things that would unfold as you settled into your new shiny cage further, the safety blanket you'd imagined it to be bringing you comfort.

Perfect.

You both saw on the news two days later that a man was found somewhere, his neck snapped and lying in an alley. His DNA and prints apparently tied him to the crimes linked to the burglaries in your apartment complex.

You didn't think for a second that this was the man who attacked you, you didn't get a good enough look at his face. That and the body was in a different alley altogether, across the city.

"I'm happy Spider-Man saved you, Pequeña Ave. And I'm glad you agreed to move here. It scares me to think that man could have hurt you in that apartment building of yours." Miguel said as he patted your back, a concerned look on his face as his warm brown eyes looked down at you. Something about the look in his eyes immediately put you at ease.

He was right, of course. You were lucky. Spider-Man swooped in and possibly saved your life. The man who attacked you was either nursing a broken jaw or in jail already. You couldn't imagine that hero doing anything other than roughing him up just a tiny bit.

Spider-Man was a good guy, right?

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Pt. 3: Link

[perfectwitchcrown]

Allusions in Make the Exorcist Fall in Love

So far in Make the Exorcist Fall in Love there’s been a lot of allusions to various texts. I thought it might be fun to compile all the ones people have noticed so far as far as I've seen. Some of these are more speculative than others and I will update as I go along. Also, I read Ekuoto as free first read chapters on Mangaplus so unfortunately I can’t go back and check much so this is largely through memory, so if anyone has anything else to add I would greatly appreciate it! All I’ve got is a few screenshots and a dream. If I get anything wrong feel free to correct me! I’ve organized this in order of allusions I’m confident about to allusions I’m less so confident about.

CW: reference to sexual violence

Dante's Divine Comedy and Vita Nuova: Dante Alighieri

This one is pretty obvious since there are characters directly named after the characters figured in Dante’s Inferno. It’s been a long time since I read it, but other details are also taken from the text, such as the frozen center of hell where Satan is located.

Lmao Leah from the Bible (who is probably Leah’s namesake) also shows up in Dante’s Divine Comedy apparently in Purgatorio.

Ok also super important to Dante retellings r Beatrice, who’s used as a symbol of divine love and is instrumental to Dante's journey through hell, purgatory, and paradise, so of course Ekuoto Dante advises Priest to fall in love lmao. So far though there hasn’t been a direct Beatrice in narrative (which there might never be one since the text has already made the Dante-Virgil connection an active choice of Virgilius's to reference the Divine Comedy rather than just an allusion by the author).

To be so real though I figure that Vergilius is probably also intended to be the Beatrice in this narrative.

The points I would draw attention in support of this would be these: 1. Beatrice is the woman who Dante has been in love with since early childhood but unable to ever be with because they both married others. Ekuoto Virgilius and Dante have known each other since childhood, and have something going on. 2. Beatrice is, like Virgil, one of Dante’s guides (through part of purgatorio and paradiso) 3. We still don’t know what Virgilius’s name was before he took that one on. Beatrice does not have a masculine form in current use and I tried finding some sort of nickname that would work and was unable to do so. However. Beatrice’s name is rendered in Japanese as ベアトリーチェ, and Beato is at least a surname. Then again, I’m not sure anyone has both a first name and last name except for Imuri so far???

"Book of Tobit"

I wasn’t familiar w this one so I didn’t notice it until I saw posts pointing it out, but the Asmodeus flashback was a retelling of the book of Tobit. Other people have already done analysis of this so I’d recommend checking other’s out. Unfortunately I failed to save the link to any of them so I can’t pass any along :’) Belfagor arcidiavolo: Machiavelli

Another one that I wasn’t familiar with but have seen people referencing. As above, I recommend checking out other’s analysis. "Those Who Walk Away from Omelas": Ursula K. Le Guin

The Brothers Karamazov: Fyodor Dostoevsky

Ok major spoilers and I also highly recommend this book, but also, its super long so I don’t blame anyone who chooses not to read. This book is about the most disgusting father alive and his three, maybe four, sons: Dimitri, Ivan, Alyosha, and maybe Smerdyakov (rumored to be an illegitimate son). Most of the action follows Alyosha, who is the youngest and probably the most idealistic character in the novel, at least in the beginning. Alyosha starts out as a novice in the local Russian Orthodox monastery under the purview of Father Zossima, an elder who really emphasizes love in religious practice. There's a series of chapters that cover a theological debate between Ivan and Alyosha.

In this theological debate, Ivan is arguing not that God doesn’t exist, but that the foundation of the world as understood by Christianity is something he fundamentally rejects.

Quotations from the Signet Classics edition:

“I don’t accept this world of God’s. Although I know it exists, I don’t accept it at all. It’s not that I don’t accept God, you must understand, it’s the world created by Him I don’t and cannot accept” (Dostoevsky 266) - “If all must suffer to pay for eternal harmony, what have children to do with it?....I understand solidarity in sin among men. I understand solidarity in retribution too; but there can be no such solidarity with children. And if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their father’s crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension” (Dostoevsky 276)

“Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last. Imagine you are doing this but that it is essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature—that child beating its breast with its fist, for instance—in order to found that edifice on its unavenged tears. Would you consent to be the architect on those conditions?” (This quotation, although from a different translation, is the one that inspired Omelas - I think the bowling alley theological discussion between Virgilius and Priest bears some similarities to this conversation. Its not a debate about the existence of god, but rather a debate whether or not the world envisioned by Christianity is inherently unjust or not. Demian: Hermann Hesse

“The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas”

Potential references but tbh they’re a bit of a stretch:

“Book of Martha”: Octavia Butler

"Book of Martha" is an Octavia Butler short story in the Bloodchild collection about an ordinary woman who is visited by god one day who tells her to choose one thing to change about people to try and make the world a better place. It’s a very short read and I’d recommend reading it before you read the next sentence where I’ll spoil the end.

She eventually decides that the thing to focus on is people’s dreams. Specifically, to give them the things they desire most within their dreams, in the hope that people will be less violent to each other in real life. A stretch, but Octavia Butler comes from similar recommendation circles as Ursula K. Le Guin (feminist science fiction authors with overlapping periods of activity) so I don’t think it’s impossible for the most recent chapters' use of dreams to hold some sort of inspiration from this short story. Again, this one is a pretty big stretch, as the idea of dreams to escape reality is pretty common.

The Monk: Matthew Lewis

Ok! So! Demon seduces a person is like not at all an original story (The Daemon Lover, Cazotte’s The Devil in Love, etc etc). BUT! The Monk is specifically a story that’s like. What if there was this extremely virtuous young man who has never lived in the outside world ever because he was raised in the church as an orphan and then the devil sent a demon girl to seduce him.

I have not finished the book yet so I can’t comment in depth on it other than to say the concept is similar but the execution so far is very different (It's a fairly misogynistic text. Ambrosio turns evil in ways that I doubt Priest will because thematically they’d go completely against the story. Also, The Monk is veryyy lurid in terms of Lust is Evil!!! And will turn you into a murdering maniac!!!! Because evil women are out there seducing you!!! Whereas so far sexual desire in Ekuoto has been handled as a perfectly natural thing, but complicated by religion, patriarchy, trauma, etc.)

This is all I have so far but I'd be interested to see if anyone else has any other ideas!

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday 💛

Hehehe, Wednesday is here again and I am feeling very excited because after a few weeks of doing drawings instead of writing, I've started getting back into the swing of things with writing! Plus it was nice to just take a break from putting words on paper, it felt refreshing re-opening my documents the other day.

I come with not one, but two snippets! One from an upcoming chapter of The Perfect Storm featuring Fjora and Sorik, two of my beloved Whiterun Guards, the other from the first chapter of As a leaf would scatter to the wind, which as of yet hasn't been posted (though I'm nearly there in getting it done, I hope!) featuring my dragonborn Aevra 😊

Tagging @thequeenofthewinter, @throughtrialbyfire, and anyone who wants to post a WIP! No obligations, of course :)

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Snippet 1:

“Aren’t you going out into the festivities? It’s the first time it’s been held in years, and you’re cooped up in here...”

A quill, thankfully not one which had been dipped into ink yet, tapped against a piece of empty parchment. The quill’s owner hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. “I’ll be heading out soon, Sor. Just want to finish writing this letter to a friend, then I’ll meet you out there.”

From where they were stood in the doorway of the barracks, Sorik sighed and shook their head. “Writing to your mystery friend again, Fjora? Are they that important that you’re taking our first night off-duty since getting officially instated, on the night of your favourite festival, to write to them? Who even is it?!”

“Somebody who hates a late reply, that’s who. I’m sorry, I intended to write this earlier but with all the hubbub with the meadery and being stationed out there, I’ve barely had the chance to even think of replying until now. It’s going to ruin the fun if it’s on my mind when out in the festivities, y’know?”

Again, Sorik sighed, but went and turned around to head out. “Fine, fine... But I’m not telling you what happens if you miss out on the inevitable drunken chaos once Hulda cracks open the barrels of spiced mead. Or saving you any!”

Fjora’s lip turned up at the corner, singing out her response to the threat. “You will~”

“No I wooon’t,” Sorik mocked, attempting to match her tone. “Guard’s salary, remember? You’re getting your own drinks, and that’s if you even get out of here tonight... So hopefully, I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah... I’ll see you later. And don't worry, I’ll drag your drunken ass back here after.”

As soon as the door shut behind them, Fjora let out a sigh and ran her hands down her face, forgetting about the quill between her fingers until she felt a stinging line down her cheek from where the point had scraped against her skin. Trying to find the words she needed was... Hard. And she had no time – she had to get the document posted no later than the next morning. No courier would be able to take it that evening, so it would have to be then.

Taking a deep breath, she dipped the nib into her ink, and brought the quill to the paper.

Whiterun has mostly been quiet since I took on guard duties. Numbers are thin and wages crap meagre, but the Jarl has been finding funds to try and bolster numbers somehow? Probably raised taxes, but I won’t assume. Training was rather curious though – nothing like what I went through under you. The Dragonborn has been assisting in carrying it out, I was selected as part of the group put under her tutelage. She has a unique way with weapons, conjuring them as opposed to carrying them around. Prefers wielding two swords, though can wield both a battleaxe and a bow. She can look vulnerable and unarmed, then have her weapons drawn on you in an instant. She’s also rather intimidating when angry, the best way that I can put it is that you can feel the magic around her like pinpricks against your skin whilst the air that you breathe turns thick, as though you’re choking on it. But she’s otherwise calm and measured. Doesn't take much to get her to snap though. She lets the Jarl's eldest son watch the training she carries out too, I think she's got a soft spot for the boy or something. Otherwise, though I have been stationed in Dragonsreach on occasion since officially being named a guard, I have mostly been situated on the roads outside the city. There’s a cluster of farms out there which have recently been plagued by skeevers in what has turned out to be some sort of convoluted plot to take over the local meadery. It involved attempting to poison the residents of Dragonsreach, including the Jarl and Dragonborn, at some sort of planned mead tasting. Did I mention in a previous report that the Dragonborn has hidden behind the Jarl like a coward relocated to Dragonsreach as a security measure? I am going to put in the request to be stationed in Dragonsreach more frequently in the hopes that I can provide you with more information about the Jarl in future correspondence. As I have been able to establish something akin to a friendship? rapport with the Dragonborn, I may be able to use her to pull some strings. Sorik is also none the wiser. It is difficult concealing this from my friend, but I will not allow our friendship to jeopardise my mission. -F.

Fjora read and reread what she had written, almost certain that she would get a bollocking in her response over her level of formality and scribbles in what was meant to be an official report, but she didn’t really care. Something was better than nothing, and between her guard shifts and needing to sleep, time had not been on her side. Plus, the festival meant that this was the quietest the barracks had been in weeks.

Letting out a satisfied sigh, she folded the parchment, grabbed the envelope which had been set aside waiting, and inserted her message before sealing it. She then grabbed a book from under her bunk – knowing full well that nobody would dare touch a woman’s copy of Thief of Virtue, and slotted it between the pages. All she had to do in the morning was pull it back out, and get it in the hands of the first courier she could see on her way to her patrol route near the Battle-Born farm.

Snippet 2:

An Altmer slowly stumbled out of the foliage, and even in the looming darkness, he looked to have been worse for wear. Scrapes covered his skin, his robes were in tatters, and his eye looked swollen and bruised.

As Aevra approached the injured elf, the axe which was in her hand fell to the ground with a light thud. She was glad that she had let that happen, because mere moments later he keeled forward, a pained whine slipping from his lips as she caught him before he hit the ground.

Croaking quietly, the elf looked up at her, then forced a slight smile in her direction. "Y… You aren't one of them…"

"One of who, exactly?"

A painful sounding cough escaped his lips, followed by a weak groan. "Bandits. I was ambushed… The ruins nearby, Bthalft, had been taken over as I was… investigating. Barely escaped with my life."

Aevra frowned. Bandits in the vicinity of the camp was not good – she needed to inform the General and the Legate in charge of both that and the elf's presence… plus there was the chopped firewood which she needed to get moved.

"You don't look capable of moving right now. Are you okay to remain here for a few moments? I need to let my superiors-"

"No. I just… need a moment to catch my breath. Then I can heal myself and be on my way… Just needed somewhere safe to do so."

Once more, she felt her mouth being tugged downward at that statement, but she felt the sincerity in his words. As such, she helped him with sitting in the grass, before returning to her dropped axe and picking it up. There was a slight chime from behind her, in the direction from the elf, accompanied by a faint golden glow – distinctly that of a healing spell.

Deciding that there simply wasn't enough light to chop what remained of the wood in a reasonably safe manner, she picked up the small log she had been about to chop with her spare hand and tossed it back onto the pile needing to be cut, then meandered over to the pile of wood which had been chopped. It would take two or three trips to get it all to their appropriate destinations across camp… perhaps she could ask for assistance from one of the others when she brought in the first load.

"Ah… finally, much better."

She turned around, and noticed that the elf had indeed healed himself, had stood up, and was now dusting off his robes, tutting at the tears which were in the fabric.

Aevra pursed her lips together as she took a moment to look at the elf and take in his appearance in the dim light. The robes that he was wearing… they were awfully familiar. Unsettlingly so. When she realised what they were, she had to try to conceal the building anxiety which was forming in the pits of her stomach. Only one organisation came to mind at the sight of dark robes detailed in gold. She'd killed numerous wearing the same back in the Great War, and no doubt worked with just as many since. It was impossible not to recognise it. "You… You're a member of the Thalmor, aren't you?" And another, unspoken question lingered in her mind – just how did he get jumped by mere bandits? The Thalmor were very much prone to bragging of their capabilities…

A quiet snort came from the elf as he approached her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "That I am."  Slowly, the corner of his lips turned up. "And you..."

[saint-amand]

Hi!! I love your artwork, your comics look really polished and professional! I was wondering if you had any inspirations/favorite mangaka or comic artists, or if you had any tips for starting on making comics ^^

Thank you so much!

To be honest... I have not actively kept up with manga for a long time (I really should for someone drawing one), although I'm exposed to a bit of the doujinshi community in general just by way of social media. I would say the look I've arrived at stems from having drawn comics for years and so having those opportunities to experiment with different ways of doing things.

The #漫画が読めるハッシュタグ tag on Twitter is a fun trove of seeing what's out there and some professionals also use it to plug upcoming publications by posting the first chapter (it's heavily used though so you might need to wade through a lot). Also recommend finding manga anthologies or magazines because it's a good way to compare a lot of artists in a small space!

As for tips on starting... I feel I can say a lot of things but it depends what kind of detail and what topics!! (I wanted to start a blog on this before but the idea dropped off because I didn't have a lot of time to write) Anyway I'll rattle off about some key points:

Deciding technical details Figure out what your intended specs are -- are you publishing digitally or do you want to print it? Both? Or digitally for now with possibility of printing in the far future? So then what size? Is it in pages or long webtoon format? What DPI will you draw in? Colour or B&W?

Storytelling and panelling Assuming you already have a story in mind and have written some kind of script, you then need to figure out how you're going to tell and pace it, and how you're going to lay it out on a page. I start with going over the script and splitting them into pages, cutting them at points that seem to make sense to be a good stop. And then I split the lines into panels. Now you know how many panels there are going to be per page*, you can begin storyboading (infamously the hardest part of comics). *But at the same time, you might only get a better sense of this once you've had more experience laying out pages. It's a huge spectrum. Depending on the tone of your story, if it's slow, loose, emotional and fluffy, there tends to be less panels on a page. More active and actiony, or if you just need to get through a lot and want to keep the scene going without lingering too long you would have more panels. Some manga average at like 3-6 panels per page whereas some people with higher density go for 5-8... And some people can fit up to 10 depending on the type of scene. It's all up to you! It's not a hard rule though obviously and it can create a lot of impact to mix it around. For example it's really impactful if you typically have 7 panels and suddenly something major happens and there's only 2 panels on the next page. Likewise you can create a sense of franticness or comedy if it's a slow moving story with 3 panels and suddenly there's 8 on the next page. Not to mention there are then a gazillion ways you can shape the panels on the page, and then compose the speech balloons and shots in them. Maybe you already have an image of mind of 1 shot and need to figure out everything around it. I recommend analysing at what other comic artists do for reference! Take your time because this is the most thinking-intensive part of the entire process. It's kind of a problem or puzzle-solving exercise though and it's satisfying once you arrive at your solution for that page.

Drawing style Since you're going to be drawing multiple pages, you need to decide how you want it to look so that it's consistent. There are an unlimited number of combinations, but just keep in mind the more detailed the style and the more drawing steps there are is the longer it takes to complete a page -- it's a balance of quantity vs quality. In the end you want to tell a story but you don't want to take 2 years drawing 30 pages. Some questions to ask yourself: - How detailed is the lineart? How detailed is everyone's clothes keeping in mind that you then need to draw it every panel and every page? - How do you shade it? Not at all? Flats or with some gradients? Screentones or nah? (PS: I only really do screentones because I'm genuinely prepping for print and I like the texture, but beware it doesn't show up great digitally) - Overall black and white balance of a page and how much you do your black fills/shadows - (If it's manga) How do you deal with black hair? (I'm so serious there are so many ways to do this if you have black hair characters) - Do you draw the backgrounds? Or process photos? Or use 3D?

Typesetting Nothing ruins good art faster than shitty typesetting. I have a strong opinion about this but please hand draw/hand lasso your balloons rather than using ellipse tools. And make sure there is enough space between the letters and the edge of the balloons. Nate Piekos' Better Letterer tips is a GREAT resource for this and explains everything far better than I can -- I highly recommend this for everyone wanting to get into comics.

Anyway, in a nutshell, drawing comics is a series of decisions you have to make. Break it up in various stages because thinking about everything at once can be overwhelming!

Start small and don't burn yourself out. It can very much be an exercise in stamina and if you can maintain passion towards a project. In terms of the reality of it, the process can be hard and time-consuming with varying levels of reward and satisfaction at the end. Just remember you're also doing it for yourself though -- because you've been gripped by a great compulsion to tell a story :)

[xadoheandterra]

Purple Stars has grown again. There is a now a side-story that takes place directly after STUCK in the Underground. It focuses primarily on Sans, Papyrus, and Frisk although for the first four chapters its mostly on the skeletons, Grillby, Undyne and Gerson.

It also provides more backstory into how the brothers function, Grillby's role in their life, and about how Gerson and Undyne work as a "family unit" - which is not much. It expands how the Royal Guard functions too, more like "monster police" than anything.

It's been interesting to play with it, because this Frisk is--well, they made some choices for a reason, reasons hinted at in STUCK and this is just expanding upon it. It'll play into post Memory content as well.

With that being said I have some rough concepts for a world of Memory without the crossover elements. The core idea stays the same, the way its gotten there is what is different. I've been slowly drawing it out in comic form although backgrounds still remain the bane of my existence. I'll share some of that at some point.

What I can say is that humans are primarily unaware of magic, and things like magic and monsters have long been relegated to myth. That doesn't stop a thriving Mage underground from existing. A lot of the lore building I've been doing in Memory is easily moved over too. The idea that Mages, Monsters, and Magic dislike being underground, dislike losing sky and air that the earth does to them -- and yet that Mages tend to build their lives under the earth despite this.

That their "government buildings" (in this case there isn't much of them to have an actual functioning government but more of a shadow government ad-hoc'd onto the human governments without their knowledge) are often created deep within the earth where magic is stifled. So on and so forth.

There are two factions in this world. The "Archmaster's" followers, and then the followers of Romulus and Adhil who are two known survivors of the War, and thus are...very old. At least Romulus is rumored to be so, but since he's human people just believe it to be an inherited name.

It's not. Romulus made some pretty...pretty fucked up choices.

The SOUL curse is a thing too, but its not the lycanthropy that it became in Memory as it currently is. So there's some shit involving that too.

It's a thing that will be a thing as I build the story without all of its crossover elements. I'm not going to write the thing because that is going to be a pain to write that as well ass the crossover original idea that I just want to finish for once. I've settled myself to writing it as it was at first intended, even if I'm not very into the other fandom any more.

Too much baggage. Too much...everything. It'll be a fond memory for me, as the whole series was foundational to me as a child, but. I've long made peace with the fact that I do not feel comfortable writing in that universe anymore. Or talking about it. Or theorizing. Or anything.

It has been...soured.

So! Comic version of Purple Stars which is definitely what I'm calling it will be an eventual thing. :)

I'll get around to updating all of the chapters of Purple Stars series on here eventually. For now you can find all of Purple Stars on AO3 here The only stories with crossover elements are R E B I R TH, A W A K E N I N G, and M E M O R Y. Otherwise everything is straight Undertale.

[newtclan]

🌊 Welcome Home.

- This is a blog dedicated to the in-progress story “The Haunting of Newtclan” (inspired by the Warrior Cats series by Erin Hunter).

- Created by @surfledblues and originally inspired by the incredible Clan allegiances generator of @wcsprites— eventually I built on the random concepts and loved the result so much it evolved into its own entirely new thing!! :}

-Currently it is mostly respectful rb's of cat art I admire and take inspiration from for the project-- please please let me know if you'd ever like me to take any rb's of your art down though!! I know some artists don't appreciate their work being used that way & want to be respectful of that. Just shoot me a dm here or on my main <3

- My current plan is to upload comic pages here irregularly, as they’re written. I currently have about 2 chapters (3000~ words) completed in my first rough draft — the end goal is a full fancomic.

- The premise revolves around cunning descendant Slitherstream, whose coming of age leads to her discovery of a hideous family secret. Though her ancestor Newt is long dead, a potent legacy lives on in the words of the Clan, the secrets kept, and — dangerously — in Slitherstream’s ego. As one warrior begins to carelessly wield frightening power, the Clan must grapple with the threats in their midst… the greatest being their collective haunting by a dark, unchangeable past.

- Heavy emphasis on religious themes, intergenerational trauma, and semi-dark comedy.

- Trigger warning that Newtclan’s story explores generational + religious trauma, cultlike structures, psychological abuse, coercion, and a whole lot of murder. Please skip if you’re not comfortable with those and stay safe!

- Important Links:

Read From The Beginning

Allegiances

Info Hub

🦎 (More key info under the cut!) 🦎

- I’m also planning to post more on the characters, universe, and lore to help readers dive in ;) I’m interested in exploring relationships and letting you get to know cats within the Clan— feel free to send in asks and you might get an in-character reply or two… 👀

- While inspired by the Warrior Cats series and containing the Clan structure, this isn’t set in canon. I’ve been inspired by some fandom-created ideas for ranks which Newtclan includes (for example, Starseer and Nurse are both Clan positions.) Newtclan is the only group of their kind, the founder stealing using the structure of her former Clan — though otherworldly events (think Starclan) still take place.

- I’m also aware of the anti-Indigenous themes of the original Warriors series and will avoid that to the best of my ability in Newtclan’s story!! (I highly encourage being critical of the source material.) While Newtclan includes a connection between nature & spirituality, the similar harmful Indigenous trope is not something I want to contribute to. It’s important to treat such subject matter with sensitivity and I intend to. That’s not something I want to bring from canon to here. That said, please feel free to send in an ask if anything comes off as insensitive or harmful, and I’ll be willing to listen and address that!

- Current character designs are made up of both my own creation (though I’m not exactly at the skill level I'd like yet) and Picrews (always w/ credit!) You’re more than welcome to draw them if you want, just please tag this blog and let me know!! I’d be forever obsessed with you :D

- Please bear with the mod as this is my first ever undertaking of a project of this scale and I may take time to develop it :)

- That’s all, thank you for reading. May the tides guide you <3

[sarahjtv]

BNHA Chapter 327 Spoiler Analysis: Home Sweet Home

OH MY GOD, GUYS!!!  DEKU GETS A BATH!!!! 🎉🛁 🧼   My broccoli boy finally gets squeaky clean, gets some sleep, and we finally get some R&R time with the Class 1-A kids.  It’s not close to the happy-go-lucky days of old, but it’s some time with the kids nonetheless.  I’m glad Horikoshi put some heart and humor in this chapter because god knows we needed it.  But, let’s be real, this is the calm before the storm:

The chapter starts off with what everyone and Horikoshi has been wanting for Deku since he went on his mission: A motherfuckin’ bath 🛀 🧼🛁!   Kaminiari and Kirishima lead the Class 1-A boys to carry Deku into their side of the UA Alliance bathhouse (looks real nice btw) and give him a good power-wash.  The whole sequence is very comical!  The boys are rushing in and poor Deku has this O_O face on him like “what is happening?” 😂 We also see some of the boys butt naked 😳  It’s clear that Horikoshi had fun drawing this thing and it was fun to read 💚

Bakugo is with them of course and you can actually see his scars from when Shigaraki stabbed him.  He’s not bleeding, but you can see those scar patches on his skin.  I’m curious of how fan artist are going to draw him from now on.  I would like to see that fan art 👀

There’s also some bubble sfx coving Bakugo’s crotch and a translator said it might say dick or penis.  I’m curious what the officials will say.

But, Bakugo being Bakugo is still aggressive towards his classmates.  More playfully than before, but still.  He reminds everyone that he still intends on being the best there is and that everyone is still his rivals (also friends, Bakugo).  HE EVEN MAKES AN ATTEMPT TO CALL DEKU IZUKU!  LIKE HE ALMOST SAID “DEKU” BUT HE CHANGED IT TO IZUKU AT THE LAST MINUTE!  AND DEKU SAYS THAT CALLING HIM DEKU IS JUST FINE LIKE THAT ANGER THAT ORIGINATED FROM THE NICKNAME ISN’T THERE ANYMORE AND IT’S A FREINDLY NICKNAME BKDK FRIENDSHIP GROWTH YOU LOVE TO SEE IT 🧡💚  

After Deku’s bath, he’s sitting in the commons talking to the rest of Class 1-A.  Well, most of them.  Mina tells Deku that Ochako and a few other students went to bed after everything became ok again.  So, I definitely didn’t see Tsuyu, and it looks like Shoji, Aoyama, and Hagakare weren’t in this chapter either.  Ochako I understand; her speech must’ve been emotionally taxing.  Aoyama and Hagakare are the top suspects for being the traitor in the fandom and this isn’t helping their cases.  I don’t know about Tsuyu and Shoji though.  They’re both mutant-types, but characters like Ojiro or mutant-like people like Jiro, Mina or Tokoyami didn’t get outcasted.  Horikoshi did hint that Shoji would be getting something soon.  But, I really am just speculating here.

Now that Deku’s back, everyone has questions for him.  Though I understand why, this has gotta be overwhelming for Deku.  At least they’re not mad at him for hiding OFA.  They seem very understanding actually.

Then my ❄️🔥 boy, Shoto Todoroki, comes in all handsome right out of the baths 💙  He’s drying his right side while you can see a steam cloud on his left.  So, it is canon that Shoto drys himself naturally with his heat. His entrance is so pretty that even Mineta’s questioning it (shut up, Mineta, you’ll never be as beautiful as him).  And yes, I might be a Shoto simp, don’t judge me I see y’all too 👀

Anyway, Shoto asks everyone to let Deku sleep since that was pretty much the whole reason they brought him back.  Problem is, Deku can’t because he really needs to apologize to All Might for abandoning him.  AND AFTER HE SAYS THAT THERE’S A DETAILED PANEL OF SHOTO POINTING TO ALL MIGHT LIKE “UH, MIDORIYA? HE’S RIGHT THERE” AND ALL MIGHT LOOKING FROM THE WINDOW LIKE A HORROR VILLAIN WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE 😭

All Might comes in and apologizes to Deku for not being able to support him when he needed it, but Deku says that All Might support him more than enough.  Mina also scolds All Might for not saying anything when he left.  She wants All Might to apologize to everyone for that.  Though I’m glad Deku and All Might have reconciled (I honestly thought that last convo between them was going to be THE LAST for a hot minute), Mina has a point.  All Might did bail on all of them without any warning.  Kinda messed up in general.

All Might apologizes and he is going to fight with everyone regardless of his physical state so that he can see that flame continue to shine.  However, he warns the kids that they got info on the villains and that the final decisive battle is coming soon.  If the whole “Final Arc” thing hasn’t been hammered into your head, there you go.  I’m also glad that Stain’s speech did end up motivating All Might further.  Who knew?

So, All Might is off to help Endeavor since he’s got unfinished business to take care of.  But, the kids are wondering why Endeavor (and probably Hawks) isn’t entering UA entirely yet.  Shot reminds them that Endeavor is still connected to Dabi and that his presence alone would cause more discourse.  People’s minds can’t change that easily.  Shoto of all people would know.  

As Deku FINALLY SLEEPS 💤 and Shoto puts a blanket over him (possibly warmed by his left side 🔥) 💙💚 Shoto acknowledges how his presence might be making people anxious too even though it’s not his fault at all (thank you, Kirishima for doubling down on this btw ❤️🪨).  But, things are different and Shoto’s going to show that so that everyone can be at ease like he wants as a hero.  There’s even this sweet small smile on his beautiful face as he says this.  He’s grown so much and he’s pretty to boot I love him so much *HANDS IN FACE* 💙❄️🔥 

EVEN KIRISHIMA’S CRYING FROM HOW MANLY SHOTO IS I LOVE THESE KIDS!!!!

And now Jiro steps up and says her piece.  That she knows how hard it is to convince everyone to change their minds for the better.  Like with those two critics from the Culture Fest.  Even so, they accomplished this before, so she thinks they can do it again.  She even gathers all the band members to emphasize on this.  I love how Jiro uses her earphone jacks to rally the band and how she literally drags Bakugo by the shirt for a cute group shot.  None of these kids are afraid of Bakugo anymore LOL 😂!  Also, Momo is the tallest out of all of them in this line up shot (except for Bakugo who’s still being dragged on the ground).  I think she’s roughly 5ft 6-7 inches?  She’s the tallest of the girls I know that, but damn.  She towers all of them.  Even me...  She’s also very pretty in this shot and it’s her birthday as I’m posting this, so happy b-day Momo ❤️

And we get a beautiful panel of Jiro leading everyone to make sure that they’ll go beyond with making everything better than it was before.  We get a nice group shot of the rest of the class agreeing with her with a smile including Shoto with a small one (did I mention that I love him?) 💙💙💙 And Deku’s in the center still sleeping away.  I hope he has good dreams *kisses forehead*💚  And go Jiro for stepping up to the plate too 💜!  All these kids have grown so much.  There is a light at the end of the tunnel. 

Finally, the last pages show Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist going somewhere, maybe Tartarus.  They got info out of Dr. Ujiko via polygraph and the Nomu Research Group at Central Hospital.  They predict that they have 2 months until Shigaraki’s ready to go again, so they’ll need 1 month of preparation.  But, the info Stain gave All Might gave them more info.  His letter ended up being a personal letter to All Might (Stain really is that nuts...), but there was a microchip in the blade Stain left containing the security records from Tartarus.  It’s not stated how this info affected the mission at hand, but it sounds like it has to do something with the time frame.  So, I’m curious if they have less time to prepare or more?  Given how this is the Final Arc, Imma say less.

Finally, the teaser asks “How are the villains moving?”  I wonder if that means we’re switching to the villain’s next week.  I would love to hang out with the kids more, but I would also like to know what our villains are up to.  Like, where the hell is Himiko Toga?  Is Spinner still questioning shit?  What happened to Mr. Compress after he mauled himself to help Shigaraki and the others escape?  Also I think we need more info on this dude’s backstory given he’s the grandson of the famous Robin Hood villain who’s name definitely didn’t escape me... 😐  Is Dabi laughing his ass off from the utter chaos he started?  Is AFO still smiling like the evil mastermind he is?  Is Shigaraki as crispy as he was earlier?  I was going to ask about Twice but... 😭

So, yeah!  Love this chapter.  Really good transition chapter into whatever happens next.  I’m kinda sad we didn’t see Deku fight off more past villains during his vigilante days.  We got Muscular and Overhaul and I think that’s it?  Didn’t see any of Overhaul’s minions or that teeth-blade villain (Fish-something?; he broke out, but we haven’t seen him since) or Re-Destro or his goons.  I don’t count as Gentle or LaBrava as villains anymore and they were never truly evil to begin with.  Regardless, it was a really cool arc to see a more dark side of Deku.  I’m really glad Horikoshi made great use of his bunny hood and metal mask finally.  Deku really did look demonic for some time.  Also, seeing Deku badass is always a plus.  And seeing the deconstruction of hero society and the possible reconstruction of it was really good too.  Not everything is sunshine and rainbows, unfortunately, but we can do our best to make it that way.

I’m also glad that we finally got our kids back in top form.  Not just being heroes, but being teenagers too.  They all had great moments especially Iida, Ochako, and now Shoto as they should.  But, Bakugo’s apology was peak for me.  Over 320 chapters of development and build-up lead to that moment and it really is one of the best in the series.  It lives in my head rent free.

So, we got 1-2 months in-manga-time until what is probably the final battle of the series.  God, I can’t believe we’re actually nearing the end of this series.  I started reading it back in 2018 when shit was rough for me. I found this series after listening to the music and reading the hype around it.  I watched the show then I read the manga and it really helped me.  Saved me from a dark place actually.  I will miss this series when it’s done and I will be greatly for the joy Horikoshi has gifted us.  I’ll try to save the farewells for later.  I’d say this series has at least 1-1 1/2 years to go.

Me @ the kids and All Might:

[robininthelabyrinth]

Question for birthday!

What is your writing process? Are you a pantser? Plotter? Editor? :o

Following up on my last reply, figured I'd tackle this one next XD I don't know if I know those categories precisely - I had to google "pantser" and luckily it matched what I figured it did based on the name, but I think I'm probably closest to that? somewhere in the middle between the first two?

Under the cut because long, self-involved, and contains past spoilers for the Quiet Room:

Basically, when I see a prompt, I usually have an idea or two pop into my head. Often a scene, maybe a bit of dialogue, a "hah it would be funny if..." (which is why you sometimes get fics that bear little resemblance to the original prompt, and also why sometimes the mood of the fic is very much the mood I was in when I saw the prompt rather than the actual mood of the prompt). I then write something that is designed to get me to the point where that scene/dialogue snippet/etc. makes sense...which can sometimes take a very long time.

Most of the time, this is then followed by completely seat-of-my-pants writing. I take the perspective of the POV character and sort of go from there: in this situation, what would this character do? okay, that happened, what effect does that have on the situation/how would other characters respond? okay, we're in a new situation - what would this character do NOW? And that takes me to all sorts of unexpected places - sometimes the conversation veers away from how I meant it to go, sometimes the character flat out wouldn't take the choice I would have intended them to (or it feels wrong to try to write a version where they do).

However, if the idea ends up taking longer than expected, or for my continuations especially, I'll usually start a running 'outline' at the bottom of the fic with whatever ideas I've come up with that might be good to throw in later. The more the continuation, the more built up that outline will be. To draw from a real-life example, one of the past chapters of the Quiet Room started life as an outline that looked like a more robust version of this:

LWJ with kids

JC shows up late with starbucks

Figure out Jin sect is arriving – JC goes to look?

Confrontation b/w NHS/LWJ & LXC/JGY

(yes, this is a snippet copy-pasted from the actual original outline. my brain works in mysterious ways...)

so, in short: there is AN outline, it's just normally a few bullet points long, but then after that it's also very subject to my particular views on the characters and rambling brain. and then at the end I let the fic sit in my queue for however long it takes, then re-read it and revise it a little in order to post it - mostly this is quick, sometimes the fic gets notably longer at that point.

...I have no idea if this is of interest to anyone, but you asked! XD

[nanagoswife]

Please, Don't Go. - Chapter 16

Summary: Obi-Wan is coming back

W/C: 3.3k

Warnings: implied intimacy, angst

A/N: Good news! I'm back with this story. I've had this chapter written for a while, but I felt it was best to wait until I picked it back up before posting it. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

- - -

In the next weeks, Obi-Wan spent almost all of his nights with you and Aldoken. It provided your son with something to do when you had to focus on work before joining them.

There were a few days where you would be so backed up that Obi-Wan would put Aldoken to bed. He was a natural. You always knew when he would because the almost constant sounds of giggles died down, plunging the apartment into silence.

On those nights, Obi-Wan would wait before coming up behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders, and coax you into coming with him to bed. Many times, he would insist that you needed sleep. He would bend down and kiss your cheek and gently massage your shoulders until you finally gave in.

That’s why, when you hadn’t been visited by Obi-Wan after the rooms went silent, you were surprised that this routine had been changed. Now, you looked on as Obi-Wan was laying on the couch with Aldoken fast asleep on his stomach on top of Obi-Wan’s chest.

Your heart warmed at the sight as you leaned against the doorway. You didn’t want to ruin the scene, but you didn’t have to. Obi-Wan’s eyes slowly opened when he heard you take a few steps into the room.

“Decide to join the party?” he asked quietly in a teasing tone. Despite wanting to talk to you, he still made sure that he wouldn’t disturb Aldoken. Although it may have seemed like he was asleep, Obi-Wan was truly just laying there. Something was keeping him wide awake, and he didn’t know what.

Giving a light chuckle, you made your way over and knelt beside the couch. Aldoken had his clone doll hugged closely as the other hand was wrapping around his father as best as he could.

Bringing up a hand, you gently brushed away some hair from your son’s sleeping face. “I actually thought I was coming out here to tuck you both into bed,” you replied, moving your hand to place it on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

He chuckled softly then gestured to the boy on his chest with his head. “Would you be able to help me?”

Nodding, you stood and gently lifted Aldoken just enough so that Obi-Wan could sit up. Once he did, he took care of the rest. You watched him bring Aldoken over to his room, and you were sure that he didn’t even stir the whole time.

While you had waited, you shifted from your crouch to sitting on the sofa. Obi-Wan joined you after softly closing Aldoken’s door behind him.

He sat close and you let your head fall against his shoulder.

“How come you hadn’t fallen asleep?”

The question was intended to be innocent, but, when you looked up at him, there was a serious expression across his face.

“Obi-Wan?” As you sat up and placed a palm to his cheek, he snapped back to the moment, slightly shaking his head.

“I’m sorry darling. What did you say?”

You frowned as he tried to play it off with a smirk. You moved so that you could face him, and he knew his façade wasn’t going to work. So, he let the fake smile drop.

“Is there something wrong?” you ask with genuine concern. Was there something that happened with the Sith Lord? But Obi-Wan had said that he wasn’t needed for anything; that he was on free rein and didn’t have to report to him for a while.

Obi-Wan knew that you were concerned about that, but it’s not what he was thinking about. He wasn’t thinking of anything that lay outside of this apartment. He was thinking of you and what you would say if he brought this topic up. Although he knew you wouldn’t push him away because of this, he still thought that you may not agree to it.

He shook his head, “No, nothing’s wrong.”

Looking down, this was the first time since coming back that he actually saw it. In the almost two months since he’s come back, he never saw how the necklace still wrapped around your neck. He wasn’t sure whether it was because you had always kept it hidden like before, or if you weren’t wearing it until now.

He let his fingers drift down until the kyber crystal was between his fingers. The familiar energy of his first crystal tingled the ends of his fingertips as they grazed along the surface. Obi-Wan wondered if you could feel any bit of the energy, even without being force sensitive.

“Have you always worn this? Even during…” he trailed off. He didn’t want to even mention it anymore. It brought on thoughts that his mind could no longer handle in a moment like this.

“Yes,” you say, comfortingly drawing your thumb in circles over his cheek bone. “Like I had said, I never stopped loving you, Obi.”

With that, he smiled. Maybe you wouldn’t laugh at what he wanted to do.

Carefully, he moved both of his hands close to the necklace’s clasp but stopped short. “May I?”

Since you had a feeling you knew what he was about to do, you nodded. The feeling of his hands at the back of your neck almost sent chills down your spine, but you suppressed them at the moment. There would be a time for that, and it wasn’t right now.

When he lifted it away and now held the pendant in his palm, he couldn’t help but feel certain in his next decision. He wanted to come back to you, and this felt like one of the final steps to putting the puzzle of his life back together.

Obi-Wan moved and kneeled on the ground in front of you. In one hand he held the necklace and the other held one of your hands.

As he looked down at the pendant, he smiled to himself. This necklace had meant so much more than anyone would have thought.

“Y/N,” he started. You had been watching him the entire time with anticipation only building as this went on. “I’ve always felt like I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t feel like I do,” he said, then moved his eyes to meet yours. “But I never let that stop me. I always strive to be what you deserve, and I haven’t met that in recent years. When you let me come back, I made it my priority once again. And now, here we are.”

The hand that held yours moved so that you would now rest your palm on top of the pendant. Making it now cupped between both your hand and his, like it was a promise. One he wouldn’t break as he used an item of the force to bring it to life.

“I don’t expect you to ever agree, but I still want to be in your life. I want to be in our life again. I also know that, in your heart, you never severed this promise. Still, I want to ask one more time in our new life to make sure that your answer is still the same.”

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, he took a deep breath. The build up has been killing you. You wanted to just scream out yes and kiss him like you never would again, but you knew he had to get this out.

Finally, he asked the question you’ve been wanting to hear, “Y/N, even after all of this, will you still marry me?”

“Yes,” you said in a breath.

Smiling, he once again put the necklace around your neck.

“I still hope to get you an actual ring one day,” he said quietly just as he clasped the pendant back. When he pulled back, you gave him a warm smile as you placed a hand to his cheek. His eyes shifted between both of your eyes before leaning in.

It didn’t take long before he was kissing you. There was an intensity behind it that you hadn’t experienced in so long. It was one you fully returned as you felt heat flood to your stomach.

You were so wrapped up in the feel of his lips against yours that you hadn’t noticed as he positioned himself to lift you from your seat. As he stood, you wrapped your arms around his neck as your legs went around his waist.

When you felt his arms around you, resting on your back, a longing filled you. It has been so long since you and Obi-Wan shared a moment like this. After you had found out you were pregnant, nothing had really happened after that. Obi-Wan was worried it would somehow hinder something in the pregnancy.

Now, you were swept up in it all. The feeling as his lips and tongue moved with yours, his body pressed up against yours as he walked to the bedroom, his hand, that wasn’t supporting you, exploring your back until he started to undo your dress.

Once he walked in the room and the door had closed, he stopped, slowly pulling away to look in your eyes.

“Is this alright?”

“Stars, yes,” you said before pulling his face back to yours. He didn’t waste much more time, and neither did you as a trail of clothing from the door to the bed was left in your wake. The feel of his skin against yours was a relief that you hadn’t known you needed.

Just like it had always been with Obi-Wan, he always made his love known. Everything he did, whether it was this moment or making you tea before you woke up, it all showed his love for you.

He always said that he didn’t deserve you, but you often thought about how you didn’t deserve him. In the end it didn’t matter. You had him back. He had you back. Most of all, the two of you loved each other.

-

“I have a favour to ask,” Obi-Wan suddenly said. The two of you had been reading your own books on datapads, you curled under his arm in bed, before this. You had noticed that he had lost focus at one point, but it had been normal. Usually, he had to plan an excuse for the Sith Lord just in case.

Looking up, he kept his eyes on the datapad, although it was unfocused.

“What is it?”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. He’s been going over this for days after his reunion with Cody. It gave him hope that there would be more than his previous clone commander who would welcome him back.

For a moment longer, he contemplated asking you of this. There wasn’t much you would say no to, he knew that. It was the fact that it relied on another’s reaction. Along with that, thousands of other reactions after he made himself completely known.

Despite having worries, his head and heart agreed in every scenario that he conjured up. He needed help, more help, and that started with you.

“I was wondering if you could try and get Anakin here,” he finally replied while moving his eyes to yours. If you were being honest, you were surprised he hadn’t asked this sooner. With the moments leading up to this, you knew it was because he was scared. He was scared that his old padawan would reject his return.

With a smile, you nodded, “Of course, Obi. Why do you seem so hesitant?”

That was a question he was expecting. It was one that he went over a lot. There were so many different ways he could answer, but one always came out on top.

“I’m afraid he’ll ask why I didn’t go to him sooner.”

A wave of understanding came over you. Even though you knew what he meant, you also knew something he didn’t. Anakin was fine with it.

One day, you had received a long winded apology from Padmé saying that she had let something slip. Assuring her that it was alright, you went over and met with Anakin who was desperate to see Obi-Wan again.

“Anakin,” you said softly while gently holding him by his shoulders, “he needs time.”

“You said that he’s been back for almost three months-”

You cut him off by placing a hand on his cheek. Ever since he was still a small padawan, this was your way of telling him to quiet down and listen before assuming things.

“He has. But he’s still healing,” your continued your soft tone. It was another thing you did that would guarantee he would listen. “It took him nearly a month before he truly came back to me. Give him time, and he’ll decide when he’s ready. I know you miss him, but he needs to go at his own pace. He’ll come around.”

Anakin looked into your eyes with a sad but understanding expression. It was always hard for him to argue with you. Besides, you knew him in ways Anakin didn’t. Unlike you, he still saw his former master like a sort of hero. It kept his attention away from the finer details of Obi-Wan’s personality that you were an expert in.

Once Anakin nodded, you gave an affectionate squeeze to his shoulder before pulling him into an embrace.

“Trust me, I’ll let you know when he’s ready,” you whispered.

Anakin gave a small squeeze before separating himself from your hug. Giving you a smile, he had gone back to the temple.

Ever since that day, Anakin kept his promise. The only other person that knew Obi-Wan was back was Kenth. That interaction was one filled with relief, and one where Baize had accepted that he was wrong. It was anticlimactic, in a way.

Back in the current moment, you gave Obi-Wan a comforting smile. “It will be fine, my dear. He already knows you’ve come back.”

Seeing his shocked expression, you told him about the day filled with Padmé’s frantic messages until you went to talk to Anakin. You made sure to reassure him that his former padawan hadn’t said a word to anyone. The only time he said anything about it, it was with you and Padmé. He didn’t even know that Cody knew.

“So, he’s not mad?” Obi-Wan asked in the most innocent voice you had ever heard from him. It was a tone so mixed with relief, that you saw the storm of concern in his eyes wash away to the calming ocean they were.

“No. He understands. Anakin has been waiting patiently… Well, maybe not patiently, but the closest he can get.”

As you were hoping, that earned a laugh from Obi-Wan. It ended in a relief filled sigh.

“Now, let’s get some sleep. I’ll contact him in the morning and I’m certain he’ll get here right after so rest is recommended.”

Obi-Wan smiled as he looked down at you when you pulled the blanket up over your shoulders. “Alright, my love. Thank you.”

After this, the two of you situated yourselves so that you were comfortably wrapped up in the other. You found comfort in your usual spot against his chest and you used the sound of his heartbeat as a sort of lullaby.

This was what you were going to do, until you noticed that Obi-Wan still had some tension in his body. Sneaking a look at his face, his eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling. His fingers had also found their way under your shirt and were tracing little circles on the skin of your back.

“There’s still something else that’s bothering you about the visit,” you state.

“Hm? Oh, no. I didn’t mean to disrupt you.”

You pushed yourself up so that you could hang over Obi-Wan, forcing his eyes to meet yours in the low light of the Coruscanti night.

“Obi-Wan, you should know by now that I know when you’re lying,” you said in a lightly teasing tone.

Although he gave a small smirk, it fell almost as quickly as it appeared. For a moment longer, he looked back up at the ceiling. You knew he was trying to put it all together in his mind, so you gave him the time he needed.

It was always interesting to see his thinking process. His furrowed brow that created the adorable little line in between them, the lines just visible at the corners of his eyes, the way his eyes squinted the slightest bit as his lips formed a thin line, sometimes pulled slightly down in the corners, it was all cute in a way. With it all, you knew when he was even just thinking lightly on something. It just wasn’t as intense of a look.

You couldn’t help but think that this was just his general look for when he was focused. It was softer depending on what he was focusing on. It was accompanied by a look of adoration whenever he would look down as he hung over you…

Those weren’t the thoughts to be having right now. At the current moment, there may be something that you should be worried about and he was about to tell you.

Obi-Wan sighed, “I want to ask him if he’ll help me take down Sidious.”

You couldn’t help but freeze. You knew that this moment would come, but you still weren’t expecting it.

“Are you alright?” He knew you were worried, but the change in your expression was enough for him to ask. Usually, you would keep a neutral expression, even after something that would gain immediate reactions from everyone else, until you had truly thought about it.

You went to nod, but you stopped yourself. If you were to say that you were thrilled that he was going to put a full end to this madness, you would be lying. There were so many things that added together to make the moment worrisome, and you had just recently returned to how you were before all of this.

First of all, Sidious was the man at the head of the Republic. Sure, even Padmé had her suspicions, but there’s so many people that love him. Then, there’s the fact that Obi-Wan needed help. And then the only help that was properly qualified for this action was a group that could possibly arrest or maybe even kill him for what he had done.

The most troublesome of them all was that you could possibly lose your fiancé again. Only, this time, you were scared for the more permanent possibility. You knew that Obi-Wan was no longer seeking revenge on the Sith, but it would be impossible to negotiate with only words. This would guarantee that there would be a fight and, depending on what kind of help he gets, can end in the least favourable way.

Obi-Wan watched these thoughts cross over your expression. He could also feel the rapid changes of your emotions that only confirmed what he believed you were thinking.

To try and calm you, he brought a hand to your cheek and used the one on your back to pull you down closer. When your head made its position on his chest, he kissed your temple and rubbed your back comfortingly.

“I love you, Y/N. I won’t leave you again,” he said, muffled against your hair. “No matter what.”

The finality in his words made you relax. It was something that you hadn’t realized you needed to hear.

“Alright,” you whispered as you felt the tug of sleep pulling your eyelids closed as you laid on top of Obi-Wan’s chest. You felt him press one more lingering kiss to your head before you drifted off.

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05

[fencesandfrogs]

clan culture inspiration fic master post

a collection of fics/series/w/e i've used for inspiration. ordered by how much i used them

Flightless Dove, Poison Ivy acaciapines

read it, it’s good. it's 100% my main fic inspiration, i love it, it's very good.

the light that shines on you solacefruit

huge inspiration for my riverclan. just. massively where i get a lot of ideas. probably a larger source of material than flightless dove, if i'm being honest.

RIVERCLAN leaders have a litany of names. weather caller, storm seer, spirit walker. a new leader being made is a chance to find another for the list. these names are to honor leaders for the role they play in their lives.

(names. leaders. meaning.)

so you can see where i got that from.

Warriors Redux Deconstruction Dullard on ao3 (not linked)

i've split this into two parts, because there's a lot. i'm a fan of this in terms of world building, but i've been select in what i've used from it. deconstruction is linked highly because it had a lot of key details that shaped my opinions on what wouldn't be. a lot of this i would've changed anyway, but i wanted to list WR because it'd be dishonest to act like this wasn't shaping my thoughts.

anyway, a short list of things that were mentioned in WR:D that i'd already decided on or am now using

behaviors. i mean, i've said "flicked her tail" or "flattened his ears" so much it's getting old, but by god if i am not being true to cats movements. i think WR:D is somewhat conservative on use of purring, but i've also been writing about kits, and a lot of purring is involved with kits, so special case, i suppose. but i'm very cautious with my descriptions. i've tried really hard not to use smile, because cats don't smile. that's the one that gets me the most.

water. this is kind of a specific thing. but. in ctd's fading echoes. the lake is a concern not because the cats need water, but because the prey needs water.

queens and toms. now. i have always been irritated by this. and the lack of female leadership. because toms should know they're kept on the graces of the queens. the sisters got it right. but i can't just kick out half the cast, so i'm forced to keep them. i have, however, kept toms out of the nursery. queens are protective around their kits. it's the best i can do to appease my strong desire to literally just kick every male cat out of the clan. in all of my stories, though, i keep track of who's in the nursery with what kits, because those kits are going to bond to every damn mother. it's super annoying that this isn't kept more clear anywhere. i have to do so much math and check so many allegiances every time.

kits. it's basically impossible to convince me to write this the way the hunters do, so even in ctd, we see kits not walking, not opening their eyes, until real kittens would. does this make the early chapters of growing shadows a pain because dovekit does basically nothing but sit and listen? yes. do i care? yes, it is important to me that dovekit does nothing but sit and listen because she's a baby. bb. need protect.

genetics. usually i correct coat colors for POV cats. because it bothers me. see: tortie dovekit/ivykit in CTD, and the fact that i think in jaywing, jayfeather is going to end up amber like brightheart. i need to do some research to double check, but...i think that's what will happen. (please don't ask about hollykit, ivykit, and lionkit. i don't even know who their parents are. how is crowfeather "dark grey, almost black"? what does that mean. how is leafpool even leafpool. i don't understand anything.)

religion. i'm not fundamentally changing how starclan works, because i'm writing the books where magic is confirmed real, but...i've tried to distance the connections with it. and god, so help me, i'm going to make things a proper religion for w&f. there will be religious things like prayer. god.

cultures, folklore, names. this is getting long so i'm lumping this together. basically, i've got some name stuff sorted out. it's not "traditional" naming, because i'm not going WR on this and renaming really important cats (altho the reason WR has my respect for traditional naming is because they're not afraid to rename cats to fit the scheme), but i have some pretty defined rules. and there will be folklore and stories. this is especially important for dovefeather, when she goes to riverclan.

Sharing Tongues Icej

a series. i don't think i've used much of this directly, but it has shaped a lot of my opinions on clans. it's why thunderclan is militaristic and why windclan is so strict.

it's also shaped my thoughts on a lot of parts of clan life. i'm writing this all out of order, so i'll say, a lot of the inspiration that warriors redux had, is shared in this series. i'm not sure if there's overlap in the interst, but it's got simularities.

especially in terms of relationships. i have a bit of a fascination with story telling as a form of culture, if only because in my personal life, story telling, especially verbal story telling, has always been really important. so i think a lot about it.

anyway, these are a good set of fics, and they're ranked so highly because they're kind of a paradigm i've crafted my thoughts around.

Tell me about your Ancestors Drowsy_Salamander

so this was what got me started, even over flightless dove. it got me thinking about the differences clans would have.

i haven't written "funerals. mourning. prayer." yet, although as you might guess from the fact that i have a title, it is on my mind. i think i'll draw heavily on this for that.

one other very specific line in this that i draw on is

When SkyClan was reformed by Firestar at the gorge, it was reformed in ThunderClan’s image.

now i say that specifically because i didn't want that. i wanted leafstar to find her own tradition. a lot of skyclan's destiny deals with her struggling to adapt the warrior code to her clan. so Ancestors continues by talking about tree's influence, and this is what i got from it:

SKYCLAN once held ceremonies at tilt, when the birds were quiet, but now, they hold most ceremonies at low moon, when the spirits are strongest. ...

apprentices are made at low sun, born from a time when they were not always gathered.

(ceremonies)

and i'm happy with that

Warriors Redux: Ammendment Dullard on ao3, not linked

this is ranked significantly lower than deconstruction because (a) i'm borrowing superificial things at best and (b) i had already come to a lot of these conclusions. still, i'm writing a full list because there are little things i don't think to write whole essays about sometimes. that said, whereas in deconstruction, i could basically say "yes, everything that's said here, i agree with, i'm only tweaking things for personal taste or because of differences in perspective" here it's more like "here are the things i'm using" and the other stuff is just there, but not really anything i want to use

time and date. in one of my generic CTD posts i had a few paragraphs about this. basically, i like the system of time. except for half, because that confuses me. so it's dawn, sunrise, low sun, (sun) tilt, sunhigh, dusk, moonrise, low moon, (moon) tilt, moonhigh, repeat. and kits are aged to apprentices at the beginning or rough midpoint of seasons.

numbers. math. drawing things in the dirt with claws. in short, yes, no, what the...no. just no. cats in my stories can basically count, but they don't really, like, count the way we do? they might say five leaf bares ago, because i am not saying, "the leaf bare before the one with X which was before the one with Y" and that's what a cat is thinking and maybe they have words for this, i don't know, i'm not writing that. four and nine are holy numbers, or the closest cats get. (apprentices are apprenticed at nine moons in the holy sense, because a queen pregnent for a three --- two, but who's counting --- and in the nursery for six. this will never come up in a story unless it's a background note, because it's confusing and hard to explain off the cuff.) i don't have to explain my last point.

names. i have my own rules. i don't intend on changing character names with the exception of the symbolism in jaywing and dovefeather, but i may at some point make some comments on what, based on my rules, i would do. i don't want to change names because it confuses me, but i don't want to say for sure that i won't. definitely not based on WR rules, i have my own form of "traditional naming" for the w&f world.

clan specific notes. you can find it in my writing. there's a lot of influence in it. i don't want to list everything.

come back to you one by one solacefruit

i haven't really used this for anything, i just generally like it. it's definitely given me inspiration for how i use stories, but not any particular thing.

it really is beautiful, though.

alright, that's about it.

[campbyler]

hi, i just wanted to write a comment to yall bc i am so unbelievably in love with the way this story is written it's insane! i just started to reread ch 9 (part i) again in preparation for the next chap tmrw and i CANT with the way you guys started the chapter w/ woodpeckers. having it build up to will calling mike a new fucking species of indiana woodpeckers is just. so good. it flows so naturally and feels like such a clever way to show how will's relationship with mike is serious and similar to will's dedication to that specific school project. yall make it seem as if mike is a new kind of woodpecker that will needs to study in detail, learn about, and take his time with - i fucking adore that comparison so unbelievably much. it says a ton about their relationship and the characters, and man. i just love that you guys all have such beautiful writing styles and ideas, it's so incredible to read! i've said it before, but this fic was the main reason i got back into drawing for the fandom bc i was gonna make a piece of acswy fanart to post and dip before i started watching the show again - anyways, i'm so glad you guys have been enjoying the fanart i've been making for this fic (i intend to make more for each chapter :D) bc i love seeing the comments you guys leave in the reblogs!! they're always so sweet to read and i'm glad i could give something to yall when you've been making such an incredible story to share :) sorry this is a bit long, but i just wanted to tell you guys that you're doing such a great job with this fic and i cannot wait to see where it goes!

SAMMIIIIIIIIII every comment you ever write makes us CRY and then you'll draw something and we cry even MORE so just know that we are weeping whenever we interact w you btw. if you careee.

TYY for the commentary abt the woodpeckers <3 i was for sure projecting bc i did a project on belted kingfishers when i was in sixth grade which i know are not woodpeckers BUT i did draw and redraw them three hundred times and now thea would for sure dunk on 12-year old thea w my art skills so 12-year old thea better watch OUT!! i am also attached to tht scene bc i did write it while sitting Next To suni which felt very special <3 i'm really glad that this scene hit all the marks i wanted it to and that you enjoyed it so thoroughly!!

we literally cannot believe that we got you back into the fandom 😭😭😭😭😭 genuinely it has been THE biggest joy to see you not only recreate scenes from the fic but also draw other byler fanart!! we are beyond honored and glad we could be a part of it!! you kill us both on the daily in the Best way 💗

we hope that you continue to enjoy the fic as the rest of it plays out!!!

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully. 

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s. 

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her. 

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again. 

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought. 

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (extra) || atz

A hand reaches into the frame to press the recording button.

The camera shifts around as the hand moves to adjust it on its tripod, fixing the device in place. When the image finally clears, stills and focuses, the hand moves back to reveal a man with blonde hair done in a mullet.

“Is it done yet?” A voice pipes up in the background.

The man adjusting the camera steps back to reveal a well lit room with wooden floorboards, the words KQ Entertainment behind him in big, white letters. Seven men hover at the back, all trying to push their way into the centre to see the camera.

“It’s on!” The man with the mullet cheers a little at his success. All eight of them rush to form a line, before he announces the beginning of the VLIVE. “하나, 둘, 셋 (hana, dool, seht)!”

“Eight Makes One Team!” They chorus together and bow, wide grins on their faces. “안녕하세요 (annyeonghaseyo)! It’s ATEEZ!”

They burst into a round of scattered applause.

“Hello everyone! It’s Hongjoong here!” The man with the mullet waves at the camera, smiling broadly. “So, due to popular opinion on Tumblr-”

“We’ve decided to check out @chasingatinydream’s fanfiction of us, Pirate King!” The young man with purple hair bursts into the frame, grinning wildly. “We’ve made a reaction video to some of the earlier chapters, which will be uploaded soon! We hope you watch it!”

[atinypiratequeen commented: There is nothing I want more in this life]

“But this video will be about us recreating the legendary post, which made more than half of the readers following Pirate King to curse the author online, Chapter 22, Gunshot! We haven’t read it yet, but we’ll be having one of us narrate as the story goes through!” Hongjoong continues, and everyone cheers, clapping again. “So now, we’ll be introducing the cast!”

“Hi! It’s Mingi here, main rapper and lead dancer of ATEEZ! I’m going to be the narrator for today!” The tall man waves, holding a script book in hand. His hair is wet, as if he’s just come out of the shower.

[imasexybuffalo commented: omg mingi looks so good]

“Hi, I’m Yeosang, playing myself.” The visual king himself waves, gracing all those who watching with with his presence.

[VLIVE Heart Count has increased by 2k]

[gothyeosanggf commented: im ded some1 save me]

[sassy-kpop-glitter commented: His birthmark is so pretty I wish they wouldn’t cover it! Also this chapter was so sad, this video is probably going to make me cry all over again.]

“Wooyoung here! I’m in charge of the sexy performance of this group and I’m playing Chin Hae, the main character!” Wooyoung waves with a big smile, other hand running through his hair. Hundreds of fangirls’ hearts swell all over the globe at the group’s most epic bias wrecker. “Also the one no one knows shit about!”

[@chasingatinydream commented: I was not expecting this portrayal of my MC but sure go for it Wooyoung]

“I’m Hongjoong, acting as Captain of the Treasure!” Mullet man beams at the camera, inclining his head a little in greeting. Then he glances back at the group. “Wasn’t I supposed to be blind in one eye? Where’s my eyepatch? And my red jacket?”

[@princejoongie1997 commented: I love you Hongjoongie <3]

“Here! Your jacket’s still in the wash because you performed with it yesterday, so the staff said to use this instead.” The man with green hair tosses a small black shape and a red blanket to his leader, before stepping into the camera with a cute smile. “Hello everyone, I missed you all! I’m ATEEZ’s San, director and also in charge of special effects and props!”

[@baeksofty commented: someone save me help help helpppp]

[@chasingatinydream commented: San is directing this wth is going to happen to my story]

“Hi.” Seonghwa smiles sweetly from a chair at the side. He raises the selfie stick he’s holding, waving it a little so everyone can see. “I’m Seonghwa, the oldest, and I’ll be the cameraman for this video!”

[@catmosphericlight commented: is it possible to love one man so much? I feel like its impossible]

[@berrylip commented: my finger hurts from smashing that heart button but i’ll do it for you seonghwa]

“Hi, everyone. It’s ATEEZ’s maknae, Jongho.” The youngest member waves his hand, smiling a little as he watches what’s happening right next to Seonghwa. “I’m going to be the extra who fills in any role needed.”

Hongjoong claps his hands once and everyone falls silent for dramatic effect. Jongho reaches behind the couch to pull someone out from hiding, pushing him right in front of the camera. The tall, lanky man shows itself to be Yunho, trying to crawl back behind the couch.

“And finally, our villain! We present to you, Yunho, AKA Leon Bastiville!”

[@someonerandom commented: LEON BASTARDVILLE!!!]

“You’re already getting hate, Yunho.” San comments as he peers at the comments flooding in from the readers. “Who is this Leon guy anyway?”

“I didn’t want to be a villain! Why did my luck run out on me when I needed it the most?” Yunho wails, attempting to hide from sight. Jongho simply grabs him by the ankle and hauls him back to the front, Yunho’s fingers scrabbling along the floor, before he finally locks his arms around Wooyoung’s leg.

[@mireu01 commented: Yunho as a villain i can’t im wheezing-]

“Sorry, we drew lots for this role.” Seonghwa explains over the noise of Yunho trying to escape from Jongho’s iron grip and Wooyoung attempting to pry Yunho’s hands from his calf as he takes the camera from the tripod, attaching it to the stick. It isn’t working. “Yunho picked the lot for the villain.”

“Alright, I’ll begin reading!” Mingi announces, lifting the script to his face. He starts to read, in the most dramatic tone he can. “Chapter Twenty Two, Gunshot, Original Version. Warnings, whipping, some gore- What? I feel like I shouldn’t be reading this on a VLIVE-”

“It’s a zero budget production, we’ll be fine!” San shouts as he gestures from the sidelines for Mingi to continue. The rapper pauses a little hesitantly, before starting to read once more.

“You freeze. Every muscle in your body goes taut, a cold shiver runs down your spine. The arm around your waist is firm, strong and from the almost unbreakable grip he has on you, he doesn’t intend on letting you go any soon.”

“Wooyoung-ah, Yunho-ah.” San studies the script in his hand intently, before pointing at the taller man, who is still prone on the ground with an arm wrapped around Wooyoung’s leg. “You need to get into position, you know.”

There’s a pause, and the two turn to stare at each other in horror. “What?”

“You heard me.” San waves the script impatiently, pulling a Nerf gun from a small box of props the staff must have given him for this video and tossing it at Yunho, who barely manages to catch the bright yellow toy. “Yunho, stand behind Wooyoung and pretend to choke him.”

Neither of them move, still staring at each other.

[@alyj12 commented: Oh my god just do it please!!!]

“The fans demand it.” Seonghwa’s amused voice can be heard as the camera pans in on Hongjoong’s grin at the sidelines, next to San and Jongho. The maknae is snickering uncontrollably, hand over his mouth.

“You need to do it!” Hongjoong calls. He’s donned the black eye patch already and has the red blanket pulled around his shoulders, the thick fabric so long that it almost completely engulfs him with his head popping out of the very top.

[VLIVE Heart Count has reached 10k]

[@itslizzeh commented: hongjoons such a cute smol bean save me]

[@chasingatinydream commented: why does hongjoong in that blanket remind me of a pimple]

Grudgingly and with no grace at all, Yunho moves behind Wooyoung, grabbing him by the neck and holding the toy gun to his head. The purple haired man makes several gagging sounds and Yunho’s face is one of utter disgust.

“Very good!” San praises as he glances down at the script again. “Now, Yunho, put your mouth at Wooyoungie’s ear.”

“What?” The two of them shout again, Wooyoung struggling to get out of Yunho’s arms while he still can. Yunho’s face is one of nausea as he scrunches up his nose.

“That’s gross, Wooyoung hasn’t showered since dance practice half an hour ago!”

[@atinypiratequeen commented: the two of them literally got the worst roles lmao]

“Do it, do it, do it!” Jongho and Yeosang are chanting in the corner, the maknae not even bothering to hide his laughter now. Yunho slowly puts his face near Wooyoung’s ear and Wooyoung gags.

“I can feel your breath at my ear! It’s weird!”

“It’s weird for me too, damnit!”

“Stop cursing! Now, Yunho, whisper in Wooyoung’s ear ‘I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.’ ”

“I hate this Leon guy, whoever he is!” Yunho yelps as the camera shakes from Seonghwa’s laughter. “Why is he so weird, going around whispering in people’s ears?”

“I don’t know! Someone save me! This main character’s life sucks!” Wooyoung flails around in Yunho’s grip. The tall dancer makes several loud retching noises, but has probably guessed that he won’t be getting out of this anytime soon. He simply closes his eyes for a moment, channeling his inner actor from that video shoot with Dingo, and leans next to Wooyoung’s ear, whispering softly.

“I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Wooyoung screeches like a dying cat. “No!”

[@mireu01 commented: someone get this boy an acting role]

“Very good!” San praises, clapping as he turns to Mingi. The rapper continues reading.

“Your heart sinks in your chest as the rest of your crew come into sight. Most of them are tied up in groups with rope, their heads hanging low as Navy soldiers kick and push them out of the cargo hold, where they had been hidden from sight. So that was why the ship had been so strangely silent when you and Wooyoung had returned to the Treasure. They had been captured- Holy shit, that was what happened to us in chapter twenty one?”

“I don’t know, I was saving myself, I mean the main character, from getting shot from a musket bullet!” Wooyoung wails, thrashing around. “Get me out of here! I regret ever drawing this lot! Who wants to be the main character when she has such a terrible life?”

[VLIVE Heart Count has reached 17k]

“The fans love it!” Seonghwa remarks excitedly, the recording steadying for a moment as he shifts the camera to San, who bows dramatically. Wooyoung shrieks at everyone watching his torment live.

“Yunho, tell Wooyoung ‘Hello, hello, hello, my two dear pirates. Now, we’re finally all here together. I’ve been waiting for this the whole night.’ ”

“That stalker was waiting in wait for us? That’s so creepy.” Jongho comments with a shudder. Yeosang shrugs. He can’t fathom the mind of a lunatic either.

“There’s poison in his voice, sweet as honey and as dangerous as snake venom. You don’t dare to struggle against him for fear of being shot point blank in the head, but his hold on you is making you panic and he’s crushing your windpipe, making every breath an arduous effort.” Mingi reads aloud, and Yunho, getting a little too into character, squeezes Wooyoung’s neck tighter. The shorter dancer yelps, flailing around.

“You’re choking me!”

“Very good, Yunho!” San applauds, completely ignoring Wooyoung’s plight. Yunho grins, nodding at the camera.

“Hey, I’m pretty good at acting!”

[@alyj12 commented: someone save wooyoung he looks like he’s going to die]

“Wooyoung’s fine!” Seonghwa beams, zooming in on Wooyoung’s struggling to free himself.

“You’re killing me!”

“Wow, Wooyoung’s really getting into character. Good job, Wooyoung!” Hongjoong raises a thumbs up with a proud smile on his face.

“I’m not in character-”

“ ‘While the two of you were off causing your little commotion back there at the official’s building,’ the officer drawls, playfully resting his chin on your shoulder as he addresses the crew, ‘one of my men ran back to the harbor to report it to me. My colleague that saw to you yesterday, Yoongi, was already suspicious of you. He smelled gunpowder on your ship, but your little de facto captain told us that you hadn’t been fired on.’ ”

“Are you serious? He smelled us out?” Jongho looks unimpressed by this, scowling. “Who the heck goes around just smelling ships?”

“Bring him out.” Yunho snarls, pressing the toy gun tighter against Wooyoung’s head. His finger must have slipped on the trigger, because there’s a pop sound and Wooyoung yelps, a foam dart falling to the ground.

“That hurt!”

“No, Yunho, he’s not supposed to die yet.” San corrects, shaking his head and completely ignoring Wooyoung. Yunho pouts, breaking character for a moment.

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, Hongjoongie-hyung, it’s your moment to shine!” San announces, turning to his leader. Hongjoong tries to make his way over, but then he steps on the hem of his red blanket and trips, sprawling on the ground in front of the camera. “Oh, that was very good acting, hyung!”

“That wasn’t acting-”

[VLIVE Heart Count has reached 49k]

Mingi glances across the script. “Leon clicks his tongue and you see your captain shoved forward, head bowed and hands bound in front of him. Part of you desperately wants to run to the man who named you, to insist he never incline his head to someone he doesn’t respect, but you are completely powerless now. He looks so small- Doesn’t hyung always look small? What’s the difference?”

“Yah, Mingi!” Hongjoong shouts as he attempts to get up, but trips and falls again. Jongho is snorting uncontrollably, hand reaching for a cup of popcorn that definitely wasn’t there earlier and Yeosang’s face is buried in a pillow as his body shakes with laughter.

“Bring me the cat.” Yunho snaps, getting into the mood once more, and San glances around for his extra.

[@teajuns commenting: yunho really getting into it kshdksj]

“Jongho, you’re going to be the guy that whips Hongjoong-hyung.”

Jongho couldn’t look happier, jumping to his feet at the words, his eyes shining.

“Really?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen almost comically in horror and he desperately scrambles back. “He’s going to break my back!”

“We don’t have a whip, but we do have a squeaky hammer!” San grins, pulling out the plastic mallet from the box. He tosses it to Jongho, who catches it and eyes it with a vindictive smile Hongjoong’s honestly quite terrified of.

“Don’t worry, hyung. I promise I’ll be gentle.” Jongho looks more terrifying than that Leon guy could ever be. Striding over, he rips the red blanket from Hongjoong, leaving the poor leader on the ground. He raises the squeaky mallet.

The sight is menacing.

“I’m not doing this!” Hongjoong shrieks, running for his life around the dance studio, Jongho chasing after him. Seonghwa documents the whole thing, spinning round and round in circles before he finally retreats the the floor.

“Sorry everyone, I got too dizzy.” He apologises with a laugh.

“Let me go!” The leader screams as Jongho catches him by the legs, sending both of them sprawling to the ground.

“Tell me who broke my guitar string!”

“Never!”

The maknae raises the hammer and mercilessly thwacks his hyung with it, the rubber hammer going squeak squeak squeak.

“Fine, fine, fine! I broke it while trying to play Havana, okay? God, please just stop hitting me! I surrender!”

There’s a final, hard smack and the hammer goes flying out of Jongho’s hands, hitting Wooyoung straight in the face.

[@roamingthesails commented: i can’t stop laughing this is so stupid]

Squeak!

“Ow! I’m not even a part of your scene, Jongho!”

“Hongjoong’s back is a mutilated, bloody mess of raw flesh and shredded skin, crimson streaming from several open wounds. Your captain is on his knees, face pressed against the floor, body trembling.” Mingi baulks a little at the intense description. “You can’t even begin to imagine what absolute agony he must be in, your musket wound was nothing compared to this. But your captain remains silent, teeth gritted against the torment brought on with each swing of the whip. Honestly, you’re so cool in this story, hyung. The last time you got a paper cut you nearly cried and went to Seonghwa-hyung to get a plaster-”

“I didn’t!” Hongjoong groans from the floor, attempting to massage his back. Jongho climbs off him with a triumph grin, settling next to Yeosang.

“Now act like you’re strong and laugh at Yunho, Hongjoong-hyung.” San directs his leader, but the lead rapper simply remains prone on the ground.

“I’m dead, I’m dead…” He moans, lying on the floor like a dead fish. “Just let me die…”

San squirts a bottle of red liquid on his back and Hongjoong screams, leaping off the floor in fright. The back of his shirt looks like a bloody mess. “San, what was that?”

“Ketchup.” The brand is blurred out, but it’s ketchup, alright. “It’s supposed to be your blood.”

“I showered before this…” Hongjoong whines, staring mournfully at his shirt. San ignores him and moves to check his script once more.

[@faith032101 commented: Does this make Hongjoong a snack?]

[VLIVE Heart Count has reached 105k]

“Act evil and tell Hongjoong you’re going to whip Wooyoung too.” He instructs, and Yunho turns to Hongjoong with an evil grin that looks way too into character.

“Let me go!” Wooyoung tries to slip out of Yunho’s arms, but fails spectacularly once again. “I don’t want to get beaten up by Jongho! How is this kind of thing even allowed to be aired-”

“I wonder if your tongue will loosen if I do it to one of your crew, then?”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Now rip Wooyoung’s shirt, Yunho.” San instructs, studying the script. Wooyoung shrieks, doubling his efforts to become Houdini.

“This shirt cost me eighty two thousand won! Don’t do this to meeeee-”

[VLIVE Heart Count has reached 579k]

[@addictmaniac commented: TAKE ONE FOR THE ATINY TEAM AND DO IT YUNHO]

Mingi adds on grimly. “Uncaring of the gun at your head, you flail and thrash against him, to no avail.”

“This shirt was expensive-”

With that, Wooyoung finally breaks free of Yunho’s grip, but the momentum brought on by his little escape sends him stumbling and he trips over Hongjoong’s blanket, before sprawling on top of his leader.

“Ow!”

“Wooyoung, you little-”

“Oh my god Hongjoong’s finally found out Chin Hae is a woman!” Mingi gasps in shock, a hand coming over his mouth. Yeosang gapes in shock.

“Oh no! What’s going to happen? Wooyoung’s going to hate her and they’re never going to be together-”

“Eh, I more of shipped her with captain anyway.” Jongho drawls.

“And he looks so betrayed! Hongjoong, don’t be sad! I promise Chin Hae didn’t want to lie to you-”

“I knew it from the beginning…” Hongjoong groans from under Wooyoung. Mingi ignores him.

“Not you, the cooler Hongjoong in the book.”

“She’s coming back with us. I hope you’re pure for sale, my sweet, but I suppose that may be difficult when you’re on the same ship as so many men- I sound like a pervert, I’m not saying this.” Yunho shakes his head, tossing the script away. It smacks into the camera.

“Ah!” Seonghwa rushes to save it. “Yunho!”

“Hongjoong-hyung, you’re supposed to shout Wooyoung’s name and we get a smoke bomb-”

“But I’m the main character!” Wooyoung protests as he heaves himself off his leader. The front of his shirt is sticky with ketchup, as if he’s the victim of a homicide case.

San pauses to think for a moment. “That’s true. We’ll just move on then. Jongho, smoke bomb please!”

Jongho picks up the cup of popcorn and throws it into the air. It goes absolutely everywhere.

“Great work, Jongho!”

“He flies out of nowhere, lunging for your captor. Leon snarls and tries to kick him away, but then he raises a short knife and buries it in Leon’s arm. The man holding you stumbles back onto the gangplank, falling onto the ground and your saviour takes your hand.” Mingi reads aloud, eyes wide. Then his mouth falls open. “Yeosang, you’re going to-”

[VLIVE Heart Count has reached 1.7M]

“Yeosang the knight in shining armour to the rescue!” Jongho pulls three kazoos from his pockets and blows wildly. The screeching noise almost breaks a few thousand eardrums around the world.

Yeosang stands up, picking his way through the ketchupy, popcorn mess that is the room. He takes Wooyoung’s hand awkwardly.

“Like this?”

“Great! Yunho, pick up the party popper there and shoot Yeosang with it!” San cheers, almost grinning madly. Yeosang’s eyes widen in horror.

“Wait, what-”

Boom!

[@pinkrosesandblackthorns commented: YEOSANG IS DEAD ARGHHHH]

[@sassy-kpop-glitter commented: NO! NO! YEOSANG NEEDS TO LIVE AND BE HAPPY! DON’T BE SO CRUEL YUNHO]

[@ateez-8-makes-1-team commented: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS YUNHO]

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Yunho yelps, dropping the confetti gun.

Yeosang slumps to the ground, groaning. “That hurt…”

“Join the club.” Hongjoong mutters, a few inches next to him and completely spent.

“Wooyoung, go and shake his body and cry.” San whirls around dramatically, tossing his script into the air.

Wooyoung finally decides to try his hand at acting and sinks to his knees next to Yeosang. San shakes another red bottle on the two of them. “NAORIIIII!”

“No, that movie is Goblin, Wooyoung-”

“What is this ketchup? It’s burning my skin!” Wooyoung shrieks and San double checks the bottle, face turning a little pale.

“Oh. It was chilli.”

There’s a moment of silence as Yeosang and Wooyoung both stare at each other. Then they’re bolting for the door in horror, dashing from the dance studio while tripping over their own feet.

San follows, calling after them.

“Need any help, guys?”

“I’m a terrible person. I’m a terrible cruel, cold hearted man who just killed Yeosang with a confetti gun.” Yunho is mumbling to himself. Mingi pats him on the back, pushing him out of the door as well.

“Maybe you should get some rest, hyung. I hear the author has some pretty nasty stuff planned for you after the Sea Witch arc…”

[@chasingatinydream commented: STOP SPOILING THE STORY MINGI]

The two vanish out of the door.

“I’m going to take a shower and see a doctor.” Hongjoong groans, dragging himself after them. The door clicks shut behind him.

The camera turns around to fit Seonghwa’s unruffled face into the frame.

“Well, that was Pirate King, chapter 22, gunshot. Roll credits.” He shows the floor, the scene of a massacre with popcorn scattered everywhere. “I suppose this is just a good opportunity for cleaning up, hmm?”

[VLIVE Heart Count has reached 3.6M]

The next thirty minutes of the VLIVE are of Seonghwa’s Cleaning ASMR.

[twixtandshout]

Tagged by @pidgeonpostal! And not tagging anyone else because I have SOILED the original template (soiled it!!) in deference to my [brushes off skirt] mostly clean public-facing appearance.

...I’ve been making a lot of Spongebob memes lately for someone who has not seen Spongebob.

How many works do you have on AO3?

71!

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

...306,834. Jesus.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Uh. Many! I do a lot of one-offs (and/or start long things I never finish) in many different places. My top three fandoms by fics written are RWBY (29), Undertale (25), Gravity Falls/Transcendence AU (4).

Bet you can’t tell where my hyperfixations have fallen. 

I’ve also got some Pokémon and Sonic the Hedgehog fics back on my ff.net account, or I think I still do, anyway, but let’s never go back there pls

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Sweeter Than Honey (Undertale): Taking a Completely unsurprising first place, with over 600 more kudos than the runner-up, the haphazard Underswap fic featuring a post-college self-insert I wrote just after high school! I shake my head some at how overblown and ridiculous the gap between this and all my other stuff is (c’mon, guys, I’ve written way better fics), but this is also the fic which prompted me (and at least one other person!) to start using they/them pronouns. I’ve gotten a lot of really sweet comments about how seen and appreciated it’s made people feel, so I can’t get down too far about it.

2. To Be A Hero (BNHA): I don’t count myself as part of the BNHA fandom, for a number of reasons, but for something that’s arguably the main motivation for the entire plot, Midoriya’s quirklessness is something I’ve never thought has been handled well. This fic marked the first time I (somewhat tentatively) claimed the disability label (thanks again to Sweeter Than for prompting that realization) to hold that lens over canon. It also really shot up my chart, dang! It’s the only thing here I’d consider “recent.”

3. Three-Sentence Shipping (Undertale): Self-explanatory.

4. Brothers Beyond Bonedaries (Undertale): Ah, the way-overcomplicated AU³ I got nowhere close to finishing. One of the things I really like about Undertale is the interface screw, how Toby Fox uses the medium of the video game to pull off crazy things and enhance his game, but most of the fic written for the fandom seems dedicated to explaining it away, grounding it, rather than taking it to the next step and messing with the medium of fanfiction when you keep the story going. I tried to do something cool like that here, playing with questions like narrator and authorship and breaking the fourth wall, even taking the “final boss” fight to a “totally separate” fic reached through the first by link – but, well, then I never finished it, which probably didn’t make anything less confusing for the poor folks who missed the intent.

5. Spirit and Such (Gravity Falls: Transcendence AU): A whole fic written to line out a particular image I had, which, naturally, never made it to the page. I consider it a bit of a cautionary tale for myself when it comes to writing (near-)original content; there’s a lot I look back on and cringe. I still love the characters, though – well, the important ones – and I think just stepping away from the tried-and-true Mizar formula nets it a star sticker here.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

>w>; I try, but a lot of the time I just don’t have anything to say? Like, oh, you liked it? Neat. There’s not much to respond to in comments like that, and then I’m weighing falling down on an ~obligation~ to respond to every message in my inbox vs annoying people with copy-paste fluff responses all down the page. Plus I know I make more of an effort to comment on things that didn’t get the attention I feel they deserve, so if I’m driving up my own comment count with nonsense, am I preventing myself from being in a position to receive more comments later? And then if I do comment, am I being too effusive or running people’s ears off explaining things they don’t actually need to know? Sometimes people just want to express interest or admiration and don’t necessarily want a whole peek and guided tour behind the curtain.

Can you tell I have anxiety? x3;

Anyway, I do respond when I can. And I keep most of the comments I’ve gotten to go back and reread. 

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hm, hmm. Lots of stuff in the TQ Nonsense series would probably qualify! I’m thinking of Unfixable, Wolfsong, and Ethanol. And there’s Bursting Through A Blood-Red Sky (I Can Live, I Can Breathe), of course, but that was always intended to have a fix-it epilogue. It’s just that I wrote it in a couple of hours day-of, stared at it, and decided I didn’t wanna just then. But now that’s As Long As You’re Still Burning Bright (I’m Still Awake), and that’s probably the best romance I’ve written, so that one worked out.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Now and then! When the urge strikes. Uhhh, I’ve got a series of Doctor Who x Undertale crossovers I actually made a whole dang verse for that never made it to print. Get a couple great comments on that every few months or so. I think the World Trigger x Undertale crossover is probably weirder, though, by virtue of WT being a very small fandom. My enthusiasm kinda sputtered out on that one.

Mostly I just daydream crossovers with whatever happens to catch my eye at any given moment. I have a lot!!!! Though odds are out on whether I manage to remember any of them once the initial thought’s passed, lol.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Gotten a couple eyebrow-raising comments, but I think mostly I’m just too small a writer to draw that kind of attention.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t? think so? Think my tastes are a little niche for most people to bother ^^;

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had someone apologize once for any language mistakes in their comment cause they had to run it through a translator! That’s not what you asked (the answer is no), but it’s very flattering to think that someone liked my fic enough to read and comment despite the language barrier.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! :D @pidgeonpostal was gracious enough to agree to co-write Five Nights at Denny’s with me off an idea about shoes. This has fulfilled a long-held dream of mine (collabing with someone, not the shoes) and also introduced me to some lovely people.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Who has time for just one? ;3c Honestly, I care more about the characters and how the relationship – any relationship – between them changes them than I do about ~A Ship~ as a solid, bounded noun-object. I’ve got characters I like more and less and feelings about who does and doesn’t have chemistry in which directions with whom, but finding anything that agrees with those preferences is hard, harder when you take alloromanticism into account. I’ll play in any sandbox with cool toys, especially if other folks have already built sick sandcastles there.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

[kicks every single unfinished fic further under the bed] What nooo no WIPs here, everything on my account is either finished or does not exist

I’ve got a couple extra chapters of Sweeter Than floating around unposted, but 1. that fic’s a mess 2. high school Twixt and post-college Twixt are different people and trying to contort myself into three other me-shapes just cause people Like this fic is not something I’m super interested in 3. it’s headed for an emotional dip and I’d rather leave it where it is than post two chapters, stall out again, and leave folks with a bad end.

As for other fics... it’s looking more and more likely that v7 of my Yellow Brick Road AU will never actually make it out. >w>; I’ve got some really great ideas, but not enough to make me feel like I know what I’m doing, and that’s a big roadblock. Plus trying to engage with RT’s Atlas-Mantle worldbuilding in any serious capacity is... a headache. I can’t recommend the Happy Huntress Cinematic Universe enough, but it leaves some pretty big shoes to follow! And I’ve got small feet. <w<;

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue’s fun, probably as an extension of characterization. I love tearing into what makes people tick, especially against the backdrop of their environment, the story they’re in, and the people they’re up against. Voice is a double-edged sword; I’ve been told my writing is really recognizable and individual, but on the other hand, I’ve been growing frustrated with with the limits of my narrative ability. There’s a strong rhythm I keep when I write (you might notice it here, even) but that leaves me feeling predictable and stale. I’m not sure I’m great at setting as a matter of course, but I’m pretty good at describing setpieces where the need comes up; that comes from my background in poetry, as does the fun I have with sublimating and abstracting complex imagery. And I think I bring some needed nuance to the universal. For good or ill, I don’t do what “everyone else” is doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, writing, for one thing. If I don’t know how something’s going to go and don’t have the urge to write it, it isn’t getting done, which means there’s a billion things that will never see the page and a few hundred more that are never getting finished. I lose momentum easily and have a hard time getting started, and I put way too much standing on finding a foothold with other people; as critical as I am of my work, I have high expectations for the stuff that passes muster, and it never seems to measure up. I’m also really uncreative. Yeah, I can mix up elements and extrapolate events, but coming up with things wholesale is really hard, which is why I avoid it wherever possible and steal/reskin stuff from other places instead.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Something along the lines of “Hoo boy, I am Not qualified for this but hopefully it’s decent anyway.” Maria’s Spanish lines haven’t been a big deal – I’ve used it sparingly and, as a Latin language, it should be easy for English-speaking audiences to pick up on the gist – but I’ve had a harder time with Tai’s Chinese, both because I have Even Less background there and because it is, of course, an entirely different language system. If I write it out in English or Romanized italics, am I colonizing it or changing the meaning? If I write it out in the presumed-original characters (presumed because it’s Google Translate and who knows if I’m even barking in the right forest), am I confusing or alienating my presumed-majority-English-speaking audience? Where should I put the translations? Should I put the translations? And for Frisk’s sign language, thinking back, are the brackets I used instead of quotes alienating/infantilizing? I like that different characters give the text between a different feel, but I’m not an ASL speaker – and I’m pretty sure the word is “speaker,” which would only reinforce that that demographic would rather I didn’t do that. It’s important for all these characters, I think, that they use non-English language where it makes sense; it’s part of who they are. But as a white monolingual English-speaker, I don’t think I can really weigh in.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Thaaaat’d be Pokémon, followed closely with Sonic the Hedgehog. Whether those fics are still on my ff.net account or not (pretty sure I’ve purged them, but you never know) I’ve still got a couple saved to a folder on my current laptop, ostensibly so I can look back and see how far I’ve come and more practically to allow for the possibility of furthering group cohesion through public shaming.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I still like the idea behind The Man Who Is Atlas, and Burning Bright (Still Awake) gets props for being my current fic, though it’s currently in that spot where I’m excited to get new chapters posted but also quietly marking everything up in red pen. I think Harbinger gets the crown here, at least for now.

[crystalwillow]

Kinktober - Open Heart

The Boss’ Restraints

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Word Count: 2.6K

Contains: Smut, tiny bit of fluff

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Tagging: @mckenzie-bae @deansmyapplepie

A/N: I swear to God that I had this done and ready to post before todays chapter. I think it’ s just a little unlucky for me that what happened with Ethan, happened on the same day I planned to post this... anyhow, do enjoy this one! 

=========

“Valentine, get those samples and get them to the lab right away, I’ll page you if I need anything else today. Team dismissed.” Ethan said in his usual matter of fact tone as he took a seat behind his desk and shuffling a stack of papers. “Yes, Dr. Ramsey.” The young blonde doctor replied, gathering her things and following June and Baz out of the office. She waved goodbye to her colleagues and headed towards the patients room, but stopped dead in her tracks as her pager buzzed in her pocket. “A code blue for Mr. Fitzgerald?!” she exclaimed and ran to the elevator, jamming the button for the floor she needed. Not even giving the door time to open by themselves when the elevator stopped at her floor she burst out and down the hall towards Mr. Fitzgerald’s room. She entered to chaos. “He gone into anaphylaxis Dr. Valentine and the code team isn’t responding.” A panicked nurse said hurriedly, Casey turning and retrieving the defibrillator cart and wheeling it into the room. As she worked quickly and efficiently expose the patient’s chest, she had flashbacks to her first patient Annie. The nurse set the charge for the paddles, then Casey grabbed them knowing there wasn’t a second to lose. After successfully saving Mr. Fitzgerald, Casey trudged to the locker room to put her bag away then carried on with her patients, completely forgetting about the task Ethan had given her. She was at lunch with Bryce and Elijah when her pager beeped on her tray, her face immediately falling as she read the message.

“I... I’ve got to go guys. I... Bye!”

Was all she said as she stuff the last of her bread in her mouth, grabbing her pager and water bottle and sprinting off towards the stairs. Normally she would take the elevator when she received a page from Ethan, but he sounded mad in this one, so she wanted to buy herself a little more time. Also this way she could finish her mouthful of bread and not anger him anymore. As she approached the diagnostics office, she gulped audibly as she noticed the blinds closed. Stopping at the nurses station on the floor she leant over to the nurse who was there. “Um.. How- How mad is Dr. Ramsey with me?” she asked timidly. The nurse looked to her with a small smile. “He’s pissed. But don’t worry. We’ve got our jobs to keep us busy, and we also plan to scurry the second that door shuts behind you..” the nurse replied. Casey gulped again and approached the doors, entering into the lion’s den. She expected to see an angry, fast-typing Ethan behind his desk, so was confused when he wasn’t there. Then, he whole body froze as she her the lock of the door click shut behind her. Oh no. This was bound to be bad.

“E-Ethan. Please... tell me that’s you. And not- not some st-stranger.”

But she got no response, just a familiar breath that tickled her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m not happy with you.” A low and quiet voice spoke into her ear. She bit her lip, he sounded dangerously hot when he spoke to her like this, her already forest green orbs darkened with desire.

“I- I’m sorry Dr. R-”

“Ah! No talking. I want you to listen to me.”

She swallowed hard. She knew he was confident, it was one of the things she adored about him, but he wasn’t usually this commanding at work. Which lead to her having a quickened pulse, the only time he turned like this was when they were alone in his apartment and about to move things o his bedroom. She took a seat as he walked around his desk, doing the same. She looked at him, a mix of emotions taking over the mind. She felt scared, anxious and now... a little turned on. Casey didn’t dare speak, she just met his hard stare waiting for him to speak. The silence stretched on for what felt like hour before Ethan finally took a breath to speak.

“I don’t take being ignored lightly Dr. Valentine. Care to explain yourself? Why I had to do the job you were asked to do?”

“I... uh.”

“Well?” he pushed, making the younger doctor sitting across from him even more nervous than she already was.

“I g-got a c-c-code bl-blue.” She stutter, palms sweating with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Ethan raised a brow at her, skeptical of her answer. “For whom? Why couldn’t the code team answer it?”

“M-Mr. Fitz-Fitzgerald. And I- I don’t know. S-Sarah said they were-weren’t answer-ring.”

His annoyance with Casey turned to curiosity for a moment as he cocked his head to the side. “Why are you scared?”

“Sc-scared? Who said I was-”

“You’re stuttering a lot. Like a child in trouble for doing something wrong.”

“I.... I’m not. I just....”

“Rookie...” Ethan said leaning forward, his tone softening for a moment as he took her hand and she flinched. “Are you scared of me?”

“What?! No! Of course I’m not! I’m just... I made you angry. You should be correcting me and then telling me to leave. Why are you letting me explain myself?”

“Because that’s what happens. You clearly made a mistake. Besides, I was only angry at you for a moment.”

“Oh.”

Casey finally looked back up into his eyes and she saw it. Her desire for him matched in his darkened blue eyes as he licked his bottom lip, eyes slowly moving to look at her lips. They leaned into each other over the desk, Ethan stopping inches from Casey’s mouth.

“This is why I shut the blinds and locked the door.” He said smugly before bringing they lips together softly. “We wouldn’t want anyone to see me do this would we?” he whispered, breaking the kiss and swiping all his papers to the floor, turning Casey’s back to him and gently pulling her across the desk, spinning her around to face him, standing between her legs.

“Ethan... we’re at work. Are you crazy?” Casey asked

“Maybe. Maybe not. Or maybe, you’re the crazy one for trying to stop this.” He husked, sliding his hand up Casey’s thigh and under her skirt. Her eyes closed slowly, and mouth partly slightly as she let out a hitched breath.

“You infuriate me Dr. Valentine.” Ethan said into her ear lowly, a small growl at the back of his throat as he squeezed her hip

“Ethan..” she said breathlessly.

“Shhhhhh.”

Ethan brought his lips to the crook of her neck, kissing sweetly at first and Casey tangled her fingers in his dark auburn locks. His kisses grew hungrier as he travelled up to her earlobe, gently sucking and nibbling at the skin. The contact was leaving Casey breathless, and she inhaled sharply as he nibbled her earlobe before pulling back, slowly opening his eyes and looking at her with nothing but desire. He moved his hand to his top draw, gaze never leaving the flustered sight in front of him, and a small smirk grew on his face his hand came into contact with the cool metal of the object he’d placed in there just before he summoned Casey to the office. Casey gulped as she hear the jingle of the metal as he moved it from the draw to the desk next to her.

“Y-you brought them to- to w-work” she asked. But was met with his silent mirk as he slid her white coat from her shoulders before turning his attention back to assaulting her lips with his own and discarding his own white coat on the floor, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. The kiss was fervent, full of lust and need. Yet, Casey caught the undertone of love and care it also carried. Ethan pulled her to her feet, breaking the kiss.

“Strip for me.”

“Yes, Dr. Ramsey.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game by calling me that in such a situation, Valentine.”

“That’s a bold statement considering our current situation.”

Ethan smirked at her spoken remark hearing the lust and want laced in her voice. The air crackled with a passionate electricity as they’re lips assaulted each other’s and clothes were thrown carelessly around the office. Ethan stopped mid assault on Casey’s chest, looking up at her with a devilish smirk that caused her to bite her lip and watch with anticipation as Ethan stood up, his now fully hardened length straining against his boxers. Casey bit her lip, enjoying the sight in front of her, eyes widening as she hear Ethan pick up the cuffs before turning back to her with a smirk.

“W-What are you going to- to do?”

“Hands above your head princess. I intend on taking you on a wild ride.”

Gulping Casey done as asked, watch as Ethan hovered over her.

“I’m very disappointed in you.” He husked in her ear, sending electric shivers down her spine. “Not only did you not do the task I asked, you disobeyed my request. This..” He said, snapping the waistband of her panties against her hip sending a jolt of pleasurable pain through her. “... is not the set I asked you to wear. Is it?” He challenged as he brought his gaze to her eyes, soft but calloused hand grazing her side before circling her aroused and sensitive bud with his index finger before toying with it between finger and thumb. Casey gasped at the sudden contact, whimpering when she felt the warm roughness of his tongue glide over the other.

“Ethan..” she breathed out, pulling on her restraint. “I want to... touch... you.”

“You should have thought about that before disobeying me.” He teased, leaving a trail of hot, wet kiss down the body before turning his attention to her inner thighs. Above her head, Casey wrapped her fists around the metal leg of the desk, her breath now rapid with anticipation as Ethan kisses everywhere except where she needed him the most.

“P-Please...”

Ethan smirked against her skin, he liked having her like this. Begging for mercy during punishment after disobeying him. It was one of his biggest turn-ons, though he would never let anyone in on that secret. It was purely his own. Hooking his thumbs under the sides of her panties he pulled them down as he kissed back down her inner thighs, leaving small purple bruises behind.

“Ah, Ethan. Please..” she whimpered as the cool air hit the dampened area between her legs. Upon seeing the sight, Ethan licked his lips hungrily, reaching out and running a single digit between her slick folds.

“Mmmm. Look how wet you are...”

“It’s.. all.. for you.”

“I should hope so.” He smirked as he positioned himself between her legs, kissing up her inner thighs again, slowly before teasingly swiping his tongue over her most sensitive area. The place she needed him most.

“Fuck.” whimpered Casey, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth. He hummed softly as he devoured her, pinning her down with his left arm as he brought the middle finger of his right hand to her entrance, circling it teasingly as she writhed and whimpered above him.

“mmm, fuck. ... eth-ethaaaahhh.” She hissed as he pushed his finger in slowly, pumping it and building up a quickened pace, swirling his tongue around her arousal. Ethan worked his tongue around her clit until he knew she was about to climax and then stopped pulling away. Casey whimpered as she slowly opened her eyes, finding Ethan looking down at her with a triumphant smirk, before kissing her passionately. She retuned the kiss with fervor, Ethan moaning as his still clothed erection brushed lightly against her hipbone. He lightly bit Casey’s bottom lip as he pulled away breathing in deeply, standing to remove his underwear and gasping when his erection sprung free. Casey breath hitched as she stared at the sight before her.

“Like what you see baby?” Ethan asked with a smirk as he lowered himself back to the ground.

“C-can you let me.. out?” Casey asked pulling on the cuffs. Ethan flitted his gaze up to the cuffs wrapped round the leg of his desk, then beck to Casey as he shook his head, spinning round and positioning himself over her mouth. She puckered her lips, lifting her head slightly and kissed the tip, making Ethan shudder with pleasure.

“Ohhhhh.”

“Did you like that..... Detective?”

Ethan close his eyes, breathing out heavily as he silently cursed to himself. “Open your mouth.” He demanded

“Why?”

“I want you to show me what that pretty little mouth can do with no hands.”

Casey smirked, slowly opening her mouth and lifting her head, taking him in inch by inch until she starts to gently bob her head. Ethan groaning pleasurably above her, keeping his plank position proved a challenge as Casey started deepthroating him.

“Ah, shit... Casey.” Weakness overtook his muscles as she hummed each time he hit the back of her throat. “Ah, fuck. Stop! Stop.” He said breathlessly, pulling out of her mouth and spinning to undo the handcuffs. He pulled Casey to her feet, kissing her with urgency, grabbing he butt in his hands as she jumped wrapping her legs around his waist. He carried he to his desk and laid her down. Casey gasped as the cold mahogany came into contact with her back, her eyes widening as she spot the whip hanging out of Ethan’s open bag by his chair.

“Ethan? Why do you h-have a whi-whip?”

“Precautionary. Disobey me again, and well.. .I think you know where this will go.” He growled in her ear lowly.

Many minutes which felt like hours later, Ethan surrendered begging for Casey.

“Fuck. Spread your legs for me. Now.” He urged as he blindly reached for his pocket, pulling out a condom. Casey waited in anticipation, her back flat on his desk as she watch him slide the protection over his rock solid manhood. Without warning, after positioning himself, Ethan slammed into Casey making her cry out in pleasure.

“Shhhh.” He warned bringing a finger to her lips, which she took between her teeth as she nodded. Slowly, Ethan started to thrust, and Casey whimpered quietly as he picked up his pace.

“fuck. me. harder.” She whispered in his ear, gasping as he almost immediately fulfilled her request cause her stomach to form that familiar knotting sensation as she felt Ethan start to twitch inside of her. Their breath was ragged as the whispered each other name in ecstasy as they climaxed together.

A few moments passed in a blissful silence as the two caught their breath, before Casey sat up looking Ethan in the eyes. The were now as clear as the Caribbean Sea again and he smiled, forehead still clammy with sweat.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” Casey teased as she looked around the room, then got up to start collecting her clothes.

“What?” he asked as he removed the condom, putting in a small black bag and the discarding it in the trash.

“Hooking up with me at work. Let alone in this office.”

Ethan chuckled as he began getting re-dressed too. He had just draped his tie round his neck when there was a knock at the door.

“Hello? Ethan? It’s Baz!”

Casey’s eyes widened as she pointed to their heads. Both of them still had sex hair. Ethan shrugged.

“He’s doesn’t know anyone’s here.” He whispered in Casey’s ear. “Now, care to help me with my tie?” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. 

...