#is that they have a tendency to encroach on each other a little bit

[plusultraetc]

if I can find a way to squeeze 'Aizawa and Vlad King semi antagonistic work friends' into a fic I will

[werecreature-addicted]

An Idea of a F!Human working at a ranch((farm?? Idk what you call it)) but a big farm((??)) Like place with lots of acres, and a barn, and all the classic farm stuff.

And she also works with Minotaurs, and centaurs and other sturdy creatures that hang around farms.

But in this world humans are a little bit... Not trusted?? I don't know the word. But they're not trusted because they're known to be cruel to any intelligent life that isn't human, so the Minotaurs, Centaurs, werewolves and all these other creatures are very wary of her only to find out she is a sweetheart.

I'm sorry if this is a bit jumbled, I'm not a good writer but I thought you'd might like the idea 😭

PS. She works with the animals, since all the big sexy beasts do all the heavy lifting and crap ☺️☺️

PS 2. If you do go on with this.. maybe could you like.. hint at a minotaur romance if that's okay?? You don't have too though.

a monster-fuckers guide to ranching.

Most monsters have possessive/ territorial tendencies, it's best to keep males of the same species apart so there's no fighting. While some monsters are territorial they can form bonds or symbiotic relationships with other creatures. For example: harpies and dragons tend to get along, if the two are close the dragon might even let the harpy eat meat from between their teeth. And of course, almost all monster species can form bonds with humans or at least, tolerate human handlers in their space.

The main exception to this rule of thumb is Centaurs. Centaurs travel in big heard usually with 2-5 stallions, and while they handle others of their own species well they are particularly hostile to outside monsters encroaching on their territory.

Werewolves travel in packs and while they are still territorial, they are considered one of the more "friendly" species of monster, which may sound laughable to anyone who's had a werewolf take a snap at them, but as always It's important to remember not to judge monsters by human standards.

-------------

It's rare to find such a wide variety of monsters, the ranch spans hundreds of Aceres to accommodate them all and has countless workers to make sure all of their needs are met.

All of the monsters are a little cool and skittish around you at first as one of the senior workers introduced you to all of the inhabitants. slowly but surely they get used to your scent and they slowly warm up to you.

Most people treat the work like... well, work, but you seem to have a real passion for taking care of the monsters. You learn each of the monsters' names and the little quirks of their individual personalities, they've never had a handler as sweet as you. You quickly become a favorite of most of the monsters at the ranch.

Usually, it's nice being so popular, then heat season comes and multiple monsters are yowling for you to come and help them and suddenly it's a little more stressful.

[razieltwelve]

Weeding (Final Rose AU?)

Weiss knew very well that she did not have the same level of experience as some other potential huntresses of her age. Her family’s position had made it difficult for her to go out on missions. Thankfully, she was not without options.

“Thank you for agreeing to accompany me on this mission.” Weiss inclined her head.

Jahne smiled. “We’re friends, Weiss. I would not be happy if you wandered off on a mission and got killed.”

Claire laughed. “Have a little more faith in Weiss, Jahne. This is a weeding mission. Weiss might be a little light on experience, but I would be very, very surprised if she managed to get seriously injured on a mission like this, barring something truly unexpected.”

“True.” Jahne shrugged. “Which is why we’re here, I suppose. If there is anything unexpected, we can deal with it.”

“In any case,” Weiss said. “Thank you for coming. Shall we get started?”

X     X      X

Weeding missions were, as their name suggested, all about dealing with larger numbers of weaker Grimm. They had a tendency to encroach on settlements and to attack lone travellers or small groups. For top students at a good junior academy, Grimm of this level should be easy enough to handle. The three of them might not be attending the same academy - and Weiss was actually being privately tutored instead - but they were all friends. They had sparred and fought alongside each other enough times to know what to do.

Weiss hung back to take full advantage of her Glyphs while occasionally taking point to make sure she got experience fighting in close combat against live Grimm. Jahne often took point, or at least, her illusions did. The blonde herself would usually be a few steps further back, ready to strike once the Grimm took the bait. As for Claire, the tallest of the three could easily provide support with her bow or take the lead after transforming her bow into its blade form. Sometimes, she didn’t even bother with that, since she was, by far, the best hand-to-hand fighter of the trio.

They spent most of the day working their way patiently through the forest around the settlement while rotating from one role to another. It was soothing in a way, especially since Weiss had complete trust in them. To be honest, the thought of joining a team when she attended Beacon was more than a little worrying. Her family’s influence could only go so far, so there was no guarantee that she would be on a team with her two friends.

Would she be able to trust three people she didn’t know? Would they trust her? The best teams all trusted each other, or so Winter had said. They might not like each other, but they did trust one another. Weiss had never found it easy to trust, especially when she didn’t know a lot about someone else. What motivated them? What were their goals? How likely were they to abandon her if things got difficult?

“Hey.” Claire poked Weiss in the cheek with one finger. “Keep your head in the game, Weiss. We’re not done just yet.”

Weiss scowled. “Yes, yes. You didn’t have to poke me in the cheek.”

“Yeah, I did. You were a million miles away.” Claire glanced up ahead. “Hmm... Jahne, pull back.”

The blonde did as she was told. “Why the retreat?”

“Let Weiss take point for the next one,” Claire said. “The last bunch were a bit tougher than the ones we’ve been dealing with so far. She could use the experience.”

Weiss’s brows furrowed. She knew Claire was right. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable with something try to rip her head off her shoulders. Still, the only way to get used to that feeling was to face it head on. Sighing, she stepped forward. “I might as well get this over with.”

“Remember, you don’t need to use your Glyphs at full power, Weiss. When something is right next to you, speed is much more important. For example, if you want to slow an opponent down, rather than trying to slow them down with one big Glyph, you’re more likely to have success hitting them with several smaller but faster Glyphs,” Jahne said.

“Like my dad says, you don’t need every punch to be a haymaker.” Claire grinned. “A good jab to the face is perfect for lining up a cross right behind it.”

Weiss’s lips twitched. “Thank you for the advice. I will, of course, take it into consideration.”

X     X     X

Later, the three of them were enjoying a soak in the hot springs the settlement had been built around. They’d managed to get through the weeding mission without taking any real injuries. Weiss had a few bumps and bruises, but those had all come from the last of their opponents, a massive Beowolf that served as the leader of the Grimm in the area. It had been tougher than she’d expected, so it had managed to land a few glancing blows before she’d been able to put it out of its misery.

“How are you feeling?” Claire asked.

Weiss opened one eye and sighed. She was not one to be jealous of others when it came to looks department. She was quite pretty in her own right. However, Claire had quite the impressive figure with features to match. Jahne caught her staring and waggled her eyebrows. Weiss huffed. Trust the blonde to be ridiculous. Of course, her gaze did linger on Jahne for a moment longer than was strictly polite. She was very attractive.

“I’m fine. A bruise or two is a small price to pay for the experience of fighting a Grimm like that. There is, after all, no substitute for experience.” Weiss shifted to loosen the knot in her shoulders. “How would you have dealt with it?”

“Hmm... I would either have used an arrow with my Semblance on it or hit it with a Semblance-enhanced punch. Either would have been more than enough to pulp it.” Claire grinned. “Without using my Semblance, an arrow through the eye or a sword strike in the same place would do.”

“What about you, Jahne?” Weiss asked.

“Illusions to distract it and then a thrust to the base of the spine followed by a strike through the eye or a decapitating blow. Without my Semblance? I could use either my revolver or knives to fight at range before closing in and whittling it down. Its armour was quite thick, but the joints were vulnerable. Of course, there is always the options of an Aura-enhanced blow to make simply piercing its armour possible.”

Weiss nodded. “True.” She sank a little deeper into the water. “Well, we’re not done just yet, are we?”

“Nope.” Claire chuckled. “We still need to sweep the area tomorrow to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

[pathfinderunlocked]

Flesh-Spawning Broodmother - CR 13 Aberration

A boss based on the Broodmother from Dragon Age: Origins.

Artwork is a screenshot of the Broodmother from Dragon Age: Origins, copyright Bioware.

A Flesh-Spawning Broodmother was once a human, until it was horrifically mutated in both mind and body.

A Flesh-Spawning Broodmother is the kind of creature that creates dozens or even hundreds of beings that from disgusting mutations of skin and flesh.  It gives birth to skindancers, intelligent humanoids that serve it and can reshape their bodies, as well as many types of more mindless skin-themed and mutation-themed creations such as skin-stitchers, hungry flesh, skinwraiths, and fleshflaps (a creature I posted last month).  It treats all of these beings as its children, and wishes to protect them and lead them as it expands its domain.

Those that willingly serve a Flesh-Spawning Broodmother can receive power from it as a witch patron of Transformation, and receive a tumor familiar as their witch’s familiar, but are not permitted to wear any clothing or armor except for leather and fur.  Small pieces of jewelry are allowed as long as they do not meaningfully cover the skin.

In combat, this boss has a tendency to keep one or two people occupied each round with just dealing with the infinitely respawning tentacles that keep swallowing them whole.  So if you have three or fewer characters in the player party, I recommend giving the players a friendly NPC (or two) who can help them out.  An NPC that you’re not particularly attached to.

Make sure that the Flesh-Spawning Broodmother is in an enclosed dead end, preferably in an underground area where the PCs can’t easily break through the walls, and that the region of Encroaching Skin extends down the tunnel around a corner and past its line of sight.  This does two things.  First, it freaks the players out as they enter a tunnel where the ground, walls and ceiling have all become coated with skin, and they don’t immediately know why, and try to deal with it.  Second, and more importantly, the boss can’t move, so you need to be sure that there’s nowhere the PCs can go where they can attack it without standing on the encroaching skin.  It’s good to have small alcoves without any skin, where the PCs can momentarily escape to safety, but you need to make sure those alcoves don’t have line of sight to the boss.  Standing in a safe spot and shooting arrows for 10 rounds while the boss does nothing is not a great fight.

Try not to attack the same person with more than one tentacle per round unless there’s nobody else left to attack.  Usually this would be a bad strategy, but with this boss, it makes the fight feel much more like everyone is in danger everywhere.

Its immediate-action and AoO tentacle attacks let it break up the action economy a little bit.  Use the AoO first and the immediate action second, each round.  If the PCs stop moving, it gets a chance to spend its swift actions on its spell-like abilities instead.

Although it has a -8 racial penalty on grapple checks, the grab ability increases its bonus back up from 12 to 16 for most grapple checks.  If that still seems low for CR 13, consider that it’s making four ranged grapple checks per round.  The spellcasters will not be okay.

Flesh-Spawning Broodmother - CR 13

The skin continues to cover almost every surface, and at the end of the cavern, you're able to make out a massive, grotesque shape that is moving, and… chuckling, in a deep, hoarse voice.  Twenty feet tall, it's a mismatched and malformed abomination that appears as barely more than a blob of flesh in some places, while strangely humanoid in others, and in other places horrific beyond description.  An oversized, lumpy head at the top of the creature's body faces you and smiles, while several other faces - or parts of faces - seem to be growing out of its skin in various places on its body.  Below its main head, six nipples poke out from its sagging, obese chest.  It has a dozen arms, legs, tails, tentacles, and other limbs of different mismatched sizes, and even if you were to cut them off, they would still each be individually horrifying and wrong - eyes growing out of the palms of the hands, mouths on the tentacles.  Two gaping, open wounds are on the right side of its body, exposing giant internal organs that have started to spill out of the creature's body, with pus slowly running out of the wounds onto the… skin, the ever-present skin, the skin that is clearly all growing out of this creature, the skin that fills the cavern, all apparently part of this thing's body.

XP 25,600 CE Huge aberration Init +1 Senses all-around vision, darkvision 120 ft., skinsense; Perception +19

DEFENSE

AC 15, touch 5, flat-footed 15 (-3 Dex, +10 natural, –2 size) hp 253 (13d8+195); fast healing 5 Fort +20; Ref +3; Will +12 Defensive Abilities amorphous Immune acid, critical hits, precision damage

OFFENSE

Speed 0 ft. Melee 2 tentacles +17 (1d8+9/19–20 plus grab) Space 15 ft.; Reach 10 ft. from any square of encroaching skin; see text Special Attacks acid breath (8d6, 40-ft. cone, DC 30), swallow whole with many mouths (2d8+10 acid, AC 15, 25 HP), unexpected tentacle Spell-like Abilities (CL 13th; concentration +19)     At will—quickened fester (DC 19)     1/day—quickened plague storm (always applies leprosy, DC 23)

STATISTICS

Str 28, Dex 4, Con 38, Int 26, Wis 16, Cha 22 Base Atk +9; CMB +20 (+12 to grapple); CMD 27 (can’t be tripped); Racial Modifiers -8 on grapple checks Feats Diehard, Endurance, Great Fortitude, Improved Critical (tentacle), Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Spell Focus (necromancy), Toughness Skills Craft (leatherworking) +21, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, local, nature, planes) +24, Heal +16, Intimidate +21, Perception +19, Sense Motive +16, Spellcraft +24, Use Magic Device +21 Languages Aboleth, Aklo, Common, Undercommon SQ encroaching skin, muddled threat

SPECIAL ABILITIES

All-around Vision (Ex) A flesh-spawning broodmother sees in all directions at once. It cannot be flanked.

Encroaching Skin (Ex) The skin of a flesh-spawning broodmother covers the walls, floors and ceilings of the surrounding area within at least 200 feet of the creature, often further.  A flesh-spawning broodmother can attack anyone who is within 10 feet of this skin with a tentacle attack - its attacks have a 10-foot reach and can originate from any point on its encroaching skin.

A 5-foot square of encroaching skin can be destroyed by dealing 25 points of damage, but a flesh-spawning broodmother only takes damage when its main body is struck.

Skinsense (Ex) A flesh-spawning broodmother can perceive any creature touching its encroaching skin as if with tremorsense.

Tentacles (Ex) When a flesh-spawning broodmother attacks with a tentacle, and the tentacle successfully grapples its target with its grab ability, the tentacle remains visible and can be targeted with attacks.  Tentacles that fail their grapple check immediately vanish back into the encroaching skin.

Tentacles are medium-sized and have 25 HP and 17 AC (same AC as the flesh-spawning broodmother but without the size penalty), and lack fast healing, but otherwise share their other statistics with the flesh-spawning broodmother.  They are considered to be limbs, not creatures, but their hit points are tracked separately from the flesh-spawning broodmother.  Conditions applied to the flesh-spawning broodmother also apply to all of its tentacles, but conditions applied to a tentacle do not apply to the flesh-spawning broodmother.

When a tentacle grapples a target, the tentacle, not the flesh-spawning broodmother, gains the grappled condition.

If a flesh-spawning broodmother successfully swallows a character whole, the tentacle grappling that target vanishes, and any damage done to the tentacle carries over to the damage needed to break the character free.  Damage done to tentacles does not reduce a flesh-spawning broodmother’s HP, and it can spawn an unlimited number of them.

Swallow Whole with Many Mouths (Sp) A flesh-spawning broodmother has an improved version of the Swallow Whole ability, allowing it to make a single grapple combat maneuver check as a free action at the start of its turn against any one creature that is currently grappled by one of its tentacles.  If it succeeds, a mouth opens up in the skin below the opponent’s feat, the flesh-spawning broodmother swallows its prey, and the opponent takes the listed Swallow Whole damage and is swallowed whole.

Each time a flesh-spawning broodmother swallows a creature whole, it creates a new mouth to do so, which has its own hit points.  Aside from being a free action and having an unlimited number of mouths, this ability functions as Swallow Whole.

Muddled Threat (Ex) A flesh-spawning broodmother does not threaten any square or creature with its tentacle attacks, and cannot make standard attacks of opportunity.

Unexpected Tentacle (Ex) As either an immediate action or an attack of opportunity, when an opponent moves any distance on a flesh-spawning broodmother’s encroaching skin, the flesh-spawning broodmother can make a single tentacle attack against that target.

A flesh-spawning broodmother can make these unexpected tentacle attacks even while pinned, helpless, or otherwise unable to attack or act, as long as it is not unconscious or dead.

Acid Breath (Su) As a standard action, a flesh-spawning broodmother can vomit out a 40-foot cone of acidic slime from its main body, functioning as a breath weapon.  Creatures caught in the area of the cone take 8d6 acid damage; DC 30 Reflex halves.  The save DC is Constitution-based.

Bonus content:

[jiaolong-rp]

"Shufu and his Fufu"

Finally, got to finish a drawing of my Laopo Fu aka "Fufu" and the oldest uncle of my dragon OCs Dalong Shu aka "Shufu". Shufu is a friend's OC. Their backstory is hilarious, but also a little convoluted. Which is why I will put it under a read more, for those, who are interested in learning about how a fox spirit ended up as a freeloader in the palace of the dragon king. 🤭

Don’t like, don’t interact. (°u°)b // Please don’t steal and/or repost.

● Patreon ● Commission Prices ● Redbubble ●

Dalong Shu is not only the elder of my Dragon OCs, he's also the highest ranking judge among the dragons. A long time ago, he was engaged in a battle with the Calamity level demon Fen Dao, who threatened to devour all living things. Dalong Shu managed to subdue the demon and seal his soul away in a paper fan.

At that time, Fufu himself was a notorious eight-tailed fox demon. His original name is now lost in history. The fox demon was famous for being as much of a genius, as he was lazy. He would come up with the most fascinating inventions and concoctions out of sheer boredom, or in order to circumvent what he considered bothersome labor. Unfortunately, he also had a habit of leaving his inventions lying around unsupervised, so they would end up causing chaos, or cursing an unsuspecting mortal who picked them up.

The final straw was, when the fox demon decided to create the powerful weapon, Quanchi. Quanchi was a guangdao of such great destructive power, that it could flatten solid city walls with a single strike. When the fox demon got bored with his new creation, he gave it away to a mortal warlord. The first thing, said warlord did with Quanchi, was of course to destroy the capital of his most feared enemy, killing hundreds of thousands of humans in one night. Being the careless enabler of such a tragedy, the fox demon was blamed for it by the Heavens. Dalong Shu was sent to issue a warning to the notorious demon and see, if he posed any true threat to the Heavens.

Dalong Shu has a tendency of being a bit of a nagging old geezer. Not only did he warn the fox demon, that he was now on the Heavens' watch list, he also berated him for wasting his great genius for mischief and evil deeds. "If you return to the righteous path and devote your mind to betterment, the Heavens surely will welcome you with open arms."

Being as lazy, as he was, the fox demon considered all of this nothing but bothersome, but knew himself that he had no chance in a direct battle with Dalong Shu. At the same time, the Calamity demon Fen Dao was beginning to encroach onto the fox demon's territory, threatening to drive him out of his home, if he got any closer still. This was yet another bother, the fox demon saw himself incapable of dealing with head on. So, he hatched the plan to play Dalong Shu and Fen Dao against each other. He began spying on the dragons and soon found out, that Dalong Shu and his retainers were preparing for a sealing ritual to seal the calamity away. They were just missing a few key components and didn't yet have a proper plan on how to get Fen Dao to hold still long enough for the rites to be completed.

So, the fox demon went to Fen Dao next, idly chatting as if he was just a simpering demonling trying to cozy up to the calamity. During their conversation, the fox demon casually mentioned how he heard, that the dragons plan an ambush, but kept the exact details to himself. Enraged at their audacity, Fen Dao stormed the Heavens to challenge the dragons. With him conveniently coming to Dalong Shu's doorstep, the elder dragon immediately engaged in combat, while his retainers prepared the ritual. At the end of the battle, Dalong Shu just barely managed to seal Fen Dao's soul in a paper fan. However, he still needed to find a suitable vessel to contain Fen Dao's body, so it could be hidden away, keeping the demon from returning to the mortal world. When he turned to his retainers, asking whether they found a vessel, they replied: "We could not find a vessel in time, but a kind fox happened to come by and gifted us a giant pickle jar, he used to pickle his plums in." Therefore, the body of the powerful calamity Fen Dao was sealed away in a giant stoneware jar, that smelled strongly of pickled plums and then hidden within Dalong Shu's palace.

Now, only left with having to deal with his Heavenly probation and the constantly nagging Dalong Shu, the fox demon decided, that the path of least resistance would be to simply cultivate on the righteous path until he ascended himself. Several hundred years later, the fox demon had finally cultivated until he acquired his ninth tail and thus ascended as a powerful fox spirit to the Heavens. Once there, he strutted into Dalong Shu's palace, as if he's always belonged here. Bewildered by the fox's daring attitude, Dalong Shu asked him what he thought he was doing. At which the fox replied with a pretence of demure innocence: "But shufu! Was it not you, who told me, that if I cultivated on the righteous path, you would welcome me with open arms!?"

Thus, the former notorious fox demon became a freeloader in the dragon king's palace. Once there, he played up the act of being a smitten little fox kit, that fawned over his powerful and caring shufu any moment he could, much to Dalong Shu's great chagrin. His current name, he obtained during one such occasions. The name Laopo Fu has several meanings. Literally translated, it means "old vixen", but usually it is rather used as a mean word for an old nagging woman. Laopo is also an informal way to address one's wife. At one point early into his stay at Dalong Shu's palace, the fox spirit overheard some younger dragons complain about Dalong Shu's constant meddling and nagging. "Ugh, he is such a Laopo Fu!", they griped. Smelling an opportunity to cause mischief, the fox spirit butted into their conversation: "What are you talking about me there? I have never done such things!" Startled and also slightly frightened by the powerful fox spirit, that everyone knew was living scot-free even right under Dalong Shu's nose, the young dragons hurried to appease the bewildered fox. "A-ah, we weren't talking about you! We actually meant-", "What!?", the fox exclaimed confused, "Have you not said 'Laopo Fu'!? Am I not my shufu's Laopo, his little Laopo Fu!?" He continued to play that act up for so long, that eventually he was known all across the Heavens as Laopo Fu and everyone in the Court was convinced, he was Dalong Shu's inofficial favored concubine. Much to Dalong Shu's chagrin.

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Twelve): Evil Comes In Disguise

Notes: This one is shorter than others but it felt like it took me so much longer, I blame Cyberpunk 2077 for stealing my one braincell for a while. Also, I have a tendency that the longer it takes me to write something, the more insecure I feel about it, so I ended up cutting this chapter a bit shorter than I originally intended. But I think it works and I hope you enjoy!~

Word Count: 8686

Chapter Warnings: Talk of physical assault, hospitals, POV switches, Joseph visions, me trying to write police investigations/interrogations to minimal success and struggling to write Jerome for the first time properly. 

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

And the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and ticks. Every second feels like an eternity. Every moment of silence seeming to stretch on for hours. Her nerves fray with each one, worry blooming like a flower in her chest. The tension palpable as the three deputies and Sheriff wait to hear what will become of the town pastor. Dahlia’s mouth starts running before she can stop it; to distract herself or her distraught friends, she doesn’t know. 

“How long have you all known Pastor Jerome?” 

“Oh, Jerome’s been in Hope for…fifteen years or so,” Whitehorse tells her, thinking a minute over the exact timeline. 

“He took over the Falls End church when I was thirteen,” Hudson adds, “so yeah, fifteen years.” 

“Wow,” Dahlia can’t help but exclaim, astounded by just how long they’ve all known the pastor, he’s been with the county for more than half of Hudson and Pratt’s lives. 

“St-,” Pratt swallows his words then starts again, stuttering, “still remember my mom making me give my first confession to him…I was terrified I was gonna go to hell, get kicked out of church, break my mom’s heart.” 

“What did you do?” 

“His mom caught him looking at porno mags,” Hudson rats him out, laughing. Whitehorse cracking a smile and Dahlia snickering. 

“I was eleven, shut up,” he tries to defend himself through his own laughter, “yeah, Jerome thought it was funny too, told me everything was okay and then it was.” 

Rook can just imagine it, Pratt as a kid, terrified that god’s going to smote him for looking at a tit. There’s a bittersweet quality to the four smiling and laughing at the memory; the anxiety and fear still looming but it’s a little easier to breathe. The weight crushing down on them is a little lighter than it was before. 

“If he makes it out of this, we need to go back to church,” Hudson tells Pratt after a beat of silence. 

“We do, don’t we?” 

“Officers?” A man in a doctor’s coat calls out to them, the same one who stitched her head back together before. 

“Is he okay?” 

“We stabilized him; we got the bleeding under control and it looks like we won’t have to transfer him after all, he should be fine to recover here. We’re still monitoring him, but things are looking up.” 

There’s a sigh of relief; maybe just from Whitehorse, maybe from all of them. She can’t even tell. Things are looking up, Jerome is likely to live and none of them will lose someone who clearly means so much to them. 

“What exactly is it that happened, doctor?” 

“Someone out in the valley called 911; the heard scratching at the door and when they looked he was collapsed on their front step. That’s all we know at this point, but as I told you, this was clearly an assault. The bruises, the bleeding, it all matches with brute force assault and with the severity we do believe it was multiple people who attacked him.” 

“Who the fuck would wanna hurt Jerome?” Hudson asks, more to herself than anyone else. 

“You’re all free to stay in his room, so you can question him when he wakes up, but I don’t know how reliable his memory will be with what he’s been through.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” 

 The four go into the hospital room and Dahlia clenches her jaw when she sees him. Bruises mottle and color the friendly face she’s seen around the county; a myriad of red and purples across him. One eye swollen, stitches and bandages in places where the skin broke. They were trying to kill him; that’s all Dahlia can think. This was an attempted murder, his body is hidden under a hospital gown and blankets, but she can see from his arms that the damage extends over his body. A IV gives him a steady drip of fluids to keep him stable, a heart and oxygen monitor letting the staff know he’s staying that way. 

“Jesus fuck…” Pratt whispers under his breath. 

Hospital coffee and more stories of the pastor pass the time as the four settle in; the time Jerome comforted an emotional fourteen year old Hudson when she spilled communion grape juice on her white dress. Whitehorse talks about how often he’s visited the church to talk with Jerome. 

Hours pass of the four talking, Dahlia downing five or more paper cups of coffee across the time. And then a cough sound rings out, a shift of fabric, the pastor slowly waking up. Whitehorse calls out for the nurses; the deputies shifting in their seats as he comes to. 

The nurses flood in, checking on Jerome’s vitals, ensuring he can comfortably sit up in his bed. He’s an older man, not as old as Whitehorse, but probably as old as Jacob or Joseph. Mid to late forties. With short dark textured hair and a dark beard.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse asks when the nurses are done checking on the Pastor. 

“John Seed,” The pastor begins, and Dahlia clenches her jaw, “he and members of Eden’s Gate kidnapped me, he tried to force a confession from me and when I didn’t comply; they beat me and left me in the woods. I tried to get help the best way I knew how, but I passed out before I could speak to anyone.” 

Dahlia doesn’t have time to think, to ruminate on what this means, what might be going on; Whitehorse telling her to grab the evidence collection kit he brought in. There’s not much to be collected, but their best bet of getting any conclusive evidence is swabbing Jerome’s fingernails. There’s nothing to get fingerprints off of, no weapon, no duct tape, no bindings. No bodily fluids exchanged, thankfully for Jerome’s sake. But, if he fought back, grabbed at his attackers, there’s a chance the blood under his fingernails could belong to them. That he managed to gouge their skin deep enough to leave a trace. 

“Sorry, this might hurt a bit,” Dahlia gives a gentle warning when she sees the broken and bloodied state of his nails, gently swabbing blood from under them, making sure to collect from each finger before dropping it into a vile. 

“I think I’ll make it,” he manages to say, a slightly dry laugh, his voice deep and resonant.

“I know you will, but still don’t wanna add to it.” 

“Jerome, you said John Seed, did you recognize anyone else?” 

“Lonny, Theodore, and Patrick were the only ones I know I saw…The way John talked he was doing it because of Joseph, that he ordered it… Eden’s Gate is getting worse every day.” 

“Don’t worry, Jerome, we’re gonna do everything we can, Hudson, take the sample back to the station to see if we can match it to anything already in our database.  Pratt, Rook, want you to start pulling the peggies in for questioning and getting DNA. Start with Lonny Stevenson, Theodore Rossi, and Patrick Michaelson. No arrests, not yet, just questioning. We’ll handle the Seeds later, alright?” 

“Understood.” 

There’s a heavy tension in the cruiser as Pratt and Dahlia climb into it. Jerome is alive,  there’s a weight to what he’s told them and to their duty to get justice for him. Pratt’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and shoulders wrought with tension. Pastor Jerome has been an important figure in his life. She can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. She thinks of how much worse she might feel if it were Lloyd or Whitehorse in that hospital bed, someone she were close to. Dahlia squeezes Pratt’s shoulder as they drive, hoping her empathy shows through the touch. Even as strangers, her stomach is in knots, though it may be because of her…connection to the accused. 

Despite their constant encroachment on boundaries, stepping on the line but never quite over it, Dahlia had maintained her hope that the Seeds and their flock were good at their core. That’s why she turned Cassie into their hands, but everyday there’s something new. And this is the worst yet. If they’ve truly done this, if they’re ordering full out assaults on people, that does a lot more than just cross the line. 

One of their three main suspects, outside of the two youngest Seed brothers, works at the Green-Busch Fertilizer Plant, an Eden’s Gate owned business. And for possibly the first time since she began working in Hope County, Dahlia is the one leading the charge as they get out of the cruiser, Pratt not trusting his own voice. 

“Patrick Michaelson,” she calls out and a man steps out, “we need to have a word with you down at the station.” 

He’s generic by Eden’s Gate standards, too long hair and a scraggly beard. His arms are covered, so she can’t check for scratches or bruises along them. 

“I in any trouble, deputies?” 

“Just need to ask some questions; Theodore Rossi or Lonny Stevenson here? We need a word with them as well.” 

“No, but I could ring ‘em for you?” 

“We’ll chat first, then you can call them from the station, alright?” 

“Whatever you say, officers.” 

The last thing she wants is for them to have a chance to put together a story and alibi before they start questioning them. They allow Patrick into the back of the cruiser, he seems to be maintaining his cool. And the tension in the car only strengthens as they take him back to the station. Dahlia watches him in the mirror along the way, waiting for some sign of anything to peek through, for a sleeve to ride up and to see scratches from Jerome’s nails, something. But nothing of the sort happens. 

Dahlia has never actually had to interrogate or question anyone, she realizes once they’re at the station and having Patrick take a seat. She doubts he’ll give them much information. If he’s innocent, he won’t have anything of interest to tell. If he’s guilty, he won’t want to tell them much of anything. Getting a DNA sample is what’s going to be the most important thing, if they get some conclusive evidence, something that links one of the Eden’s Gate members to Jerome’s assault the rest will come much easier. 

“Coffee?” She offers, as she pours black coffee into three paper cups.

Patrick murmurs a small thanks before he drinks from the cup before they start asking him questions. Hours pass of trying to ask the same questions in slightly different ways or tones. Dahlia trying to stay friendlier in her tone while Pratt is terser, due to his personal connection. But getting more than a ‘I was at home, last night,’ is like trying to get blood from a turnip. He refuses to give a DNA sample as well. 

“We about done here?” Patrick asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

“Fine,” Pratt grumbles, “I’ll walk you out and you can ring Lonny and Theodore for us.” 

Dahlia taps her fingers against the table as the two men walk out, breathing a sigh of relief when Patrick leaves his coffee cup. It takes a few minutes and then Pratt comes back, he collapses into his chair and groans, she can feel the stress radiating off of him. 

“Well, that was a waste of fucking time,” he grumbles. 

“How you figure?” 

“How you figure anything else?’ He looks at her incredulously, like she’s grown a second head and breathed fire. 

“Left his cup,” Dahlia pokes at the little Styrofoam cup, “our property, we wanna swab it for DNA, our business and don’t need anyone’s consent for it.” 

“I’ll run it down to evidence, you brew another pot for the next two.” 

“On it.” 

Pratt runs that down, the cup bagged and labeled with Patrick’s name, she’s sure. Lonny and Theodore aren’t far behind. And their questioning goes much the same. They don’t give particularly direct answers and refuse to give DNA samples. Theodore avoids talking as much as he can, mostly opting to glare at the deputies after his first insistence that he has no idea why he’s here and has no obligation or desire to talk. But, he does at some point break his sourpuss expression to take a drink of coffee. Lonny is cockier, more aggressive, making snide comments but he drinks coffee at some point too; so that’s all that matters.

By the end of it all, three cups are sent down to evidence to be swabbed for DNA to be tested against the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails. If it’s from any of them, they’ll know by hopefully the end of the day. Evidence based cases are rare around here, so the forensic team stated they can fast track it, hopefully

Pratt and Dahlia rest in the bullpen office, Hudson joining them. There’s a somber air to the entire office. Hudson’s leg bounces with nervous or angry energy, Dahlia isn’t sure which. Meanwhile, Pratt is wringing his hands until the skin rubs raw. Their worry is palpable as they wait for either more information or direction. The oppressive silence has started to weigh on Dahlia’s shoulders, she’s tapping her fingers against a table. 

“You know,” Dahlia says after too long, “you guys can go see Jerome if you want, I’ll call if any info comes in.” 

She knows they’re worried about him and want to be there to check on him. There’s no reason for them to sit here and suffer when she can just let them know when the analysis comes in. 

“We’re not gonna leave you to man the station by yourself,” Pratt dismisses her out of hand, as if the idea that she can be left alone is ridiculous. 

“I think I can manage for an evening, anything happens, I know how to reach you all.” 

“I’m going,” Hudson declares, “I trust Rook and I’m driving myself crazy here.” 

“Thank you, Hudson…” Dahlia says with soft smile, Hudson actually trusts her and isn’t acting like she’s a child. 

“You coming?” Hudson asks Pratt, looking at him expectantly. 

“I’m not leaving Rook here alone.” 

“I’m an adult, you know that, right?” 

“If Eden’s Gate was willing to attack Jerome, who knows what else they’ll do. And you’re already on their radar, were before this.” 

“What, you think they’re gonna storm the station?” 

“Who knows anymore.” 

“I don’t have time to listen to you two bicker, I’m leaving,” Hudson tells them before walking out of the station. 

Dahlia chews her lip once she’s left with Pratt. This is already a stressful day and not the time to let her wounded ego guide her behavior. But it is wounded. She’s not a child, young sure, but not a child and by no means incapable. Pratt has been coddling her and trying to limit what she does since the beginning of her job, she thought it was lessening, but… Does Pratt seriously not think she’s competent enough to be left alone for a few hours? Is she that unreliable? Incapable? Does he think that little of her? 

She doesn’t lend a voice to these insecurities or anger; not the time or place. 

“Don’t pout,” Pratt says after a few minutes.

“I’m not.” 

“You are, I can physically see you pouting.” 

“Even if I was, it’s not important.” 

“Seriously, Rook? You wanna be a brat right now?” 

“Seriously, Pratt? You wanna be a patronizing dick right now!?” Her voice is harsher than she intended. 

“Deputies?” A voice calls out, one of the workers in their piddly little forensic department poking their head into the open office. 

“Yeah?” 

“We got a match for the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails.” 

“Who’s our guy?” 

“Patrick’s matched, we couldn’t find any traces of Lonny or Theodore’s.”

“I’ll call Whitehorse,” Pratt says before getting out his cellphone, “figure out what we’re doing next.” 

Dahlia only nods, not trusting herself after her outburst. Her fingers still tap tapping against a desk as Pratt speaks to the sheriff. She can only hear Pratt’s side of the conversation as he explains what they were just told and agrees to whatever Whitehorse is telling him, before he hangs up. 

“So, what’s our next move?” Dahlia asks, voice cracking more than she’d like. 

“Arresting Patrick and questioning the Seeds. He wants a lighter touch with John and Joseph, his words, not mine.” 

“Lighter touch meaning…?” 

“They can be questioned together if they want, given a day and the chance to come in on their own terms. Whitehorse doesn’t want us ruffling their feathers unless we get something conclusive on them.’ 

“I’ll never get why he wants to walk on eggshells around them.” 

“Because they’re nuts and got a good hundred or more people who’ll fight for them.” 

Dahlia shrugs, she gets that, she guesses. But its still hard for her to wrap her head around that the men she’s met could order an assault on someone else. A part of her is still holding onto the hope that Patrick just acted on his own, that John and Joseph had no idea. But, Jerome says John was there. And John’s not exactly a face he could confuse with someone else… 

“C’mon, let's go get Patrick.” 

He’s at his house at this late hour, knocking in the door of his little farmhouse. Patrick answers the door, face souring the moment he sees the officer. His lips are sealed, not speaking a word to the deputies as they read him his rights and bring him into the station. He refuses to speak for a long while, even as they book him and try to ask him a few more questions. 

“I wanna call my lawyer.” Is all he says after an entirely too long drag of silence. 

“John, your lawyer?” Pratt asks. 

“What of it?’ 

“We need to have a chat with him too,” Dahlia informs him, “so we’ll be happy to call him for you.” 

“Fine.” 

Dahlia stretches out her back as her and Pratt leave the interrogation room, this day has been her longest yet, but they seem to be getting somewhere. She looks over to Pratt. 

“Want me to call up John or you wanna do the honor?” 

“I will, they like you too much.” 

“Have zero idea what you mean by that, but alright.” 

Pratt grabs the station phone and rings up John’s number. Dahlia chews her fingernails as she waits, biting away at them and chipping her nail polish in the process. When she runs out of nail that goes past her fingertips, she chews at the skin. Mind racing as Pratt talks to John, she feels like her thoughts and feelings are tearing into two directions. What she wants to be true and what evidence supports. The older deputy hangs up the phone and Dahlia looks up at Pratt expectantly. 

“John says him and Joseph can be here in a few hours, chances are Jacob will be with them.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Anytime either of them have been questioned, Jacob’s there, just to look mean I guess.” 

She nods, thinking of what she read so far in the Book of Joseph, of the abuse in the Seed family. It doesn’t shock her at all that Jacob has a protective streak, that he wouldn’t want his younger brother’s far out of sight. She does find herself wondering why Faith isn’t following alongside her siblings as well. Her fellow deputies didn’t seem to know much of her at all, Hudson not even knowing what she looks like. Hell, the youngest sister hasn’t even been mentioned yet in the Book of Joseph. Though given the hefty age difference, perhaps she wasn’t born yet during the memory Joseph chose to open it with? 

Dahlia takes a seat while they wait for the Seed brothers, graciously accepting the cup of coffee that Pratt offers her. Her leg taps as she drinks at it, listening to the clock tick away as she waits for the Seeds. Her fellow deputy sits next to her and she can tell the day has been wearing on him. She doesn’t know why, what it is that pushes the impulse forward, but she thumps her head onto his shoulder. A soft form of contact, comfort, whether it’s an offering to him or a selfish desire of her own, she isn’t sure. 

But Pratt responds by leaning his head towards her, over top of her own. His hair tickling at her skin and his scruff scratching at her skin. She can’t help but smile and press in a little closer, just appreciating his presence in this quiet moment after such a drawn-out day. 

“Shit!” 

Pratt’s sudden yell jolts Dahlia awake, her skull knocking against his. She blinks sleep from her eyes, when did she even drift off? How long was she sleeping against his shoulder? Her hands and the bottom of her jeans are wet; the cup of coffee and it’s contents now on the floor as well as her shoes. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath, she must have dropped it when she fell asleep, “sorry.” 

Dahlia goes and gathers up paper towels, cleaning up the mess. She didn’t even realize she was that tired. 

“Don’t sweat it, shit has been crazy around here lately, I nearly dozed off myself.” 

“You telling me this ain’t typical.” 

“God, no, county’s usually more boring than watching paint dry. Lately, feels like county’s gone nuts.” 

“Eh,  I prefer the crazy, keeps things interesting at least.”

“Deputies,” the on shift desk worker pops their head into the room, “the Seed brothers are here.” 

“We’ll be there in a second.” 

Dahlia finishes cleaning up the mess and sighs, that weight back on her shoulders. It’s way past their usual shift hours and the day as a whole has been a lot. But they may finally be getting to the root of what happened. They’re getting some justice for Jerome, Patrick is a damn near guaranteed arrest. They just need to get to the bottom of John and Joseph’s involvement. She took this job to help people and that’s what she’s doing, Jerome has a right to feel safe in this county and as much as she hopes the Seeds are good, if they’re hurting others, it needs to be shut down and now. 

Mess cleaned; Dahlia and Pratt go out to the waiting room to greet the Seeds. John and Joseph look relatively cleaned up. Though John always looks some version of prim and proper. She’s positive she’s never seen the youngest sibling in a shirt that wasn’t a collard button up and she’s certainly never seen his hair in any state other than slicked back. His shirt of choice today is purple, no vest or trench coat, just the buttons left undone to show the sin marked across his chest and the sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos across his forearms. 

Joseph is wearing a shirt which is an accomplishment for him, a stiff white button up done up to his throat and a black blazer over it, nearly overkill in the heat of August. Perhaps he only wears clothing in extremes, either half naked or completely covered. His greasy dark hair is pulled back as usual and despite the late hour, his yellow aviators are on. 

And then there’s Jacob, black tee and jeans with his typical camo shirt tied around his waist. Dog tags, key, and rabbit’s foot hanging from a chain around his neck as they always do. 

They’re superficial observations, what the brothers wear, but she can’t help but take in the stark contrasts of the brothers. Joseph trying to look more put together and less crazy, John in that same state but every day, and Jacob genuinely not seeming to give any sort of a fuck. 

“Deputies,” John is the one to greet them, grinning and Dahlia folds her hands behind her back, trying to still her body and straighten her back to present a confident front. 

“John,” Pratt returns the acknowledgement with a nod, “I-“

“It seems you have one of our flock members contained on the bas-“  John cuts off Pratt. 

“We actually would rather speak with you and Joseph before we discuss that case,” Dahlia cuts the youngest brother off in turn, not letting him dominate the conversation or set the tone for this. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes, I assume, you’re both comfortable with answering some questions for us?” She cocks her head to the side, trying to stay nonthreatening, not that her five feet of being could ever be threatening. 

“Of course, that would be no problem at all,” Joseph is the one to speak next, giving her a smile, eyes soft despite the circumstances. 

“Actually,” Pratt cuts in, a twitch in his jaw, “I’ll be asking those questions alone.” 

“You’ll what?” Dahlia levels a glare at her partner, ready to throw him through a window, but unable to do so. He’s pushing it, he keeps pushing it. 

“I think it’ll be best if I conduct the interrogation alone.” 

“Oh, do you?” 

“You girls need a minute, or can we get this shitshow on the road,” Jacob says, the deep rasp of his voice cutting through the spat. And she doesn’t miss the clench in Pratt’s jaw at the emasculating choice of words. 

“Come on back; sorry for the trouble,” Dahlia says, a tight lipped smile as she leads the Seed brothers to the interrogation room. She’ll deal with Pratt and his overprotective bullshit later. It’s a quick walk down the hall and she politely opens the doors for them, she thinks she sees Jacob rolling his eyes. 

“Go ahead and take a seat, we’ll be just a moment,” Dahlia tells them, giving a small nod when Joseph thanks her. She lets the door shut behind the Seeds and turns her gaze back on Pratt. 

“Rook-”

“What the actual fuck, Pratt?” She keeps her voice low, but her tone is terse, how could he try to strong arm her out of the interrogation. 

“Look, you’ve spent a lot of time with them, regardless of if you’ve wanted too or not. They’re fixated on you and you’re just too close to them to be interrogating them.” 

“You’ve known them longer than me! You’ve known them for years! This is a rural county, it’d take me longer to meet all the cows here than it would the people!” 

She wants to wring his neck, he’s entirely too protective of her and for no real reason. More now than ever she realizes she made the right call not telling anyone about the mute “angel” Eden’s Gate member who swung on her or the vandalism of her trailer. Pratt already barely wants to let her handle ticketing people and now he doesn’t want her interrogating suspects. It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult woman, she needs to be allowed to do her fucking job. 

Dahlia is done listening to this nonsense, she decides, and makes a beeline back to the interrogation room. Pratt isn’t going to stop her from doing her damn job. She opens the door, her coworker trailing behind her, as she steps into the interrogation room.

The Seed brothers are sat at the table. Jacob’s legs open wide, sat relaxed in his chair, completely disinterested by most appearances but he still watches the deputies from the corner of his eye. She’s reminded of a predator lulling prey into a false sense of security before it strikes. 

Joseph sits between his elder and younger sibling. His elbows on the table, hands politely folded, not a hint of anxiety in him either. Seemingly calm, but his gaze is intense on the young deputy as she enters, never straying away from her.  He never looks over at Pratt, the other deputy’s warning that they’re fixated on her ring through her mind. 

John is sitting back in his chair and his gaze is just as intense, but there’s more manic energy behind it. In him in general. Perhaps he’d look calmer, more serene like his brothers, if not for the constant bouncing of his leg, the movement starting to  shake the rickety table. 

“Sorry about that,” Dahlia starts before Pratt can find a way to force her out of the room, “would either of you like any coffee or anything before we chat?” 

“No, thank you. We’ve done this song and dance before, deputy, you can’t sneak dna off of us,” John dismisses her off with a sneer. 

“Okay then, no coffee, understood,” she rescinds her off  as she sits down at the table across from them, Pratt sitting next to her. 

“Look, let's cut the bullshit,” Pratt speaks up, “a person was attacked, beaten badly. We got evidence, won’t say what, that connects one of your church members to the attack. And its being alleged that he did so on Joseph’s order with John supervising the whole thing, and...you’re just hear for window dressing I guess.”  He gives a dismissive look to Jacob at that last part, no doubt his attempt to give a little revenge jab for his comment earlier. 

“Why I’m here ain’t any of your concern, princess.” Jacob says, voice low and the threat within it not subtle. 

“Okay…” Dahlia cuts in with a clap of her hands when she sees the way Jacob and Pratt are glaring at each other, this is an interrogation not a pissing contest, the last thing they need is Pratt trying to fight Jacob and getting his ass kicked, “this is already going off the rails, good job everyone. Now, while his wording was...abrupt, uh that is the reality of the situation. There are some heavy accusations being levied at you two, so we were hoping to ask you a few questions.” 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” John responds, rolling his eyes, “these are completely baseless accusations.”

“We do have evidence linking one of the men, a member of your church, to the assault. Our witness and survivor is credible. At this point we have no reason to believe they’d lie about what occurred.” 

“They persecute us the same as they did the prophets before us, the faithful handed over to courts and councils, sheep sent out amongst wolves,” Joseph speaks sudden, voice intense as he stares into Dahlia’s eyes, a chill rolls up her spine, a tension pulling in her shoulders that she can’t quite shake. 

“Seriously,” Pratt scoffs and for the first time Joseph’s eyes leave Dahlia, harsher and colder at the older officer, “you really think this is about your church, that someone would make this shit up just to get at you, think they beat the shit out of themselves too just to spite you?” 

“Of course not,” John speaks next and she can’t help but notice the jolt in his body language, “I’ve yet to speak to our flock member you’ve find evidence of. But even if he’s done what he’s accused of, surely, you can’t expect us to be held responsible for the actions of every member of our church. We have hundreds of followers, you cannot reasonably expect us to be accountable for any of them who may stray from our ways.” 

“The witness specified you were there, John. Not just accountable, but physically present for assault.” 

“And there’s no evidence of that, you said so yourself, and as I’ve told you before, there are many in this county who aren’t above taking any chance to sully mine and my family’s name. Who’s to say, they didn’t see their assault as an opportunity to bring down our entire church.” 

“May I ask where you were last night?” 

“Had dinner with my family, as I always do, and stayed in for the night. Rather boring, I’m afraid.” 

“Anyone who can confirm this story?” Pratt asks and Dahlia tries not to roll her eyes; his family would be the ones who can confirm it and ...they’re mostly here and biased. 

“My brothers who are sitting right here, my sister if you feel the need to ruin her night as well.” 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” 

“Then are we done here?” 

“This isn’t a formal arrest or detainment,” they don’t have anywhere near the evidence or that, “so,  you’re free to leave if you so please. Though, there’s still the issue of Patrick who requested counsel with you.” 

The brothers have made it clear they want to leave and that the deputies won’t be prying any more information from them. So, Dahlia escorts them out. 

“You two can go on home,” John tells his brothers, “I’ll call someone to get me once I’ve sorted this out.” 

“We couldn’t possibly leave you behind, we’ll wait,” Joseph squeezes John’s shoulder than looks to Dahlia, “assuming that would be okay.” 

“Of course, don’t expect you to ditch your brother.” 

“It is tempting sometimes,” Jacob mumbles under his breath, a smirk pulling at his lips when John glares at him. Rook has to press her hand to her mouth to avoid laughing at the brotherly teasing. 

“Jacob…” Joseph gently chides. 

“Regardless, you two are welcome to sit out in the waiting room, there's a vending machine if you need anything or if you’re not interested in that I’m sure Nancy can get you set up with coffee or food from our break room.” 

“Thank you, deputy.” 

“I’ll be out, shortly,” John says the final word pointedly as his brothers go to the waiting room, then turns to the deputies, “which room is my client in?” 

“Room 103, I’ll be right in, go on and get settled,” Pratt tells him and John leaves down to the room where Patrick is being held. Dahlia holds her tongue until the youngest Seed brother is out of hearing range. 

“Think we can get anything else out of them?” 

“Fuck no, he’s going to tell Patrick to keep his mouth shut, insist that there’s another explanation. Like getting blood from a turnip, we’re just going to have to deal with what we have. DNA should be enough to convict Patrick, as for the rest, we’ll have to see if Whitehorse feels we got enough to do a full investigation. But, we don’t have much.” 

“The evidence against Patrick might be enough to subpoena Joseph’s sermons, get warrants to search the church and houses?” 

“Maybe,fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face, he looks exhausted and she’s sure she’s not much better, “what time is it?” 

“Nearly four in the morning.” 

“Fucks sake, okay, their foul mood makes a bit more sense.” 

“Yeah, I can take care of the talk with John and Patrick, like you said won’t be getting much from them, so you can head home or check on Jerome.” 

“No, no, absolutely not. I’ll take care of this, you go home and get some sleep.” 

“Pratt-” 

“Rook, you were the one passing out on top of me. Go home and sleep.” 

“I-” 

“Please, for once in your life, just listen to me.” 

“Okay, just this once,” she bows her head, feeling like a scolded child, “but we do need to have a serious conversation about you babying me, you know that right?” 

“I don’t baby you.” 

She blinks and widens her eyes, has he heard a single word he’s said to her all day. Refusing to let her stay at the station alone, not wanting her to call John, and not even wanting her to be involved in the interrogation. And that today alone, she can’t count the amount of times he’s told her not to be the one to issue tickets, to stay in the car during calls. She knows they’ve lost an officer in the line of duty. And she knows she’s a lot younger than Pratt or Hudson. But this is her job as much as it is theirs. 

“Okay,” Pratt scratches at the back of his neck at the incredulous look, then gently puts his hands on Dahlia’s shoulders, “serious conversations can wait until we’ve both slept, alright?” 

“Fine, I’ll go home and crash, get yourself some sleep when you finish up here, okay?” 

“Okay, will do.” 

He drops his hands from her shoulders and gives a small pat to her arm as she turns to leave. As much as she’d rather Pratt be the one going home to get some much needed sleep, she can’t say she won’t be thankful for a chance to crash. 

“And Rook,” Pratt calls out before she can get through to the waiting room, she turns to look at him, “stay away from the Seeds, please.” 

“Don’t push it.” She rolls her eyes, overprotective ass, she pushes through the doors to the waiting room. 

Dahlia gives a friendly nod of acknowledgement to Joseph and Jacob as she moves past them, looking towards Nancy. 

“I’m gonna go home and crash for the night, any news comes in, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?”  She explains to dispatch, not fully trusting Pratt to let her know if it’s up to him, throwing on her leather jacket and already searching for her pack of cigarettes. She’ll catch a smoke break before she rides home, her nerves needing the nicotine fix. 

“Alright, dear. Drive safe.” 

Dahlia waves a quick bye to both Nancy and the Seed brothers before she leaves the building. The air is cold, temperatures drop quick at night out here,  a start contrast to the hot muggy days. A dark sky hangs above her except where stars breach the abyss. Goosebumps prickle up along her neck where the air hits, she put a cigarette between her lips and lights it, breathing nicotine deep into her lungs. She tilts her head back, blowing smoke from her mouth, white billowing around her. 

“Deputy,” Joseph’s voice calls out and chills run along her spine, “you know, smoking is really a terrible habit.” 

“We all got our vices,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, making sure to blow the smoke away from Joseph. 

“That is true, I know that better than most…” 

She nods when he trails off a bit, his church seems to focus a lot on sins and vices, overcoming them she assumes. Sins marked across the skin of so many of its members. Silence falls across the two, for once Joseph breaking eye contact, a rare moment for him. 

“Is there something you wanted…? Can’t imagine you’d rather wait out here in the cold.”

“Yes, actually, I think there’s a lot we need to discuss. Faith told me you have concerns about your friend, Cassandra.” 

“Cassie, yeah,” she corrects, not sure why it bugs her so much to hear them using Cassie’s full name. 

“Yes, John always was wishing to speak with you regarding the orchard and… I’d hate for this… incident to color your opinion of me and my family.”

“I understand and I’d love to talk all this out with you, but-” 

“It’s four in the morning.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” she frowns, feeling bad about it, “its been a rough day and I just am ready to crash, I’m sure you must be exhausted too.” 

“Of course, I understand, which is why I’d like to invite you to have dinner with me and my family.” 

“Uh, what?” 

Dahlia blinks and coughs on cigarette smoke, taken aback by the sudden invitation. He’s here for an investigation, she just interrogated him, and he’s concerned with inviting her to dinner to… preserve some sort of good image? While a formal investigation isn’t opened on him or John yet, needing warrants and authority to do anything more, but one is right around the corner. 

“We try to have dinner as a family, my brothers, sister, and I, as often as possible. A luxury we couldn’t indulge in for so much of our lives, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity for us all to speak and for you to know my family separate from church or police interrogations. So, would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?” 

“Uh…” 

This could be her only chance to talk to him about Cassie before a formal investigation is launched and it becomes a conflict. 

But it could already be a conflict, since they are hopefully not far away from launching that investigating. 

But, she could use it as a chance to probe around, see if she can unearth anymore evidence in the Jerome case. 

But, anything procured without a warrant wouldn’t be admittable, so the most she could do is see it and then know what to go back for once they secure a warrant. 

But, even just getting a chance to ask questions without the environment of an interrogation room, might get some truths out. As well a chance to ask about some of the other strange things going on in the county. From roadblocks to the issue of the weird “angel” that assaulted her. 

But, they could be dangerous, if they do have anything to do with Jerome’s injuries… 

But, she’s not weak and it’s not like she's looking to antagonize them. She can ask her questions and be polite. 

But, Pratt would kill her. He literally warned her to stay away from the Seed family five fucking seconds ago. 

“Sure, I’d love to,” she tells him, ultimately unable to say no to his earnest little smile. 

“That’s wonderful, our dinners are at John’s ranch house, I’m not sure I have anything to write the number down on…” 

“I can use the memo app on my phone, what is it?” 

“Oh.” He seems taken aback for a moment when she gets out her phone, but recovers to prattle off the address, Dahlia typing it in. 

“Did I get it right?” She asks, moving to stand closer to Joseph’s side, so he can see the phone screen.

“Uh, yes, that’s,” he reaches out to touch her phone and accidentally closes the memo app, pulling his hand away like it burned him, “oh.” 

Dahlia can’t help but laugh, watching the older man fumble to deal with tech. He’s older, sure, but he’s not pushing his sixties or anything. He ducks his head and she can see a very subtle flush of red flare up his cheekbones. Its the most human he’s ever seemed to her, just an older man who hates phones, embarrassed that he has no idea how to use one. 

“Don’t worry,  it saved,” she explains, pulling it back up. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” 

“Alright, see you and your family tomorrow.” 

She tucks her phone back in her pocket and waves bye again, getting on her motorcycle. Dahlia slides her helmet on and starts the journey back home, mind racing and heart heavy with the events of the day. 

Joseph sits in the passenger side of the truck, Jacob driving and John sitting in the back, as they leave the police station. It's late, nearly early enough for him to be waking up. John made a grave mistake, trying to punish Pastor Jerome for leading people astray, away from Eden. A noble intention, but he did it out of wrath and anger, letting someone else’s sin fuel his own. His impulses placed them back in the sight line of the police. They can recover from this easily enough, as frustrating as it is. The bigger issue is once again working to reign John in and working to change the junior deputy’s view of them. 

The Lamb plays a vital role in the collapse, she was chosen to be the one who brings about the end, how exactly she will do so remains to be seen. But, he’d rather she do it alongside them stepping into New Eden by their side after she helped cleanse the world, rather than doing so in spite of them with no understanding of the gift she was given. 

“What the hell were you thinking?”  Jacob scolds their younger brother, always protective of the project and them being found out by law enforcement, he’s more than a little irate about John’s mistake. 

“Jacob…” Joseph still chides him for cursing, a nasty habit his eldest brother struggles most to break. If Joseph’s being completely honest, he’s not certain Jacob is trying to break it all. 

“Pastor Jerome is a fraud, he is leading people astray and spreading lies about The Project, he had to be taught a lesson.” 

“Who cares? His people abandoned him for us, John. He can talk all he wants, no ones fuckin’ listening.” 

“Oh, so suddenly you’re above corporal punishment, are you going soft on me, Jacob? Do you allow your soldiers to say whatever they please, reward them for their insolence?” 

“Jerome’s not a soldier and unlike you, when I teach outsiders a lesson, I’m not dumb enough to let them walk away from it.” 

“Brothers, stop,” Joseph speaks over them, not yelling, but his tone stern enough to end their incessant arguing, he makes eye contact with his youngest brother through the rearview mirror “Jacob is right, John.” 

“But Joseph-” 

“You endangered The Project, our mission, our family; for the sake of satisfying your own wrath. You put all of us at risk and for what? So, you could indulge in your sins?” 

“He was spreading lies, telling people you were dangerous-” 

“And that made you angry, it made you wrathful. And so you lashed out to make yourself feel better, instead of speaking to me, instead of seeking out the word and confronting the sin inside of yourself, you sought to quell your anger through violence.” 

“I’m sorry, Joseph.” 

“I know. Righteous anger and swift justice has its place. There will be times to cut off the hands that wrong us, but this was not one of them.” 

“I understand… I already spoke with our flock members in the station, they’ll dispose of the evidence and secure Patrick’s freedom. Without it, the investigation will end and he won’t be punished for my mistakes.” 

“I knew you’d take care of it in the end,” he tells him, watching the relief flood John with the smallest amount of praise after being scolded, “I invited the junior deputy to dinner.” 

Jacob slams on the brakes on a thankfully deserted back road, causing Joseph to jerk against the seatbelt and John to slam his face against the seat in front of him. John yells out from the sudden impact and Joseph turns to look at his eldest brother in confusion. 

“God damn it, Jacob!” 

“John!” Joseph scolds when his baby brother takes the lords name in vain, he can see a bruise forming on John’s forehead already. 

“He tried to kill me!” 

“Am I the only one who understands that we’re criminals?!” 

“In the eyes of man, perhaps, but in the eye of -” 

“Eyes of man are the ones that matter, right now, Joseph! You’re inviting a fuckin’ cop into our lives, into John’s house. A cop who just interrogated us less than a fucking hour ago and you want to feed her for her trouble.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were scared, brother. Jacob Seed, scared of a little girl.” 

“Well, its a damn good thing you know better, or that shiner would be the least of your problems, brother,” Jacob nearly spits the word brother, glaring daggers at John. 

“Jacob,” Joseph gets his older brother’s attention, Jacob has always been the strongest willed, has always asserted his opinions even if he’d do anything for the family, “are you doubting me?” 

“No, of course not, I just don’t understand why you’re doing this?” 

“We have cops within our flock, Jacob.”

“Yes, converted cops who benefit us. This deputy can’t walk into a church without puking her guts up, she’s a problem waiting to happen.” 

“She has been making a problem out of herself, trying to keep me from purchasing the orchard, enabling the greed of this county.” 

“Look, I know it can be difficult to understand, you’ve not heard what I’ve heard. The Voice hasn’t spoken to you, as it has to me, my decisions are not without reason. Reasons that will be revealed in time, the junior deputy is important, bringing her into our flock is a priority. Understood?” 

“Of course, understood, Father,” John concedes, using Joseph’s formal title. Joseph looks to his eldest brother, who’s scarred jaw is still clenched tight. 

“Understood?” He repeats himself, he knows Jacob wouldn’t go against him, but his willful nature… something Joseph was envious of in childhood now leads to the occasional butting of heads. 

“Understood.” 

Jacob starts the car back up, driving Joseph and John back to their homes. John to his ranch house and Joseph up to his church, where he has a cot in the back of it. The sun is starting to come up when Jacob drops him off at the church compound, before driving back to Saint Francis. 

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Joseph is quick to return to his quarters, a headache starting to creep up along his temples. He changes for bed, then kneels before his bed, bowing his head for prayer and folding his hands together. Hands pressed together tightly, his rosary pressing into his skin. 

And he prays. 

He prays for John to find his way, to battle his sin and win the fight. 

He prays for Jacob to one day fully let go and accept the word. 

He prays for Faith not to stray from the path. 

He prays for his flock and family, he prays for their faith not to wane, he prays for them to be strong enough to weather the collapse, he prays for the persecution of his family to end, and he prays that he can save more souls; specifically the junior deputy. That he can find a way to reach her heart, help her see her gift, and learn the importance of her role before it’s too late. 

Then a sharp pain shoots from his temple across the rest of his head, like lightning shooting through his skull. The darkness of his closed eyes fades away into a new world, a vision of New Eden, a paradise he’s been shown and promised so many times he knows the sight of it by heart. The bright blooming pink flowers and modest homemade homes of a commune, a return to nature, to innocence. 

His family and flock there, older versions of themselves, dressed in more rustic handmade clothes. Less clear and less certain than last time. But he sees John, Jacob, and Faith with children clinging and playing around them. And he can’t explain the feeling, that they’re all his children but his siblings as well. 

The five year old boy with a head of dark curls and blue eyes that looks so much like Joseph as a child, the boy who called him papa. 

A girl around three with bright ginger hair, a face covered in freckles. She grins and blinks, sun in her eyes. She reminds him so much of Jacob, head held high with a crown of red. 

Maybe a year younger, another girl has straight dark brown hair and big wide blue eyes. Eyes that remind him so entirely of the young baby brother he cooed at as a child. 

The oldest of them, clings to an older Faith’s skirt. A young boy of ten maybe tweleve, so much older than the smaller children. Hair dark as pitch, olive skin, and green eyes setting him apart. He looks different from the others, perhaps his family tie not one forged by blood. 

His family, those he has now and those he will gain, the family he will be gifted. But, there’s something missing…. Pieces of the puzzle not yet in place. 

Weak clumsy fingers grab onto his bed as his vision subsides, the reality of the world he’s still in returning to him. His head pounds and throbs, agony radiating throughout it, as the collapse draws closer his visions are getting more and more frequent. He can only hope as he falls into bed that he’s keeping himself and his family on the right path to find paradise.

[gardenofdelight]

✨OC Questionnaire: Peaseblossom✨

a.k.a. Pixie Reader from Fairies May Cry

Full name

???????????????

Preferred name/nickname

Lil Pea, Lil Blossom, Sweet Pea

Generally referred to as

Peaseblossom

Appearance

FACECLAIM: Here’s a portrait I made using Artbreeder:

SEX: Female

HEIGHT: Just barely 5 inches in pixie form, 5 feet in human form.

WEIGHT: Light as a feather in pixie form, lightweight in human form.

BUILD: Lithe and slender.

HAIR: long, soft, and platinum blond. Usually braided with tiny flowers, but it comes down past her bottom when loose. 

SKIN: White. Smooth and sunkissed from daily naps under the sun. 

EYES: Purple like lilac flowers.They’re a bit wide and always seem to sparkle with mirth and mischief. Long eyelashes.

MOUTH: Small mouth with plump lips. Perfectly straight teeth and pure white. 

NOSE: Small and rounded with a cute point at the tip and small nostrils.

HANDS: Small with short fingernails.

FEET: Small and dainty with short nails. 

SCARS: None.

CLOTHES: Colorful dresses handmade from real flowers, but she prefers to be nude with a sprinkling of her fairy dust on her body most of the time

OTHER FEATURES: She has 2 pairs of iridescent wings much like a dragonfly.

OTHER NOTABLE FEATURES: She has a “fairy light” that changes color depending on her current mood.

Speech

VOICECLAIM: To be determined.

ACCENT: Fairly neutral.

VERBAL TICS: She has a tendency to repeat words when she’s overly excited about something. And she stumbles over her words when taken by surprise. 

LANGUAGE: She can speak all known languages so long as she can hear it verbally first thanks to a little fairy magic.

ARTICULATION: She can be a little clumsy with words while explaining things but she does so on purpose sometimes if she’s hoping to get the upper hand in a deal. 

EDUCATION: She prefers to use short and simple words but she’s learned a few big words that are hard for her to pronounce correctly.

LAUGHTER: Sounds like the tinkling of tiny bells in the wind, and she laughs and giggles a lot everyday.

GRUMP: She pouts, grumbles, and sneers whenever she’s annoyed or angry.

BREATHING: She gasps, humphs, and sighs a lot.

Mannerisms

FACE: She has a very expressive face and has a hard time hiding emotions on her face unless she’s working out a deal...then she has the best damn poker face in existence. 

HANDS: She makes a lot of hand gestures whenever she’s excited or mad. Lots of arm crossing, finger wagging, curious poking, and happy clapping.

LEGS/FEET: She kicks her feet sometimes while flying and stomps her foot down when she’s angry.

EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS: Her capricious nature makes her very prone to emotional outbursts. Crying and yelling when she’s upset and laughing and bouncing around when she’s happy.

HABITS: She likes to hum sometimes while hunting for lost trinkets and sing lullabies while making flower dresses. 

POSTURE: She tends to slump a little while standing or sitting, but her posture straightens out whenever she’s very happy, angry, or taken by surprise.

WALKING POSTURE: She skips around gleefully when she’s in good, but she tends to stomp around when she’s in a bad mood. 

SITTING POSTURE: She likes to sit with her legs crossed beneath her with a slouched posture. 

PERSONAL SPACE: She doesn't have much of a personal bubble and tends to encroach on others’ personal space without realizing it.

SPACIAL AWARENESS: She’s really good at noticing what’s around her thanks to her constant hunt for the next best trinket.

OTHER: Her fairy light changes color depending on her mood. And her fairy wings tend to snap out when she’s surprised, droop when she’s feeling down, and flutter faster when they're buzzing with rage.

Health

DIET: Two words: liqueur and sweets! She loves fruity wines and sugary treats...it’s not really healthy and definitely not a well-balanced diet but pixies have an extremely high metabolism. She rarely eats vegetables and scoffs at anything boring and bitter.

SLEEP: She takes a lot of short naps throughout the day. Pixies don’t sleep for very long unless they’re completely exhausted. Many of her dreams consist of brave adventures with her trusty steed (a rat named Sir Hawthrone) and romantic dances with Pretty Boy (Vergil). 

EXERCISE: Not very much but flying around and searching through all the nooks and crannies for lost trinkets is a bit of an exercise! 

ACTIVITY: She works hard when she wants to, especially if she’s really excited about something...that’s usually when she pushes herself to exhaustion. But she can be pretty lazy some days...it all just depends on her mood at the moment.

CLEANLINESS: She bathes in the morning dew she creates every morning for her flowers. But sometimes she takes a shower with Pretty Boy when he’s not looking…!

ODOUR: Like a meadow of sweet flowers by a tranquil pond.

MEDICINAL DRUGS: No.

NARCOTICS: No.

ADDICTIONS: No...unless you count the obsessive need to make deals and having a sweet tooth as an addiction. 

ILLNESS: No.

INJURIES: No.

PARASITES: No.

OTHER: To be determined.

Personal

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT?: She’s an exuberant extrovert. Lil Pea doesn’t let her small size get in the way of being social and outgoing, especially when it comes to things that pique her curiosity.

OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: Definitely an optimist. 

GENDER: Female.

SEXUALITY: She has no set preference in regards to sex and/or gender. So long as they’re a very nice person with a kind soul. Any display of intentional cruelty or just general “meanie-ness” will make her look the other way.

ROMANTIC: Absolutely loves all the romance! 

MEMORY: She has a very chaotic memory, usually wavering between highly accurate to absurdly silly.

PLANNING: She’s a terrible planner and just leaps right into things with a wide grin.

PENSIVE: She doesn’t spend a lot of time pondering about life...she’d much rather live in the now and not then or yet to come.

INTUITION: She has really good intuition so long as she isn’t figuring things out on an empty stomach.

PROBLEM SOLVING: She’s very good at solving puzzles and problems so long as it's very clever or in rhyming form.

GOALS: To find the greatest lost trinket in the world! 

INSECURITIES: She thinks her wings aren’t as pretty as some of the other fairies with their beautiful butterfly wings. But she hides her insecurities well behind her cute and bubbly personality.

ACHIEVEMENTS: She’s very proud of her trinket collection and her ability to make Pretty Boy blush!

ANXIETY: Being trapped like a bug in a jar and Pretty Boy being in danger makes her super anxious.

OVERWHELMED: She only feels like things are too much when she’s stressed out.

SELF-HELP: She simply ignores her problems and moves on with life.

COMFORTS: Liquor, sweet treats, naps among the flowers, and Pretty Boy kisses.

BAD HABITS: She tends to exaggerate a lot which sometimes leads to more problems.

PHILOSOPHY: Not religious but does follow the creed of all fairies: always seek to make clever deals through trickery and under no circumstances are you to break a deal.  

TRIGGERS: Glass jars and bird cages.

The Past

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: She doesn’t have parents per se...more like a mysterious guardian who brought her into existence with powerful magic. And they get along very well but haven’t seen each other in over a millennium.

SCHOOL: She never went to school...unless you count causing mischief a few times during some classes to make children laugh at the teacher’s expense.  

ADOLESCENCE: She was never an adolescent. 

LEAVING HOME: It was very exciting for her the first time since she’s always heard how much the mortal realm can be! But then she became a permanent resident when she escaped from the mages holding her captive. 

FURTHER EDUCATION: She never went to college but wouldn’t mind causing some mischief there too.

FIRST JOB: She helped her guardian with his garden by tending to the flowers. She enjoyed putting dew on the blooms every morning and healing to sickly buds with her bell-like singing. 

LIFE EVENTS: Making a deal with one of the Princes of the Seelie Court definitely brought more cheer into her life. But having that same Prince fail to protect her when she got captured by mages and enduring captivity brought pain and sorrow. And now finding a new protector has renewed her hope and continues to bring her joy every day.

WORST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: She was captured by mage and held prisoner for various vile experiments.

BEST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: Pretty Boy kissed her back.

LESSONS: Never trust someone solely on their looks...you must peer into their soul and judge them by their spirit. Never hide in the dark alone. Don’t eat too much strawberry ice cream or else you’ll suffer from the worst stomach EVER! And it only takes one fairy’s sugar to make Pretty Boy smile and sometimes blush!

LOOKING BACK: If Lil Pea could re-play her life and do something differently, she would’ve not joined the Prince’s revelry in the mortal world that fateful day.

Relationships

FAMILY: The crew at Devil May Cry are pretty much her family now.

FRIENDSHIPS: She has a lot of friends! Most of them are critters living in and around the shop...but they’re very loyal and love to go on adventures with her.

FRIENDS IN NEED: She will always be there for her friends with fairy dust to cheer them up...she’ll also offer to even the score if someone is the source of her friend’s troubles. This usually involves some elaborate pranks and tiny raspberries right in their face.

NEEDING A FRIEND: She usually seeks the comfort of her flowers and critter friends first...but sometimes she’ll go to her human friends when she needs help or advice. It just depends on her mood at the time. 

ANNOYANCES: She gets annoyed very easily but reciprocates with swift pranks and raspberries right in the face when really irked.

ROMANCE: She’s a bit overt with her advances and has no problem giving her romantic interest pretty gifts. She’s attracted to people with a good and just soul...and being tall and strong doesn’t hurt either.

MARITAL PROBLEMS: She’s not married but she’d probably ignore the problem until forced to deal with it...and then her capriciousness would take over and it’ll either turn out very good or very bad but confusing nonetheless.

ADVERSARIES: She doesn’t like big meanies who ruin all the fun! 

ENEMIES: Anyone who would hurt Pretty Boy or defenseless animals and children is an enemy to her. She also gets VERY angry when flowers are needlessly destroyed. 

STRANGERS: She tends to hide from strangers since you never know if they’re real nice or a big meanie!

FUN STUFF: She loves to sing, dance, pull pranks, hunt for lost trinkets, make pretty dresses, and feast on all the sweets and booze!

DATING: She loves to dance with her romantic partner and will always be ready for a feast with good booze. But she finds a stroll among the flowers and fireflies at night very romantic.

BEST FRIEND: Her trusty rat steed, Sir Hawthorne...but Scruffy Boy and Sweet Lady have become close friends too!

LOVE: Her devilish protector will always have her tiny heart.

WORST ENEMY: Anyone who has terrible manners and harms flowers or Pretty Boy.

Interactions

MINGLING: She gets along with others so long as they have good manners and aren’t big meanies!

COMFORT LEVELS: She’s comfortable talking to people but will steer the conversation by any means necessary if they stumble upon a touchy subject. The only time she’s uncomfortable is when people ask too many questions or focus too much on the past and future.

PHYSICAL: She’s very touchy-feely! Loves to give hugs and poke noses no matter her size at the moment.

GROUPS: She’s comfortable in a big group so long as she knows everybody, but even that doesn’t stop her since she’s very good at hanging around while not being noticed. But sometimes she wants to spend time alone with one or two people who’ll give her plenty of attention. 

OPENNESS: She opens up very easily up to a certain extent. It’ll take some patience and gentle prying to get her to talk openly up about her past.

GENEROSITY: She likes to give gifts to those who prove a friend to the Fae. She’d gladly lend money to a friend...so long as they make a deal with her in return. And it makes her very happy to receive gifts from others. 

JEALOUSY: Anyone that takes her Pretty Boy’s attention away from her makes her feel incredibly jealous! But pulling a few pranks on the offender always makes her feel better.

TEMPER: She’s easily worked up thanks to the capricious nature of pixies.

EMPATHY: She can empathize but sometimes she doesn’t understand the reasons behind some mortal’s feelings, which leads to a misunderstanding if no one explains.

AFFECTION: Lots of hugs and “fairy’s sugar” with the occasional gift or helping hand with her fairy dust.

DISTASTE: Her fairy light will flash red as she blows many raspberries right in their face...and a few pranks if she REALLY dislikes someone.

ETIQUETTE: She has very good manners just like any fairy worth their salt! But most mortals don’t know the proper etiquette of the Fae...which may look very rude and inappropriate to them.

RESPONSIBILITY: She doesn’t like to admit when she’s wrong but will face the music when it all falls apart. Then, she’ll try to make up for her mistakes by any means possible.

SELF ESTEEM: She’s always had to stick up for herself until meeting the Prince since many of the Fae treat fairies born through non-fairy magic like her very poorly.

CONFIDENCE: She’s very confident in herself and her abilities despite being treated differently from her own kind.

HONESTY: She always speaks her mind unless she’s up to some mischief or feels that it might upset someone.

LEADER OR FOLLOWER: She’s a little of both. She usually follows but can take the lead if needed.

PARTY TRICKS: She’s an expert trinket finder, flower dressmaker, and can put dew on all the flowers in a meadow before the first ray of sunrise! And she also knows how to make pretty half devils blush.

PRAISE: Compliments and praise make her fairy light turn pink with joy.

FAILURES: Her capricious attitude can be irritating to some but her constant need to pull pranks is highly annoying.

CRITICISM: She doesn’t take criticism very well...she’d either burst into tears or swear pretty pixie vengeance on the unfortunate critic!

INSULTS: It depends on who’s insulting her. She’ll fire back with one of her inventive insults at some, but then get teary eyed at others.

EMBARRASSMENT: She’s not easily embarrassed but it still happens whenever she’s taken by surprise. Her fairy light turns pink and red as she scurries away to hide whenever she’s embarrassed.

FLIRTING: She’s VERY flirty...absolutely adores the way people light up and blush at her cute compliments.

ATTENTION SPAN: She has a very short attention span and tends to get  easily distracted.

SITUATIONS: She’s very good at breaking up difficult situations but has a hard time dealing with them through patient conversation.

Life

CAREER: Expert trinket finder and very pretty pixie for Pretty Boy! It’s a very fulfilling career for a fairy.

PROMOTION: She’s eyeing the promotion known as “girlfriend” at the moment.

BOSS: She has a great relationship with her boss so long as she doesn’t tease him too much.

DUTY: She assists Pretty Boy with her unique talents and magical fairy dust.

TECH: She has no idea how to use modern technology but would find it very fascinating if she ever gave it a try!

POLITICS: Not political at all.

COMBAT SKILLS: She’s very good at blinding people with her fairy dust and is proficient in mounted combat on her ratty stead with her needle sword.

HOME: She keeps her personal space very tidy and filled with many different flowers.

DAILY LIFE: She goes through her day-to-day tasks with an eager wonder of unknown adventures that might happen along the way.

INDEPENDENCE: Very independent since escaping the mages to live in the human world.

COOKING: She can’t really cook but loves to help from time to time by sprinkling her fairy dust over food.

BUILDING: She can’t do basic DIY but she tries to help with her fairy magic!

CLEANING: She always tries to keep her personal space clean but her fairy dust remains always present all over her pile of flowers where she usually sleeps.

SHOPPING: She doesn’t really shop due to her small stature and shyness around a group of strangers, but she likes to accompany her friends on shopping trips. But if she ever got her hands on some funds while in her bigger form...Ooh she’d be the most impulsive buyer in the human world!

DRIVING: She doesn’t know how to drive but it always looked like so much fun whenever she rode in the van with Crazy Lady and Baby Boy!

FINANCES: She has the biggest trinket hoard in all the shop! But she doesn’t quite understand why mortals value pieces of paper with pictures of old people.

MARRIAGE: Not married. She doesn’t know why mortals need a huge ceremony to spend eternity together, but she loves all the pretty dresses and flowers at weddings!

KIDS: No kids. And she has no plans to have kids herself, but she loves to make children smile and laugh with her mischievous antics.

PETS: No pets. 

DEPENDANTS: No.

LAW: To human standards? Definitely. But to fairy standards? No.

COURT: She’s never been to court. 

PRISON: No.

TRAVELLING: She’s been to many places around various worlds and different realities.

MEDICAL: She doesn’t trust doctors and always makes sure to have an apple on hand whenever someone needs to keep them away.

ILLNESS: No.

WORRIES: She worries for Pretty Boy whenever nightmares plague his dreams at night.

PEACE: She doesn’t mind peace and quiet but there’s music in the air around her thanks to her own whimsical singing.

PARTYING: She LOVES to go out partying whenever possible! There’s nothing like a good revel with lively music and vast feasts!

HOBBIES: She collects lost trinkets, makes dresses out of flowers, and finds mischief in the unlikeliest places!

[lily-of-the-eyrie]

🎓🔍 Scene Commentary: Colonel Edition ③

Notes for [SQ3-3] Circumstances [video here]. Come join me as we talk about more theories surrounding the Colonel’s manipulation skills, hints about his history before Shay met him, and Gist being charmingly sassy.

Highlights this time include: 　❗️The Colonel's Finances 　❗️Gist and the Colonel

Without further ado, here we go:

[SQ3-3] Circumstances

― Part I: Heading to Albany ― Shay, having retrieved the Morrigan, follows Gist's advice to set sail for Albany, where the Colonel's waiting.

　The Colonel himself isn't present while Shay and Gist are on the way to Albany, but on the flipside, we got this great opportunity to see these two gossiping about the man.

　Gist opens the scene pondering out loud what the Colonel might want them to do next. Now this bit is mildly amusing because he said "I wonder what he has in mind for us to do next"―did Gist just...slip up? Shay naturally went wdym-"us"-👀 at him over here, because he's pretty sure he hasn't signed up to be part of their team...

　Still, Gist doesn't even trip over his words as he follows up with how he's really just all giddy about doing his part in making the Colonel's ideals a reality. Aside from the impressive save he pulls here, another highlight of this section is that Gist frames "the Colonel's ideals" in extremely concrete terms: "secure borders, prosperous farms, fair trade". These are very specific large-scale implementations of the Freedom From Want theme compared to what we heard from the Colonel himself two chapters back, which was more on the philosophical/ideological side.

　Next up, the Morrigan docks at Albany, where the Colonel's waiting. I just have to say that it's incredibly cute of the Colonel to address Shay as "Captain Cormac" following Gist's example after seeing the Morrigan.

　The issue on the table for their meeting this time is the French forces' movements into British territory, which is likely to break out into a full fight between the two kingdoms' armies. Now watch how Shay wound up working with these two again despite the question of him agreeing to run for more of the Colonel's errands was left hanging at the beginning of this scene: the moment the Colonel mentions that "New York could burn" if they don't do anything about the French forces encroaching upon British territory, Shay throws his weight in with them.

　We've already established that Shay's the kind of person who cares about the little guy, so this isn't all that unnatural; especially now that he's a good friend of the Finnegans', not doing anything when New York's at risk is going to sound unreasonable to him.

　However, the audience isn't the only one who understands this―at this point, so does the Colonel. After what happened at the Greenwich gang HQ and Fort Arsenal, he knows for a fact that Shay isn't going to turn his back on a chance to save innocent people. Did he, then, strategically bait Shay by presenting the fact that New York is in terrible danger and joining him is the best way to save all those townspeople? Or was it just something he said because he's also the kind of guy who's concerned for the safety of New York etc., and by saying this he's also trying to communicate to Shay that their goals are aligned? The trick to this is that of course these two possibilities don't have to be mutually exclusive―I'd say the Colonel feels that he knows Shay well enough at this point that he'd want to both get Shay to help him out while also letting him pursue what seems to be his calling.

― Part II: Gathering Supplies ― Shay and Gist, having reunited with the Colonel, head to a nearby French outpost to gather supplies and thwart French expansion into the River Valley.

　In order to dislodge the invading French forces, Gist then suggests that they raid a nearby French outpost for supplies. The trio covers a range of interesting topics during their time sailing to that outpost, chief among which is Shay's skepticism towards the Colonel's intentions behind all his seemingly charitable actions. This is an important bit for two reasons:

(1) Despite all they've done together so far, Shay doesn't stop questioning Monro. He's cooperative with the Colonel, sure, but just because he kinda sorta trusts that he's not a bad guy right now, that doesn't mean he's going to do whatever he says until he gets to the bottom of why he does it.

(2) The Colonel, again, calmly faces off against Shay's doubt by being straight with what he wants: that the colonies become "a place of safety, development, and purpose". Now this is something literally every one of us recognizes as a Templar Line™, even if Shay might not (did he? Hmmm). In any case, the most important takeaway here is that it strongly links the Colonel's concern for the common man with core Templar tenets, giving us a clear look into his personal take on how the Order's beliefs were meant to be applied to the world. He's not part-timing “being a Templar” half the time and “being a benevolent authority figure” in the other half, those two things are one and the same for him.

　On a random note: I’m just gonna mention here that Gist being cheeky as hell with the Colonel's noble "money is only a means to an end" talk in this bit is hands down my favourite part of this scene.

❗️The Colonel's Finances

　On a more serious note, the Colonel's comment on how he's "not a rich man" did get me wondering about his financial situation... I mean, obviously he's not dirt poor, and while there's that idea that Templars tend to be loaded, he doesn't look like he's just rolling in gold, either.

　Realistically speaking, being a military officer in the early 18th century can be a rather pricey career―the pay's far from great, and with all the spending for supplies and equipments, it can be quite a while until even the officers could expect to turn a profit from their job (one exhaustive source about the economics of the 18th c. British Army I’ve read pegged it at around the time they get promoted to Captain). And while the Colonel did come from what you might call a respectable family, it’s more of a modest than aristocratic one.

　However, assuming he's a long-time player in the field of renovating cities, a.k.a. the sidequest that, in the long run, gives you way more money than you know what to do with in Rogue, I guess his finances are quite stable. Now the question is, how much of those renovating gains he put back into more renovating... 😂

― Part III: Taking Down the French Fort ― Having obtained their supplies, Shay & co. sail the upgraded Morrigan to the French fort and take it down.

　With the party ready to take on the French fort, we see the Colonel show a pacifist streak as he reins in Gist, who was being a little too excited about the prospect of throwing fists with the French. Really, these two have such amusing interactions.

　Next, he shows a strategic side as he agrees with Shay's suggestion about taking out the fort's commander to force the French to surrender; he may not be against pitching a battle when necessary, but he also seems to be a big fan of minimizing the overall casualties.

　One really paltry but personally highly interesting thing I picked up in this scene is how the Colonel, commenting on how the French soldiers in the fort would put on an aggressive defense under pressure, said they'd just "dig in like a wounded bear", which does sound like an uncommon expression... I mean, "like a wounded animal" is something anyone can say, but him specifying "bear" over there just makes it sound like he'd gone up against one himself before. Considering he’d likely not have met a bear before he got to the colonies (bears had been extinct a long time in Britain and Ireland), if he did have a bear encounter, it must’ve been after 1750... Did you get chased around by this fuzzy creature in the frontier's wilderness at some point before you settled down in New York, Colonel? 😂

❗️Gist and the Colonel

　Since the amount of interaction the Colonel has with Gist is second only to his interactions with Shay, analyzing how things are between these two can tell us quite a lot about the Colonel's personality.  

　First, it's obvious that these two are close friends―the kind of relaxed bantering they have on board the Morrigan sounds pretty much on par with what Shay's got going on with Liam, which isn't all that surprising considering Gist and the Colonel had known each other (and presumably worked together) for 6 years at this point.

　Still, while the Colonel may be the older and higher-ranking of the two (ie.-He is Gist’s senior in both the military sense and the Templar one), therefore putting a clear superior-subordinate dynamic at play here, you don't see the Colonel trying to roast his colleague for stepping out of line (which he clearly does all the time, judging by his behaviour in this chapter), and what he does when Gist gets a little too rowdy is to gently but firmly prod him back onto the proper path. Maybe it's just his brand of leadership, but he displays similar tendencies when dealing with Shay, who has his default setting set to "unruly" most of the time. He’s clearly skilled at handling people much more hot-blooded than himself, and has a good hang of how to be an authority figure while still standing on the ground with his subordinates instead of putting himself on some distant, overbearing pedestal—honestly, a pretty good way to end up with their respect and loyalty.

　Another highlight is Gist's adoration of the Colonel's ideals. Now I think we all know that the Colonel's utopian take on Templar ideals is one of his greatest charms, but what I'd want to bring up here is the fact that, if Shay followed the Colonel because he was inspired by the man's idea of making a better world, he wouldn't have been the first―Gist had been there before, citing how he used to wonder if he’s doing the right thing, but “not since [he] met the Colonel” . I'm not saying that the Colonel's deliberately going out there to steal people's hearts with his brand of Templar beliefs, but judging from his success at inspiring Gist (and presumably Finnegan Jr.) into joining his fight, his winning Shay over to his side isn't a one-off thing.

[mysticmelove]

Hello! Can you write smth spicy about Jumin and MC? For example, when Jumin punishes her for bad behavior or when he treats her like a kitten. Or when his another kinks appearing. Thank you~

*Once again I can’t tag this as NSFW because it will get flagged immediately, please read at your own discretion. It’s not too kinky but I hope you like it x

Temptation

(Jumin x MC) [NSFW]

.

Marrying Jumin came with the upmost need to accept that occasionally his job would have to come before his home life. MC was his everything, yes, but he relied on his job. As to be expected, under those circumstances, sometimes MC was reluctant to accept his stance on his work- she could be undoubtedly selfish when it came to Jumin. She knew it was wrong but, if she could, she’d ban business trips all together so she could spend those days alone with him. Spend those days and nights cherishing the gift that was her husband and forgetting anything that could have troubled them. It didn’t take inference to know they were both happiest in each other’s company, which is why the business trips caused such a strain.

The weekends away she could handle, no problem with that, she’d just go out with a few friends and let the thought leave her mind. Yet, the trips that lasted weeks became almost agonising to not only her but the both of them. They could phone each other, video chat, whatever, but it all lacked intimacy. Jumin’s words were poetic and graced her ears like velvet but his touch was something much more to be desired. His lips were softer than those of any other man, his touch more experienced, he knew everything about her, his mere presence was one of the best feeling she could ever experience. But, most of all, it was the little moments she enjoyed; the way her heart fluttered as she’d lay on his chest, no words were spoken but she knew how he felt, his hand holding her bare skin tenderly; or the way a sigh would pass his lips quietly as he stroked a hand through her hair. The little moments were nice, but intimacy is intimacy and neither of them were complaining.

6 weeks of Jumin being in the States had the both of them reeling; they spoke on the phone every night and MC wasn’t afraid to voice her frustrations to him, but Jumin was keen to keep his to himself. It was easier to focus on his work if he ignored his desires to the best of his ability, still MC made that very difficult for him most of the time. In the first few weeks there was no mention of sex or anything of the sort but that was soon forgotten with the distance growing between them each day. She gave up on hiding just how pent up she was and Jumin was eventually graced by the angelic sound of his wife’s moans, not to mention her lewd messages throughout the day. Never once had he imagined when they first got married that he’d end up having phone sex with MC but it did happen- on multiple occasions in fact- and he had no problems with it, other than it being a complete distraction to his work. It was only buildup for what was to come when he returned home: he promised her that constantly.

As a man true to his word, Jumin wasted no time returning to the penthouse once his plane had landed. He’d even phoned her the second he landed, despite the fact it was well past midnight, telling her to ‘expect something special’. Despite that, it was MC who had really wanted to surprise her husband. She’d gone out of her way, while he was off on his trip, to buy new lingerie to surprise him with. White lace and ribbons, the type he was particularly fond of, accompanied by her silk gown left open: all waiting for him when he’d return home.

No time was wasted as Jumin stepped through the door. He’d instructed his suitcases to be dealt with at some other time- this time being reserved for his wife and his wife only- and his coat had been abandoned within seconds. Elizabeth was the first to greet him, purring magnificently as she weaved between his legs. Jumin’s lips curled up gently as she knelt down to her level and stroked through her coat. “Oh, I missed you, princess,” he tilted her head up to gaze into her marble-like eyes, “I missed my other princess too...”

“And she missed you more than words can explain,” MC’s tone was low, sensual, as it drew Jumin’s eyes immediately. His angel stood in the doorway of their bedroom all in white- fitting really- and looking as gorgeous as ever. She looked to him, doe eyed, “I really missed you, Jumin...”

He chuckled lowly, rising to his feet without shifting his gaze from her for a moment, “I know, I think you made that crystal clear in our many conversations, my love.” His eyes took in every inch of her, basically devouring her from where he stood, and he couldn’t help but ignore his surroundings as he moved towards her. “You look beautiful, kitten,” he cooed gently as he twirled her hair between his fingers, “Just how I like it.”

He didn’t hesitate to tug at one of the ribbons on her shoulder, causing the strap of her brassiere to come loose. MC blushed, letting his hands trace the lines of her collarbones, “I wanted to please you... remind you of what you missed?”

“You needn’t remind me, princess.” Jimin whispered lowly as he guided her back against the wall, his nose a hairs away from her’s and his eyes cast down on her. “I know exactly what belongs to me.” His slender fingers threaded through her silky hair and her eyes fell shut, waiting for his embrace silently. Their lips danced together, Jumin’s free hand wandering its way around MC’s back and holding her gently. She whined as Jumin pulled away, his forehead pressed to hers, he’d been home for less than 5 minutes but there was no denying they were both already hot and bothered, and it appeared Jumin was lacking his usual patience. “Let’s move this to the bedroom; maybe you can make up for all the torture you’ve put me through.”

“Torture?” MC’s voice cracked slightly as she questioned him, subtly pulling her robe back up to her shoulder from where it had slipped.

“Your phone calls, your photos,” he pressed: “I don’t think you’ve left my mind since I left and it’s torture to me.” He stepped back to admire her again, loosening his tie with a tense fist. “You know what happens when you tempt me.”

“Maybe...” she teased, bright eyed as she fiddled with the free ribbon between her fingers.

Jumin scoffed with a smile, running his fingers through his hair with ease. “That wasn’t very good of you, kitten. Run along, before you make things worse than they have to be.”

Maybe she did want things worse however; ‘worse’ meant more attention, negative or positive it was still attention. MC loved any attention he would give her, regardless. He followed her intently into the dimly lit room, his eyes widening at the sight of rose petals scattered across the room- accompanied by what seemed like dozens of candles. He hadn’t imagined she would have gone to so much effort but he appreciated all the work she had put it to make it as romantic as possible. With care, he approached her from behind and wrapped his protective arms around her. He pressed his lips to her neck, “This is lovely, kitten.” She shuddered in his hold as his teeth wandered down, settling on the remaining ribbon over her shoulder. Jumin’s grasp only seemed to grow tighter as he freed her from her straps, leaving the mesh material of her bra almost useless. Begrudgingly, he removed his lips from her supple skin and whispered sweetly: “I had other things in mind, my love, but I think I’d much rather treat you like the princess you are right now.”

Setting her free, he took a generous step back from her; stripping the silk gown from her back and taking with him, setting it on the bed beside him as he sat down. He rested back on his hands, gesturing with a nod for to take a seat, his eyes never faltering from her natural beauty. MC’s smile radiated as she moved towards the bed. Her body felt to be full of confidence as she straddled her husband’s lap, outstretching her arms and placing them over his shoulders. Jumin loved her little tendencies- so feline like and adorable. Humming, she dragged one of her hands down his chest, gripping at his shirt, and moved her lips to barely hover against his, “I love you.”

“I love you too, princess.” His eyes contrasted his words, so dark and unforgiving yet his voice as smooth as anything. Jumin’s lips crashed into her’s, savouring every second of their contact after so many weeks of being apart. Both of MC’s hands seemed to find their way to his shirt, unbuttoning it carelessly as they grew closer and closer. Jumin paid no mind to her actions, simply smiling as she let herself free on his torso. Having let his shirt fall free, her hands wandered his chest, her nails leaving light scratches, before they ended up wrapped firmly around his neck and in the hair on the nape of his neck. In response, Jumin bit teasingly at her bottom lip, one of his hands creeping up her back, until she finally gave in and let his tongue explore her mouth without consequence. His hand rested on the clasp of her bra, undoing it with ease as he pulled away from her lips. “You’re so precious,” he murmured between deep breaths, “Not always best behaved, but precious nonetheless, kitten.”

MC lifted herself onto her knees, lips parted and wet, before lowering herself back down on his groin. She stifled a moan as she rubbed against his growing bulge, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip and her eyes scrunching shut. Jumin admired that face he had missed; he heard her through his phone speaker, of course, but he had missed the way her eyebrows would furrow whenever she’d moan. He encouraged her to continue, chasing that face, as he rolled his own hips below her. “I missed that face... Please, let me hear you, kitten...” he drew her face up to his between his index finger and thumb. Her eyes were glazing already, tempted by the encroaching ecstasy.

“Would that make you happ— ah...” she tried to be cocky but her husband wouldn’t allow that, he had her breasts groped in his hands quicker than he could comprehend.

“You make me happy, princess... Your obedient, pretty little self...” One hand remained on her chest, pinching and twisting at her nipple, while his other stroked through her hair tenderly. His eyes drifted to her lips, her breath slightly ragged, “Do you know how beautiful you are, kitten? ...So very... very beautiful...” She smiled at his comment before he could force his lips onto her again- their kiss sloppy and desperate. Jumin loved the way she’d moan into his mouth if he pinched exceptionally hard or he rubbed her the wrong way, she wouldn’t hold back if that it what he wanted.

MC pulled away, panting and whining, while her hand ventured down to his belt buckle. She looked to his grey eyes and mewled: “Please...” He groaned at the sound of her begging; it was a trigger for him whether she knew it or not- he could get off to that alone. “Please, Jumin... I can’t wait...”

He watched, intrigued, as she fiddled with his belt on her own accord, managing to eventually free him from that as well. With a grin, he aided her in removing his slacks and underwear enough for her to get to what she wanted. “Be patient, princess. You’ll get everything you want... You always will...” He kissed at her neck feverishly as he hooked a finger around the band of her underwear, tugging them with all the pent up force he had endured over the 6 weeks. MC was just as quick to guide him to her entrance, lowering herself onto him as she braced her head in the crook of his neck and cried out ever so slightly. She grasped onto the back of his shirt and scrunched it within her fists. Jumin lowered his head to her, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, “Kitten?”

With a struggled hum, MC nodded and allowed him to make the first move, her legs wrapping around his back. She moaned with each movement, eventually joining him to move her hips in time with his own. Jumin wasn’t one to moan, as such, during sex but he’d groan incessantly; all the while showering her with praise and complements on how good she was. He adored her inability to remain quiet in the slightest whenever she came close to a climax or how she got louder whenever he praised her- not that she would admit it. He loved being so near her, in her. She’d become reckless as she got closer and closer to her climax, begging him to go faster and harder, all the while trying to kiss him as much as she possibly could: almost incoherent words and pure moans. MC began her persistent begging as Jumin, too, was drawing ever closer. Their rhythm became messy and Jumin was doing all he could manage as he chased his high. “Jumin...! I– I...” MC cried out a symphony of moans as she finally came, writhing desperately in her husband’s strong hold. Jumin was soon to follow suit, burying his head in her shoulder and calling out her name in that low, incising tone.

Not too long after he’d finished, Jumin raised his head to look into her shining eyes. They panted together, smiling lovingly as if the world around them simply didn’t exist. He placed a hand on the soft skin of her blushed cheek and whispered quietly, only for her ears to hear, “I missed you... Don’t let me leave again, my love.”

[officialladynoirette]

I'm curious; what do you think Bridgette and Felix see in each other? Btw, love your blog and your AU. You quench my thirst for Duusu content.

Awww thank you! There isn’t enough Duusu in the world and I am glad to help remedy that.

And sadly all we have to go on is a short PV and headcanons but if I’m being honest I think when it comes to those two it’s a development across a period of time. And this is strictly development of feelings between Felix and Bri

I wrote WAY MORE than I expected

I can see Bridgette immediately being intrigued by Felix and can understand that there is more to him that meets the eye. It would be sort of a celebrity crush at first, since she isn’t blind to his less than amicable demeanor. She doesn’t strike me as a person to like someone mean spirited just cause he’s really pretty. She knows and has seen that he isn’t a mean or cold person but when people brush him the wrong way it seems like he is, and she notices people have a HUGE tendency in encroaching his personal bubble until he snaps at them. She’d respect his boundaries and after the initial ask out, she wants to offer her friendship rather than pursue something he’s uncomfortable with. 

For Felix, I can see him distrusting Bridgette in the beginning. His only friend is upon entering public school is Allegra and people would flock to him because of his ‘celebrity’ status. He’d be quick to nip all everyone’s excitement in the bud and he’s had his fair share of people superficially liking him to the point he doesn’t want to deal with people like that. When Bridgette invites him out and he says no, yeah she’ll be sad but she would respect his choice and stop there which he appreciates. As someone who is probably used to people stop interacting with him after he hisses at them for trying anything, Bridgette’s understanding makes him feel a little more at ease. Not to mention Allegra being friends with Bridgette is rather reassuring.

The PV group would hang out together, Allegra being Felix’s bff and coaxing him to come along, and migrates to Felix and Bri casually hanging out. Bridgette enjoys his dry humor and wit. She loves how he is unapologetically himself but a big enough person to realize when he’s wrong. She sees Felix’s affection in his attention to detail. Him bringing her tea instead of coffee in the morning, offering to go to her favorite cafe the next time they hang out, remembering her favorite flowers, its small and well meaning things that make her heart flutter a bit every time. He listens when she talks and where he’s silent, she finds she can talk about anything and everything. 

Meanwhile Felix is genuinely touched by how Bridgette acknowledges his boundaries and doesn’t cross them until he’s comfortable enough to allow her into his space. He comes to like her natural affection, he knows the hugs and touches aren’t with romantic intent but she’s just that kind of person. He doesn’t feel pressured to be something he’s not when she’s around and it’s all he can ask for. She isn’t afraid to voice her opinion around him and they both naturally bounce off each other. After a while he starts to look forward to spending time with her and enjoying her company 

Their relationship is one based off mutual respect and understanding the other person’s personalities and behaviors and i adore them. thank you for coming to my ted talk

[doshmanziari]

More is Not More || CV3

Castlevania 3: Dracula’s Curse has the reputation of being one of the series’ best entries, and I’d like to challenge that with a brief critique of its level design. CV3 has never inspired enthusiasm in me, and after playing through it four times -- as only Trevor, and with Sypha, Grant, and Alucard -- I like it even less. Past the first few, and quite good, stages, the general aim of CV3′s level design is to test sheer endurance. Obstacles’ extent and density take precedence over conciseness and meaningful iteration. This is not all the developers’ fault: the level design fundamentally has to cater to Trevor, whose mechanics are the same, and thus as severely limited, as Castlevania’s Simon, meaning that there are only so many sensible arrangements of architecture and enemy placement to work with. But it also derives from the game wanting to be as large as it is, stage-wise and overall. In another game this prolongation might not be as detracting. In CV3, though, it’s combined with a high level of latter difficulty and a number of stages whose settings are not interesting enough in themselves to be motivation for progressing.

An exemplary case of CV3′s excesses is below:

As you can see, there are four bone pillars which must be dealt with, one after the other. As you may also see, there is only one, the third, that does more than exist and is paired with some kind of level design: a pit close enough that getting hit by a fireball might result fatally (the pit to the left of the first is too far to be a reasonable threat). With four chances to iterate, then, within one of the last four stages, the game has opted to do the most basic thing, just once.

For a comparable, less aggravating, example, we could look to this portion from the ship stage to see lines of headless hunters demonstrating once again the game’s guiding quantitative principle -- of going on for no good reason. A vague effort is made to enliven this with discolored blocks that crumble when stood upon for too long, and, were they placed more thoughtfully, this could be a series of engaging encounters, but they have little to do with what’s where.

You might have noticed the couple of axe armors on the upper level from the first example not doing much. CV3 has hardly any idea what to do with its axe armors, maybe because their potential was nearly already exhausted in Castlevania’s pre-Death hallway, where they superbly mix with a regular stream of Medusa heads, exemplifying that game’s flow when its design compels you to keep pushing ahead (accordingly, after this, they do not return). So, most of the time you come across them in CV3, they appear as tired reprisals, all the more obviously exhausted because of how hardy they are. Castlevania’s took as many hits as they did because that hardiness allowed their peculiarities to thrive: how they back away as you advance, have a ranged attack that’s either mid or low, and cannot be jumped over. CV3 seems to bring them back just for their hardiness. Can you defeat one? two? three? How about four? Only three rooms after the one above, another couple is back in a scenario duplicating the one from block 7-0B: a flat walkway, nothing but the axe armors, one separated from the other by two blocks to be jumped over.

There isn’t a lot to say about the four screenshots above except that they all come from one stage, and are situationally identical. This is not so much a developing dialogue as much as the design irritatingly asking you, “Can you do this? ... again? ... and again? ... and again?” with no modulating inflection.

The same sort of principle is at play in level 6c’s first block. By now, CV3 should have certain expectations of the player’s initiation into the general design, and the development of their skill level, yet it continues to trend towards what we might call “manageable tedium.” Here are three skull swordsmen in a row with nothing to offer except being in your way. Worth noting is that the skull swordsmen, in themselves, are artificially additive; they are functionally the same as the headless hunters, but they take two hits to kill, rather than one.

Let’s redirect a bit. Level 5a starts with this set-up of a bone pillar five tiles away from a platform that will flip when a character lands on it, either from a jump or recoil. While ostensibly this is the level design on trainings wheels -- giving you a taste of what may be to come, safely -- this concept is right after just as ably expressed with another bone pillar, separated from you by a pit and with a flipping platform a couple of tiles away, to your left. So, in practice, the first photographed moment is brief yet attritional. Get within attack distance of the bone pillar and then, if you are Trevor and being careful with your hearts counter, jump-whip the pillar six times. Moreover, the stage does not go on to combine the bone pillars with this type of platform again, nullifying any instructive implications.

What it does go on to do, most significantly, is have a vertical forced-scrolling section that’s just as bad for technical limitations as it is for design decisions. To avoid dying, you have to outpace the bottom screen’s encroachment; but in a number of places, platforms which are close to the top of the screen, and may look unpopulated, will dump an enemy on top of you once the screen scrolls a bit more. On top of this, the designers inserted knights with highly arbitrary patrolling movements and a tendency to hover near a staircase’s top. This makes avoiding them or getting hit in a strictly timed sequence a toss-up. As if to prove its commitment to quantity over quality, CV3 repeats this room-type twice more, each instance introducing its own problematics. Block 7 overcomplicates with disintegrating blocks and waves of flying gargoyles, and block 9′s stretch, while the mildest of all, lets you get yourself into spots where avoiding a hit, if you don’t know which path to prioritize, is impossible (the righthand corner in the screenshot is not a safe spot, although it looks like one).

With all of this said and more to say, one of the objections might be that really no game can stand up to this level of scrutiny -- this expectation that everything should be instructive, as an anticipation of later machinations, or iterative, expressing all or most of the possibilities latent in an element. And I’d kind of agree. I don’t at all subscribe to the idea that any creative work should be cleansed of all “excesses.” The thing, though, is that CV3′s elevated reputation, in some ways relative to CV, CV2, and general attitudes about what the best “epic” sort of videogames look like, at least permits this scrutiny as a starting point which may be tempered with deeper dives. So, anticipate future pieces on CV3 looking at where it does work!

[popatochisssp]

How would each of them handle like...a crush confessing that they like em but also that theyre polyamorous? Like nervously asking to talk about about that and what theyre cool with? If any of em aren't down with that and are better off as friends how would that go? Or if they are then how would that go too?

Ultimately, I think all of them would be willing to try and work something out! Their s/o is important to them and they want to do this relationship with them the right way, and if polyamory is one of those things their s/o wants or needs, they’re all willing to try!

That said, some will probably have more difficulty than others with the concept:

Would probably be fine with it, the more the merrier: Sans (Undertale), Papyrus (Undertale), Papy (Horrortale Papyrus)

A little hesitant at first, but could eventually warm up to it: Paps (Underswap Papyrus), Rus (Swapfell Papyrus)

Would agree, but has some jealousy issues to look out for and manage: Sky (Underswap Sans), Jasper (Underfell Sans), Pyre (Underfell Papyrus), Mal (Swapfell Sans), Slate (Horrortale Sans)

Sans (Undertale): Very chill, once he knows his crush’s feelings toward him, he’s solid, other partners won’t affect him.

Papyrus (Undertale): Doesn’t think it’s unusual that his very incredible crush has more than one datemate and he’s very excited to be counted as one of them!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Really, he’s cool with it, he is! He’s just kinda clingy, he’s going to want to be with his crush a lot and might not like giving them up so they can have solo-time with another datemate. He’ll do alright as long as there’s lots of open communication about it, and if he gets his fair share of solo-time with them too, so he doesn’t feel like he’s being snubbed.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He’s a little wary going into it because…well, he’s never been in a poly relationship before, he doesn’t know…if there’s rules, or…? But once he gets the hang of how his crush handles their poly relationships, he’s fine, very minimally prone to jealousy and overall a pretty casual partner.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): He’s got a bit of a jealous streak, this one might be hard. Whether his crush actually picks favorites or not (and in healthy poly, they probably shouldn’t!), he’s going to at least want to feel like he’s their Number One and may do some sizing up of the ‘competition.’ If he’s satisfied that he could take his crush’s other partners in a fight or they’re just the type of person/people he doesn’t feel threatened by, it can work, but he’ll need a lot of reassurance that he’s special to his crush and can give them things those other guys/gals/nbs can’t. Otherwise, he’ll start to feel like he’s not good enough for them and ouch…

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Also kinda jealous but can be reasoned with, once he gets over his blustering ego. Knowing it’s something they really want, he can let these other partners be a thing…as long as he knows nothing about them, he wants no contact and no knowledge about those other people he’s sharing a s/o with, do not talk about those people while you’re with him! Time with him absolutely must be time with him or he’s going to get very upset about his territory being encroached upon– he can handle knowing his datemate has other partners as long as he has their complete focus while they’re together. Anything else and, well…there may be a fight about it and, if severe enough, a break-up to follow.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He takes a very business-like approach to this scenario, he can handle this, but! There has to be some ground-rules, very strict ones. Unlike Pyre, he wants to know everything about his crush’s other partners, and then he’s probably going to draft up a schedule to decide who gets time with them and for how long, just to make sure it’s all as evenly divvied up as it can be. If he has to share a partner with someone, it’s damn well going to be fair! He may also try to lay down some rules about places his crush can go with a partner other than him, for reputation reasons: he doesn’t want someone like Alphys seeing his date out with somebody else and thinking he’s being cheated on, it’d make him look weak and rumors are too deadly in his universe to risk that kind of thing! If his crush, or anybody else involved, doesn’t want to play by those rules and isn’t even willing to negotiate them to be a little more lax, then no chance, it’s over.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): A liiiiiittle unsure about it? Like Paps, he’s never really done this before, not sure how it works, but ultimately as long as his crush is still willing to show him a lot of love and make him feel like they care about him, he doesn’t mind too much who else is getting that love, too.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Has some jealousy issues, but they have a tendency to whip back around on himself. Seeing his crush with somebody else in that kind of way definitely makes him jealous, but then he feels like a jerk for feeling jealous and gets way into his own head and starts thinking really shitty things, like how they’d probably be better off without him anyway and he’s just dragging them down…. He’s gonna need a lot of cuddling and reassurance when he gets in those sulky moods so he doesn’t totally implode on himself with the self-worth stuff, but it could be doable.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): If that’s what his crush wants, he’s okay with it! He may want to meet the other person/people, but he recognizes his s/o is an autonomous person with wants and needs that maybe can’t be fulfilled by one person alone, so he doesn’t take it personally. He’s actually very grateful to his partner’s other datemates for being able to pick up the slack for him and fill whatever niches he might not be. There may be a little bit of jealousy buried in there somewhere, some subconscious whispering that he shouldn’t be surprised he’s not enough for his crush on his own, but he’s gotten pretty good at recognizing that whispering as shitty things his anxiety and self-esteem issues tell him that aren’t even a little bit true. Still, he could…maybe do with hearing it from time to time, that he’s loved and valued by his partner and none of their other partners invalidates that!

In the end though, I think a major factor is what kind of person/people the other partners are. Even the most jealousy-prone and up-tight of skeletons can come to terms with a poly relationship if they’re sharing their datemate with somebody they get along with, or at least somebody they can acknowledge as a decent person worthy of their crush’s time and attention.  There may have to be a ‘stay in your lane, I’ll stay in mine’ sort of agreement, but they could handle it!

By the same token, if there’s a big enough personality clash, even the chillest of skeletons is gonna have a hard time with a poly relationship. They could’ve gone into it totally fine until that other guy over there started being a dick and now they don’t feel comfortable being in the same relationship as him, and a million other things along those lines.

It’s something that’s hard to make a hard, generalizable statement on how it would turn out, but at the very least, they’re all willing to give it a shot! It’s not an instant deal-breaker for any of them!

[noccalula-writes]

Dry Skin Product Round-Up

At the suggestion/request of no one - I just love talking about this shit. 

In case some of my friends/followers on Tumblr get as super-dry in the face as I do in the winter, a quick PSA re: the best products I’ve found - 

When we made the move from Florida to Ohio, it meant experiencing my first /real/ winter. I grew up in southern Alabama, which def gets cold as fuck and has hard freezes but nothing prepared me for the reality of the heat constantly running high in my house, my car, every store I set foot in and my skin reacted accordingly. I have perfectly normally balanced but sensitive skin in the humid climates of my home but the second it drops below 60 here, my face becomes a leather boot and my hands turn into deadly weapons as the callouses on my fingers begin to break apart and snag on literally every fucking thing I touch. 

So, for my other sensitive dry-babies, I posit unto thee some recommendations (and a disclaimer that I don’t fuck with drugstore brands much given how shady their ingredients tend to be) from the list of things that helped save me from my scaly lizard future during my first transplanted winter and well into my second now. Keep in mind, there’s quite a bit of Lush here because I worked there - they’re out of my budget had I not had an employee discount for the holidays but the products are still really, really good and worth the money if you have it: 

Lush’s Full of Grace serum is a delightful weirdo. It’s a solid bar that you rub between your fingers until the oils melt and you then apply them to your face (or you can put the bar directly on your face, whatever works). It’s loaded with portabello mushrooms and murumuru butter meaning it’s a heavy hitter with the antioxidants too - I have very sensitive skin and have to be mindful of weird shit but this one is so luxuriously moisturizing and smooth that I have replaced my night time moisturizer with this serum alone more than once. It’s 16.95 online or in stores so it’s a little pricier than drugstore but far less than designer brand, and like with all Lush products you can rest assured that it’s cruelty free and ethically sourced. For a toner, Lush’s Eau Roma spray toner is the most moisturizing, but I love Breath of Fresh Air so much that I’m reticent to change it. It’s the ultimate lazy skincare step - wash your face/get out of the shower, spray it on, rub on your moisturizer while it’s still damp and bam, done. The small sizes are like 10.95ish each and the big boys are something like 23ish but I have def made a full size of BoFA last a full calendar year before so it’s well worth it. 

During my No Buy Nine Months that started right after my birthday (Jan. 2nd), I’m going to work on phasing out brands I don’t intend to patron anymore, and one of them, sadly, is Clinique. They aren’t cruelty free and while their entire Moisture Surge line saved my goddamn life during my first winter here, I can’t justify the continued purchase. That said, the 72-Hour Replenishing Hydrator and Overnight Mask are easily duped with the drugstore brand Simple Water Boost Hydrating Booster and Sleep Mask - are they as good? No. Are they way cheaper and still pretty damn good? Yes. And, they don’t test on animals but they do use beeswax if that’s a non-starter for you. I’m forever looking for new moisturizers - especially night time ones - so I’ll report back eventually. When I had bad sensitivity spots I used one of my miracle go-to discoveries - Egyptian Magic, which I think is made in Belgium and has a really creepy racist ‘dIsCoVeR tHe SeCrEtS oF tHe AnCiEnTs’ sort of bent but is really just a shitload of royal jelly and food-grade oils that straight up killed the eczema on my eyelids and quelled any allergic reactions I had. 

A product I am super guilty of overbuying thanks to my tendency towards too many TJ Maxx trips in the summer to leech their air conditioning is moisturizer sprays. I had to put the moratorium on any more of them because there are currently like eight different ones from eight different brands in my home. I have a TonyMoly (another brand I’m gonna have to swear off of no matter how much I love it for animal testing reasons), two different ones by Nooni, Clinique and idk some other white one I can’t find. For ultra-dry skin though, I find that the Dirtyworks’ Play It Cool hydrating facial mist is the best - I am an obsessive lover of their Pure Beauty Facial Oil as my nighttime moisturizer in the summer, it is sincerely the best facial oil I’ve ever tried as it’s non-greasy and soft and nonirritating with its pleasant, gentle sweet almond oil scent. 

To slough off the ever-encroaching wall of dead skin threatening to suffocate my glow out of existence, I lean hard on Clinique’s 7 Day Scrub, which means I gotta find a better one when this one runs out.  Lush’s Angels On Bare Skin, which is their bestselling facial cleanser for a reason. It’s got lavender buds in it, which can be a bit much on sensitive skin (I can’t use it more than a few times a week as the lavender irritates my eyelids) but the ground almonds provide such a nice touch of exfoliation that’s not as harsh as some of the more salt-based scrubs. Their Ocean Salt face and body scrub is the real fuckin’ deal - harsh grain sea salt, lime oil, vodka extract - so you need to be sure your face can handle three different levels of exfoliation before you apply it. I have to be careful with it but I do use it on my face periodically and largely my calloused-ass hands. The Mask of Magnaminty is another excellent choice - I put it on before a shower and then rub it off with water so I get some extra exfoliation from the ground aduki beans in it. 

As for what that mouth do, the Nooni Water Blending Lip Oil is loaded with sea buckthorn oil and apple water and it is a goddamn delight. I am literally ALWAYS looking for moisturizing lip products because they’re the first things to scale up when the moisture gets zapped out of my house via the furnace; I burn through a lot of Hempz balms - namely Triple Moisture - and this year I completely used up one of the Ulta Juice-Infused Lip Oils in Cranberry & Pomegranate and I love it so much that if it’s still on the shelves when I finish my No Buy period, I’ll probably snag another. 

For various and sundry splashes of moisture places other than my face: almost entirely Lush products because I was using that discount, goddammit. Sleepy Lotion is a fave at night thanks to that beautiful Sleepy/Twilight product smell of blended lavender and tonka bean, sweeter than the almost medicinal bite of lavender on its own. I spray the body spray on my sheets at night too. Their holiday line of in-shower body conditioners - Buck’s Fizz and Christingle in particular - are go-tos so I don’t have to waste time being frozen while I rub lotion on frantically as I cry for my robe. I used the shit out of Hempz’s Triple Moisture Whipped Body Lotion last year in my desperate bid for skin-survival and it did not steer me wrong - plus it lasted all the way into spring. Lush’s Handy Gurugu Hand Cream, Lemony Flutter Cuticle Butter, and Lollia’s 1000 Flowers Hand Lotion have been my front line aresenal as I fight to keep these gnarly ass, calloused hands of mine under control. I may have gotten to play with lotions and creams all day at Lush but I also spent a lot of time with my hands in super hot water, usually doing bath bomb demos, so I had to take extra care to keep the moisture on. Also, I finally sucked it the fuck up and dropped the cash on a humidifier for the bedroom but I keep forgetting to fill it because chronic illness and executive dysfunction. 

If you’ve got any tips I don’t know about I would de-goddamn-lighted to hear them. 

[kyndaris]

How Long is Eighty Days - Part One

I first met her just as first semester began. Palms sweating, I glanced around the lecture hall. We had just been instructed to introduce ourselves to the people next to us. From what I could see, most had classmates they knew from high school. I, on the other hand, had been the only person in my grade to throw my lot into this particular course. No familiar faces loomed out at me. And all the others were already deep in conversation.

That was when she turned towards me with a beatific smile on her face. Her hazel eyes were filled with a mix of kindness and warmth as she took me in. Had it not been the very first day and the very first subject for the under, with the weight of scrutiny heavy on my shoulders, I might have offered an articulate response. Instead, a strange gurgling had my cheeks aflame when I realised that it had come from my throat. There went my first impression. I waited for her to turn away and condemn me as the ‘strange one’ with a look of bemusement, but she surprised me by offering a sympathetic ear.

“I’ve often been told that I take the words right out of someone’s mouth,” she whispered conspiratorially. “The first day is always the worst, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

A nervous smile touched my lips. “You don’t seem all that intimidated.”

She grinned. “I’ll have you know that I’ve always been good at power. But the truth of the matter is that I’d much rather be back home instead of facing this gauntlet of lectures and tutorials. Meeting new people is always a frightening experience.”

“Jamie,” I said, sticking out my hand.

She eyed it for a good half second before giving it a proper shake. “My parents have always been old fashioned. It’s a little embarrassing, come to think of it, but you can call me Cassie. Although my full name is Cassandra.”

“Glad to make your acquaintance. Cassandra.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” she accused, though humour laced the words.

Before we could delve further into conversation, the lecturer was quick to catch our attention and the lesson resumed. I don’t quite remember much of that first hour for Sociology and Anthropology. Although I was quick to take notes, my mind remained focused on the feel of Cassie’s hand in mine and the sweet citrusy perfume she wore.

The next time I saw her, I had just taken shelter underneath the glass overhang of the beloved central business school as the autumnal rains pelted down. Like the intelligent creature I was, I had decided to wait until the middle of the week to purchase all the necessary textbooks – believing the lines would be shorter.

Cassie was with a group of what I assumed were her old classmates. The way they exchanged banter reminded me of all those movies where the popular girl was surrounded by simpering sycophants. And yet, I envied each and every one of them as they laughed at one of Cassie’s jokes or gossiped about the things they had gleaned from the first week. It was irrational. But by the time she and her posse had disappeared from view, I was on the verge of turning green. Books in hand, I stepped out from my hiding spot with nary an umbrella and allowed myself to be drenched as I trudged towards the bus stop.

Needless to say, several days later I was sick in bed and trying to make sense of the words printed on the water damaged page. It was a miracle that it had not already turned into pulp during the deluge.

That would be the last time I ever forgot to bring something to stave off the inclement weather.

 --

How long is eighty days? Break it down into hours and you get one thousand nine hundred and twenty. Minutes-wise, there’s a whopping total of one hundred nineteen thousand two hundred. In those burgeoning and fleeting moments of romance, each and every single of those precious minutes felt like a millennium that passed in the blink of an eye. At least, that’s how I saw the following twelve weeks as Cassie and I slowly became more comfortable in each other’s company.

Often, I found myself counting down the seconds until I would see her in the lecture we shared. Afterwards, we would head out to the library lawn, going over the readings for class. When the fancy struck her, she would convince me into skipping my next class and we would head to the nearby beach. Despite the fact that winter was fast encroaching, we would still see tourists flocking to the golden sands.

“Did you see that?” I would ask, pointing to one of the hapless families trying to take a selfie as they were battered by high winds. “You can tell which ones are from the mainland. They’re not typically dressed for a day out in the sun. Umbrellas, long sleeves – those are your hints that they’ve not been here long.”

In those too-brief moments, we flirted and teased. For me, they were the highlights of each week and I savoured the time I could spend with Cassie. And when she slowly but surely introduced me to her circle of friends, I learned quickly to adapt. Some were friendly, eager to see a new face. Others could have done well with a lesson in manners.

And as exams loomed ever closer, we would occasionally go out to the Roundhouse or the heart of the city, drinking and clubbing into the early hours. It was a different experience.  The idea of grinding away and hoping to catch the eye of someone who might be interested left a bad taste in my mouth, but by the time the deadlines were knocking on the door, I took to them like a fish to water.

Of course, my grades slid a bit but I was quick study when it came to revising. It isn’t a simple brag to say that I aced most of my classes. That is, everything except for Sociology and Anthropology. Suffice it to say, I managed to scrape by with a passing mark but my overall standing took a significant hit. Cassie, on the other hand, fared much better. But she had a talent for constructing essays with surprising depth that seemed to elude me. When the marks came in, she was in the top ten percent of the class.

Thus, semester break began. And with it, the school holidays.

It was the perfect time to learn about each other’s habit beyond the confines of university. We would organise dates to the local cinema and perhaps follow it up with a karaoke session. Sometimes we would go as a group with a mixture of her friends and mine. Other times, it would just be the two of us. Those were the moments I cherished. Being alone with Cassie and talking about anything that came to mind.

I swiftly learned that though she had enrolled into a humanities degree, her heart longed for the sciences. Cassie was someone that was not afraid of getting her hands dirty. Coding and circuits and trying to figure out how the world worked. Those were the topics that interested her. But when she had expressed her desire to pursue a degree in engineering, her parents had been adamant. They had quashed any and all dreams before they even had the opportunity to take flight. Cassie bristled as she recounted how her father had sat her down in the living room and told her explicitly that her career path was set in stone. It was expected that she take over the accounting for their family-run business. And with her older sister absconding overseas, it was she that was expected to carry on the legacy.

Yet despite her frustrations, Cassie was quick to shut down any encouragement from me. She would offer me a rueful grin and shake her head. “Thanks Jamie but it really doesn’t matter what I do at uni. There’re always online courses and I’ve found that it’s actually quite fun trying to figure out all these things by myself. I mean, it can be difficult to understand why something has gone wrong but that’s why we have Google, right?”

But all of our alone time quickly came to an end in July. I can’t rightly say that my mother was negligent but she often relied on me to take care of Derrick, particularly on the days when he did not have any actual tutoring. Younger than me by four years, he stood a good twenty centimetres taller. I hated that. Having seen him swaddled in diapers (and even helped change a few) it simply seemed unfair that Derrick was all but looming over me in Year 10. I tried, once, to see if I might be able to break his kneecaps when the first signs of a growth spurt were underway but dad put a stopper to those plans.

Actually, that was a lie. And it goes to show what a poor taste I have in jokes. Derrick, the loyal brother, would find the humour in it but often my sense of funny has a tendency to put off most upstanding citizens. But Cassie had one just as black as my own. Or, at the very least, she was appreciative of the sarcasm.  

Derrick and I, though, we’re close. Perhaps the four year age gap worked in our favour. What fights we did have were short-lived. Mostly because he had a face that everyone could love. And we often bantered in the privacy of our shared study room. That, of course, didn’t mean I wanted him around when I was with Cassie.

After our first ‘date’ with him playing the third wheel, Derrick was quick to pounce upon me for more details. “She seems nice.”

“What?” I asked, looking up from my bowl of noodles.

“Cassandra. I like her. Not as much as that other girl who could draw those henna tattoos, of course. What happened to her by the way?”

“She moved interstate,” I said. “I suppose being up in the Sunshine State is better than settling for physiotherapy. Alice was always ambitious and well, I was never one to put myself out there. The distance didn’t help much either.”

“That’s a shame,” said Derrick as he worked on his maths problems. Finally he set aside pencil and scientific calculator and stretched. Pushing aside his workbook, he finally asked the one question I had been dreading for days on end. “But come on Jamie, when are you going to make it Facebook official? I’ve seen the way you look at Cassandra and she seems interested as well.”

Despite the fact that he had lost most of his baby fat and there was an inkling of facial hair, Derrick still managed to look like a lost puppy. His pleading brown eyes begged for an answer and though my heart could be as cold as ice, it could not resist the pull.

A resigned sigh escaped my lips. I had wrangled with the question for so long that I had pushed it to the back of my mind. Did it really matter whether or not we took the next step? But what if she only saw our relationship as merely platonic? For several weeks I had been caught in a pit of paralysis and unable to climb my way out of it. The idea of placing my heart on the line and waiting for it to be crushed was not something I could idly do. And yet, what if Cassie felt the same?

“This is Houston and we have a problem. Contact with Jamie has been lost. I repeat: contact with Jamie Zhang has been lost. Hello? Is there anyone still there?” Derrick always knew the best way to break my train of thought. I tossed a mean glare his way as he merely shrugged. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

“I do. It’s just…I’m scared. What if Cassie sees me as just a friend?”

Derrick slung an arm around my shoulder. “Chin up, Jamie. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea if the worst happens. But you know what mum keeps saying about opportunities. You’ll miss all the ones you don’t take. So go out there!”

It was cheesy and clichéd. But Derrick always knew what to say. For a fifteen year old going through puberty, he could be surprisingly worldly even if he was still a tad obsessed with shonen anime that included the likes of Attack on Titan and One-Punch Man, often playacting scenes in our backyard. I suppose it is true: no-one is perfect.

 --

Heeding the advice from my brother, I asked Cassie out to talk on the day just before uni was to resume. She was eager to watch the latest winter blockbusters that had hit the silver screens. Once the movie was over, we strolled down through the bustling city streets, avoiding the main road. Years had gone by but the light rail was still under construction. Rumour had it that it would go on for ten or more years, diverting traffic from the centre of town. Finally, we found ourselves in the Botanic Gardens, overlooking the harbour.

It was not how I imagined where the confession would be, but surrounded by all the different species of flora that were still flourishing despite the chill helped push me over the edge.

Taking a deep breath, I turned towards Cassie. “I like you,” I said. Terror and a small spark of hope warred in my chest. This was now or never. Do or die. I had made myself vulnerable and now my nerves were all jumbled together as I waited patiently for her reply.

“I like you too,” she replied but it was clear that my words had her puzzled. “What brought this on, Jamie? Did you think I was going to leave after all the things we did last semester? Don’t forget, we actually have a lecture and a tutorial together.”

It was enough to confirm the feelings I had. Whether it was madness that gripped me or something else, I could not be quite sure. Yet, despite all the barriers I had put up to stop myself from giving into my base impulses, I leaned forward and captured her lips with mine.

[theticklishpear]

(A table of contents is available. It will be kept up-to-date as new posts are added. Disclaimer: If you are planning on basing your own fictional magic system off an existing magic belief, please do extensive research into anthropology and discussions from people of that belief. Avoid direct appropriation and be respectful!)

Part Fifteen: Practitioner Tropes :: Sorcerer and Warlock

Witch, wizard, mage, sorcerer, and warlock have all had their definitions mixed and intermingled to the point of near impossible disentanglement. As we saw in Part Fourteen with witches and wizards, true definitions for them have become whatever the author needs at the moment, and whatever the world defines them as. Sorcerer and warlock have become similar catch-alls for individuals practiced in the arts of magic, but this time, they come with a history of darker deeds. Let’s take a look:

Sorcerer/Sorceress::

Sorcerer/Sorceress: a person who practices sorcery; black magician; wizard. (x)

Just by the very virtue of the word’s form, we can see that it simply denotes a person learned in sorcery, but that leaves to us the question of what is sorcery? The dictionary has us covered once again:

Sorcery: the art, practices, or spells of a person who is supposed to exercise supernatural powers through the aid of evil spirits; black magic; witchery. (x)

So while the definition for sorcerer also tells us that it can be synonymous with wizard--which we decided last time was just a general term for one who practices magic in whatever form that takes--the etymology of the words shows that they’re likely not wizards of the typical magics, but rather practitioners using whatever darker forms of magic are afoot in your world.

The Evil Sorcerer is perhaps the most common trope associated with magic-users that fall beneath this label, and often are associated with summoning/conjuring of spirits, demons, and other otherworldly entities to assist them with their spells and magic. They tend to be solitary, using their magic for selfish reasons. The ends justify the means for these characters, and they’re willing to do things that seem evil for the sake of their goals. Sorceresses gain a worse tendency to be vain creatures with goals built around their continued existence, power, and/or beauty, brought down when that physique begins to fail.

It’s difficult to separate out searches for sorcerers and sorceresses in literature given that the terms overlap with witch and wizard with some frequency. While Ursula from Disney’s The Little Mermaid is referred to as a sea witch, she could be considered a sorceress, and even Stardust’s Dark Witch Queen could sport the title of Sorceress instead, as each of them reach out to magics that are considered not those of typical good or neutral magic-users of their worlds. Most famously, perhaps, Morgan le Fay of Arthurian legend has been called all kinds of things from enchantress like Circe, shape-shifter, and sorceress. And of course, Sauron of Lord of the Rings fame, while not outright called a sorcerer, dabbled in darker magics for selfish reasons and fits the bill as a big fat evil sorcerer.

Warlocks::

Warlock: a man who professes or is supposed to practice magic or sorcery; a male witch; sorcerer; a fortuneteller or conjurer. (x)

Ideas of a warlock’s power are obviously widespread from simply being a practitioner of magic who is male, or a sorcerer (implying use of dark magics), or something as innocuous as a fortuneteller. The breadth of the definition feeds back into the overall idea that’s popped up again and again that these labels are whatever writers need them to be.

With wizard already as a popular term for male magic-user, warlock has tended to take on a darker turn. Its etymological roots stem from Old English phrases for oathbreaker, devil, and covenant betrayer. Warlocks have come to mostly be known for relying heavily on otherworldly entities as aids to their magic, just as sorcerers have tended toward, most specifically including demons or other evil entities.

It’s interesting to note that while the stereotype of wizard is the older figure, wizened, and showing knowledge through age, sorcerers, sorceresses, and warlocks alike have most often been portrayed as middle-aged, not old enough to have learned better, and still young enough to be brash and value themselves and their agendas most.

Warlock characters in modern literature have embraced the blue-collar option, with streetwise characters who are open to using mundane items tweaked by magic. While not usually evil, Blue-Collar Warlocks often have grey moralities and are more willing to branch out into nonstandard magics that might not have the glowing societal reputations of commonly understood and used magics. John Constantine, Magnus Bane, and even Harry Dresden have been referred to as this types of warlock.

Hallmarks of Power::

Because both sorcerers/sorceresses and warlocks tend to have associations with conjuration and dealings with otherworldly entities in addition to their spell-casting, they are most notably identified by their knowledge of arcane languages such as the generic “runes” used to write out spell circles. These circles often come with their own complex sets of rules that magic-users must obey to the letter or face dire consequences. Because of the darker nature of their magic, mistakes made by sorcerers and warlocks are more likely to result in catastrophe, whether for the area or the magic-user themselves, and more easily results in death than the magic of witches and wizards.

They often make use of a variety of magical objects, as well, even more so than witches and wizards. Their magic and sorcery is everything to them, it’s their go-to tactic for solving problems, so they have a little bit of everything to enable them to do a little bit of everything. Probably stemming from the warlock’s alternative fortunetelling background, crystal balls are generally a part of a warlock’s collection.

Both these archetypes tend to have lairs of some kind that are tailor-made to best facilitate their goals, whatever those are. Towers are exceptionally common. (They’re common for just about any magical character archetype, but particularly sorcerers/sorceresses and warlocks in order to accommodate their solitary natures.) Encroaching on their territory is not only dangerous to one’s freedom but to one’s health as well, as these characters tend to shape-shift, capture, experiment upon, or kill trespassers who might discover their plans.

Writing Now::

These labels come loaded with connotations of, if not straight-up evil, ends-justify-the-means characters who are driven to achieve their goals. There are some examples of characters under this label that don’t fit this idea such as Polgara from David Eddings’s books, and Galadriel of Lord of the Rings, so using these terms as general “magic workers” labels will be just as fine as using witch, wizard, mage, etc.

Be aware of what they mean for your world and maintaining consistency. If they refer to a certain hierarchy within your magic-users such as sorceresses being more powerful than witches, or if they define the type of magic used such as conjuration of entities being solely within the powers of a warlock, then you need to be sure that those rules remain reliable throughout.

Understand the moral values of the cultures these magic-users come from. What is considered “good” magic, “bad” magic, and what types of tasks just plain cost too much to be acceptable under any circumstances will come from your cultures, not from the magic itself. Know what your magic is capable of and then go through and figure out how those abilities align with the morals of your cultures.

One culture may not view necromancy as a dark magic depending on how the culture’s view of death and religion is structured. One culture may already believe in the idea that the good of all outstrips the good of one, making some magics that sacrifice people perfectly acceptable. You must understand this to effectively define what darker magics exist in your world, and therefore whether the categories of warlock (for instance) really fit with their connotations of moral greyness.

[blueeyesspitfire]

Dog Profiles: Willow

After reaching the 3-dog mark, things were pretty quiet for awhile. The dogs were learning how to be a team and I was learning how to be a musher. As Denali and Knox matured and got faster, I could see that Dexter’s interest was fading. I knew I wanted to keep mushing, so I started thinking about dog number four.

There was a second litter planned between Denali’s parents and I was excited by the prospect of owning another well-bred, easy to manage dog. Sadly, the breeding didn’t work out, but I was given the next best thing—an opportunity for a pup bred out of Mia, Denali’s sister. 

Mia and Denali are very similar. They’re great leaders and both have boss bitch attitudes. I didn’t know much about the litter’s sire (Merlin out of Kelim Siberian Huskies), but I trusted they’d make great offspring.

Willow (originally “Snow”) was born June 10th, 2015. I was told I had first pick of the girls after the breeder made her choice. I knew right from day one that I wanted the oddball with the mismatched ears. 

Two months later, Willow was ready to join my pack. My cousin and I piled into my SUV with Denali and drove up north to camp in New Hampshire for the weekend, with plans to nab the pup on our return drive. We hiked the Franconia Ridge Traverse that Saturday—a hike that truly destroyed our asses. The next morning we packed up camp and headed to Sibersong, where Willow was freshly bathed and waiting. (I wish I could say the same for us.)

Denali was very confused by this new little girl, encroaching on her all-dude pack. It must have been very stressful for little Willy—her mom looked almost identical to Denali and yet this new, strange dog gave her nothing but grief.

Despite the rocky beginning, Denali learned to tolerate Willow’s presence. Knox, on the other hand, was thrilled to have a pup around that was willing to play with him and wasn’t Dexter. 

My first run with Willow on the team was magical. I had never run four dogs before, and her presence even seemed to give Dexter a boost. Each dog ran better with a partner at their side. Denali was more focused in lead with Knox and Dexter was less intimidated by his female running mate.

It wasn’t long before I bumped Willy up to the lead position with Denali. She’s fast, smart, and intense—and runs in perfect unison with Denali. She’s every bit the rockstar sled dog I wanted, with the added bonus of being a really sweet pet.

If an evil Disney-style witch turned me into a dog, I’m 100% sure I would be Willow. She’s a serious worker when there’s a job to be done, but take the harness off and she’s a lovable weirdo with a tendency to expose herself.

She can be a bit nervous, though, especially around strange men. (A girl after my own heart.) She doesn’t like to be squeezed and gets a bit anxious if you try and hold her—same. After all, she’s the smallest one in my pack, weighing in at a whopping 38 pounds. 

People often ask me if I have a favorite dog, which is hard to answer (other than “not Dexter”). I’d definitely take a dozen more Willows, though.