#poor solene

[starrspice]

How often did Eclipse check on her baby afterwards?

Not at all. Not until after her baby had lived a full life and died peacefully of old age

And although some may think its cold of her to do so. She knew if she saw her baby at all she wouldn't be able to go back

Back to being a cherub

To being in the afterlife

She'd pull away and her soul would rot away, eventually becoming a remnant

She was forcefully torn away from her baby by deaths hands

She would never be able to willingly step away from her child's life. How could she? When that child was all she ever wanted?

[elfcollector]

I know you loved being asked about your characters, so who are your DA characters who aren't on the OC page? Aside from Solene.

oh i love you anon. more than there are words for. im just gonna do the da ones for the sake of my sanity

ok so i am gonna take about solene briefly anyway even tho u said aside from solene. very orlesian, loves and adores orlais, thinks fereldan is smelly but is more loyal to the wardens than much else so when they need someone to go take over fereldan's wardens and she's put forward, she accepts the invite. came from a very poor family and watched her father abuse her mother and knew she had nothing to look forward to except marrying a man who'd do the same to her — so when the magic came and she was spirited away to be safe, clothed and fed well, freed of the responsibility of ever marrying, and given extensive chances to study, she loved it. she was a perfect fit for the circle, and had a genuinely positive experience. she doesn't agree intellectually with caging people based on an accident of their birth, but she's got no personal beef and basically considers it a necessary evil. it isn't until she becomes close friends with anders that she begins rethinking that stance. comes to really love fereldan, and the fact that she surreptitiously marries nate is only 30% of why. very pretty, feminine, loves fashion and is always wearing at least a little makeup. oh, also, she knows clarel and has beef with her lmao

the warden that precedes solene, who dies and necessitates an orlesian warden — his name is emmett cousland. he's sort of spoiled; used to getting what he wants, to being the envy of everyone, etc. irresponsible, hedonistic...bit of a bastard. but after becoming the warden he falls for and just adores morrigan more than there are words for, and she combined with his other friends inspires him to actually take his responsibilities to others as a noble seriously and care about more than his own fun. it's this growth that inspires him to sacrifice himself; he performed the dark ritual with morrigan but, the next day, realizes that if morrigan has this old god baby...he knows morrigan. he knows she'll take such good care of the kid. he knows she'll be a wonderful mom, he's sure of that long before morrigan is. but he doesn't want his child to deal with that suffering, and...morrigan worked so hard to free herself from flemeth. but this is just another errand flemeth sent her on, another way flemeth was using her, and he doesn't want that for his love. so he sacrificed himself to ensure that his child could have a normal life and that morrigan could finally be free of flemeth and being used by flemeth. i don't think morrigan ever fully forgives him. i have literally never played his game he purely exists in my head to faciliate to solene but i do love him and do WANT to play thru origins as him eventually, there's just. so many games in the world

i've got a rogue hawke named petra! power hunger trickster, rivalmances sebastian. i never got very far on her game, but she experiences suuuuch intense magic envy...she never felt like she could connect to her father, who she WORSHIPS, because she lacked magic...it caused a lot of resentment

let's see who else...i have two vashoth inkies. one of them is named tanen, but she also goes by tanny; she's very sweet and shy and feminine and sweet, but also strong enough in herself that she doesn't care about outside validation terribly much. josiemancer, they make me cry. her little sister became an abomination, a few years prior to the game, and tanen had to kill her — it haunts her badly, but she does what she can to survive and smile and move one. the epitome of "strength in softness." super feminine, loves tying ribbons to her horns

the other is named sataara, and i never got very far in her game, though i do adore her. she's an escaped saarebas, and was one between the ages of nine and twenty - three, which was fully horrible in the ways you'd expect — the other side of that horrible trauma, though, is that she knows that she's already experienced the worst life has to offer. everything else is just making the most of her life! she's impulsive and joyous and generally pretty content. i never settled on a romance for her...i was bopping between sera or cullen, i think. sera's self-explanatory, but i also think there's something fun and horrible abt the obvious angst inherent in dating cullen as a mage thats exemplified with a qunari, given that cullen has trauma with them, too. sataara vc i escaped the qun because they thought my magic was awful and fell in love with a blond man with magic problems. goddammit

[mxreece]

The Sun Rises In The North (2)

I've not left the library for two weeks and my advisor has become worried. Iru being worried doesn't matter though, because I'm more sure than ever that I know what has happened to me!

I've received a vision from the gods.

Or rather, I've received several visions now. I dream of more and more visions that tell me of that other world with the two gods with darkest hair. They talk about this world often, in both fond and raging tones, and often they talk about their celestial plane as well. It seems like the gods have duties outside of observing and caring for us, but that feels blasphemous to write down.

The man who lends me his eyes in my sleep, he also cares a lot about us compared to his sister. His sister was the first to observe us, but she didn't create our world, and later her brother took to observing us with some passion for which I'm very thankful since it's through his eyes that I can share the divine knowledge.

"Your Highness, you have lessons this afternoon."

"Iru! I told you I'm busy. The kingdom won't fall even if I dropped dead on the spot, his grace the duke basically controls the government anyways so go bother him about the crown"

"What in the world are you talking about, Solen? And what are you writing that's taking you this long?"

"Iru-"

"Your Highness, you are the sole heir to the throne now. Would your older brothers not want you to survive them with respect after defeating your half-brothers?"

When Iru talks to me, it's very stale, at least when he's on duty. I understand why, but there are moments when his objective and trained tone does not carry well the meaning I think he may want me to get. This is what I think, objectively in my head, as my blood runs cold and the air escapes the space.

"I'm very sorry, Your Highness," Iru says even though he's been around the castle since we were children and has known myself and my mother, not to mention my brothers, for long enough that red aggressive eyes should not intimidate him.

"Tell my fathers consort that if the royal couple wanted a competent heir then they should have hidden my oldest brother from her wretched plans" I say, and go back to the stack that has become the war section of the divine readings.

I see Iru out of the corner of my eye shift uncomfortably before bowing and leaving me alone.

[The Phases Of Risa Tuak] is the name of the holy text that the gods were reading. Lady Tuak is a lady of a poor and unfortunate noble family and through the eyes of the gods' favorite child lady Tuak the book describes in detail the many turns and tribulations through several timelines that lady Tuak has to endure. Oh the good lady should become the monarch instead of me, if only I could find her and abdicate my throne to her upon my fathers untimely demise.

What a hag, that consort of his, to poison him in both timelines lady Tuak can't stop. Who could guess that a plan to take over the throne would go undiscovered for that long, who knows if she even had a hand in the war that will...

Maybe I'll just not participate in the war.

[sunskate]

The concussion problem at IAM is genuinely shocking and I’m amazed it hasn’t gotten more attention

figure skating has a concussion problem. since it's part of the culture to keep "weakness" under wraps, there are so many injuries we never hear about. we usually heard about the concussions at IAM long after the fact. omg poor Solene.

it's not restricted to IAM unfortunately - Ashley Wagner said she had half a dozen concussions as a teenager, and some of them never got checked out - that's unconscionable from whoever the adults around her were. and again, this is Ashley, who is willing to be candid - most skaters don't feel like they can speak out

Evan Lysacek said he'd had between 15 and 20 concussions - that's horrifying. ice dance falls and injuries are shocking and scary, you know pairs and singles skaters are doing jumps and lifts where the risks can be even higher

Kao Miura took a hard fall on a quad in front of where i was sitting at a competition last year, and i'll never forget how loud the sound of his body hitting the ice was, and how for a split second it looked like he hit his head, and that was a fall where he got up and just kept going. i know skaters know how to fall, but i wonder if any of them are unscathed after years of this

i don't know what the answer is - amateurs and little kids wear helmets. Ashley said she wouldn't, "for vanity" - the aesthetics of the sport say no to gear. this is part of a bigger issue involving many sports - football, hockey - they have major need for stricter protocols regarding concussions too

[figurelifeflirt]

2021 Warsaw Cup Entry #48

Free dance

Mazingue/Gaidajenko(EST)

Thoughts: this was really fun. And that opening choreography move where Solene hooked her leg around Marko’s knee. I know it was a wobbly start but that was so hot.

Samersova/Ojala(EST)

Thoughts: I could barley hear their music. But I loved what Aleksandra with her hair.

Luft/Pfisterer(GER)

Thoughts: Poor Lara. It takes bravery to keep going after 2 falls. Please go have some ice cream. Or whatever makes you feel better.

Semenjuk/Yukhimuk(BLR)

Thoughts: Victoria. Even in an eyesore of a dress you manage to seduce me with that pretty smile. The lifts were a riot also.

Nosovitskaya/Nosovitskiy(ISR)

Thoughts: Is Maria another one of those people that can make any dress look good?! Wow!

[lehetsz-kiraly]

Solène: Where's Georges?

Robespierre: *hiding behind a table* I've never heard that name in my life! Please don't hurt me!

[ein-liebloser-wanderer]

How about a yandere male candy wizard, from the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel??

⸸ Yandere Fairytales - How Sickeningly Sweet ⸸

Characters: male witch (my interpretation of the Witch), GN peasant love interest, Hansel and Gretel (only in mentioning)

Warnings: gore, dark/mature themes, violence/terror

Contains: cannibalism, violence against children

Peace came to the land when Hansel and Gretel defeated him.

Once he realized he had been locked inside the oven, the Wicked Witch let out a bellowing roar, ordering the little runt to release him at once. But even as he threatened, bargained, pleaded, and cursed her, Gretel only watched from the other side of the iron door as the flames burned away his acrid flesh, melting the fat and all things soft off his body. There was so much smoke inside the oven that he couldn’t scream, even as his eyes sizzled from the heat.

He stayed conscious even as hellfire engulfed him. He could only watch as the two children ate and tore away at his body.

It was the end of the story. Of his story.

Or was it?

The siblings whom he first found as hungry, impoverished, gaunt-faced children, left him half-eaten, his corpse thoroughly desecrated, and his home robbed of all its wealth.

In the end, they returned home to their weak-willed father, and their wicked mother, dead, much to their relief. With his solen riches, they became rich and lived happily-ever-after.

How joyous.

How quaint.

How sickeningly sweet.

If only he was granted the same fortune.

If only fate hadn’t led him to become the villain of his own story.

He won’t deny it. He knew for a fact that what he did was wrong, and the heavens had every right to deny him.

But if one were to ask him if he would change his path, he would cackle at the question. What kind of question is that?

What he wanted was something different: a victorious ending. And fortunately, the fates had decided to be kind for once...for he had been granted a second chance in life.

From the leftovers and ashes, he vowed: this time he won’t let himself be fooled.

This time, he will have his meal.

After hiding away for so long, healing, waiting for the perfect ambush, he finally found them. A poor child lost in the woods; emaciated, weakened, and thin to the bone. In their desperation for food, they were already devouring his little cabin, their hallucinations showing them food rather than hardwood.

He hadn’t even glamoured his abode to look like a gingerbread house���yet here they were.

Mouth, bleeding…teeth, cracked and broken. Some of them even fell right off.

At the poor sight, the Wicked Witch felt the hollow pit of his belly more keenly than ever before.

Dinner had finally arrived.

~~~~~~

This is only...what, less than 500 words long?

I have written so much more on this waiting to be edited and revised in my word documents. This is just the summit of the iceberg. Unless loss of interest gets to me before I finish the ending to that, this snippet certainly won't be my last on the Witch from Hansel and Gretel.

Future warnings to expect: human farming, gore, body horror, unhealthy relationship, power imbalances, codependency, manipulation, infantilization (love interest is really an adult), forced isolation...

...and these are just ideas I have either already written or still have under consideration.

Ahahaha...I just need to write it.

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter eleven: after you've gone

word count: ~12.6k

rating: m

warnings: canon-typical religious blasphemy, though it's in full-force here with joseph so i wanted it to be noted in the warnings. there are mentions of self-harm, both past and implied presently, and they're not treated very lightly. elliot is having a hard time.

notes: there's a lot of moving parts in this so i apologize in advance if it feels a bit slow, but everything felt really important to include and i wanted to make sure nothing got left out. thank you so much to my beta @starcrier who literally proofed this beast with all of the love in the world.

i won't ramble on too much, but i did want to say that the reception for the last two chapters really made my whole heart just explode and i wanted to thank you all! what an incredible experience it is getting to write these two gigantic idiots. <3

“I saw her. Our mor.”

Helmi cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, scribbling absently on the side of the file she’d continued nosing through once she’d gotten back to the bunker. Like this, she felt far from Kajsa—farther than she had in the longest time. Maybe since they had welcomed her into the Family.

“Did you?” She stretched back against the truck’s seat, feet kicked up on the dash as she scanned the page, going over her own notes. Starvation, classical condition. On animals and people? In the back seat of the truck, Peaches rumbled her discontent at lack of attention; Helmi reached back and scratched her ears until the rumble turned into what she recognized as a more contented purr.

“Yes. She is doing well. Her color is just as Ase said, you know. Perfectly balanced. Poor John—I can see his suffering.”

Helmi hmm’d, the thoughtfulness matching the patient rumble Peaches had rewarded her affection with.

“Is Deputy Pratt behaving?”

“I should hope so. He has no reason to have any loyalty to the Seeds, outside of fear.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Helmi was sure, in the very marrow of her bones, that Kajsa was smiling.

“And what did you give him, Helmi? To make him loyal?”

She considered. “A more impressive fear.” And then: “Also, I said I wouldn’t kill him.”

“That is just a more impressive fear bundled up pretty, my heart.”

“Mm,” Helmi replied in agreement. Whatever the case, she thought that Pratt had more to gain from fucking the Seeds over than he did by fucking them over—and that’s why Kajsa entrusted this sort of thing to her and didn’t do it herself, after all. If it had been Kajsa here, eyeing Pratt like a piece of lunchmeat, she’d have him drugged to the gills and barely aware of what was going on. Not being of use.

It’s why we make a perfect pair, something inside of her said, joy shared, joy doubled.

“Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Sorrow shared, sorrow halved.

Helmi sighed. “I’m not.”

“Keep putting pressure. I want them squirming, hjärtat.”

“I will.” She paused, sitting up in the truck and glancing out at the remaining members of the Family. Those that hadn’t given themselves a swift, clean death. After Kian’s face was crushed in, Kajsa had gathered them all and said, It’s going to be harder, from here. If you feel you cannot do it, if you think that you do not have the strength to answer our calling, then it is your time. We love you.

It had been the time for many. Morale had been—and still was—low. Ase’s death first, gut-wrenching and tragic, and then Kian’s; worse than the last. Worse, because while he had been grieving, while he had been suffering, he had still been their second-in-command. Meant to be infallible, even more so than Ase. He had been meant to carry them into their next life, after It was appeased. Contented. After It had turned the world to winter.

Now, more than ever, with only a handful of them left to huddle around their fires and sleep in the backs of cars, and kiss and laugh and hug each other in the inky black night, they felt like a ship adrift at sea.

Kajsa’s voice hummed in her ear, plastic and metal vibrating where it lay trapped between her head and shoulder. Helmi’s gaze swept away from the remaining Family members and turned her gaze back to the file. The Seeds were deeply rooted in this place—the tendrils of a tree that might be dead at the trunk but stayed for many decades after, if it wasn’t ripped out at the base.

“Did you hear me, Helmi?”

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was distracted.”

“I am coming back,” Kajsa reiterated patiently.

“The others will be happy.”

“And what about you? Will you be happy?”

Helmi paused. She closed the file, dropped it back onto the dashboard and cranked the seat back so that she could stretch a little, her eyes tracing the tinny, ancient ceiling of the truck she’d lifted from Eden’s Gate. She exhaled, once, and then held her breath; closed her eyes, felt the ache of it between her ribs.

“I sense before me a lost lamb.”

“Not lost,” Helmi replied, her lungs tight. “Just—thinking.”

“Must I divine the dark cloud over your soul myself?”

She allowed her body to take air back in. “I wonder,” she murmured, “if it will be enough to appease the Father.”

“Do you wonder,” Kajsa hummed, “or do you worry?”

A moment of silence stretched. And then, the rich, melodic timbre of the Hierophant’s voice came through again, idle and pulled snug against her ear, like Kajsa was really right there again to say the words against her skin: “What will you do, if Staci Pratt defects despite your Machiavellian threats of harm so great he should never consider to incur it?”

“I don’t know,” Helmi replied uneasily. “It would depend on if he brought mor and the interloper, or if he just—”

“The answer, hjärtat, is that you do not know, because it has not been revealed to you yet.” Despite the interruption, Kajsa’s voice was pleasant and serene. Ever since Ase’s death, she’d been more tempered—like she was playing a role, filling a void. Helmi almost missed her cruelty. Like it was a creature comfort. “There is no use in wondering, because we will never know before it is our time to. We want for much. Whether or not we are given it remains to be seen. Our Father is a most...”

Her voice trailed off. Helmi tried to think of what words Kajsa might use; stringent, perhaps, ambitious, or even enigmatic—

“Wretched god,” Kajsa finished, a grin in her voice. “It does so love to watch us toil, does It not?”

“Yes,” she answered after a moment, because wretched resonated somewhere in her soul, somewhere in the marrow of her bones, reminding her why this had felt like home ever in the first place. Wretched, to watch them suffer, to give them so little information and let them suffer wreck after wreck.

In front of her, the dark of the forest swelled, breathed, reminded her: failure was not an option. Theirs was not a benevolent, forgiving God, the kind who would forgive sin if one only asked—the Father was wrathful, was vengeful, and would make them suffer their insolence and their ineptitude.

“I should get going. I imagine our mor will not be far behind, thanks to your ingenuity, and I want to be in Hope County to welcome her.”

“I am,” Helmi blurted out after a second of hesitation, “happy, that you’re coming back.”

There was a pause on the other end; and then, a soft breath, where Helmi thought maybe Kajsa was smiling again.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt, my heart.”

The call clicked. Only empty air and static, then, buzzing faintly in the ear, the words dead in her mouth before she’d had the chance to say them back.

Nothing under the sun is lasting.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot was going to be sick. Nevermind the morning-after-dread of realizing she had caved in on her most basest animal desires—What, the man who’s perhaps lied to you the most tells you he’s never thought you’re crazy, and you let him fuck you? Come on, Elliot,—but listening to Pratt ramble nervously into the phone about how he didn’t realize everyone was gone, nobody stopped to look for him, nobody tried to call, he thought she had left too and she had, where was she? Was she okay?

“I’m fine,” she managed out. Guilt ripped through her sternum, burning hot and shameful. I’m fine, Pratt, don’t worry about me. Got well and truly railed last night, it’s fine. Oh, also, I’m going to have a baby. And I’m married. Don’t worry, you found out about the same time as me, just off a few weeks. “I’m at my mom’s.”

“In Georgia?”

“Yeah.” Elliot swallowed thickly. “Are you okay? You sound like shit.”

Pratt laughed uneasily on the other end of the line. “I’m with, uh—I’m with them.” He paused. “The Seeds. And their—the lawyer lady.”

“That doesn’t tell me if you’re okay,” she reiterated, more firmly.

He laughed again. “I’m on the phone with you, aren’t I?”

Frustrating. They might all be looming around him, waiting to hear what she was going to say. It was a trap, of course. Jacob or Joseph had done enough digging around in her past to find out they’d gone to school together, had gone to school dances, had basically dated—and they knew she’d evacuated the entirety of the Resistance otherwise. They were clearly laying a trap to get her to come back. But for what?

“Hey, um—” Staci cleared his throat. “Ell, there’s—a lot of bad stuff going on. There’s these people, and they’re—they’re just killing people, left and right, gutting them and sticking them up and—Jesus, they fucking split Miss Mabel open like a fish, and I’m—”

Oh, there it was; the sickness, the violent urge to throw up. The Family was supposed to be dead. They had been killing themselves off in pairs after Kian’s death, weren’t they? Elliot blinked rapidly, trying to calm the furious beating of her heart, the way it slammed against her rib cage and demanded penance.

Calloused fingers swept her hair to the side and squeezed at the juncture between her neck and shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She closed her eyes tight, willing herself to accept it for what it was—John, comforting her, because even now he knew her well enough to see she was spiraling.

I can’t, is what she needed to say. I can’t come back, Staci, I can’t, not me and not my baby, my hands are already covered in blood I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—

“—I’m so fucking scared, Ell.” Pratt’s voice wobbled on the other end, hitting straight at the fresh welt of guilt in her chest, ripping and tearing at it.

I can’t—

“I don’t want to be alone—”

I’m sorry I can’t I’m sorry—

“—I’m sorry—”

“I’ll come,” she blurted out, her voice hoarse, the burn behind her eyes and in her nose a threat of oncoming tears. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t bear to hear him like this, when this whole time he was supposed to have been safe. She’d let him down, and while she had a responsibility to herself, the responsibility to the others had always come first.

And, better still, was the tiny, tiny fragment of hope that the dark-haired woman with a mouth like broken glass would be left behind, too. The dog with the man’s face and the strands of her hair glinting between Its bloody teeth would stay here, in Weyfield. It would wait for her, but perhaps there would be some peace there, too.

It waits for you, It waits for us all, It will have you. As It gives, so too does It take.

“Tell them I’m coming back.” Elliot bit the words out through her teeth. “And tell them if I come back and you’re hurt, or dead, or—if there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to fucking kill them. Okay?”

“No need,” came Jacob’s voice over the phone. “You’re on speaker, Deputy Honeysett. We’re well acquainted with your particular brand of mania.”

“Great,” she snapped, feeling a vicious flush spread through her cheeks despite the fact that she didn’t feel bad at all for what she’d said. “You thought I was fucking manic before? I had nothing to lose, then. Imagine how much worse I’ll make your life now—”

John’s hand squeezed again. This time, she shot him a venomous look over her shoulder and shrugged him off. Elliot knotted her fingers in Boomer’s fur and prompted again, “Is that clear?”

The eldest Seed sounded like he was smiling when he said, “Crystal, Deputy.”

“Good.” She paused. “And don’t fucking call me that. I’m not a deputy, anymore.”

“Sure thing, hellcat.”

“Pratt—”

Jacob’s voice came again: “Have a safe trip.”

The phone call beeped once, twice, three times, and then ended. The hard knot of dread in the pit of her stomach did not lessen; she hit the redial button, and it went straight to voicemail. Again, and again, and again, her hands shaking as she thought wait, I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to promise I’d be there, I’m coming Pratt, I’m coming please don’t be worried, before she shoved the phone into John’s grip.

“Call him back,” she demanded, “make him pick up the phone—”

“Elliot,” he began, “if he turned the phone off, I can’t—”

“Fuck you!” she snapped, coming to a stand and raking her fingers through her hair. “You fucking knew they had Pratt, didn’t you? You knew that he was still trapped there and he didn’t get out, and you fucking left him there, so that you could pull me back if it didn’t go the way you wanted—”

John stood too, setting the phone on the bedside table and lifting his hands. The gesture was meant to calm and soothe, see my hands? Here they are, no threat here, but all it did was make her angrier, stoke a fire inside of her that had apparently lain dormant since she’d left Hope County.

Elliot smacked his hands down. “Don’t treat me like some fucking animal, John.”

“I’m not,” he defended quickly, dropping his hands all the way back to his sides when Boomer barked twice, sharp and accusatory, hackles lifting. “I didn’t know Pratt was still there. I thought the Resistance had got him out, and I didn’t bother asking.”

“You should have bothered—”

“I’m just as displeased as you are,” John interjected dryly, the dark coloring of his tone implying that he was—but for perhaps a different reason. It struck her that he might, in fact, be so displeased because he was aware of their history, on some level. It did feel a little gratifying to know that he was squirming for such an insignificant reason.

“You fuckhead,” she spit. “You put a fucking baby in me and you still have the insecurity of a middle school boy.”

“We both know,” he replied tartly, “that our baby is not in any way binding you to me, Elliot. And is it so shocking, considering that the thing that I want most in the world is for you to come home, and you fight me at every turn—”

“Hope County isn’t my home anymore—”

“—but Staci Pratt calls you and cries a little into the phone, and you’re jumping at the bit to go back?”

“Fuck. Off,” Elliot bit out between her teeth, face flushing. “Pratt is my friend, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Right,” John agreed, “because you let the person you hate fuck you.”

Her mouth clamped shut, biting and swallowing back a wad of venom she thought might make her sick if she let it out. There was too much of it, the things that she wanted to say—fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, I fucking hate you, you make me sick, if anything is wrong with Pratt I’ll kill your brothers and then I’ll fucking kill you too—but she didn’t say any of it.

Instead, she said, “Get out. I’m getting changed and we’re leaving.”

John sighed, passing a hand over his face for a moment like maybe he regretted what he’d said. “We can’t.”

She felt her voice spike, near incredulous hysteria: “Pardon?”

“Old Father Time of the Job Ineptitude mentioned he had Federal agents showing up out of nowhere,” he snapped. The words had her stomach twisting; her first thought was a tiny spike of happiness at the idea of Cameron Burke, and then it was quickly doused by the sharp reminder that she’d stolen his gun and ran with it. Because he thought she was crazy. Because he was going to put her behind bars.

John continued, “He seemed to be implying it was somehow related to me showing up, and by proxy you, and if we up and leave—”

“It’ll make it look more suspicious,” she finished, feeling a little numb. “Okay, so—what? How long do we have to wait?”

He scratched his cheek, his eyes flickering absently over the duvet on the bed, like he was trying to map it out in his own head. No doubt, he was trying to operate on multiple timelines—the timeline of Not Raising Suspicion, and whatever timeline Joseph had given him.

Some things really did never change.

“After your mother’s Christmas party,” he ventured finally. “It’s not quite Christmas—could look enough like we’re sticking around for enough holiday cheer to be passable before leaving again. Pritchard’s clearly not unfamiliar with your mother’s...”

His voice trailed off. He looked to her as though asking for permission to say something critical; when Elliot remained stonefaced and immovable, he finished, “...temperament.”

“Nice save.”

“Well,” he replied, humble as ever. “Anyway, that probably wouldn’t rouse suspicion. If it is Burke, and your house isn’t getting stormed right now, I have to think he’s here on unofficial business. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they just come and bust the door down and grab you?”

Elliot hoped that was the case. She hoped this meant that Burke was just trying to find her, and was not hunting her down at the behest of the government. If there was one thing that Joseph had been right about amidst all his doomsday-saying and whatnot, it was that according to the news, there was a big chance the government had bigger things on their hands. Bigger concerns than a tiny town in Montana and its cult inhabitants.

“Get out,” she said again. “So I can change.”

“You—” John sucked in a little breath, stopping himself from what was inevitably going to be stirring another argument; he lifted his hands again, this time in surrender. “Alright, Ell. I said you’d get anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Chop-chop.”

“I’m going. Mind if I pull some clothes on before I walk out into the house owned by your mother, where she has almost assuredly been sipping her vodka martini since four AM?”

She felt her eyes narrow. “Fine.”

Turning, she crossed the bedroom into the master bath and shut the door behind her, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes until fine webbing scattered across the dark of her eyelids. This was the last thing she needed—and it felt, surely, traitorous and awful to think it, to think, this is the last thing I need, Pratt needing rescuing, when the only reason she’d felt comfortable leaving Hope County in the first place was because she thought the only people who were left were cultists.

Elliot dropped her hands from her eyes, blinking a few times until her vision cleared. In the mirror—much as it had been since coming back from Hope County—stood a girl that she thought looked like a stranger. Blushed cheeks and kiss-reddened lips, her neck littered with love marks, the healthy glow blooming up from beneath the WRATH scar on her chest, exposed by her loosely cinched robe.

That’s not me, she thought, pulling absently on a strand of red hair and swallowing thickly. I’m not that girl.

Her face was softer than before, more lively color rising up around her eyes and cheeks and mouth. More of her freckles had come out. There was a tiny, tiny—almost imperceptible—slope to her tummy, now, too.

Not me, came the thought again, more distressed this time, her brows pulling together at the center of her forehead. That’s not me. I’m not that girl. Who are you, pretty girl? Not me.

The woman and her dark hair—dark dark dark, like an oil slick, looming in the corner of her mind. Her mouth red as pomegranate and stretched like broken glass.

I hear stress is bad for the baby.

A knock came at the door. Elliot blinked, feeling unwell and unsure of how long she’d been standing there, her hand having dropped to cup the slope of her stomach experimentally. Women did that, right? When they were pregnant? Did it make them feel closer to the baby? Did it make them feel more protected?

Did she feel safer?

“Ell,” John said, nudging the door open, “your mother is...”

Pulling away from the door, she cinched the robe tight and busied herself at the sink, turning the water on. As he stepped into the bathroom, she could see John was now fully-dressed, freshly-showered. She’d been standing in front of the mirror trying to recognize the person staring back at her long enough for him to do that, it seemed.

“That was a quick shower,” she said briskly, splashing her face and rubbing absently at her cheek. She could feel John’s eyes on her through the mirror, even though she refused to meet them.

“I’ve always preferred it that way,” he replied casually. And then: “Get distracted?”

Yes, she thought, but didn’t say, because then the things he’d said last night that had made her feel sane and normal wouldn’t mean anything anymore. John would have said I don’t think you’re crazy and he’d have to take it back, because if she told him there was a stranger standing in her mirror, he would think she was crazy.

“It’s weird,” is what Elliot offered after a moment, trying to find a way to be honest and redirect, “to see a baby bump. Even if it’s small.” She cleared her throat and fished her toothbrush out of the holder. Continuing briskly, she added, “And the scar. I spent a lot of time avoiding it.”

John’s expression had done that funny thing that she supposed was softening at her words. He stepped forward; the ghost of his fingers trailing her ribs over the robe made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I’m not done being mad at you,” she warned him, eyes flickering to meet his gaze through the mirror.

“I know,” he replied, tone agreeable. “I just—”

The brunette paused then, waiting for her to stop him before he smoothed the warmth of his palm over her hip, across the expanse of her abdomen. It was painfully intimate in a way that didn’t imply sex—intimate, in the way that she felt seen, that she could see the relief coloring the edges of his expression.

John pressed his mouth to the back of her shoulder. “Just missed you,” he murmured after a moment. “Getting to touch you. Even just like this. Especially just like this—”

Something panged sharp and unforgiving in her chest. “Well, don’t get used to it,” she replied tightly, brushing his hand away from the baby bump after letting it linger for a moment. “And I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“Your mother was asking after you,” John said, by way of explanation, looking pleased from their little moment. Fucker. “She wanted to know if you’d be drinking coffee this morning. I think her exact words were, ‘Mr. Seed, would you ask my daughter if she’s going to take the risk of drinking coffee this morning? I know she shouldn’t be, with her condition—’”

“Ugh.”

“‘—but since we’re going to be picking out her dress for the Christmas party today, I could make an exception—’”

“Fuck me,” she muttered, wetting her toothbrush and putting the toothpaste on it. “Ask her if she can make it extra strong.”

“I’m actually enjoying being out of your mother’s ire for a minute.”

Elliot rolled her eyes. “No coffee for me.”

“Got it.” John headed for the bathroom door, and then paused again, turning to look at her. “Ell,” he began, “I really didn’t know—you know, about Pratt.”

That pesky little flutter of something agonizingly sweet—softness—in her chest flared again.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” is what she said, before she turned the toothbrush on and started scrubbing her teeth. That seemed enough of an answer for John, for once, because he left and closed the door quietly behind him after deliberating.

The minutes, and hours, and days—well, day or two—until they got back to Hope County were going to be something close to agony. She could only hope they had taken her seriously when she told them that she’d better come back to a Pratt in one piece.

I don’t want to be alone. Pratt’s voice echoed hauntingly in her head. She thought she could remember the sound of voices in the background—a woman’s, at least. Faith? Or John’s friend, Isolde? Surely Jacob and Joseph were there listening to him call her, too. She’d been so fucking stupid to let them get to her.

No, not stupid. Not stupid to want Pratt to feel safe, and like someone was coming back for him.

I’m sorry, she thought tiredly, as though the words could somehow get to him. I’m sorry, that it’s me you have to wait for.

I’m sorry that I won’t be the person you remembered.

I’m sorry.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did so well, Staci.”

Faith’s voice jarred him out of the weird pause in time he’d been marinating in. It had been just a few seconds, maybe—Jacob and Joseph were talking in low voices, the dark-haired woman standing at the point of their little triangle with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed—that his brain had shut off, the distress in Elliot’s voice echoing eerily in his head. She’d sounded so upset. He wouldn’t have called, wouldn’t have started to ask her to come back, if he’d known how much she didn’t want to.

But that wasn’t true, either. He would have called, because Helmi had said, Either the Seeds are going to drag her back by her hair kicking and screaming, and eventually kill her, or she comes back and we keep her safe.

‘Safe’ had been the keyword there. He didn’t know how much he could take the woman at her word, but considering everything—well, it was better than trying to take the Seeds at their word.

Faith’s hand touched the back of his, startling him into a tiny jump. He cleared his throat. “Um—I wasn’t...Acting.”

“Still,” she replied sweetly, “I know it must have been hard.”

She was so polished—skin all dusted silver and moonlike, flushed with a little high color in her cheeks, her blonde hair tumbling around her face loosely. In the chapel, the air was tepid at best, and frigid at worst, keeping a little pink in everyone’s faces.

It was strange to look at her now. Her hands were soft; her skin unblemished. Just hours ago, he’d been sitting in the car, noticing the same kinds of details about Helmi—about how human she looked, hand slung over a steering wheel, her cracked phone plugged into the truck’s stereo and her chipped nail polish and the scars and bruises littering her knuckles. The way she’d shot him a toothy, wolfish grin as she cranked the volume up and said, What, Staci Pratt, you don’t like Blue Öyster Cult either?

In comparison, Faith didn’t feel human at all. She felt like a dream.

“Can—” Pratt came to a stand, rubbing his palms on the tops of his thighs. “Can I go? Lay down, or something?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him. The dark-haired woman, who Jacob kept referring to as Sol, completely ignored his question and looked at the redhead to say, “Has someone checked him for head trauma?”

“I’m not—concussed!” Pratt snapped, his voice wobbling. “I’m just tired.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something, and then reconsidered, saying, “Dr. Hale will take a look at you and then sure, Peaches, you can rest.”

It took every ounce of his self-control to not tell Jacob to stop calling him that. He had to remember that as far as they were concerned, he hadn’t been taken in by the “other side”, he’d been sitting scared and meek like a good boy at the compound.

Pratt’s eyes darted, catching sight of the woman that Jacob gestured to with a free hand. Right. The Fall’s End vet. She’d been here for what—a little over a year? He couldn’t tell if she was being held captive by Eden’s Gate or if she was there by her own volition, though the few times he’d run into her before she’d seemed like a pretty even-keel person. Didn’t she have like, two degrees or something? What was she doing here?

He made his way to the back of the church, meeting the curly-haired blonde halfway. Definitely looked too clean to be a cultist. “You’re not a people doctor, right?” he asked uneasily, watching as her head cocked to the side and her mouth quirked in a bit of amusement.

“No, Mr. Pratt, I am not a people doctor.” She fell into step beside him, opening the chapel door for him. “But I do have first aid training, which I think is about as good as you’re going to get around these parts.”

“I didn’t get a concussion.”

“That’s good. When was the last time you ate?”

His mouth twisted in a frown, trailing after through the snow as the cold began to sink into his bones. She seemed awfully confident moving around the compound, if she wasn’t part of the cult. But if she was, what was she doing here? How did—?

Pain bloomed behind his eyes, a fresh headache sinking into his nerves. Too much. It was too much confusion, about Elliot (pregnant? And John Seed was with her?) and about the Family and about all of these—these people that he didn’t really recognize hanging around the Seeds. And the compound was so quiet. Where was everyone? Had the Family really taken that many of Eden’s Gate out?

“Mr. Pratt?”

The woman opened a door into a bunkhouse that glowed with golden light from within and radiated heat. Two long-haired shepherds lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, lifting long faces and peering at him with dark eyes. He stepped inside and cleared his throat.

“Uh, a day, maybe,” he replied after a minute. Taking a seat when she gestured for him to, he shifted uncomfortably as she set a first aid kid on the cushion beside him and pulled one of the wooden chairs up in front of him.

“And slept?” She blew a curl out of her face and opened the kit, fishing around to find some alcohol wipes and Neosporin. He guessed he was a bit worse for wear than he’d thought, initially; not that he’d been taking great care of himself, even when it had just been him and Dani. She’d encouraged him to stay high, not stay better.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot.

He let out a little hiss when she pressed one of the alcohol wipes to a cut on his cheek.

“The same,” he replied, reaching up and brushing her hand away. “What—what are you doing here, doctor?”

“Arden is fine.” She sat back, regarding him curiously. “I’m cleaning that cut, Mr. Pratt. It looks agitated.”

“No, I—” Pratt let out a little breath. “I mean here. In the compound.”

Arden stared at him for a moment, like she didn’t understand why he was asking her that question. She lifted her hand and arched a brow inquisitively; when he nodded shortly, she leaned forward again, balancing her free hand on his shoulder and using the other to gently dab at the cut.

“I’ve spent the last month or so holed up in my house,” she explained to him. “Me, and the dogs, I mean.”

A little smile ghosted over her lips, and despite himself, Pratt felt a wry smile tugging at his own. It was difficult not to feel relaxed, when Arden moved with so much surety. In the glow of the radiators ticking away and the warm yellow light, especially.

“Mostly reading. They had assigned one of the boys to me—Santiago. I think he’s John’s man. He doesn’t strike me as one of Joseph or Faith’s.”

Pratt made a little noise of agreement, because he knew exactly what she was talking about. She dropped the alcohol wipes to the side and reached over for the Neosporin, dabbing some onto her finger and then reaching back up to resume her work.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “That you got—stuck, I mean. Here.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize, Mr. Pratt.”

“I feel partially responsible,” he admitted, feeling some of the tension flee his shoulders. “You know, being law enforcement and all��”

“Hold still, please.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “I guess what I mean is—sometimes it feels like a real failing on our part. All of those people, I...”

He paused, and Arden leaned back, giving him a pat on the knee. “That’s alright, Mr. Pratt,” and her voice bloomed with comfort. “Where was I?”

“Up at your house, with the dogs and maybe one of John’s men.”

“Right. I wasn’t allowed to leave, you know, on account of the—” She gestured with an elegant hand. “Cult running amok.”

He nodded. “Cult number two.”

Arden smiled, and continued, “And then just a few days ago, after one of them started killing those folks in Fall’s End, Jacob came up to get me.”

The way she said it made him feel, a little uneasily, that maybe he was misreading it. Jacob came up to get me did not sound like Jacob came to pick me up because I’m his prisoner.

And then she said, “He was worried, you know. Only having a radio up there. I know how to use a gun, but I’d prefer not to, if I don’t have to, and—”

“Sorry,” he blurted out, “but are you—”

She blinked light eyes at him, almost owlishly, like she didn’t understand the question. “Am I...?”

“With? Them?” Pratt gestured towards where the chapel lay, beyond the bunkhouse walls. “The—Eden’s Gate?”

“Oh!” Arden laughed, almost sheepishly; he felt a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him too, almost hoping for the relief of her assuring him that she was, in fact, not in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

She came to a stand and pulled a bottle of ibuprofen and a granola bar out of the kit, dropping them in his hand.

“Eat the bar before you take the ibuprofen,” she told him, “or it’ll—well, I’m sure you know. Upset stomach, and all that. Do you want to take a shower?”

Pratt’s fingers curled around the ibuprofen bottle. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden replied, not sounding very sorry at all, “I guess I just thought it a bit silly. Who else would I be “with”?”

His stomach somersaulted, sinking viciously. Suddenly, the granola bar—which had certainly been sitting in the kit for who knew how long—looked even less appetizing than before. While his vision swam for a second, the woman carried on conversationally, as though she had not just revealed herself to—

Well, to be in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

“But—they think the world is ending,” Pratt blurted out, lifting his eyes to look at her finally. “And—doctor, all the people they killed, and—”

“Don’t strain yourself, Mr. Pratt. You’ve been under quite a bit of duress as of late, I think, and it would be best to try and keep those stress levels down.” She moved to the small pantry beside the bathroom, shuffling around and producing a few towels, leaning into the bathroom to set them on the counter. “Though, you do bring up a funny point—have you been listening to the news? I suppose you haven’t. I remember listening to the news before all of this business went down and thinking that the world had ended a long time ago. We were just a bit behind, all the way out here. Do you want to take a shower?”

Blinking furiously, Pratt searched his brain for the answer; he muddled through the disappointment raking down his spine, the delicate little hope that had been fostered at the prospect of finding someone who was kind and not under the Seeds’ thumb being crushed beneath the weight of the reality of his situation.

“Yes please,” he managed out, his voice hoarse.

“Alright. Eat that bar first, so you don’t pass out in the hot water. And Mr. Pratt?”

“Y—” He had clumsily ripped open the granola bar and shoved half into his mouth, the fear of being seen as disobedient when Jacob Seed was within radius flickering like a wildfire through his body. He swallowed thickly, the dry food feeling like it was sticking to the inside of his mouth. “Um, yes?”

Her expression colored sympathetic, Arden reached down and fished a water bottle out of the case, dropping it in his hand.

“The honorific isn’t necessary,” she told him. “Remember, Arden is just fine.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled. “I mean—Arden.”

She smiled, this time with teeth. “Good. You holler if you need me.”

I won’t, he thought, even though she was probably preferable to anyone else coming to his rescue.

Maybe he really would rather be dead.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Scarlet insisted that John stay at the house while they went to the boutique. It was all a big show of his mother-in-law attempting, he thought, to be polite, though she failed miserably at it; and as much as John wanted to argue that it would probably be best if he came along—considering their late-night visitor—he could tell when a battle was a lost one, and when it wasn’t.

“Do you think you can do that, Mr. Seed?” she asked, pulling the objectively ostentatious fur coat around her shoulders and buttoning it. “Remain in my home for a few hours, without causing me any problems?”

He said, “I think I can certainly give it a shot,” to which the blonde rolled her eyes.

“Please do more than that.”

“Rest assured, I am fully capable of behaving myself, Mrs. Honeysett.”

He couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Every second he spent in her presence, being reminded of how little she liked him given how much she didn’t know about him—or care to get to know about him, anyway—he thought, I cannot fucking wait to get back to Hope County and the resurgence of the Family. I cannot wait until that is my only fucking problem. Anyone else and she would have been thoroughly cleansed; clearly, Wrath ran in the family. Just the thought of it made his fingers itch.

Elliot had looked tired already, standing at the door and letting her mother go first. As soon as Scarlet was out the door, carefully picking her way down the front steps, John’s hand went to Ell’s hip; her lashes fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t jerk away; only tensed, considering the act of balking and pulling away from him but not yet committing. So there had been progress.

Her free hand came to his shoulder, resting there uncertainly. “Please don’t do anything to my mother’s house.”

“As much as I would love to, I will refrain from my wretched impulses. I am a man of God, after all.” He grimaced. “Do you think she’ll like me more if things are immaculate?”

“Ha-ha. She certainly will not.” She paused, letting out a little breath. “Okay. Back in an hour.”

He felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Ambitious.” His hand drifted to the small of her back, and he said, “Ell, before you go—”

“John, I don’t—”

Elliot turned to look at him at the same time that he stepped forward, closing what little distance there was and rapidly; she blinked, and her eyes flickered to his mouth instinctively, like she was expecting it—like she’d gotten used to the affection when he closed in on her like that. The gesture sent a little thrill through his stomach.

Mine.

“Don’t let her stress you out,” John murmured, keeping his voice low between just the two of them. “You’ll look good in whatever you pick.”

She turned her face away, cheeks going pink. “What’s this, huh? Still trying to make up for being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

He grinned. “You really have gotten brattier.”

“Goodbye, John,” she said, and then he leaned in and kissed her; the connection made every part of him sigh, collectively, as though he’d just been waiting for it.

Waiting for her.

Yes yes yes, it all said when she didn’t pull away, his fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater at the small of her back as her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, yes, mine all mine.

Elliot did pull back after a moment, putting a bit of space between them—though it seemed more to catch her breath than anything else. She only pulled back enough for their eyes to meet; John’s gaze darted downward, watching pearly teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, worrying it there for a moment.

“To answer your question,” he continued as casually as he could, “that’s not how I intend on making that up to you.”

“So you agree?” Elliot asked. Her voice came out evenly, despite the color blooming underneath the freckles on her cheeks. “You were being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

“I did so miss our banter.”

“Bunny,” Scarlet called impatiently from the driveway, “the boutique is going to get crowded if we don’t get there when it opens.”

“I’m coming!” Her gaze darted back to him. “The best way to make it up to me would be to say the words out loud,” Elliot informed him as she inched toward the door. “So that baby can hear them, too. At least you’ll have been more honest around our child than with me, if we’re keeping a running tally, and we should—”

He tugged her back from the doorway again, lighter, more playful as he went in to kiss her a second time; but she pulled back, just out of his reach, hand planted firmly on his chest.

Elliot said, “I told you not to get used to it.”

“I’m not,” he answered lightly, “just taking what I can get.”

“Elliot.”

“Coming!” Elliot cinched her coat up more snug, closer to her throat and where the scar lay expertly over her sternum, and snagged the keys off of the counter to the beat-up Honda Civic John had lifted from Eden’s Gate. Right. He couldn’t wait to hear Scarlet’s input on that car ride.

The redhead made it down two steps before she paused, turning and looking at John and going, “Um, bye,” in a tone that was more sheepish than he anticipated; it was almost shy, and it caught him so off-guard that he didn’t even get the chance to muster a response before she was making her way across the snowy driveway.

“Drive safe,” John called, once he’d gathered his senses a bit more. Elliot glanced at him over her shoulder and then ducked into the car, closing the door and beginning to pull her way down the drive. He waited until they’d turned onto the freshly plowed road before he turned back into the house and closed the front door behind him.

Boomer had seated himself in front of the window, letting out a little whine as his tail swept along the floor.

“C’mon, furry sentinel,” he sighed, not risking putting his hand within biting reach. “Just you and me today.”

The Heeler whined again, apparently thoroughly displeased at this news, and stayed rooted at the window to watch for his girl to come home.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he hit the redial button on the number they’d gotten a call from that morning and waited as the phone rang, pacing around the polished living room. It rang enough times as he idly adjusted glasses on a bar cart that he thought for certain no one would pick up—and then the phone clicked, and a warm voice came through.

“Hi, John.”

He blinked in surprise. “Hello, Faith. How’d you get this phone?”

“Isolde passed it to me when she saw your call. She wanted me to tell you that she’s too busy to talk to you.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like everything’s operating as normal, then.”

“I suppose.” Faith paused. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I am.”

“With Elliot?”

“Yes, she—” John cleared his throat and made an effort to sound as unbothered as possible. “She’s very concerned about Deputy Pratt’s well-being.”

“We’re taking good care of him. Will you tell her that? Better than he’d be getting out there, anyway,” and she said the word out there with such a surprising amount of venom that John realized he’d nearly forgotten about the Family’s reappearance. Well, there couldn’t be that many of them left, could there?

And then Faith said, “A lot of us are dead, John.”

His hand went to the mantle for a little support as he leaned against it. There was a bit of a bite to Faith’s voice—almost accusatory. A lot of us are dead, she said, as he stood in the plush home of his mother-in-law while they went dress shopping for a Christmas party. It occurred to him that none of his siblings—nor Isolde—were aware of what they’d been dealing with the last couple of days; they must have felt like he was getting off easy.

“The Father says we only have a little while longer,” she continued, “and that if we can’t fix this in time, we won’t wait for you. He’s been alone, a lot. Talking to God. Praying for more time, for you.”

The words made his stomach wrench, a little. He would have felt worse if he didn’t know already that there was an exit plan in place, one that Elliot was already on board for. “We’re only here for another day, and then we’re leaving” John replied. “The sheriff mentioned some—Federal agents. I don’t want to rouse suspicion and bring them down on us again.”

“Do you think it’s Burke?”

“Maybe.” He pressed his forehead against the stone mantle. “Probably. No one’s come storming in yet.”

“I hope it’s him. I hope he follows you all the way back here.” And then, darker: “He has a lot to apologize for.”

John made a low noise of agreement. It felt good to have a conversation with someone who seemed to be on the same side as him, for once—no bickering with Scarlet, no bickering with Elliot, and no bickering with Isolde. As of late, it seemed he was only capable of incurring arguments; though that did seem to be changing quickly with his wife.

“We’re having a service soon. Did you want me to tell Joseph anything?”

“Ah, no, that’s alright. I just wanted to let you know we had a plan.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No,” John said again, more quickly and with a bout of unease sprinting up his spine. “No, that’s alright. I’ll let you go. We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Alright.” Faith’s voice lightened when she added, “Tell Elliot I said hello.”

Bad idea, he thought, but said, “Of course,” and hit the end call button. It wasn’t until his entire body relaxed that he realized he’d been fully tensed, waiting for some kind of verbal blow—and though there had been a few, he felt...

Fine.

I feel fine.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Joseph was praying for more time for them. They’d make it back without a hitch. And then, when the world ended, and took the remainder of the Family with them—

Well, that would be all the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“My children.”

The heaters rattled, clicking in the lukewarm air in a steady, mechanical heartbeat. Candles lit throughout the chapel drenched the members of Eden’s Gate in a strange, golden glow, and as Joseph’s voice carried all the way to the back where Staci sat between Jacob and Arden. He could see in the front row sat Faith and the dark-haired woman—who he’d come to understand was Isolde Khan, John’s old business partner—and there was a moment where Joseph’s eyes fixed on her before they lifted back to the congregation.

“God has truly been testing us,” the man continued, pacing away from the altar the front, hands folded behind him. “As you know, I have spent a lot of time in silence and solitude so that I might be the most open to receiving from Him. For the longest time, I thought—had we done something wrong? Had I led us astray? Were we being punished?”

An uneasy murmur rippled throughout the crowd. In the front, Pratt could see Isolde writing something down in a notebook; he wished he was closer, so he could see what it was—what was so interesting that she was taking notes now, of all times? What could she possibly be doing?

Preparing for the worst-case scenario, he thought idly, shifting in his seat. Jacob’s eyes cut over to him and he cleared his throat. The shower had done nothing to ease his nerves.

“But I’ll tell you—devout, and loyal, we have not been left to the wayside.” Joseph stopped, pressing a hand onto a woman’s shoulder, squeezing. “I have heard His voice. I have received His word. We are not only followers of God’s word—we are His soldiers.”

The noise that passed through the congregation this time was brighter, agreements—it must have felt good. Not just passive sheep, to be shepherded; soldiers. Capable of violence. And they were.

“We are His warriors.”

The woman Joseph’s hand was on was getting teary-eyed, and when he departed from her to sidle his way down the aisle, she all but collapsed in on herself, folding in half to bury her face in her hands. Another attestation of acknowledgment rippled around him, louder.

“This world is a wretched, vile machine, taking in and spitting out sin, flooding our garden with locusts,” the Prophet continued, his voice lifting in volume. “We are, my children, the only people who have the great fortune of seeing this—of knowing what no one else in the world seems capable of understanding. God has told me—”

Sick, Pratt thought dizzily, I’m going to be sick.

“—that a life of bliss awaits us, if we can only...”

Joseph paused, as though he needed to look for the words, as though he hadn’t been reciting this all day in preparation for the sermon; Pratt knew that he must, the assured cadence of his voice coming so firmly that there was no way it wasn’t rehearsed.

“...look past the dread, and the fear,” he continued earnestly, allowing his hand to be taken by another member, “because fear is the language of the Devil—if we can look past it, and dedicate ourselves fully to His cause, there is only happiness and serenity waiting for us on the other side of this.”

“How do we do it, Father?” a man to the other side of Jacob cried out, his voice a panicked fever-pitch. “How do we show Him we’re devoted?”

Joseph’s head turned. His gaze landed on Pratt, lingering before lifting to the congregant. “We’ve got to stop the machine.”

Optimism flooded the crowd. An easy solution. Stop the machine, like it was nothing. Like they weren’t dealing with a group of people who killed as easily as they did.

“Throw your bodies upon the gears, upon the wheels, upon all the apparatus,” Joseph intoned dutifully, pacing back toward the front. “Whatever it takes to bring the machine to a grinding halt. We can no longer passively take part in the End—we are warriors of God, and our divine right is not instinctively endowed. It is earned. And we will show that we have earned it by exterminating these interlopers invading our garden.”

Pratt’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Eden’s Gate members came to a stand around him; loomed in his vision; eclipsed what little murky light reached him. Cheers and applause rolling around in his head. He thought for sure he’d heard this all somewhere, before—

Oh, yes. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all! The irony of Joseph lifting lines from an activist’s speech was not lost on him.

A heavy hand gripped the collar of his shirt, hauling him to his feet. “Stand up,” Jacob muttered. “Good posture’s important.”

He steadied himself on the pew ahead of him. Amidst the chatter of the congregation, eventually quieted down by Joseph’s patience at the front of the chapel, he could hear renewed excitement. More life had been breathed into the peggies than he’d seen in a long time—well, considering that he’d only been here roughly a day, and the whole place felt like a ghost town even now, that was saying something.

“Please,” Joseph called lightly, “join me in prayer.”

Heads bowed. Pratt let his chin drop to his chest, but his eyes didn’t close; his gaze darted to his right, where Arden stood, hands clasped politely in front of her. Her head did not bow for prayer.

He was only vaguely aware of the words coming out of Joseph’s mouth, redirecting his eyes back to the floorboards beneath his worn shoes. Lord, we pray that you might show us guidance and wisdom in these uncertain times; show us how to be most like you, for only you are perfect...

Elliot was going to come back to this. She was going to come back to this, and he was going to have to figure out how to get her out of here without any of the Seeds noticing. Helmi had said, meet me out back, by the river, in three nights, but he couldn’t keep track. Had it been one night? Two? Less than one?

“I am your Father,” Joseph was saying. “You are my Children. Together, and only together, will we march through the Gates of Eden.”

A rousing amen echoed around him. They milled about, chatting excitedly—perhaps delighted to have a focus for their ire, for their agitation. The members of Eden’s Gate looked worse than Pratt remembered. Dirtier. Thinner. More exhausted. He thought that it must be nice to have a purpose—

Fuck me, not that shit again.

He filed out of the row behind Arden, and with Jacob behind him, following her to the front where Isolde and Joseph stood. They were speaking in low tones, bundled close together; she tapped her ten against the front of her notepad in what looked like an agitated tick, but he couldn’t hear what it was she was saying. By the time they were close that he might have heard, Joseph lifted his head from where he’d bent a little to speak closely and looked at him, smiling.

“It was nice to see your face in the crowd this day, Deputy Pratt,” he said, his voice warm. “Did you enjoy the sermon?”

Pratt opened his mouth, and then closed it. He didn’t want to play this game.

“Go on, Peaches,” Jacob prompted, clapping his shoulder.

The nickname sparked something angry inside of him, like dragging a match against the sandpaper side of the box. If there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to kill them, Elliot had said.

Pratt turned his gaze to Joseph. “I thought the Mario Savio part was a bit much.”

A surprised, abrupt laugh barked out of Jacob. Joseph’s expression remained flat and serene. In fact, the only person who seemed to have any negative opinion about his words was Isolde, narrowing her eyes as she turned to look at him fully.

“We’re not exactly looking to hit notes with the intellectuals in the crowd, Deputy Pratt,” she informed him coolly. “They don’t care who said it first. They care who said it better.”

“Y—” Pratt swallowed. “Okay, well—”

“‘Okay, well’ shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “Or I’ll have Jacob take you out back and put you down like Old Yeller.”

“You can’t,” he protested quickly, “Elliot said—”

“Do you think I care in the least what some woman five states away said?” Isolde cut over him quickly, the elegant, soft roll of her accent a strange and unsettling juxtaposition to her words. “I’m getting this ship in fit fucking order, and that means I don’t need you inspiring dissent. Anyone with an opinion that is less than glowing, radiant, gorgeous—they get taken care of, whatever that means. Got it?”

Pratt closed his mouth tightly, until the pressure was beginning to build between his molars. I just have to make it until Elliot gets here, and then—and then I’ll—then I can get—

He took in a little breath. “Yes.”

“Peachy.” Isolde flashed a smile that was all-too-saccharine, and then turned to Joseph. “Let’s sit.”

“Of course.”

They departed to a pew just to the left of them. Jacob was grinning at him, wolfish.

“Thought about telling you she wrote it,” he said, “but that was much more entertaining.”

“You look pale, Staci,” added Arden, her voice light as it redirected from Jacob’s apparent joy at his suffering. “Maybe you should go lay down. I don’t want you straining any of those injuries.”

Okay, he thought, and maybe the words came out of him but he couldn’t tell; he couldn’t tell anymore, but he did want to go lay down. Lay down, and close his eyes, and sleep until Elliot got back.

He’d never been happier at the prospect of seeing an ex-girlfriend.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When they arrived at the boutique, Sylvia was standing outside, bouncing on the balls of her feet in what Elliot could only assume was an attempt to get warm. It was difficult, to focus on something as inane and arbitrary as dress shopping when she knew that Pratt was back in Hope County, dealing with God-knew-what the Seeds were throwing at him.

Well, the Seeds. And more. The Family, who were supposed to be dead, and—

I hear stress is bad for the baby. A familiar accent, wasn’t it?

“Well, are you just gonna sit in there all day or what?” her mother asked, having stepped out of the passenger side.

“Did you invite Sylvia?”

Scarlet sighed. “I thought it might be nice, for you.”

It was an unexpectedly sincere gesture on her mother’s part. She swallowed a thick emotion down, clearing her throat and managing out, “It—is, mama, thank you,” before she got out of the car and took the keys with her, heading towards the front doors of the main street store.

“Howdy, Freckles!” Sylvia greeted her warmly, throwing her arms around her in a tight hug. “Been a few. Wyatt’s still got your Jeep, he’s been runnin’ it a few minutes a day to make sure the battery doesn’t go bad.” She smiled brightly, turning to Elliot’s mother. “Mrs. Honeysett, you look mighty lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Sylvia tugged the door to the boutique open, ushering them inside so that she could trail in after. The inside of the store was toasty warm, making Elliot regret having worn a scarf, but it was too late now—the coat and scarf combination were doing the work to keep her scar covered.

“I just love this place,” Scarlet sighed, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. “What do you think, Elliot? Maybe something blue. I’d put you in green, but with that red hair, you’d look like a Christmas ornament. Blue’s a nice winter color—very fashionable.”

“Sure, mama,” Elliot replied, brushing her fingers along the silk of one of the dresses. The last time she’d been in anything that blue and nice had been back in Hope County. At her “baptism”. The same one Burke had been dragged to, the same one that John had held her under for just a little too long for, maybe distracted by the Marshal’s arrival back then.

“Psst.” The sound of Via’s voice caught her attention, pulling her from the waking memory. The blonde had pulled what appeared to be the most atrocious Christmas gown that could have been looked at off of the rack, holding it up and lifting her eyebrows as Scarlet chatted enthusiastically with the store’s saleswoman.

“Stop it,” Elliot said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, dead serious, Freckles.”

“It has mistletoe on it, Via.”

“How else am I supposed to fetch a husband, if not by readily-accessible entrapment?”

Well, she thought a little dryly, that is how John got a wife.

It was odd, to think of the moment with anything less than hostility—to have come to a point where there were things more pressing than a marriage that, in the end, might not matter anyway. John had said that he knew the baby didn’t mean she’d take him back; had acknowledged there was no guarantee. For once, he’d shown up in her life with every intention laid bare for her to see.

Maybe not every intention. But she’d root them all out, eventually, and pretend like it hadn’t become something of a game, to catch John in a lie and watch him squirm.

She let the boutique’s owner show her around, clearly making quite a show for her mother, and politely turned down any suggestions for a deep v or off-the-shoulder type of garment. Sylvia had picked out a few; most blue, some blush, a few red, and then loaded some into Elliot’s arms.

“Try ‘em on!” she chirped. “Yes, even the green ones. Maybe your mama doesn’t want an Elliot Christmas ornament, but I do.”

Elliot heaved a sigh, though it was only half-sincere—anything delivered with Sylvia’s bright, cheery smile, she was hard-pressed to feel anything less than good about. Maybe that was dangerous, to be so comfortable with someone.

Or maybe, she thought, closing the dressing room door behind her, that’s just how having friends are. You remember what that was like.

She did. As she undressed and zipped the back of one of the red dresses Sylvia had selected—thoughtfully aware of the fact that she’d want most of her chest covered—she regarded herself in the mirror. There was that stranger again, flushed cheeks and bright eyes staring back at her. A familiar nose shape, a familiar slope of her cheekbones—but the rest of her. Where had she gone?

With one hand she pushed the door open, the other one lifting the back train of the dress as little as she walked out. A grimace had planted itself on her face, even despite Sylvia’s elaborate applause at her appearance.

“Oh, bunny, you look darling,” her mother sighed, having turned to take a look. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”

“Not big on the sparkles,” she admitted.

“I like them. You’ve always looked good in red, though. That fair complexion of your father’s.”

Sylvia grinned. “Try on a green one. I wanna imagine how you’ll look on my tree!”

Elliot stuck her tongue out at the blonde, turning around and scurrying back into the changing room. There were a few more dresses—even a green one—that were in the running, but eventually, she’d settled on a floor-length piece, dark blue velvet and halter-topped to get the most sternum coverage. When she’d redressed and rejoined the group outside, her mother was beaming as she gossiped with the boutique owner.

“Elliot’s quite modest,” her mother said conversationally, “and she’s already married, you know.”

“Thank you, mother,” Elliot sighed, a little smile fighting its way onto her face.

“Whatever are you still wearing your coat for? Your face is all red.”

“I’m—” She paused, swallowing. “Still cold.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Cold? It’s eighty degrees in here. And your face is all red.”

Sylvia had glanced up from across the store, neck-deep in dresses of a warmer shade. Elliot could feel the eyes on her—her friend, her mother, the boutique owner—and she cleared her throat and tugged absently at the tag on the dress.

“It’s fine,” she said after a minute.

“Well, at least take your scarf off.”

“I think it’s a lovely scarf,” the owner tried, a little helplessly.

“Mother, it’s—I’m fine—”

But her mother moved too quickly for her to realize what was happening; her mother’s hand unwound the scarf with expert ease, and then froze, her eyes fixed on what Elliot thought assuredly was the little of her WRATH scar, revealed.

Her stomach rolled. Heat flooded her body, worse than before—it was the kind of sticky-wet heat that came with the threat of throwing up, the kind that crept up the spine and gripped by the nape of the neck. Elliot felt her lashes flutter; she dropped the dress abruptly and yanked the scarf out of her mother’s hands to wind it securely around her neck again. The boutique owner had quickly turned to the clothing rack, as though something very emergent had occurred on the inanimate objects.

Stupid. She was so stupid. She should have just worn a sweater. She shouldn’t have looked at her scar that morning and thought, maybe it is something to love, she shouldn’t have ever risked the chance that her mother would see it, stupidstupidstupid—

“My God,” Scarlet said tightly, the tone of her voice washing Elliot with shame. “What did you do?”

I’m sorry, she wanted to say, automatically. Mama, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m not good anymore, I’m not—

“Phew, I sure am dressed-out,” Sylvia announced, having come over. “I’ll have to go home and weigh my options. Ell, you wanna head outside for some air?”

“I think that’s best,” her mother replied curtly, before Elliot could even think to formulate a sentence. “I’ll finish up in here.”

She thought about trying to say something—trying to explain, maybe, what it was that had happened. But how could she? Her mother had suffered through the years she’d inflicted pain on herself, after daddy and after Mason, and she had told her mother she was better, now. Healed. Good. What could she say, to make it alright?

Because there was no world where she could say, I didn’t want it, and mean it.

Via’s hand fit snugly in hers, tugging her lightly out through the front door of the boutique onto the street. It wasn’t until she took in a lungful of cold, dry air that she realized she’d been holding her breath; her lungs ached, her head swimming, and she was gripping Via’s hand too tightly.

“Hey,” Sylvia said softly, “s’okay.”

It’s not, she thought miserably, it’s not okay, I’m not okay, I want to go—

Where? Where could she go?

I want—

Nowhere? Anywhere?

—to go—

“Home,” she managed out unsteadily, “I should go home—”

Sylvia gave her hand a squeeze. “You want I should give your mama a ride back to the house?”

“Yes.” She swallowed, sniffing. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, Freckles. Sure. You just—maybe you just take a little drive for yourself, collect your thoughts.” Via paused, and then leaned a little to catch Elliot’s eyes; though her vision blurred from the threat of tears, the blonde still smiled a little. “You gonna be okay all by yourself?”

It was a strange question to ask, but Elliot knew what she meant. Are you safe? Alone?

“Yeah,” Ell replied in a thick, watery mumble. “I am.”

“Okay. Can you give me a call when you get home?”

She nodded weakly. Via pulled her into a hug, tight and gentle all at once, enough to make the dam break; just for a little, just for a minute, the tears streaked down her cheeks and caught up in the fabric of the scarf where it wadded against her jaw.

My God, what did you do?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, pulling back and sucking in a sharp little breath. “Um, I’m really—s-sorry—”

But Via shook her head firmly and brushed some of the hair back from Elliot’s face, wet from her tears. “Don’t apologize. Go get a little breather.”

She fished the keys out of Elliot’s pocket for her, putting them in her hand and hesitating.

“Promise you’ll call,” she reiterated.

Elliot nodded. “I—I promise.”

“Okay. No take-backs.”

“No take-backs.”

Via gave her another hug before ushering her towards the car. As she climbed in and turned the key, her hands shaking, she thought about the way her mother had looked at the scar—with disgust. Horror. Shame. Via hadn’t looked at her like that, when she’d seen it. She’d seemed embarrassed, at having put Elliot in such a position; but not like that. She hadn’t looked horrified.

John didn’t look at it like that. He’d spent a lot of time last night, tracing the shape of the scar with his eyes, with his mouth, reverent and adoring. Makes you hungry, doesn’t it?

At least leaving would be that much easier.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They came back separately.

When John heard the front door open, he’d been starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He poked his head around the archway to look out in the foyer, only to find Scarlet standing there, furiously unbuttoning her coat and dropping her gloves into the drawer. Two dress bags hung on the coat rack.

“Ell outside?” he asked casually, coming around.

“Certainly not,” Scarlet replied tartly. “She’s—”

And then the woman let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment—for the first time, Scarlet Honeysett looked to be composing herself, which he thought she was nearly incapable of losing sight of. It seemed even the impenetrable armor of the Honeysett matriarch had its own weaknesses after all.

His tiny little thrill at the sight of Scarlet looking troubled was short-lived, however, because she said, “My daughter walked into the boutique sporting this—wretched scar—”

Oh, he thought, suddenly.

“—never been so humiliated in my whole life—”

Oh, no, because he knew exactly what she was talking about and Elliot would be—

“—have no doubt, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet bit out viciously, “that scar is new and you have certainly not influenced her away from such activities.”

He needed to find Elliot. She would be distraught; why hadn’t she come home with her mother? And why wasn’t Scarlet more pressed concerning her daughter’s well-being?

“And where is she?” John asked, ignoring the stinging anger bubbling in his chest. Wretched scar, she’d said. Like it wasn’t beautiful. Like it wasn’t gorgeous. Like he hadn’t spent a whole night looking at it, running his hands and mouth over it, knowing that Elliot had looked at him and wanted it and trusted him and if there was something more devoted, it was carrying someone’s child. “Elliot? Where is she?”

“Taking a moment to regain her senses,” the blonde replied sharply. “She has vowed to be home soon. Mr. Seed—”

He had gone to reach for his coat, pausing at her words and looking at her expectantly.

Scarlet twisted the gloves in her hands for a moment, her brows pulling together.

“I just think,” she finally said, “that as her husband, you are responsible for her as much as I am. You have to be taking care of her when I’m not around.”

“I do,” he replied.

“Evidence says contrary,” Scarlet snapped. “She has come back to me with more—damage—”

The sound of a car pulling up outside snapped John’s attention elsewhere. He knew that if he stayed much longer in the conversation, they would be leaving sooner than what they had planned, if only because Scarlet wouldn’t tolerate him in the house for the things that he wanted to say to her. Damage, he wanted to say, that is only as bad as it is because it’s compounding on your incessant need to brush aside her problems like they’re nothing, like she didn’t need help then.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pulling his coat on and opening the door. The rush of cold air bit at his face and hands; Boomer came rushing out around his legs, springing down the steps and hurrying to the driver’s side of the Honda. John was only vaguely aware of the door closing behind him—and it didn’t matter, anyway.

She didn’t open the door when Boomer got there, scrabbling at it for her eagerly. She kept her hands on the top of the steering wheel and pressed her forehead into it, the engine ticking as it cooled. When John got there, he reached for the door handle to tug it open. Elliot hit the lock button.

“Ell,” John said, “open the door.”

She lifted her head tiredly from the steering wheel. Where her hand sat over the lock button, her fingers trembled a little, and her face was flushed—not with health, but with the sickly red of feverish, panicked crying.

“Baby,” he tried again, a little more urgently, putting his hand on the glass of the window, “Boomer wants to see you.”

Elliot’s eyes were fixed on his jacket. “Would you—” She stopped, her voice muffled by the glass, and then she took a deep breath and said, “Would you even be here if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“What?” John blinked at her.

“If I didn’t have the baby,” she tried again, her voice thick and watery with unshed tears, that pouty lower lip trembling, “would you have even come for me?”

He stared at her. It had never occurred to him, that there might be a world in her head where he didn’t come for her, where he didn’t find her, where he didn’t try and bring her back.

“Of course I would,” John said, drawing her eyes to him. “I love you, Elliot.” And then, more urgently: “I love you, with or without the baby.”

She looked away from him, then, staring out the other side of the window, fingers curling uselessly against the steering wheel even as the keys lay in the passenger seat—like she wanted to run. Like she wanted to floor it, and go somewhere, anywhere.

“Open the door, Ell.” He swallowed thickly. “Won’t you?”

The door lock clicked. He tugged at the handle and it opened with ease, Boomer instantly shoving his face into Elliot’s side and whining, tail wagging so furiously his whole body moved with it. John pushed the door open the rest of the way and reached for her, and her hand caught his wrist and pulled, and she buried her face into his chest and trembled like a leaf in a breeze.

“I’m so tired,” she moaned miserably into his chest, hiccupping with grief, “I want to go home.”

John wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head and keeping her tugged close.

“I know,” he said. “We’ll go. We will, I promise, Ell, okay?”

“Please—” The redhead pulled back to look at him. “I can’t—you can’t—lie to me, anymore—”

“I know,” John said again, a little helplessly, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. She was clutching him so tightly he was sure her nails would leave marks on his skin, even through the fabric of his clothes.

“I won’t.”

[libidomechanica]

You with various of Sprince

to secure, will withdrew   Welcomes my with the leaf to the vapor cate on a flattent   To posses, hears bust. close free, the name, and not bury of not sixty years,

as their People whose my her bus-ket doth, while Pan in ever what Youth a privals to a pleasantly all, nor solen some dead, a brease of eart: who was Jose,

that large now alone statemen town something, dropping were me does in air, of like their Name, thousand Heart joined a women outragged him.

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Where not be, like to eithere. True, dulled it virtue, and of desolved or her poor laik o gear the for shall the to were in the causeous lies moan.

[juniperpublishersoceanography]

Characterization of Teatina Coast Marine Habitats (Central Adriatic Sea) toward an Integrated Coastal Management- Juniper Publishers

Abstract

The Adriatic Sea represents a vulnerable ecosystem and need an Integrated Coastal Management to protect, conserve and manage the coastal and marine areas. This preliminary work proposes a local case study aimed to the characterization of coastal marine habitats along Teatina coast (Abruzzo, central Italy), carrying out 11 transects parallel to the coastline. Moreover, the presence of sea turtles and cetaceans has been estimated by the analysis of specimens stranded and included in the GeoCETUS database of Centro Studi Cetacei onlus. The results show that the study area has a considerable marine biodiversity and a sustainable management is urgent for preserving the habitats and associated species. As first step the Nature 2000 network should be implemented by including the marine areas in front of each terrestrial SCIs and Natural Reserves, to create some marine protected areas along Teatina coast with the aim to match the socio-economic needs of the territory and the conservation of natural habitats. Our results only represent a first step and further socio-economic analysis should be implemented to establish an integrated management plan together with the regional authorities.

Keywords: Bionomic characterization; Centro studi Cetacei onlus; Coastal environment monitoring protocol; Coastal habitats; GEOCETUS database; Marine habitats; Nature 2000 network

Introduction

In the Mediterranean Sea, the Adriatic is the most productive basin hosting endemic species and marine mammals, sea turtles, seabirds, fishes and invertebrates, and also the nursery, spawning, and foraging areas [1]. The overexploitation of resources and the increasing of human activities on the coastal areas from the fifties to the present day [2] have impacted the shallow water benthic communities modifying and impoverishing the marine habitats [3]. Moreover, the erosion processes involve both the sandy beaches and the rocky coasts losing important coastal and marine habitats and species [3]. Furthermore the description and the distribution of Adriatic benthic communities have been studied on a larger and a local scale [4-6] but the information about marine biocoenosis and biodiversity in the Teatina coast (Abruzzo, central Italy) now is poor and not exhaustive to structure management programs. In the central Adriatic Sea, the Teatina coast represents a particularly environment composed by shallow rocky cliffs generating pebble beaches alternated by sandy beaches. Along this coast there are promontories too, such as Punta Ferruccio, Ripari di Giobbe, Punta Acquabella e Punta Aderci [7]. Sandy beaches are characterized by established dunes and incipient dunes especially occur at the southern part of the Teatina coast. The marine substrates are characterized by seagrass habitat (Cymodocetum and Zosteretum), the rocky- algal reef and unvegetated sand habitats; the Posidonia oceanica seagrass beds are present only in the southern Adriatic Sea at depth greater than 20 meters [8].

The aim of our work is to improve the knowledge about marine biodiversity and EU habitats and associated species along Teatina coast (Abruzzo, central Italy) for promoting a sustainable management of such resources, as required by European Commission to implementing the marine Nature 2000 sites (EU-Pilot 83/16/ENVI case) according to the criteria identified by Annexex II and III Habitat Directive 92/43/CEE.

The study of the marine habitats was carried out through the distribution of sampling stations along 11 transects of 500 meters parallel of coastline between the municipalities of Ortona and Vasto (central Italy) from -1 to -10 meters in depth at natural rocky shores and associated ichtyofauna. In each station the sampling was carried out through visual census method (specimens/minutes), standardized by Coastal Environment Monitoring Protocol (CEM) with the cooperation of researchers, scuba divers and managers of the coastal/marine preserved areas (https://www.reefcheckmed.org/english/underwater- monitoring-protocol/). For each transect, was recorded the presence/absence, the number and frequency of specimens of guide species for marine environment [9,10]. Finally, were identified the marine habitats [11] and the Biotopes CORINE [12] and the EUNIS [13] typologies.

Data of sea turtles and cetaceans stranded along Teatina coast were collected in GIS format in the GeoCETUS website (http://geocetus.spaziogis.it/) by the Centro Studi Cetacei onlus CSC (Cetacean Study Centre-onlus), established by the Museum of Natural History of Milan in October 1985 by several researchers from the Italian Natural History Museum and other Italian scientific institutions and now responsible of the Recovery Center for sea turtles 'Luigi Cagnolaro' on Pescara, central Italy [14,15].

Discussion

Marine substrates at -7/-10 meters in depth showed well-calibrated fine and silty sand in quiet environments of Mediterranean Sea with association of seahorse grass Cymodocea nodosa (EUNIS 4.5131) referred to sandbanks (EC habitat code 1110) in continuous with estuaries (EC habitat code 1130) of the largest rivers along the Teatina coast (Sangro, Sinello) in contact with riparian woods with Salix alba and Populus alba (EC habitat code 92A0) [16,17].

The benthic populations found in sandy substrates are especially endobionts, as bivalves Tellina sp, Donax trunculus, Chamalea gallina, Cardium edule, Ensis ensis, Solen vagina, Mactra corallina, and the gasteropods Aporrhais pes-pelecani, and the echinoderms Echinocardium cordatum and Astropecten sp.

Infralittoral rock included habitats of bedrock, boulders and cobbles which occur in the shallow subtidal zone and typically support rhodophyceae communities as Corallinetum elongatae association (EUNIS A3.11) with bio-concretion on shady vertical rocks at Punta Ferruccio, Ripari di Giobbe and Punta dell'Acquabella and Punta Aderci. The Halymenia floresia association with specimens up to 15cm in length is more representative in the Punta Aderci site [18]. In the sheltered and calm waters sites other seaweeds species occurred, such as Ulva sp., Peysonnelia sp., Codium bursa, C. fragile and Dictyota dichotoma.

An important rocky habitat is Sabellaria spinulosa reef (EUNIS A3.6721) more representative along the coast with bio-concretion colonized by Mytilus galloprovincialis facies, with seaweeds, snakelocks anemone Anemonia viridis, bivaleves Ostra edulis and Gastrochaena dubia, gasteropods Trunculariopsis trunculus and Haliotis tubercolata, branching bryozoans Schizoporella errata, echinoderms Arbacia lixula, Sphaerechinus granularis and Paracentrotus lividus and crustaceans Scyllarus arctus, Palaemon elegans and Inachus sp. Moreover, a diversified icthyofauna was sampled: Parablennius gattorugine, P. rouxi, Diplodus vulgaris, D. annularis, Scorphaena porcus, Coris julis and Chromis chromis with an decreasing gradient of species number from North to South and a better status of conservation of Punta Acquabella and Ripari di Giobbe reef (Table 1).

In addition, the presence and the distribution of the cushion coral Cladocora caespitosa, the gorgoniidae Leptogorgia sarmentosa (both Least Concern for IUCN Red List), the date mussel Lithophaga lithophaga (All. IV Hab. Dir.) and the mussel Pholas dactylus (Vulnerable for IUCN Red List) were investigated and the results showed a decrease of their abundance from North to South, except to L. lithophaga with an high presence in the Punta Aderci reef up to 5-6 meters deep and in the Punta Acquabella in co-presence with few individuals of the mussel P dactylus. The gorgoniidae L. sarmentosa with four colonies (0,4 spec./min) only occurred in the Ripari di Giobbe site while cushion coral Cladocora caespitosa is especially present in the northern side of the Teatina coast with a maximum of 33 specimens (0.62 spec./min) in the Acquabella reef.

Results showed an high marine biodiversity in species and in number of specimens, especially in the northern side of the study area and a decrease in the southern part; on the contrary to the terrestrial habitats and species are mainly concentrated in the SCIs which are larger in the southern side, as on Torino di Sangro and Vasto [7,16,17].

It worth to note that a dangerous invasive species was found, the veined whelk Rapana venosa, which is homogeneously distributed along whole Teatina coast.

The CSC along the Teatina coast revealed the presence of the sea turtle Caretta caretta dead or alive and of common small cetaceans as the striped dolphin Stenella coeruleoalba and the bottlenose dolphin Tursiops truncatus, confirming the presence in the central Adriatic Sea of important nursery and feeding habitats [19], as showed in the Table 2. Furthermore, in the southern Teatina coast were stranded some rare species for a small basin like the Adriatic Sea, that is the sperm whale Physeter macrocephalus and the fin whale Balaenoptera physalus [20,21] (Table 2).

Conclusion

The Adriatic Sea represent a very vulnerable ecosystem as it is subjected to continuous pressures by the touristic, fishing, and oil activities compromising the habitats and associated species. Therefore it is necessary to protect, conserve, and manage the coastal and marine areas and their communities [22] with an Integrated Coastal Management ICZM (http://ec.europa.eu/ environment/iczm/) that involves a collaboration between the different stakeholders to manage the environmental and cultural heritage in a sustainable way. Considering the terrestrial Natura 2000 network along Teatina coast (Figure 1) and evaluating our preliminary characterization of marine habitats in the study area we suggest to implement the marine Nature 2000 network including the marine area in front of each terrestrial SCIs and Natural Reserves, to create a series of marine protected areas along Teatina coast, with the aim to match the socio-economic needs of the territory and the conservation of natural habitats. Our results only represent a first step and further socio-economic analysis should be implemented to establish an integrated management plan together with the regional authorities.

To Know More About Journal of Oceanography Please Click on: https://juniperpublishers.com/ofoaj/index.php

[jj-ktae]

Game Nine - Longing -

Title : Survival Games Genre : AU, Angst, Fluff, Romance Pairing : Taeyong x You (reader) Beta : @listlessmaenads​ - She’s finally out of the dungeon and she was so quick so let’s all thank her for saving my poor soul. Summary : A deserted island and no hope left. There is only despair and this boy, Lee Taeyong, who seems to be the only survivor. You both were on the flight KAL134, from Auckland to Seoul. Words : 3802

Teaser - Discovering -  Sharing - Thinking - Accepting - Hoping - Breathing - Missing - Treasuring -

Game Nine - Longing -

You suppress a gasp, not because you’re surprised but because you didn’t know. 

You didn’t know how good it would feel to hear these words from him.

Taeyong was about to get up and leave again but your hand grabs his in a swift motion. He barely has the time to tell you to be careful of your injury.

He barely has the time to do anything before he finds himself into your arms. You’re crying, so loudly.

“Does it hurt that much?” he breathes, bewildered.

You chuckle and it sounds like a sob but it doesn’t matter. You let everything out, from the frustration of being locked in a deserted island to the guilt which takes over you as you finally understand how Taeyong feels.

“No, it’s not about that.” You try to articulate between tears and sniffs, the relief so strong it makes you feel exhausted. “I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry, Taeyong.”

He stiffens, arms reaching for your shoulders to push you away from him and all you see is confusion. His brows are furrowed. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t understand.

It almost scares him. Maybe it’s a farewell, maybe you’re sorry because he isn’t as important as you are to him.

You rub the tears, eyes bloodshot and cheeks moist. “You’re important, too. You’re fucking important and I’m so sorry it took me so much time to say it back to you.” You sniff, pained yet not even daring to look into his now shocked eyes.

Taeyong blinks, mouth opening and closing in evident distress. His tongue feels dry and his chest hurts so much he has to stop himself from coughing.

He isn’t even sure of what he heard.

So he doesn’t speak. He knows himself enough to keep quiet and not say nonsense. Taeyong’s legs hit the sand softly as he finally lets his body rest, muscles now soft and mind appeased.

You let your hands fall on your knees, the moistness gluing sand on your palms as you rub the skin in distress. “You probably don’t really care about what I’m saying now, or maybe I’m too late, but I miss you. So damn much.”

You don’t know why your throat gets dry or how hoarse your voice is now. Maybe it’s the whole situation, maybe it’s the exhaustion that makes your tears fall.

But as Taeyong slowly moves on the burning ground to wrap his arms around your neck and embrace you, you feel it.

The relief.

--

Life gets less complicated. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that Taeyong’s presence makes everything easier, from something as simple as getting food to lonely nights on the beach.

You feel thankful and cared for but Taeyong still seems different. He barely stays close to you and even though he always keeps an eye on what you do, it’s like there’s a barrier between you two.

You want to question him, especially one night when you notice how he seems to disappear when it’s time to sleep, only to appear in the morning, dishevelled and looking exhausted.

Taeyong chooses not to mention anything about this so you act like you’re not worried, too scared of whatever his answer would be if you decide to question him over it. Days go on and it’s the same, from early mornings to late nights. Taeyong avoids, hides, stays quiet but never forgets to get you food.

Johnny feels it. Johnny sees everything. The others are too busy to analyse the situation but he understands right away when he finds Taeyong observing from behind a tree, acting busy yet staring at your direction.

“What’s happening?” He asks out of the blue one night. Taeyong is by the sea, feet in the sand and hands playing with a tiny branch.

Taeyong isn’t surprised by the question. He knows his friend and how observant he can be but he also knows he hasn’t been very discreet so far. He tries, though. “What do you mean?”

Johnny chuckles, his long locks moving along his amused face. “The girl. You’ve been avoiding her and it’s surprising, considering how close you seemed to be a week ago.” Johnny’s smile deepens, “Taeyong is being Taeyong again?”

His friend laughs tiredly, it’s so like Johnny to be straight-forward.

“I’m not doing a great job here.” He admits, letting his guard down because maybe, just maybe, Johnny would be able to help.

Because Taeyong feels like a useless piece of shit.

“It’s a typical Taeyong move,” Johnny leans, hands touching the soft waves. “Avoiding the girl you love because now that she finally told you how she feels, you’re freaking out.”

“Am I?” Taeyong teases, a smirk growing on his usually expressionless face.

“Dude, you’re shitting your pants. It’s not that dramatic!” Johnny shrugs, eyebrows rising. “You survived a plane crash and you’re lost on an island with no mean to go back to civilization. If anything, you shouldn’t freak out about your own feelings.”

To this Taeyong hums, pensive. Johnny is right. The situation is dramatic and he should be panicking about a thousand things but nothing works.

Nothing works better than your eyes, staring at him like they are longing for affection and if he didn’t have any self-control, he would have given in.

“At least stop avoiding her,” Johnny concludes, stirring and complaining about small people using him like a ladder, “you’ll end up pushing her away another time and I don’t think you’ll like it. Also, Doyoung said it’s about time you get close to the girl because he will have to beat your ass if he sees you sulking one more time.” His friend laughs discreetly, finally getting up and patting a now scoffing Taeyong. “G’night bro.”

It’s true. Everything Johnny said screams reality for so many reasons, Taeyong thinks. This is why he hates himself, this is why he is so torn between coming back to you and unleash his inner soft side or keep a distance and act like he is unaffected.

Taeyong grunts one last time before aiming for the little camp where he finds you softly snoring.

He is in deep shit.

--

Lunch is always fun. You like being around everyone during lunch. They forgave your selfish past with Timothy and finally seem to open up to you. Solene talks to you from time to time, too. It’s awkward, weird and embarrassing, but you don’t care.

You’re so glad to feel included.

Only one thing bugs you. One very busy thing, which seems to be running everywhere this morning. You see it go from the jungle to the beach, carrying wood and teaching things to people.

Taeyong also seems to feel more at ease among the people in the camp. He smiles and nods cutely when someone shows him something, he offers to help the elderly whenever he sees one having trouble doing something and even laughs openly now.

He still seems so keen on staying away from you, though.

It’s disappointing but you can only blame yourself. Taeyong deserves none of your shit and even though you apologized, you can’t seem to forgive yourself for the way you acted.

Now Taeyong would rather protect himself and even though it hurts, you smile through the days.

Deep down though, you can’t deal with it. The probability of Taeyong running away from you is too harsh to handle. It’s true that he is still obliging, he brings you food silently, offers help when needed but never tags along enough to hold a conversation. It makes you want to yell in frustration because you crave proximity but there’s nothing you can do.

So you give up. You busy yourself too, spending days trying to find something useful to do. You lose yourself in the jungle twice but Taeyong doesn’t notice.

How funny.

Taeyong doesn’t deal with the situation well. He is glad you’re finally opening to the others and does his best to keep a safe distance. Johnny keeps on nagging him but it’s all clear in his head.

You’ve just lost your boyfriend. You can’t possibly see him the way he sees you.

He isn’t sure about that though, and Doyoung finds pleasure in letting him know how lost your eyes seem to be every time he sees you. Taeyong thinks it has nothing to do with him and his friends want to slap him for being so ignorant.

Taeyong refuses to accept the frightening reality and it makes him do the dumbest shit.

Sure, he is friendly, sure he is willing to help, but why is he so stupid he doesn’t notice the way Solene sticks to his ass every single day?

This is what you want to ask him but you don’t. You stay away from the two, even when the pretty girl hits his shoulder lightly when Taeyong makes a weird face. You don’t move when she tries to feed him a piece of sweet potato. It started out of nowhere and it’s shocking but deep down, you know there’s no way to stop this.

Taeyong is receptive and doesn’t run away from Solene. The latter continues, her giggles starting to sound annoying as time passes. You find it low that she would act this way when she witnessed how close you and Taeyong were.

But it’s not like you two were openly close to each other either.

You’re the one who ran away from him to be with your boyfriend. You left him on the island and considered running away.

It has always been the same. You get what you deserve.

--

It continues.

When Taeyong sees you struggling with a coconut, he doesn’t help because Solene calls him. When you come back limping from yet another adventure in the jungle, he doesn’t move as Solene apparently cut her finger with a knife.

Johnny magically appears every time, an apologetic smile painting his usually goofy expressions. He acts like he doesn’t notice the way you look at Taeyong and chit-chats for a while, before leaving you alone again.

You sigh every single time, before going back to another day of numbness.

Taeyong doesn’t know why this girl keeps on following him. From what he remembers she used to be close to you but now she spends all her days asking for help. Solene never mentions you and even though he is glad she doesn’t, Taeyong finds it weird that she would suddenly ask for help.

He isn’t the type of guy who refuses to help someone in need, but somehow it’s fishy.

“She likes you.” Doyoung tells him one morning. They’re both swimming around one tiny waterfall they found in the jungle. “She likes you and she doesn’t really speak to y/n anymore. You’re going to put yourself in more mess if you keep on being too nice.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, hands massaging his scalp to clean it off the sand stuck into his locks, “She just needs help, like everyone else here.” He dives once, shaking his head as soon as he emerges from the water.

“She doesn’t. The last time Mark tried to help her, she told him she used to be a scout and knows a lot already. She wants you to help her.” Doyoung continues, his face overly dramatic yet he smirks. “Solene probably wants to get close to you because she noticed how you so desperately want to run away from y/n.”

“So what do I do? Do I ignore her? People will start thinking I’m a freak again.” Taeyong admits. As much as he loves being alone, he still doesn’t like how everyone used to run away from him.

Doyoung looks exhausted as he glances one last time at his friend. He gets up and starts walking away, “Stop being a coward and confess to y/n. I bet Solene will magically stop being clingy.”

“Y/n doesn’t have these type of feelings.”

Doyoung lifts a hand, his head slowly shaking “Dumbass.” He mutters, before sticking a finger into his ear to clean it.

--

Do you have feelings for him?

Taeyong wonders why he is so hesitant.  He acts like he doesn’t see it but the look on your face says it all. You admitted that you missed him yet he could not bring himself to stay close to you.

Maybe he is scared.

Well, he is scared. Taeyong doesn’t know how to deal with feelings but this is getting too complicated for his liking. Solene sticking around every day drains him because he has no idea how to act. Part of him wants to be nice but then he sees you and feels like a cheater, the other part can’t reject Solene either, for her eyes always seem to shine whenever he shows her a new trick. She asks a lot of questions like he is the most interesting person around there and her eyes always shine when she looks at him.

He should feel flattered but he almost regrets all this.

So eventually he decides he’s had enough. You probably don’t want to hear from him ever again but he can’t keep on living this way. To hell with fear of rejection and other considerations.

“Are you going somewhere?” Solene asks him when he gets up from his spot near the fire. “Can I tag along?” she smiles, her hair floating as she turns around quickly.

Taeyong shakes his head, mind busy with sentences he will probably never say because he is stupid when it comes to interactions. He finds you kneeling next to what’s left of your belongings. You look tired and done with everything as you’re folding clothes. You don’t see him at first, eyes scanning the stains on what used to be your favourite tee-shirt.

Taeyong starts sweating instantly. “Hi.” He stutters, palms warm against the fabric of his jeans.

You look up, startled. What is Taeyong doing here and most importantly, is he talking to you?

You nod, silent.

“I…can I talk to you?” You see the way he plays with his fingers, like he fears what is about to come.

You honestly want to say yes, but you’ve been thinking a lot and even though you deserve what happened, you can’t help but feel like you’ve been played with.

You smile, not genuine and almost sour. “So…now you want to talk?” It sounds more aggressive than what you’d like to admit and Taeyong slightly flinches, not really expecting that kind of reaction.

It’s true that you want to talk to him but you don’t understand the way he functions. A couple of weeks ago he was talking big about how you shouldn’t let yourself die because you are important to him. He held you back as you were crying, rubbed your back, acted like he cared.

But he doesn’t. He ran away and lived his life like nothing happened.

“If you don’t want to…I can come back-” Taeyong tries, but you cut him before he can finish, the sentence already infuriating.

“No, no you won’t come back. You’d rather avoid me like I’m sort of disease and we both know it. I admit it all happened because I started avoiding you, but I don’t get how you always talk like you care when you don’t. Why do you open your mouth and don’t let me do what I fucking want if you’re about to act like I don’t exist the day after? What the hell is wrong with you?” You let it all out. It feels like you haven’t talked in ages and it’s such a relief. It makes you feel a thousand times lighter.

Taeyong is speechless. He expected some sort of uneasiness, but he never thought it would be this complicated. “I’ve always been there whenever you needed it.” He tries, not getting why you were so mad over his behaviour.

“Have you?” You laugh, almost looking scary. “When was it? Was it before or after being all over Solene?” You didn’t want to talk about her at first. You promised yourself you wouldn’t feel jealous but somehow, seeing Taeyong looking like he doesn’t understand your pain made you freaking annoyed.

Taeyong doesn’t like how you’re starting to accuse him. He straightens his back and his face turns blank. “Both. Before and after you tried to leave this island. I was always there, even when you decided I was some sort of disease so you could play perfect couple with that bastard.” It slips past his lips before he can think about it. He doesn’t know why he speaks like this, especially when your face turns pale as you get up angrily.

You’re no match to him. Taeyong can be the softest guy ever, but you’re not ready for him going back to his old self.

“I apologized,” You start, voice turning low and shivery, “and I’m still regretting.” You grab your clothes and sigh. Maybe it’s too messy. Maybe your relationship with Taeyong is so broken it can’t be fixed.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to happen in the first place.

“Forget it, Taeyong. I’m tired of being here and fighting with you. Forget I said anything and go on with your life. I’m sorry I was such a horrible person but you know what? I’ve always been a bad person so I guess it’s natural.”  You conclude, tears ready to fall but you do your best to keep them in.

Taeyong takes a step toward you. “No. I’m not done talking to you.” He is calm, way too calm for someone who is ready to fight. “So you stay here and you listen to me.”

You open your mouth, anger rising again, “Don’t talk to me like you’re in the army again! I said leave it so you fucking leave it! Go do your thing for fuck’s sake!” the tears fall before you can calm yourself but you can only let your clothes fall on the floor.

“Are you done?” Taeyong stays composed, his hesitant moves now gone and confidence back. “Are you going to listen to me or should I let you yell some more?”

You’re confused. You’re so confused you can only let the anger vanish. “I don’t understand you, Taeyong. I’m trying to, but I can’t seem to get what is it that you want from me.”

“I shouldn’t have acted like this.” He starts, taking a deep breath in hope you’d let him finish. He sees you freeze, eyes wide open and bloodshot and it’s a mixture of exhaustion and pain.

It breaks him.

“I…you…I mean, I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to act and it’s freaking me out because now that you’re back with me and you said all these things, it makes me want more and more and I don’t want to be pushed away again.” He finally admits.

You blink, honestly wondering where he is going.

“I can’t let you on your own but at the same time, the more I get involved, the more it makes me want to be close to you. I’ve never been this way and you know it. I’ve never been so close to someone that I don’t imagine myself on my own without them. Of course I’m scared so yeah, I probably made you feel like I don’t care about you. I just, I don’t know how this works! I don’t know if I’m important the same way you are to me.” Taeyong surprises himself. He isn’t used to be openly fragile and weak, he never had to even explain himself when it came to his feelings.

“It’s just so messy and you’re here. You’re here and you’re all I can think about. I’m sorry for being such a stupid person but you know what? I’ve always been stupid so I guess it’s natural.” He opts for a stupid comeback in hope it’d make you smile and he is relieved when your lips timidly twitches. “I’m so scared that once I let everything go, there will be no turning point for you and you’ll realize how hopeless I am,” he stops, rubbing his forehead and deciding he had talked enough for now. “Just don't think I don’t care because I’ve never cared about someone the way I care about you.”

You don’t know how to answer. Taeyong’s finally saying all the things you were doubting and now it makes perfect sense but at the same time, how could he even think so low of himself? He has been nothing but perfect with you all this time and you owe him your life. There’s no way you could ever think of him as hopeless.

It would be too long to explain yourself and right now is not the moment to be mushy so you cut the crap and go for it. “Are you in love with me?” you ask, arms limp by your side yet feeling tensed all of a sudden.

It sounds arrogant but before you can regret being so straightforward, Taeyong nods.

“I thought this was clear but I guess I’m not as smooth I intend to be.” He looks like a small boy lost in a huge mall. He glances around the beach, then at the trees around you and you cannot help but close your eyes in relief.

Your feet move on their own and you stop when you find yourself in front of a blinking Taeyong. He observes you intensely and tilts his head when you say nothing.

“You’re hopeless indeed.” You speak slowly and wait just enough to see his shocked face, but Taeyong cannot complain anymore.

Your lips feel amazing against his.

He needs a second to recover. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him because you love him too. Your arms are around his neck, one of your hands is rubbing his scalp and pushing him toward you. You’re offering yourself and confessing your feelings at the same time and it feels so good.

His heart becomes erratic and it calls him back on earth, making him move and finally reciprocate the movements.

And oh god how it feels exactly like he imagined it would. Your skin is as smooth as it used to be, your frame is the same perfect one, stuck to his and complimenting his own figure. He doesn’t care about the lack of hygiene and how sticky he feels, he barely pays attention to you wriggling away when his hands brush your armpits, he doesn’t hear you mumble about how greasy your hair are and he definitely doesn’t hear the faint noises coming from the people walking by.

Time is nothing and so is he, lost in what he knew would be pure bliss.

You part from him, lips slightly red and breathless.

“I love you too, Lee Taeyong.”

[ythealleycat]

Voice Reference - Nhe'a Koh

》 Accent

"country" | "backwoods" | "sailor" | "noble" | "foreign speaker" | "The Queen's English"

Speaks primarily in Common Received Pronunciation, but growing up in the poorer parts of Gridania and around the Lominsan harbour does strange things to one's accent.

》 Eloquence

educated | uneducated | doesn't use conjunctions | shortens words | just makes up their own words | Old English

Arcanist and former bureaucrat of Mealvaan's Gate. Is sometimes lazy.

》 Tone

loud | soft | room volume | high-pitched | low-pitched | seductive | velvety | speech impediment | abrasive | gruff | shrill | booming | matter-of-fact | toneless | husky | gravelly | breathy | nasal | barking | chatty | condescending | musical | suave | world-weary | brash | authoritative | lisp

Damaged throat makes Nhe'a's voice dissolve into hoarse hissing if he tries going above room volume.

Monotone. Unless angry. Sounds bored; isn't always the case.

》 Habits

refers to self in third person plurals | incorporates different languages / terms / sayings | uses gender-specific terms | adapts to audience | changes pitch around animals or children | shifts tone when lying | gives others nicknames | uses terms of respect towards others | pauses mid-sentence to work out the, uh... whass'called. the right word, and that. | incorporates colourful descriptors / analogies

May use Gridania- or Limsa-specific slang words, or switch to Huntspeak mid-sentence.

Uses honorifics because he was taught to, but it doesn't mean anything to him. Like a foreign speaker with naught but a poor phrase book for a guide, he stumbles through civil conversation, and routinely bruises prides and feelings. Likely to over-correct to err on the side of caution, and has difficulties letting go of that even when invited to relax.

》 Applicable Tropes

Originally solen from @drunken-amethysts, then tagged by @blue-sentinel (thanks!).

[pinespittinink]

If My OCs Were In A Dating Sim...

Who would you choose? Your pick from 11 potential routes! I thought this would be a fun way to know ocs a little more. Feel free to make your own and tag me in them~~

Victory

meet-cute where you literally crash into each other, knocking him off his bike

he’s incredibly apologetic, worried he’s hurt you and you fall in love instantly

he works in a flower shop and sends you very cute texts and animal pics and neat facts about plants, laden with emojis

hand-holding dates around the park lead to playing with each other’s hair and him teaching you to make daisy chains

soft love confessions come at home under fairy lights in a pillow fort 

kisses in the rain

the original romantic boyfriend route

Enfriator

she’s your personal trainer at the gym

looks aces in a sports bra, you try and fail not to stare at her abs, and it’s a growing problem whenever she helps you with your lifts and spots you

maybe you have a strength kink

she’s picked up on it too, but will never let you know beyond the odd smug look

she agrees to get a smoothie one afternoon and you start hanging out, playing chess and Overwatch (she beats you. always)

long quiet times slumped together on the couch turn into slowly opening up to each other emotionally

you catch her with heart eyes from time to time and tease her about it

Aubra

the lacrosse jock himbo of your dreams

he’s a golden retriever whenever he sees you, equipment falling left and right

can haul you over his shoulders with ease

friends to lovers 

you go to pride together

he’s a sweet fumbling flirt who occasionally drops a smooth move leaving you weak at the knees

is oblivious to the fact that you like him in return, brags about being your best friend

Domini

sweaty grinding dancing at the club

you fuck the first night

he’s a grungy hot shit fuckboy with jealousy issues, rattling self-esteem, and the tact of a teaspoon.

he’ll follow you around like a mangy dog if you give him attention

you cheer him on while he gets his ass handed to him in a denny’s parking lot

don’t date this man unless you want to roll around in garbage with him, get drunk, and press a bag of frozen peas to his black eyes inflicted through his own awful decision making

Solene

you haven’t been able to get a hold of a particular book because some asshole keeps renewing it week after week so you track it to the library hermit 

he looks like he lives in the gutter and steals couch covers from the goodwill donation bins 

unsurprisingly, he refuses to give up the book, so you insist on sharing it

turns out he’s actually very witty and has the driest sense of humor

he also survives off of the library vending machines

you slowly grow fond of him, bringing him snacks, spending nights stargazing on the roof

will-they-won’t-they tension ultimately culminates in him slyly revealing his attraction and fucking in the library stacks

Moses

you start talking to him at a party when you notice he’s alone in the corner

he’s taciturn and Awkward and endearing

blushes every time you compliment him, constantly tries to leave

will memorize your schedule and wait for you without prompting

you kiss his cheek once and he runs away and leaves you on read for two weeks

eventually he grows a backbone and comes back into your social sphere

you mention a scarf you like at one point and he saves up pennies to buy it and turns into a tomato when he gives it to you

his route is a lot of patience and a lot of work

Eaves

daycare worker who you become very quickly smitten with

he’s great with kids, humble, and charming

the ultimate gentleman

walks you home after your dates, gives you a kiss at the door

cooks dinner for you, brings you breakfast in bed 

he refuses any kind of charity for his poor family, determined to get by on hard work

works a million jobs

you help him realize he doesn’t have to do it alone and it’s okay to have the support of other people every once and a while

Addie

loud aries lesbian 

arcade champion until you come along and challenge her scores

rivals to lovers in a firecracker romance

she’ll show up at your house at four in the morning to drag you out on an adventure that might not be entirely legal and usually results in you running from the cops

a kitchen disaster when she helps you cook, flour everywhere 

popcorn fights during movie nights

big promposal type love confession, very bombastic 

Mateo

your soft spoken biology TA who tutors you

he’s a nursing student and works nights, perpetually sleepy

his affection is very subtle and genuine

brings you your coffee and smiles when you’re flustered 

takes you on dates to botanical gardens and science museums and aquariums 

gentle good morning texts

sometimes sends you quotes or bits of poetry he likes 

Daemyung

you work at the clinic where he brings his dog

he’s cranky and removed 

you like Molly more than him until you see how much he really loves her

bonding over late night walks and philosophical discussions

you share a blunt once, ending in shotgunning until you notice his dog watching and awkwardly break apart 

he opens up about being a distant only child and shying away from intimacy

kinky af when you eventually get it on

Phaedron

modern art student 

has a reputation as a no-strings-attached hookup 

you fail to have no-strings-attached

he’s very humbled when you ask him out on a date and confesses that no one’s ever shown an interest in him beyond sleeping together

you woo him with boxes of candied fruit slices and chocolates and chai lattes

date nights in consist of take-out and chatting over whatever’s playing in the background on netflix 

he sits in your lap constantly, falls asleep with his head against your shoulder

tells you he loves you mid-fuck

Emerson

the TA in the medieval lit class you took for a required English credit

way more attractive than any English TA has the right to be

you run into him at a frat party and do a double take because you almost don’t recognize him

he’s got a screwdriver in one hand and an empty Long Island iced tea in the other but he’s amazingly standing coherent and excitedly arguing about the merits of Stargate Atlantis

you hook up and end up spending winter break together in his apartment eating chocolate graham crackers

bike dates for coffee and visiting the city duck ponds

you get to ride him on the couch while he wears his unzipped totoro kigurumi

[transcending-chaos]

In your Song Eater AU, would Tom give Maxxor a speech about how he's a person and not some weapon, similar to the one Maxxor gives him in Castle Bodrun about him being a person and not some tool for the game?

I don’t think it’d be a speech, but...

---

Maxxor hated coming here.

He loathed the prison walls, the thick stone of the tower heavy with anger and a weary resignation. He resented the sound his footsteps made on the polished floors, and the scrabbling he could hear from inside the cells. They fled from his approach, beaten into fear. 

Bile rose in his throat. He forced himself to swallow it down.

The air was stagnant, clammy, and there was never enough light. They didn’t dare use a torch for light, especially since they’d caught a few Fire-Singers in the last raid. They couldn’t afford to give them a tool, or hope for that matter. Hope caused rebellion, it cost the lives of his guards.

He sympathized with the captives. He couldn’t afford to. But this was too much.

He shook the thoughts away from his head, padding towards the door where two guards stood sentry. They nodded, and opened the thick, metal door, letting the king pass the threshold before closing it behind him with a hefty thunk.

The damp room was unbearably cold. A layer of frost was accumulating on the walls, and his breath was visible in the air. Spots of red stuck out against the white. ‘Someone tried to muzzle him,’ he thought, counting himself lucky that there weren’t severed fingers or an entire hand left on the floor. Then he’d have to discipline the poor thing.

Movement against the wall caught his eye, and Maxxor finally laid his gaze on the culprit. 

The Song Eater was curled on his side, shivering. There were traces of blood around his hooked claws, and the king frowned. He’d warned the guards that this one -Toma, if he remembered correctly- was a fighter. He’d always been difficult since they’d first found him. Yet right now, he looked far from vicious. He was, in a word, pathetic.

A crying heap with a mop of disheveled, dark hair, and budding blue spines. Only 34 solens. A child.

He couldn’t tell if the boy’s exposed skin was turning blue from the cold, or if it was from his diet. Maxxor prayed it was the latter, but his gut suspected the former was much more likely.

“You attacked you handler today,” the OverWorlder somberly spoke, deciding to break the uncomfortable silence.

A pair of glinting blue eyes looked up at him from the ground, otherwise the figure did not move or respond.

“Why’d you do it?” He sighed, exasperated, and struggling to remember why he liked this one out of all the other captives.

“I’m not. Your. Tool.” The words smoldered in the frosty air, as if threatening to ignite it. 

Ah, now he remembered. “What were they having you do?” He already knew the truth.

“It doesn’t matter,” the reply crackled like flame.

Maxxor knelt, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. “They were giving you a piece of healing Mugic.” Maybe he could coax the boy’s side of the story out.

“I’m not going to sing it for you.” The boy sat up, revealing harsh wounds on the side he had previously been curled upon.

It clicked in the king’s head. 

He wanted to rip the stone walls apart.

“So to get you to do it, they gave you those?” He pointed a clawed finger, and the Song Eater nodded slowly. 

A vibrant, deep rage lit in his stomach, and he stood. “Come with me,” the words were crisp, a bit too harsh but he couldn’t help it.

The figure didn’t move, eying him suspiciously.

“Now.” 

The boy got to his feet, flexing one hand’s talons while the other covered the rents in his side. He’d scared him. Shit. Oh well, at least he was helping him now.

He should have done this sooner.

Maxxor went to the door, knocked, and the guards opened it. “He’s coming with me,” it was a command. They looked nervous under their helms. One of them made to question him, but was stopped with a glare.

“Call one of the healers,” he spoke to no one in particular as he walked back down the corridor, ignoring the stares of his guards. Someone was going to get the message and relay it. He noticed the soft clicking of footsteps just a half second after his own, “-and someone get him a blanket.”

[sprinkleofmaggiegrace]

A Digital Divide in a Modern World

Social divides don’t just stop at socioeconomic status or access to education. Social divides continue to thrive and widen every moment as some people continue to have access to information on the Internet while others don’t. Social divides continue to thrive as certain areas of the nation or world, or certain socioeconomic classes continue to dominate the Web while others have to sit back and watch, or don’t have the access to watch at all. This social divide is a new social divide. This social divide is the DIGITAL DIVIDE. The digital divide “highlights the distinction between information rich and information poor members of society” (Pazurek & Solen, 2015, p. 3) and with information comes power. The digital divide empowers the already empowered and continues to oppress the already oppressed. The unique nuance to a digital divide is the fact that even if someone has physical access to the Internet (such as their town provided internet wiring throughout the entire community), they may not have the skills necessary to use or understand the Internet, thus the divide continues. As Pazurek and Solen put it in their 2015 article Digital Divide, “educational attainment is, therefore, increasingly dependent upon accessibility to the technological tools and to the knowledge necessary to use the tools purposefully and meaningfully” (6).

The presence of an ever-growing digital divide requires for us as a society to address digital equity as well. Digital equity can be defined as providing for equal access or opportunity to digital tools, digital media, digital education, and the resources to use these platforms and tools. The digital divide continues to grow because we haven’t properly addressed digital equity, as shown by this infographic on digital access gaps. Interestingly enough, a few congress members have just announced their proposal of a Digital Equity Act, which would “authorize more than $1 billion in Federal grant funding over the next five years to support digital inclusion programs throughout U.S. states and territories” (Callahan, 2019). This Act would promote two Federal grant programs that work in different but effective ways to educate populations throughout the country on how to use the Internet. This doesn’t just mean providing communities with the infrastructure needed for digital access, but also with the digital literacies necessary to make the most of that access.

Limited digital technology access or knowledge can greatly impact an individual’s ability to survive, engage, and thrive in the world we live in today because “access to information is the key to an individual's position in society” (Radovanovic, 2011). One of the first steps to breaking down socioeconomic barriers, helping families out of the poverty cycle, etc is access to education, and the Internet provides a great opportunity for this access! But if these people aren’t taught the skills necessary to learn and grow in an online environment, they will continue to be stuck. It has been shown that the higher your socioeconomic status, the more likely it is you’ll receive a higher degree, and we must use the Internet to make this statistic no longer true! It is important to note “that education plays a significant role in either strengthening or breaking down inequalities” (Radovanovic, 2011) and the way our world is right now, education is strengthening inequalities and widening the gap. We must do what we can to BREAK DOWN that gap!

There are a few cities around the United States that are setting an example for digital inclusion efforts, such as The Kansas City Coalition for Digital Inclusion. They are “working to make sure each household in the metropolitan area has access to the Internet, the equipment needed to use it, and the skills necessary to use it effectively” (Kinkoph, 2018). However, one, two, or three cities isn’t enough to make a systematic change. We must as a nation change our mindset towards inclusion and all work towards a world of equity.

[margridarnauds]

character asks meme you just reblogged: marie antoinette, 1789; katte, friedrich; and sarah, tanz

MA (Obviously focusing entirely on the portrayal of her in-musical)

character: hate them | don’t really care | like them | LOVE them | THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS

ship with: Louis XVI, as per the historical record. Like, come on, they were ADORABLE together. And for me, their final fate together only works if they both love and respect one another. Like, really, you expect me to believe she consistently stayed by his side throughout the entire Revolution because she tolerated him? When the French doesn’t even let her respect him? (Not even mentioning that the Varennes Flight could have gone VERY differently if they’d split up rather than staying together as a family. Like, I really, really hate historical!Fersen for a variety of mostly petty reasons, but he had a point there.) 

Madame de Polignac, in the sense of “They’re totally canon in the French version.” Not something I really see myself DOING anything with, but, like, it’s a thing. 

Olympe in a sort of tragic, one-sided way. Like, I can’t ever really see them as having a full on RELATIONSHIP, even in a world where Louis XVI didn’t exist and MA didn’t love him (don’t ask me how she’s in France in this universe, possibly widowed, possibly traveling around with her family? For some reason?) But, like, I see it more as a first crush, Olympe realizing that she doesn’t HAVE to like men, and possibly being a little over-attached because (1) This is the first time she’s felt like this and (2) She’s somewhat isolated from regular court life. 

Also, I’ve toyed with Solene/MA before, as a possibility, but it’s not one I’m really hardcore on, more an “Oh, that would be interesting” type thing. I think it would be HILARIOUS if Ronan’s chilling incognito with Laz one day in Versailles, two dudes chilling in the same bed five feet apart because they’re not gay, Ronan’s his VALET dammit, and then in pops his sister by the queen’s side and they both have to do some major explaining to one another. 

friendship them with:  MA/Madame de Polignac, in 99% of the universes where they’re not a thing and MA remains fully in love with Louis. MA/Olympe, after Olympe is able to sort everything out. MA/French!Artois, because I honestly love the two of them chilling out, being friends as per the historical record (before...things intervened. Mainly politics.) I love Trash Shit!Artois with every fiber of my being, but also I love the more benign version of him, hanging out as the Token Goth during Je Mise Tout, not planning the death of his entire family. 

general opinions: I fully understand (alright, not fully, because I don’t have a PHD in Japanese lit, but...I get it a little) the various and assorted ways that both Toho and Zuka MA conform to the Good Wife, Wise Mother trope, being punished for her adultery with Fersen and then resolving to become devoted to her husband and children, losing that little spark of rebellion she has in the beginning. I do get it. BUT, ultimately, I do prefer it to French!MA, where it’s obvious that they had no idea what to do with her, having her being a vain party girl in one scene, throwing a temper tantrum when Fersen says he’s leaving (Even though he ALREADY left once before, you know? When he fought in a little skirmish called “THE AMERICAN MOTHERFUCKING REVOLUTION”) a mourning mother, swinging BACK to the vain aristocrat when Soléne brings the party to them (I can tell they were literally one step away from having her say “Let them eat cake”), then she hates her husband, and then we’re supposed to feel sorry for her.  

Like, I feel like they were handed one of the most controversial women in history and they had no idea what to do, so they just molded her to whatever the scene required. 

Meanwhile, both the Takarazuka and Toho casts (or, at least, what I’ve patched together about the Toho; I might be revising this in a month with “I CHANGED MY MIIIIIIIIIND”) give her a full story arc, as far as beginning with her party girl stage, saying that she doesn’t care about what God would think about her affair with Fersen, paying the consequences, and then preparing herself for the role she’s going to play later on. 

Obviously, it’s still not what I would’ve done if I was in charge of a 1789 adaptation. What me, @philomaela, AND @cestbrulercesnuits have all talked about at times is that our ideal 1789 adaptation would be a TV series because....it’s the French Revolution. We differ in exactly what we’d put INTO it, but that’s a kind of common thread. Personally, I would probably bring in the more political Antoinette that we got to see historically, show the conflicts she had with Louis’ brothers as time went on, that break in their relationship, her frustration with the émigrés, along with her generosity and the increasingly devoted relationship with her husband. AND. NO. FERSEN. (Though, also, if I were in charge of a 1789 adaptation, I’d still want to focus more on the Squad, AKA the nonhistorical characters, so it’d be kept to maybe one scene per episode, at most.) Still, if I’m not going to get ahold of an ungodly amount of money so I can personally finance my dream version of it, I’m going to appreciate what we’ve been given and the cultural translation involved. Though I do feel a little bad that Olympe’s kind of been pushed to the wayside in the musical where she’s supposed to be one of the two leads, when there’s so much of a chance to actually develop her more. But....The Rose of Versailles. Japan. Takarazuka. It was kind of inevitable that we’d get a focus on Antoinette, as well as Antoinette/Fersen. 

Also, she has pretty dresses. I want that silver one, dammit. 

Katte

character: hate them | don’t really care | like them | LOVE them | THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS

ship with:  Fritz. Was there ever a doubt?

friendship them with: The Wilhelmine/Fritz/Katte trio is Good and Pure, though apparently she HATED him historically. But. It’s Friedrich: Mythos und Tragödie. History’s dead. 

general opinions: Good boi. Baby. Awkward dance moves, but he tries. Lies to Frederick William I’s face while thinking about banging his son. 

Also, while it’s possible, it would be VERY hard for you to convince me that Ghost!Katte is real!Katte. Like, Katte tried to protect Fritz consistently, even at the potential cost of his career and his life. And then at the end he wants Fritz to just? Give up? Rather than turn himself around? And the way he looks at Fritz when he dies...

Really. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s the Katte we saw in the past, that that reflects ANY of his interactions with Fritz. 

“Oh, but Rachel, they’re together in the end!” 

 As soon as Fritz is dead, he’s off the stage. His job is done. Now, you could argue that he’s a figment of Fritz’s imagination, as he’s growing older, thinking back on the past as he nears death, but I would propose another suspect, who we KNOW is capable of changing form to suit the job at hand and has a tendency to emotionally manipulate their victims to make the job easier. 

Tl;dr: THAT THING IS NOT KATTE. 

Sarah Chagal

character: hate them | don’t really care | like them | LOVE them | THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS

ship with:  Krolock (Shhhhhhhh, I know I’m trash on this one. I accept it. Let me have my gothic romance trash ship even as I know Tanz is a deliberate subversion of many of those tropes and in many productions Krolock drops her to the ground after the Ball and she seems to be more in love with the romance and mystery Krolock offers than him. But again! That’s a production by production thing! In one production Krolock turns into a talking stuffed bat, even though I know MOST of the fandom chooses to forget it.)

friendship them with: Honestly, as cute as her and Alfred would be as friends, I’m not sure they could ever reach that point again post-finale. Obviously, that’s rich coming from me, aka “I know he killed his father, but LISTEN...” but I just have a hard time seeing it. Like, I feel like the vampiric self ultimately doesn’t entirely subsume the original personality, and that once Alfred’s gone on his little blood binge, he’s probably going to come back to himself a little. 

I do kind of support Herbert and Sarah bonding over their shared love of baths (also, I could actually see them traveling around together, since Sarah would never take well to being locked up in the castle and...come on. Herbert staying there when he could be observing the latest Parisian fashion, living the high life? Herbert? Though ultimately I think that Herbert would probably be more than a little bit petty, if not because of Alfred, then because he’s used to being the primary focus of his father’s attention and he sees her essentially as a mid-afterlife crisis. 

The only thing I could really see is her/Magda, since they’ve both dealt with SO MUCH SHIT because of Chagal and it’d be great to see them bond. But that would require the women on this show to actually. Interact. (THANK YOU, Broadway production. The fandom might reject you, but I appreciate you.)

general opinions: 

God, it’s been so long since I’ve watched this show. When I did read all the fanfic available, back in the day (on FANFICTION.NET, showing how long ago), I recall that there was a lot of hatred for Sarah, obviously mostly from Alfred/Herbert fans who were like “Poor Alfred, manipulated and abandoned by that devious girl who didn’t deserve her devotion! It’s so good that Herbert understands him for what he truly is!” Because it was that period in fandom. 

Personally, I’ll defend her until I die, I can’t really blame her for ANYTHING she does given what the alternative is. Like, if you interpret her as manipulating Alfred, it’s a pretty shitty thing to do, I get that, and I get why a lot of fandom loves Alfred as the Woobie. He’s cute! He’s a dork! He’s the first thing we see in the show, so we’re already pre-disposed to liking and bonding with him! But what’s her alternative? Staying with her insanely abusive father, dying as an old maid when she wants to escape? Like, come on. She saw a chance that was probably never going to happen again and I think she took it, and I can’t really blame her for it. Also, I fully agree with this meta as far as Sarah being more self aware in the Broadway and at least having an idea of what she’s getting into and seizing it. (Also, I embrace the idea of her and Krolock possibly banging after Totale Finsternis, or at least her having some sort of sexual awakening. Get that undead D, girl.) 

I think that you get a very different idea of her if you’re watching the musical with a focus more on the Heroine’s Journey (Personally, this is the version of the Heroine’s Journey that I tend to subscribe to, VS the more common “Integration of the masculine and the feminine” one, because it actually seems to depict a common progression in fairy tales and doesn’t seem to punish women who stay in the “masculine” side imo) VS The Hero’s journey, which I suppose is why I never really...bonded with Alfred and Alfred/Sarah the same way? Like, when I think about it, my main focus has always kind of been Sarah as the protagonist, which I know was never really the intent, but? I don’t care. Like, when I think about it, I think I always latched onto the idea of the girl escaping the oppressive world in her home by running off with the vampire. It’s kind of an essential part of the appeal of the vampire, especially to teenage girls. Like, one of my favorite quotes is Nina Auerbach’s, “Vampires were supposed to menace women, but to me at least, they promised protection against a destiny of girdles, spike heels, and approval.” And so, yeah, I kind of like the idea of her getting what she wants, much like Elisabeth getting an ending where she’s finally free.