#someone needs to write a fic with these lyrics in the title to help soothe my soul

[flamedork]

THEN A VOICE SAYS "YOU ARE NOT THE EXCEPTION. YOU WILL NEVER LEARN 👏 YOUR 👏 LESS 👏 ON" FOOLISH ONE STOP CHECKING YOUR MAILBOX FOR CONFESSIONS OF LOVE 👏 THAT 👏 AIN'T 👏 NEV 👏 ER 👏 GON 👏 NA 👏 COME

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 7: They Got No Idea About Me And You

Heyyyy Besties. Long time no see. March was rough. It's been rough. But tell a friend to tell a friend she's baaack.

Title from t swift Dress. I almost used a chappell roan lyric but I have committed so hard to the t swift bit I couldnt do it.

ao3

masterpost

It is the long awaited cashbaria chapter, featuring a scene of them during the 74th games and then a post war follow up of them! I specifically need to mention and notice my friends @bodyelectric77my go to cashbaria queen and @kentwells who has had MANY many conversations about these things with me. They write the Cashbaria that I read so please check them both out!!! I don't think @ohhowwehavefallen even uses tumblr anymore but at this point she gets tagged in any post I make ever so..hello bestie.

I am not a cashbaria writer and I hope I did them justice in this fic. It was a LOT of fun. I had wanted to get it up earlier this week for Sapphic Visibility day along with @bodyelectric77 because it's funny they have similar vibes of sapphics being blatantly visible but the people closest to them being absolutely oblivious. Thank you my friend, you're incredible, your writing inspires me.

Alright. Lets rock this bitch.

“Mmm…think they’ve noticed yet?”  

As the voice comes from behind her, Enobaria can’t help the coy smile that etches it’s way on to her face. She doesn’t even need to turn to face the source, as she is hit with the combined smell of vanilla and honey and something floral that is just uniquely Cashmere. If the scent alone weren’t enough, the flurry of blonde curls that leak over her upper arm as a familiar face rests on her shoulder, with lithe hands wrapping around her waist would be the dead giveaway that it is her girlfriend. 

Well, her girlfriend, or someone with a very creative death wish.

“Noticed what? That they’re trying to fit four people on a couch made to fit two?” Enobaria muses, bringing her hand up to rest her fingertips along Cashmere’s cheek bone. “I know Cato thinks he needs to live inside of Clove, but it’s a little nauseating to watch.”

It isn’t even Enobaria’s style, this blatant display of hands-on skin and kisses on cheeks, but it wasn’t like she was ashamed of such. It was dangerous, to give the president any further leverage to dangle above either of them. It wasn’t public and it wasn’t secret, but a third undefinable thing. The kind of thing that was open to their safest friends—Brutus, Gloss, Finnick, Johanna and such—and on a need-to-know basis with all the others.  That group of safest friends would of course include Cato and Clove, if they ever figured it out that is.

Still. They are mostly alone, doing what District Two called “mentor mentoring” but what Enobaria and Brutus so affectionately call babysitting. It was just the right time of day, when the action died down, and victors were either slipping off to self soothe (medicate) or prepare for whatever the evening presented in terms of sponsors and clientele. 

And honestly, if anyone needed babysitting to ensure they actually learned how to mentor, it was Cato and Clove.

“They’re just excited to be together!” Cashmere assured, settling into the space between Enobaria and the bar, wrapping her other arm around her to pull her fully into a hug from behind her. “They’re kids, they’re just having fun. You knowwhat I’m talking about them noticing, ‘Baria. Have they noticed this.” To emphasize, she kisses along her jawline, but keeps her eyeline trained on the four young victors loudly taunting each other on the couch. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought they were just normal teenagers, up too late and laughing loud enough that their parents would be down to yell at them at any minute. 

Unfortunately, they were not normal kids, and they were barely raised by their parents at all. They were raised by combinations of victors, trainers, and violence in various combinations. 

The four of them, practically on top of each other, mocking other teenagers as they screamed on television, was somehow as close to normal as they were ever going to be. 

Enobaria lets out a little sigh as she leans into Cashmere’s affection, before she gives a little shake of her head. “I mean it. It’s like they don’t notice anyone but each other. They probably don’t even realize they aren’t alone on the couch.”

“And they were going to go into the games together? That would have been a real PR disaster for District Two, you know.” Cashmere teases, before she slips around from behind Enobaria to the side of her, before slipping one of her legs on top of the other woman’s knees and nearly sitting right in her lap. 

“You’re telling me. It would have been an absolute nightmare. We used to think they were this perfect pair, they just understood each other so well. Yeah, it could have been hard when it came down to the final two but nothing they couldn’t handle. But then…you know, they thought they were so good at sneaking around, but they’re fucking idiots. They didn’t talk to anyone else. One was always missing from their bed. They were great together, apparently a little too great. It was a liability to send them in together. I know I was afraid of what we would pull out of that arena in whichever won.” Enobaria took the opportunity to be the one holding Cashmere now, resting her head against the blonde’s. “Sometimes I wish we had done it, though. He’s fucking infuriating. It’s gross to watch them.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that, Enobaria. They’re cute together. They’re happy, and they get to be openly happy. Unlike the rest of us. I’d kill for that. So would Finnick…and Glimmer too.”

“They don’t even know how lucky they are.” It does not need to be said what luck Enobaria was referring to. By some miracle there was never any demand for the two of them, no clients to be at the beck and call of. It was probably becauseof each other, and for that, Enobaria really was thankful for their mutual survival. 

That was not something she was prepared to explain to Clove quite yet. 

“You busy tonight?” Enobaria slides in, intentionally sliding in vague phrasing due to the risk of ever listening walls.

She feels Cashmere physically sag in her arms, practically collapsing the lines of her body to press flush against her. “The usual. The gamemakers get bored at this point in the games until things spice up.”

Enobaria tenses at the phrasing. It was clear what (and more importantly, who) was going to be spicing things up for the gamemakers tonight. She gently scratches her nails over the pale forearms she holds in her hands, drawing little swirling patterns with the very tip of her index finger. “Gloss and Glimmer too?”

“Gloss is with Finnick. Glimmer’s got the fullest schedule of all of us tonight.” Cashmere feels the coolness in her voice at the statement, and if someone didn’t know her, they may even mistake it for jealousy over her little sister’s popularity. Little did they know the layer of self-loathing that overtook Cashmere and Gloss both, anytime the schedule of Glimmer’s nightly roster of abusers was sent over.

“What’s going on with your sister and Marbles up there?” Enobaria took the opportunity to ask, cocking her head just slightly as she watches the two victors opposite Cato and Clove, and from where she’s standing, Glimmer may as well be curled up in the lap of her own fellow District One victor. “It’s like career victor inbreeding these days.  Cato and Clove…Shimmer and Sparkles up there…Finnick and crazy Cresta…”

“I’m not sure. She never told us something was happening with them. They’ve been friends for a long time. He’s sweet to her. She hasn’t told me anything specific, though, and I’m sure she would if they were together.” Cash sticks her hand out blindly to the side, grabbing the glass off the bar that Enobaria had been drinking before Cashmere slid into her arms. It’s always easier, to deal with those bored clients, with a little bit of a sedative in her system. She doesn’t even get more than a sip before she shutters, harshly reminded that District Two does not believe in mixers. Instead, she taunts Enobaria gently, “Would we be part of Victor inbreeding then, Baria?” 

“Absolutely not. We can’t actually accidentally breed. Besides. We’re not from the same district, we’re adding diversity to the Victor gene pool.” Enobaria teases in response but raises a playful eyebrow. “You think Glimmer would just...tell you? Remind me again how she found out about us?”

“Oh, Enobaria that’s not important- “

“No, I like to hear it.”

Cashmere’s eyeroll was nearly audible as she let out an annoyed sigh. “She noticed I changed my nail shape for the first time in ten years.”

“And why did you change your nails?”

Enobaria grins, watching the flush actually flood Cashmere’s neck and trail up to her face. “You know why, you aren’t being funny!”

“I know. I just like how you get all flustered about it.” Enobaria squeezes her arm playfully, before she leans up to kiss right under her ear. “And I appreciate the consideration.”

“Enobaria!” Cashmere huffs, twisting in her arms before crossing her own over her chest. “So, they didn’t notice youdon’t have your little razor nails?”

“Baby, I don’t think Clove knows you can even paint nails, let alone notices the shape.”

“You practically raised her. I remember you coming to the Capitol that one weekend when we were young and asking me how to teach her how to throw, oh it was so cute, Baria. She knows you so well, she has to notice something!” At the mention of them, nearly ten years ago, she wriggles back into Enobaria’s embrace warmly. “That’s how I knew there was some love in that scary District Two Victor shell, the notorious Enobaria asking how to teach a little girl the proper technique. Not just a little girl at training, but one you actually cared about!”

“Exactly. I spent the most time with her. You’ve been part of my life almost as long as she’d be able to remember. I’ve always been just like this.” Enobaria sighs, before she brings her hand up to run through the very end of Cash’s curls. “I actually don’t think she’s ever once considered I may actually like…yeah. I don’t think that’s crossed her mind.” 

“Mmhmm, were you kissing pretty blonde girls in your lap back in District Two?” Cash teases, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders, beyond testing the limits of how far she could go before any of those damn kids noticed. “Cato seems like he knew his way around the girls his age, you mean he never even made a comment about it?”

“Cash, you are literally on top of me, and he hasn’t noticed. He isn’t the most observant career boy you’ll ever meet. He actually was so obsessed with Clove, he wasn’t that hard to keep off other girls. I just wanted to keep him off of— and out of—Clove. Besides. I don’t think he knows that girls...can be with girls. That might break his fragile little brain.”

Cashmere throws her head back in a genuine laugh that should have pulled the attention of the whole room. Somehow, the four of them are so in their own little word they don’t even bat an eye. 

Thank God all four of them weren’t in the games together. They’d never pay enough attention to their surroundings for any single one of them to come out a winner.

“What do you mean? He doesn’t know girls can like girls?” 

“His only two modes are kill and Clove. We’re lucky he remembers to breathe. Or unlucky, depending on the day.”

“Are you going to tell them then?” Cash teases. It’s evident that Enobaria isn’t hiding anything from Clove. They are truly just not observant enough to notice anything but themselves.

As if to emphasize they are truly paying no attention to the girls in the back of the room, Clove can be heard making some snide remark as she gets off of Cato’s lap, reaching down into the fruit bowl on the glass coffee table in front of them. At the same time, they watch as Glimmer shifts to the side so Marvel climbs out from under her. He walks to one end of the room before Clove takes her hand full of something they cannot yet identify to the other. 

Enobaria and Cashmere watching in a shared sense of amusement and confusion as Clove quite literally starts throwing, with unyielding precision, something small directly into Marvel’s mouth. 

“Are those...?” Cashmere muses, tilting her head in bemusement, an inquisitive expression on her face. 

“I think they’re grapes?” Enobaria confirms.

Enobaria laughs, actually openly laughs, when Marvel lets out a sharp yelp as he gets absolutely drilled in the eye by a little green fruit. 

“Clove! What the hell, I thought you don’t miss!” Marvel whines, bringing his hand to cover his stinging left eye. 

“I don’t.” Clove reminds with a smug smirk on her face.  

Cashmere audibly sighs, burying her face in the lengths of Enobaria’s hair at her neck. “…you know what, on second thought, maybe they should figure it out themselves.” 

______________________________________________________________________

There are approximately fifty steps between Clove’s front door and Enobaria’s. Forty-four if you walked fast, sixty if you took your time. It’s not a hard path to cross, even in a District Two blizzard.

It is a miserable trek, however, when someone else’s child is screaming at you the entire walk.

“I know, I know, you miss your mother that we just saw fifteen seconds ago.” Enobaria mumbles, practically slamming her front door shut behind her the second she is fully inside. The heartbroken mumbles of ‘mama’ coming from the one-year-old, with his teary blue eyes staring at the door like his mother would walk in and rescue him at any moment, give Enobaria a sense of Déjà vu she wishes all too well she didn’t know how to place.  For all he looked like his father—and by god Cato may as well have cloned himself— there evidently was some of his mother in him, too. “I’m not going to steal you forever kid, trust me. I know you’d live inside her if you could, but unfortunately for you so would your dad.”

She kicks her shoes off, fully intending to lay on the couch for the next few hours, hoping to lull the boy to sleep until Clove would be back to collect him after…wherever the hell they were going. 

She had tried to pay attention to Clove’s plans for the night. It isn’t her fault that Clove made such a clingy little thing that cried any time he was out of her arms.

“Alright, buddy, lets just stop with the sad eyes, if you go to sleep, she’ll be back when you wake up—” When she makes that promise of a returning mother, she is at least sure a liar will not be made of her this time.

As soon as Enobaria goes to sit with him, she hears some sort of chatter elsewhere in the house. The sound of a hairdryer pairs with the voices, and immediately she knows Cash must be singing to herself or something as she does her hair.

“Oh, Aunt Cash will be so excited to see you.” She is drawn to the sound she shifts him from her shoulder to lower on her hip, his endless babbles of mama nearly blending into the background now. 

As soon as she reaches the top of her stairs, she hooks the right to the bedroom, as the sound of the dryer gets louder and louder. Smiling to herself, she nudges the door open with her foot. “Hey baby, I didn’t know you were coming home yet, I brought—”

Enobaria is stunned to silence as she is greeted by not one, not two, but three blonde girls sitting on the bathroom floor looking up at her. The baby, too, even stops his incessant babbling to stare at Cashmere and the girls.

Cash sits, with her back to the bathtub, hair dryer in her hand, and a little blonde toddler sitting cross legged on each of her knees. She flicks the dryer off with a wide smile on her face, looking up at Enobaria. 

One of the twins steals the first greeting, big green eyes blinking up at her and the sweetest little smile on her face when she sees her. She pushes off of Cashmere’s knee, to close the distance between herself and her other aunt. “Hiiiiii Aun-ie Baria! We’re visit-in your house!!” 

Enobaria softens, leaning down to scoop up the little girl with her free arm. It had become surprisingly easy to tell the twins apart once they got a little bigger, and from personality alone she knew who she was talking to at any time.

 “Hello Miss Stella,” It was always a little shocking, claiming Cashmere’s nieces as her own, and it was almost unsettling at times how much they looked like they could be Cashmere’s girls. Still, they’re sweet kids and they’re cute as hell. It is shockingly easy to love them. “How did you end up here in our other house! It’s a long way from your house…”

“Uh you told me that we were babysitting today, Enobaria.” Cashmere reminds her as if it is obvious. She shifts Aurelia to sit between her legs as she reaches over and grabs a curling iron off the tile floor beside her. 

“Yeah, Cash, I was watching him.” Enobaria nods her head towards the little blond boy, who’s resolved to resting his head on her shoulder. At least he had finally stopped crying—

and hey, she gets it, she likes to look at Cash too. “You just... brought the girls on the train and didn’t think to like... mention that?” 

“Oh, it’s not a big deal! They were excited to come see our other house, huh sunshine?” Cash waves off, before she brushes through her niece’s long baby soft hair with her fingers one time before she takes the curling iron to a small section. Aurelia sits so uncharacteristically still for a two and a half year old, clearly well trained on how to have her hair done. 

“How did you even end up with them today?” Enobaria decides her best course of action is to just join Cashmere on the floor, and kicks the door shut behind her. She presses against the wood with her back, sliding down while still holding both the toddlers in her arms without missing a beat. “aren’t they kind of little for your to be heating up their hair like that?”

“It’s the second Wednesday of the month!” She explains as if that means anything, carefully placing the hot iron out of reach before reaching for a handful of pink ribbon which she ties around the little half ponytail she makes on her niece’s head. “Don’t be silly honey, I used heat protectant on it! They like to feel pretty!”

“Does that mean something to me that it’s second Wednesday?” 

“It’s nail day, Enobaria. Second and Fourth Wednesdays are nail days. Stella, show Auntie Baria your nails!” Cashmere instructs, and Stella does stick out her little hand towards Enobaria’s face. Enobaria, to her credit, does give an appreciative glance at the incredibly tiny pink nails. “I think they’re all doing something together, Glim said she’ll be in Two anyway to pick them up tonight. Like I said, I thought we were already babysitting them, and Glimmer didn’t correct me so...”

Aurelia is the one who pushes off of Cash next, little blonde curls bouncing as she half runs across the room. She settles herself between the two children Enobaria already holds, reaching out her own little pink nails to grab the baby’s hand. “Hiiii baby.”

“Look at you, covered in career babies.” Cash teases, her hand over her heart playfully. “Come here Stells, it’s your turn.” She cocks her head as Stella does as she’s asked, and Aurelia shifts to take her place with Enobaria. “How old is he? Is he one yet?”

“Yeah, well, remember when I called it Career Victor inbreeding? This is what I meant.” Enobaria teases playfully, glancing down at the baby who was finally, somehow, done with his crying. Now, he just stared at the twins with wide blue eyes, fascinated by the shimmering gold ribbons on the middle of their dresses. “Mmm… he’ll be one I think next month. It’s soon.”

“He’s just so freaking big. He’s like... twin sized and they’re nearly three.” She mumbles, taking a few moments just to hold Stella in her lap rather than go straight for her hair.  “Oh, come on, Enobaria, at least they’re cute! They’re so worth it. And we get to give them back at the end of the day, that’s the best part.”

“Of course he’s huge, his dad is a mammoth.” Enobaria reminds, gently prying his hands off of Aurelia’s tulle skirt that he had managed to lean forward to grab. “They are pretty cute kids; I’ll give them that. Even if this one looks like his dad.”

“Poor Clove, he’s practically bigger than her. That had to hurt...” Cashmere mumbles, going back to her task of brushing through Stella’s soft hair. 

“….Cash?”

“Yeah, baby?” She replies absently, spritzing Stella’s hair before going in with the curling iron. 

“…we are watching all the kids. All their parents are alone right now.”

“Yeah, and? I think they were doing something tonight?”

“Yeah, probably each other!” Enobaria nearly hisses.

“Oh, relax Enobaria! They aren’t doing that! Aren’t they all together?”

Enobaria half whispers, glancing between the two little blond kids she held and the one in Cashmere’s lap. “They won’t be together all night. We are not watching a fourth one, Cash. I draw the line at a fourth. How did we end up watching three children who do not belong to us?” 

Cashmere tries to stifle her giggle, failing miserably as she reminds her, “we didn’t pay enough attention when babysitting their parents.”

[mybiasisexo]

What Happens in the Dark

Genre: Angst | Vampire!au

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Length: 4.6k

Warning: unfinished | 1st person (final product won't be I swear) 

Summary: You were just trying to survive, but that get’s difficult after running into the wrong guys on your way home from work. Luckily, your knight in shinning armor came to rescue you, but as the saying goes ‘never trust a man in leather pants and a particularly pointy-toothed smirk’. Wait, that’s not the lyrics to Poison??? Hmm....

Author’s Note: Do any of yall remember back in October of ‘19 (yike) when I said I was going to write a vampire!bbh fic and never did?? Cause I do. But, wait, what is this??? A chaptered vampire!bbh fic??? Yes, you heard me right. I decided to turn it into a series (?) and hopefully will get my head out of my ass long enough to give it the attention it needs so I can post it during the dark holiday. For now, here’s what I have written so far, enjoy!!! (And yes, that’s the title, bb we going ✈️ kokokrazy, mmkay???)

MASTERLIST

(couldn't find the credit for the gif, if anyone knows please lmk, thanks!!)

I take a deep breath and hold it for a brief moment, deluding myself into believing that the lack of oxygen to my brain will bring me courage as I stare through the glass of the front door of my job at the book store. In the distance, the sun glows red as it dips into the horizon, dragging the light with it. It will be dark soon.

I let out the breath slowly through my mouth.

I don’t mind closing, I live close enough to my job that I can walk the few blocks to my apartment. The only time it is a problem is on the weekends. I work downtown, right next to a few night clubs, and walking past those on a Saturday—which is today—makes me anxious. It’s bad enough I am a foreigner, so I grab people’s attention easily, but add alcohol to the mix… the lack of inhibitions frightens me.

But it is time to go.

I reluctantly open the door and enter the chaos that is the city. Cars zoom past and people head to their respective destinations without a care in the world. I lock the building behind me and clutch my messenger bag closer to my stomach, playing with the frays of the strap distractedly as I make the journey to the safety of my home.

It is about a fifteen-minute walk, and any other day I wouldn’t blink twice about the trip, but as the sun continues to disappear, the city begins to spark with it’s night life.

Soon, the nightclub I have to pass appears. I hold my breath as I speed past, keeping my face forward to keep attention off of myself, but that isn’t the worst part of my journey.

I turn into the alley next to the club, my pace nearly a sprint as I try to get through the shortcut as quickly as possible, but my feet stutter to a shuffle when I notice a dark figure ahead of me.

It is around 10pm, and as much as I worry about it, I don’t expect the club to be that busy—being how early it is. I’ve made this late night trek a handful of times, I was always left anxious, but unscathed.

Something isn’t right this time.

I slow my walking, but continue nonetheless, I have to get home.

As I close in, apprehension thick in my throat, the shadow separates to reveal two bodies, long lean torsos and head’s pressed close together, deep voices quietly speaking.

My footsteps echoe in the quiet night air and they finally notice me. Stopping abruptly, and in eerie synchronization, they turn their heads from the huddle they are in to face me. They’re tall, much taller than I originally thought, although it is difficult to see with the dim lighting. They stand on the opposite side of a light post. They are dressed well, which I expect if they are party goers. But, it is obvious that the dark jeans, silky button downs, and gold rings and chains wrapped around their necks cost a pretty penny. Their dark hair is styled to perfection, the separate styles fitting their face shapes.

Why are two men that are definitely out to be seen huddled in a dark alley?

“Uh….” I grow nervous as the silence stretches. Their piercing eyes leave me frozen in place and I am overwhelmed with the feeling something is askew or that coming down this particular alley was a mistake. I quickly rack my brain for something to say so that I can be on my way, but am left blank.

I gulp despite my dry throat and open my mouth to say…anything, really, but then the two share a look before hovering over me, pressing me against the cool red brick of the outside of the club.

“What did you hear?” One of them, who has wide eyes and short black hair that is gelled back to reveal the manly features of his face, snarls.

“No—nothing!” I am quick to assure.

The other, who’s hair is longer and framing his face, tilts his head. “Her heart is racing. Are you nervous, Kitten?”

I am. There is something about their energy that fills me with dread, makes me want to scurry away without a further glance back and go home immediately.

“Come on,” the former, who’s voice I feel in the pit of my gut with how deep it is, coaxes alluringly. My eyelids flutter and my balance is off, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. “Tell us what you heard and I promise, we won’t hurt you.”

“I already told you,” I push, finding words difficult to punctuate. It is as though I am fighting a deep sleep, eyes practically closed as I put all of my weight against the wall to hold myself up at this point. “I didn’t…hear…anything.”

One of them snarls—my eyes are sealed shut, so I am not sure which it was—and a shockingly cold hand grips my chin. I gasp, eyes springing open from the shock of pain as his dull nails dug into my skin.

“We didn’t want to do this,” the first talker, who is the one currently holding me, growls, not seeming particularly remorseful in the slightest. His huge eyes are blown out and I am captured by the frightening depths of his pupils. They are bottomless and it feels like I am on the edge about to slip into a never-ending fall.

“Chanyeol, stop.” A new third party urges monotonously. I didn’t hear him enter, but I am kind of distracted at the moment, trying not to think about the fact I might be murdered in an alley.

The Chanyeol fellow smirks crookedly, eyes never leaving mine as he speaks. It’s unnerving. The man doesn’t even blink as he holds my gaze. “She overheard everything.”

“No, she didn’t. You’re just hungry.”

The guy beside Chanyeol sighs as if bored, folding his arms across his chest and flicking some of the bang away from his eyes. “And so what if we are?”

The third man barks a laugh. “Well, you’re wanted inside, Sehun. Both of you. You can conspire in there.”

“We’re almost done here,” Chanyeol replies, distractedly. His grip on me has loosened some, but not enough for me to try and break out and make a run for it. Instead of his nails digging into me, he is now caressing the corner of my lip with his thumb. “We’ll meet you inside.”

I have a sinking feeling I’m not going to see the inside of that club anytime soon.

The newcomer joins our little party, finally coming into my eye line. He is about a head and a half shorter than the twin towers before me, but holds just as much, if not more, authority in his broad shoulders. He’s dressed similarly to the other two, but his eyes are an approachable chocolate brown, instead of the inhuman glittery black I’ve been trapped by.

“I bet you have places to be.” He addresses me, voice soothing and calm.

I nod frantically, wanting to be out of this situation.

“Let’s go.”

He reaches out to me, probably for me to hold on to, but Sehun swipes his hand away before he can fully stretch it out to me. “She’s ours.”

The shorter guy’s jaw jumps irritably. He definitely isn’t happy about being touched. “She is not.”

With that, he lurches forward, getting into a fight with Sehun. It happens so quickly, I nearly get whiplash from the drastic change of the man. Their moves are fast, I can’t keep up with what is going on, it is as if they are a blur.

Chanyeol uses the distraction to tilt my head back, making me stare at the indigo sky, twinkling lights beckoning me to join them.

“I’ll be quick,” he assures, voice raspy with want and low from focus. He closes in, lips a whisper against my sweaty neck and I wonder if he is going to kiss me. Wonder what torture I am going to endure.

I never find out.

He curses as he is yanked away and I shift my head back down to see what is happening, but can’t comprehend anything. Shadows moving against darkness and animalistic growls and snarls, things that didn’t belong in this setting.

A flash of white is in front of me and I scream. It can’t be helped. My heart races, adrenaline kicking in as the whole situation finally dawns on me.

“You’re okay.” Someone bends down to crouch in front of me—I guess I slid down to the ground at some point—and brings their face closer, into the spotlight of the full moon high above us, revealing his dainty features.

It is the third man that had stepped in.

“You’re safe now,” he assures.

“Those… those men.” My voice is shaking and I have to pause to swallow and steady myself. In fact, my whole body is shivering and it isn’t from the cold.

“They’re gone.” His voice is grounding, his words relieving. I let out a breath and press my lips together, feeling a tad nauseous. I check the narrow alley to confirm that they have indeed vanished into the night.

“You saved me.” I realize, taking him in with wide eyes.

The right side of his mouth lifts and he tilts his head to the side. “Would you like to go home?”

“Please,” I nearly beg, wanting that most of all. I feel exposed for some reason, feel as though I am still in danger as long as I am outside. What if those strange men decide to come back? I shiver at the thought.

“Cold?” He questions. His almond shaped eyes take in my curled body, his eyebrows furrowing in a pout. “Do you have a coat?”

“I didn’t need one,” I say with a small shrug. “I was supposed to be home by now.”

His expression is fixed on disapproval. “I left mine inside. I’ll run in and get it real quick and then walk you home.”

He goes to stand and I panic, my arms shoot out to latch onto his arm, trapping him in an awkward squat. “Don’t leave me out here!”

“Alright.” He pats one of my hands that dig into the thin material of his shirt, most likely leaving crescent marks into his flesh, although he doesn’t seem to be in any discomfort or pain. “We can go in together. Does that work for you?”

“Are they in there?” I ask in a whisper.

He shakes his head. “Even if they are, they won’t do anything as long as I’m with you. I’m sure of it.”

I take in his angelic face. He really is beautiful in a sweet boyish kind of way and I wonder briefly how old he is. It is almost comical, because he’s definitely going for the whole ‘bad boy’ look, what with his leather black pants, rose red button down, and smokey eye. Despite that, I truly feel safe with him there, feel that he will be my white knight and get me home unharmed.

“Okay. I’ll go with you then, Sir.”

“’Sir’?” Now he smiles, full pink lips stretch into a shape of a box revealing the loveliest set of teeth I have ever seen. A soft breeze hits at that moment, tousling the already messy, slightly curled, dark brown hair around his head and, despite myself, my breath catches. He chuckles lowly, the sound causing saliva to flood my mouth. “My name is Baekhyun. What’s yours?”

I waste no time telling him, needing him to know who I am.

He repeats it, making sure he gets it right and I want to curse my hormones for being so affected when my life was on the line only a few minutes ago.

“Well,” he takes one of my hands that still holds onto him into one of his, causing me to shiver from the crisp velvety texture of his skin on mine. “Let’s get you home.”

We slip into the club without any trouble, the security doesn’t even card me. It is as if, just being in Baekhyun’s presence allows me an in. I gaze at him in awe as we maneuver through the slightly crowded entrance towards coat check, but he doesn’t notice—either that, or he is pretending not to. He leans against the square glassless window, broad back exposed to the rest of the club, waiting calmly for his jacket. I lean against the wall, taking in everything I can through the haze and saturated lights, making sure I am clear from the other men I had the displeasure of meeting.

“Ready?” Baekhyun asks, drawing me out of my search and I find my body untensing with his close presence. I bring my attention up to him, his head is cocked slightly, an eyebrow raised in a question. I nod in affirmation and take the lead, with my back to him, I feel the pressure of a sturdy jean coat around my shoulders. Glancing down, I take in the rough black material and smile to myself as I slip my arms through the sleeves, peeking behind me once quickly to see him studying me like a hawk, eyes sharp and a pleased grin on his lips, so small I can barely make it out, and I wonder if he’s even aware of the action. When I face in front of myself again to watch where I am going (and to hide my reddening cheeks from him) I feel a private grin so happen to pull at my features and I wrap the massive jacket closer to myself, inhaling what must be Baekhyun’s scent.

It’s an indescribable smell. It’s luxurious and soft, yet also grungy, like the scent of a new car mixed with a bouquet of Jasmine and gasoline.

It’s intoxicating.

We finally make it out of the stuffy building and I don’t hesitate to turn left, leading us down the familiar path to my place. Once there is room, Baekhyun lazily falls in line beside me, matching my pace so closely, his arm brushes against mine every other step. We get to the alley immediately, since it’s beside the building we were just in, and my footing falters, causing me to trip.

Arms are around me in an instant, not allowing me to move forward, let alone to the ground and the momentum drags me to a hard chest. I huff, the air is knocked out of my lungs and everything stops for a few seconds.

Finally, I remember how to breathe and lift my head to see Baekhyun’s mere inches above mine, eyes wide from surprise and slight fear.

“Are you alright?” He breathes, startled.

The urge to laugh at his expression is strong, but I swallow it once I remember where I am. Clearing my throat soberly, I realize I am practically splayed over him. I tap the shoulder my hand is resting on awkwardly and he finally realizes the situation as well. I feel one of the arms he has around my waist tighten briefly, pulling me even closer, but just as quickly, he is pulling back apologetically.

“I’m fine,” I finally am able to muster. I laugh drily, rubbing my face. “Still not over the memories….”

Baekhyun bit his lip worryingly. “They really frightened you, huh?”

I let out another breathless laugh. “I’ve honestly never been more terrified in my life.”

My voice shakes and all I can think of is the Chanyeol fellow’s depthless eyes. “Something about them was just so…inhuman….”

“Those guys,” Baekhyun’s voice cuts through my horror flashbacks, closer than I remember, startling me. He tries to steady me with slender fingers on my bent elbow, but keeps it there even after I’m still. “They were just hungry.”

“Hungry?” I question. He is now using the hand on my arm to lead me through the dark trail.

“Yeah, they…. They get a bit cranky when they haven’t fed in a while.”

I scoff. “’Fed’? What is this? A Snicker’s ad?”

He chuckles at that, but you press on. “You sound like you’re on pretty friendly terms with those guys.”

He winces at that. We’ve cleared the alley at this point, so he drops his hand, losing contact with me, much to my disappointment. I’m back to leading, so I continue down the familiar streetlamp lit sidewalks.

“I mean….” He scratches the back of his head. “We’re… familiar. I wouldn’t go as far as calling them friends, by any means.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, genuinely curious as to his connection with those psychopaths.

He purses his lips as he stares ahead unseeingly, thinking about the right way to explain himself. “What I mean is… we share the same circle. Some of the guys… they’re rowdier than the rest. They have a few loose screws, I’ll be the first to tell you, but they’re a part of the group.”

I lift an eyebrow at that. “So…. You all just let them run around and act crazy without any repercussions?”

“That’s…not what I said,” he’s quick to defend, lifting a finger in a scolding way. “I kicked their asses for you did I not?”

“You did that for me?” I ask, not able to resist the urge to bat my eyelashes up at him. I’m not going to lie to myself, I like the idea of him fighting for me.

“I did. Because I knew they were up to no good. You’re welcome, by the way.”

I roll my eyes, but bump my shoulder with his in thanks.

“But, even though I think I already know the answer, I have to ask.” He’s grown nervous. “Did…did you hear anything they were talking about?”

I shake my head and shrug. “Not a word. I could hear voices, but they were talking too quietly for me to understand any of it.”

He lets out a breath he must’ve been holding in relief.

“What? Was it that bad?”

He smiles, his beautiful teeth on display. “No! No, no.”

“Are you sure?” I press, teasingly.

He throws me a look that causes me to laugh.

“Enough about them,” he dismisses and I laugh harder. He goes ahead of me, spinning around so that he’s walking backwards, giving me his undivided attention. “I want to know more about you.”

“Like what?” I ask, instantly flustered. Under the moon, the smooth bit of skin of his neck and chest shine pale, the contrast with his dark eyes and long lashes something to behold. Does he know how incredibly attractive he is? Well, if his fashion and confidence is any indicator, he surely did, and used it to his benefit.

“Like why you were in the alley in the first place? I’ve never seen you at the club before, and trust me, I would remember.”

The comment flusters me more and it takes me a moment to remember how to speak. “I… I work nearby. The alley is my shortcut home.”

“I’m pretty familiar with the area.” He hums. “Where do you work?”

“At the used book store down the road.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wonder if I should be telling this man such personal information. Yeah, he may be hot, but he’s still a stranger, whether he saved me or not, I didn’t know him enough to trust him with the information. Yet, what was done was done.

“Ooooh, so you’re a nerd?” He teases and I roll my eyes.

“I guess you could say that, Baekhyun.”

“I think it’s cute! I was never much of a reader….”

“Well, if you need any recommendations, I’m your girl.”

He grins and I think he may have liked that statement a little too much.

“I’ll have to visit you soon then, to get those recommendations.” His voice has lowered, deepened, coming from within his chest and my mouth utterly dries.

“M—maybe you should,” I stutter and then stop abruptly as I finally take in our surroundings. “Shit.”

“What?” He’s shocked again and I guess it’s because I swore. Maybe he finds it unbecoming of me.

“I…. We passed my place.”

His lips form into a thin line as he presses them tightly together—holding in a laugh, no doubt. I ignore him as I swiftly double back the half block to my apartment. “This is me.”

He takes in the brightly dimmed complex. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you in?”

I nod. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me tonight, but I think I can take it from here.”

“Ah….” He slides his hands in his pockets and finally meets my gaze, disappointment visible on his face. “Well then, I guess my work here is done.”

“I guess so.”

“It was nice meeting you,” he says my name and shallowly dips his head, although we both seem rather hesitant to move.

“Nice meeting you, too, Baekhyun. Thank you again, for saving me.”

“Anytime.” He grins boyishly and I can’t help but stare at his mouth, at his perfect teeth.

An awkward silence follows and needing to break it, but also not necessarily wanting to, I began making my way towards the door to my building. “Good night.”

“Goodnight.” His farewell is a mere breath, he watches me, eerily still as I slowly retreat, walking backwards as he had earlier. My back roughly hits the face of the door and he chuckles at my silly antics, shaking his head.

I embarrassingly try to save my ass, but I’m just speaking gibberish, barely making sense as I succumb to my mortification and slid through the mint green door, into the familiar lightly dimmed foyer, leaving Baekhyun on the sidewalk.

I get into my apartment, my roommate/best friend already retired to bed. I stand in front of her closed bedroom door, wondering if I should wake her because I just need to tell someone about what happened to me, but thought better of it, showered and got ready for bed.

Once in the protection of my blankets, the nights events replay in my mind. I find myself tossing and turning as those men keep swirling around my head, threatening me over and over again as I wonder what they thought I overhead was and what Chanyeol had planned to do to me if Baekhyun hadn’t intervened.

Baekhyun….

Despite myself, I find solace in his presence. I have never felt so instantly attracted to someone before and I regret not getting his number or asking him to come in, but I’m just not that kind of girl. Even though he is nothing but nice, there is a chance he could’ve taken my invitation the wrong way.

Or, maybe we would’ve just learned more about each other and started a blossoming friendship.

Well, no use dwelling on the past. I sink deeper into my blankets and finally fall asleep with the reassuring thought that if it is meant to be, then it will be. Plus, I know at least one place I can find him if I really want to.

I sleep rather well that night.

~*~

The next week flies by uneventfully. I’m busy enough that the thought of Baekhyun doesn’t come to mind until I find myself face to face with him inside my store.

He’s gazing down at me, eyes wide and alight with humor. Actually, the humor coats his face, lifting the corners of his red lips and wrinkling his nose.

Under the cool yellow of the lights ahead, he appears warmer, but still paler than one should be in the summer. Again he’s draped in tight black skinny jeans that wrap around his delicious thighs, rips at the knees and sporadically on said thighs. Tucked into the belt is an expensive looking silky button up shirt with random patterns of blacks, maroons, and golds. The top two buttons unfastened to give a glimpse of his firm chest—just enough to leave you wanting more. Between the V of the opening sat a ruby, hung from a bronze chain. It appears to be the only piece of jewelry he has on. His hair is parted on the side, thrown messily aside, exposing his round eyebrows and blemish-less forehead.

He looks wildly handsome.

Handsome enough to garner the attention of the few bit of customers wandering the store.

I blink up at him. He seems so out of place here, amongst the old tender pages of discarded books. He belongs within the walls of clubs, with beautiful women draped all over him, wine in hand, the world at his feet.

Godly.

That is the vibe he gives off. As if he were of a different species.

“Are you that shocked to see me?” He finally utters, head tilting to the side. “You haven’t said a word and have been staring for the past minute.”

“It hasn’t been a minute,” I finally mumble, taking my eyes off his glorious face and down to the counter that only holds my hands.

He chuckles lowly. “Well, it diffenitly was longer than deemed friendly.”

“What are you doing here?” I say. “You don’t have any books.”

“It’s Friday.”

He shrugs at my confused expression. “I know you walk home and decided that I could protect you from all the scary men out there during the busy night. I wasn’t sure if you closed tonight, but decided to check since I was in the neighborhood.”

I have to swallow all the fluttery gushing things that form in my mind at his words. He’s worried about my safety? Concerned enough to check on me and make sure I am protected? His words definitely have my heart fluttering.

“That’s… very nice of you,” I’m able to get out eventually, bringing out a large pleased smile from him. “I actually do close today, so thank you.”

“When are you off?” He asks.

I check the time. “Ten. We still have about two hours left.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, answering my unasked question. “I faintly recall you informing me of some recommendations. It looks like I have the time to get those.”

I take his outfit in. “But you’re dressed for an event. I don’t want to take that from you.”

“These?” He motions at his body before scoffing. “I always dress like this. No special occasion, other than walking you home, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeat, again trying not to get too giddy over the idea he wants to impress me. “Well, my favorite book that’s in right now is a classic, Interview With the Vampire by Anne Rice.”

“Ah….” He get’s a far away look for a moment. “I’m quite familiar with that story.”

“Oh, you are?” I am both disappointed and intrigued. “Didn’t take you much for a reader.”

That brings him back to Earth and he glares at me. “I’ll have you know that I haven’t, in fact, read the book, although I still do take offense with your idea of my intelligence. Are your books sorted alphabetically by name or author?”

“Author.” I inform. “But also by genre. Have fun.”

He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just be over here if you need anything.” With that he turns on the heels of his fancy dress shoes, clacking down the hardwood flooring as if it was a runway in Milan and I watch his shoulder blades through the loose silky shirt, swallowing the saliva that has built in my mouth.

I catch the eye of a few girls hidden around aisles, catch both glares and curiosity and sink a bit lower into the counter.

The next two hours are both the slowest yet the quickest two hours of my life. I can feel baekhyun’s gaze on me heavily the majority of the shift. Especially when I am out on the floor helping a customer or restocking. It’s fun. Baekhyun sits at one of the side tables that has a decent view of the counter and some aisles and whenever I lift my head and accidentally get drawn to his dark and playful eyes, peeking over whatever book he has open, I feel myself get shy and have to quickly glance away, face red and hot. 

Finally when I am officially ready to go, I head over to where he is lounging, one of his ankles rests lazily against his thigh as he scans the pages.

I readjust the strap of my purse as I wait for him to acknowledge me, cause I know he knows I’m hovering, but he ignores me, too entranced in the story.

Finally I clear my throat. “I’m done—“

The bastard shushes me.

My mouth drops as his eyebrows knit. “This is a good part.”

“That’s a picture book!” I scoff. 

That draws him out of his act and he grins up at me before making a show of slowly closing the book and sighing heavy as he stands up and leans in close. “Shall we?”

I blink a few times, catching my bearings. He/s going to step ahead of me but pauses pointing at my chest. “Is that my jacket?”

If I wasn’t red before....

Yes I have been wearing Baekhyuns jacket everyday since that fateful night. It still smells strongly of him and is the only proof I have that that night actually happened.

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Eleven): Angels of Doubt, Bearing Broken Halos

Notes; The chapter title is pretentious as fuck, but I don’t care. I’m very happy with the beginning of this chapter so I’m very excite to finally let y’all read it fully. Overall, this chapter definitely is more of the build up that this uhhhh nice little religious family mayyyyyhaps be a bit less nice than originally thought.

Word Count:  10451

Chapter Warnings: Cult Angels, Animal Death (in the context of dangerous wildlife needing to be put down), A Judge Wolf, Indoctrination, Assault, Me Awkwardly trying to write himbo Nick Rye for the first time

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

For the previous chapter; click here!

They don’t go to The Spread Eagle that night, staying too late making plans. But it’s all for the best in the end, Casey would be more busy in the evening and if she’s interrupting his work, he’ll be less likely to listen. It’ll be easier to talk to him tomorrow just as the bar opens, before anyone arrives and during down time. Regardless, when she comes back to the trailer park. She breaks next to the registration building, checking her mailbox in case Cassie or Joseph had wrote her back, but no such luck. Maybe it will take a while for them to even get it?

A breeze passes through as she leaves the building, that familiar flower smell itching at her nose. The trailer park has fields of those white flowers surrounding it, the delicate petals seem ghostly in the moonlight. Moonflowers, the trailer park has to be named after them, these flowers that haunt her in her dreams. A shift of movement, far back in the expanse of flowers catches her eye. Someone tending to the flowers with a hoe, but she doesn’t know anyone in the trailer park who takes care of the flowers. Surely, if they had a grounds keeper, they’d start with the trash within area; not the flowers surrounding it. 

Dahlia decides to park her bike before investigating, not wanting to leave it in the open while she journeys through the flowers. She pulls out her phone once she’s parked, tucking one earbud in. If only to ease her nerves as she walks to confront the odd stranger. 

“When you told me I should text your brother.

I was walking with a blunt in my hand.

Double Jameson was in the other.

I was drinking like a spiritual man.”

She stands at the edge of the field of flowers, little the scent tickle her nose, watching the…person in the distance. Their gender, or at least presentation of it, unidentifiable. She blinks her eyes, when did she start seeing spots? Her tension eases, body and mind relaxing. 

“I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room.

I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room”

And she walks further through the flowers, brushing through them, fractals blurring her vision with every step. Her head swims and floats away, fuzzy as the smell surrounds her. She drags her fingers along the blossoms as she walks, grounding herself with their velvet touch, the contrast of her black painted fingernails against them. 

“And I could barely stand

He said, "Get some water, man"

'Cause they don't understand

I'm not what they think I am”

As she nears them with every unsteady step, she sees them more clearly. And truly they’re a ghastly sight. Shaved head and dirty white clothes; the smell of the flowers strengthens as she nears them, turning acrid with an edge. That smell comes from them, like they’d bathed in chemicals infused with the flowers. The mask latched around their grime coated face, covering their mouth is marked with the Eden’s Gate symbol. They pay her no mind, focused on tending to the moonflowers, their eyes are glazed nearly white and milky. Like Dahlia’s eyes looked her first night in Hope County, when she dreamed of Faith despite having never met her. 

“They can never ever understand me, no

What I came from, what I was before”

“Are you…okay?” She asks them, despite her own swimming vision and weak knees. 

“HelpmeFaithhelpmeFaithshieldmefromsorrow.” 

They grumble, not sing, the lyrics to one of Eden’s Gate’s songs. Their voice a rasp as if they can hardly breathe, each word running into the other, energy manic.  The moonlight shining on gaunt cheeks and white eyes makes them look dead, a walking corpse before her. She reaches out, gingerly touching their shoulder, hoping touch can break through whatever state they’re in. 

And then they scream, swing the garden hoe and bashing it against the side of Dahlia’s head. She’s knocked to the ground, head hitting rock and dirt. The creature screams out and jumps on her, trying to maul her. Vacant eyes staring down at her, her body and head too fuzzy to even give it the reaction it deserves. She should be scared, she should be terrified, but she isn’t. 

Gently, she puts her hands on each side of the person’s neck, applying pressure, not enough to strangle but to hold it at slight distance. It tries to dig dirty fingers into her flesh through her jacket, screaming mangled cries of pain or anger, she can’t tell as she looks over its face. The haunting glow of moonlight on their dirty face. 

“How you get to heaven with a broke halo?

How you get to heaven with a broke halo?”

“Help me, Faith,” Dahlia sings the song it used to soothe itself, “help me Faith, shield me from sorrow… From fear of tomorrow…”

And a switch has been flipped, it stops screaming. Body going lax, fingers no longer trying to tear her apart as she sings the church song, own voice overlapping the contrasting melody of her music. 

“Help me Faith, help me Faith, shield me from sadness…From worry and madness…” 

And it’s slipping out of her loosening hold and climbing off her, resuming it’s gardening work, as if she never existed at all. On trembling legs and with her vision still blurring, she leaves, not sure of what else to do. A part of her knows she should be more panicked, more concerned, more anything, but then she takes another inhale the floral scent around her and she can’t find the energy. It fades as she leaves the flowers and their scent behind, vision steadying as she enters her trailer, the full reality dawning on her just as she shuts the door behind her. 

“What the actual fuck!?” She screams at her empty living room, because what the actual fuck did she just see?  Her mouth is dry and her brain a mess as distress finally shines through the haze. 

Dahlia digs her phone out, shutting off her music and doing a search. Her vision is still fuzzy with prisms of shifting colors, body still light and floaty. They were there the first time she saw Faith, they constantly itch her nose and make her eyes see things. The church compound was covered in bushels of them.  

Moonflowers, she searches, and sure enough the images show the white trumpet shaped blossoms. Also called datura, angel trumpets and it’s down a rabbit hole. They’re toxic and hallucinogenic, can be harvested for either medication or poison. Scopolamine and atropine are in them; Dahlia does not even remotely know jack shit about chemistry. But a quick search shows scopolamine has been used in everything from nausea medicine to truth serum. So…she may have just hallucinated the person? From the flowers… but when she touches her forehead, where the person stuck her, blood stains her fingers. She really did get hurt…

Dahlia grabs her sketchbook, sitting down on the floor before her coffee table as she’s done so many times before, and she draws what she saw. Painstakingly she tries to recreate them, to draw the gaunt of their cheeks and the grime on their skin. To catch the white emptiness of their eyes. And she dates the drawing, scratching out the date in as neatly as she can. And on the next page she draws her first weird dream, sketching herself vomiting flowers and blood, those moonflowers. She adds the rough date she remembers it happening in the corner when she’s satisfied. Then she draws herself burnt and marred with flowers blooming from her mangled remains, hand moving of it’s own accord to match the details, shutting out the rest of the world as she works to carefully craft every line. She dates it as well and then draws the newest one, smears of ink on bare skin with flowers blooming from them. 

Once each image is created with a date etched in its corner, she sits back and rakes a hand through her hair. She’s had nightmares before this, certainly, but never as frequent or vivid as these. Flowers are the recurring theme and she’s not sure why; maybe the datura are doing it? The scent of them always present, making her sleeping brain conjure odd images. She already has a list of things to do; the apple festival is the highest priority, but she still wants to know what each flower means and what on earth is working in those flower fields, what connection it has to Eden’s Gate. 

She’s exhausted, graphite from her pencil smudged and sticking to her hand. But she feels more at ease having put her demons into art, having created something out of this. There’s still a lot of questions in her mind. This constant back in forth of trusting the church only to doubt them again is frustrating. 

Dahlia barely manages not to fall asleep in the shower that night, exhaustion clinging heavy to her leaden muscles and pulling at her eyelids when she lays down on her couch. 

The junior deputy is running on two hours of sleep, coffee, and an energy drink the next morning. But that doesn’t stop her from swinging into The Spread Eagle as soon as it opens, Pratt in tow since they’re technically on shift. 

“Something wrong, deputies?” Mary May asks when they stride in, Dahlia can already see Casey through the kitchen window, prepping food for the later in the evening. 

“No, we actually just wanted to talk to you and Casey about something.” 

“What’s up?” Mary May raises an eyebrow and the chef’s head perks up. 

Dahlia explains Debbie and Doug’s situation, that John is trying to buy them out, at the very mention of the Seed sibling’s name she can see Mary May tense. But the tension lessens, smiles on the bartender and cook’s face when the deputy mentions their plans for an apple festival. 

“I know we could use more cooks selling food there and Debbie mentioned you work with the Testy Festy, Casey.” 

“Plus, figured the band that plays here, might be willing to work a night or two if you talked to ‘em Mary May.” 

“Look, you had me at pissing off John Seed,” Mary May says, grinning, “I’ll talk to the band and Casey, you damn well better help them out.” 

“Come around here, sister,” Casey calls out, voice deep and booming as she walks around into the kitchen already warm as starts prepping food, he spares her a glance as he minces vegetables, “your destiny hangs off you like a coat, the soul of a warrior, and the heart of a hero.” 

Dahlia blinks, taken aback by his unabashed and weirdly soulful compliments. She doesn’t really believe in destiny nor does she see herself as a warrior or hero, but she certainly appreciates the thought. Her heart, that of a hero apparently, warms and she smiles after another second.

“So…you’ll help?” 

“It’s important for people to gather, to bond, and feel a sense of community.  I’ll call Deb and Doug to offer any help I can.” 

“Thank you so much!” Dahlia grins: Casey is definitely an odd duck, but he cares about the community and willing to help. So, a fantastic guy in her book. 

“Happy to help, sister.” 

First two people dragged into their plan, Pratt and Dahlia give some friendly goodbyes before being on their way. This is already coming together and Stray is nearly vibrating with excitement as they leave the bar. 

The pair continue to do their patrol while swinging in to talk with folks about the festival. They swing by Lorna’s Truck Stop, Dahlia unable to resist snapping a picture of the giant cheesy cow statue outside of it before they walk in, door chiming.  An older woman is talking to someone in a green hood, the woman with chubby cheeks and blue eyes pushing a little bag of mini pies into the hooded person’s bruised hands. 

“Here you go, Jess, on the house as always.” 

“Thanks,” the hooded girl responds, an awkward gruff to the words before she leaves. When Dahlia catches a sight of her, Jess has a face of mottled bruises and cuts. 

“Anything I do for you, Deputies?” 

“We were hoping you could help us out, Lorna,” Pratt starts. 

And just like Casey and Mary May; Lorna’s all bright smiles and kind eyes, happy to help. Even pushing bags of the free small handmade pies into the deputy’s hands before they go. There is something undeniably heartwarming at everyone’s willingness to help. She crams one of the little pasties into her mouth, sugary berries on her tongue as they get back into the cruiser. 

The shift passes by with ticketing traffic violations and stopping in to rope people into helping out. Hudson and Brennan sending texts letting Dahlia know that Grace has agreed to help and Adelaide will too if only so her boytoy Xander can have a smoothie stand during the festival. Riding through the valley, Dahlia sees a billboard advertising gun lubricant, Grace Armstrong’s face plastered on it, though her eyes on the board seem off. Dahlia too far away to put her finger on it, but it looks like that part of the advert has been damaged.  An award-winning sniper and veteran; well loved in the community. Dahlia only saw a glimpse of her at the barbecue, talking with Hudson, but it seems clear just how important she is to the county. 

Within an hour of their shift ending, Doug and Debbie have them called out to the orchard. Their smiles are bright, the middle-aged couple holding each when the deputies pull in. Pratt’s still trying to pretend to have a grumpy face but there’s still a slight smile pulling at his lips as they get out of the cruiser. 

Arms are wrapping around Dahlia in a second, Debbie pulling her into a tight hug, the young deputy tenses hands hovering awkwardly at the woman’s sides. 

“Thank you, so much,” Debbie says, pulling away but her hands still on Dahlia’s shoulders, “we’ve been getting calls all day, everyone wants to help us do this, thank you so much.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s no problem…just happy to help,” Dahlia flusters under the attention, proud of what she’s done, but squirming under the weight of gratitude. 

“Well, we certainly appreciate it,” Doug tells her with a smile, “but we called you out ‘cause we got some flyers made, figure’d it help advertise, though word of mouth already seems to be doing us a lot of good.” 

“We could definitely hand them out, see if some places are willing to hang them up too.” 

“And now we’re the flyer brigade,” Pratt grumbles under his breath and Dahlia jabs her elbow into his side. 

“I’ve already been coming up with everything I wanna sell at the festival, but if you two have some free time Sunday, I could use some taste testers too,” Debbie offers, with a smile, “least I can do is feed you for all your help.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dahlia agrees readily. 

“I…could probably swing by.” Pratt tries so hard to sound above it all, but free apple pie can apparently draw even him in. 

“Can’t wait to see you both then!” 

They wave goodbye to the couple, Dahlia packing the flyers with her into the cruiser car. The ending hours of their shift and the day is spent finding places to hang them up. Mary May posting them in The Spread Eagle, hanging in the window of the garage and general store, Whitehorse even letting it be posted up in the window of the department.  Dahlia’s ride home that night takes longer as she stops at places to ask if they’d hang up the advertisement; after getting Lorna’s Truck Stop and Audrey’s Diner to put them up. Dahlia stops at the Hollyhock Saloon, bartender agreeing to hang it up in the small bar, the rookie deputy giving a quick hello to Brennan and some of the other officers gathered at his table. The 8-bit Pizza bar hangs them up without any question, happy to help, and Dahlia manages to convince Darcy to hang it up in the registration building of the trailer park before she heads in for the night. Dahlia crashes easily that night, sleep finding her as soon as she hits the couch.  

The next day Stray is hit with déjà vu as they’re called out to deal with Eden’s Gate blocking another road. She’s still not sure why this is apparently a thing they do. And to her misfortune it’s not Waylon or members of the church she likes waiting behind the cement block when they pull up this time; but Theodore and Lonny. Because of course. 

“Deputies,” Lonny forces a smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Well, you’re breaking the law, so there’s that,” Pratt says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, heard you two gave some of our members a hard time about blocking off a road,” Theodore comments, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’ll refer you back to the fact it’s against the law,” Dahlia grumbles, “why on earth are you blocking the road anyway?”

“Got some property nearby that needs some work.” 

“The church own a lot a property?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, that was Waylon’s reasoning too. 

“Soon to be even more when John secures the orchard for us,” Lonny has too wide of a grin as he looks Dahlia over, “though rumor has it some little cop is trying to get in the way.” 

“Irrelevant, you’re breaking the law. Just scram and there won’t be any issues.”

“Look, h-“ 

“We’ll be going then, deputy,” Theodore puts a hand on Lonny’s back, reigning him in. Though the way Lonny sneers tells Dahlia that their conflict is only resolved for the moment. 

Regardless, Pratt and her watch as the men yet again pack away the blocks and clear the road out. Dahlia still can’t quite figure out why on earth they’d need to or would want to block the roads. Between that and the strange person she saw in the flowers, bearing the churches symbol, things just seem to get weirder and weirder. She considers for a moment asking the church members there about the person with the shaved head, but she has a feeling asking more questions will just put her higher up on Lonny and Theodore’s shit-lists. 

“Still don’t get why they keep blocking the roads,” Dahlia comments when they get back in the patrol car. 

“They’re assholes, what more reason they need.” Pratt shrugs before starting the cruiser engine and Dahlia just doesn’t feel like it’s that simple. 

“Well, if they do it again, we don’t really have a choice but to arrest ‘em do we?” 

“Can’t let them get away with shit forever; three strikes seem fair.” 

Questions still run through her mind; but there’s no way of getting answers at the moment, left to bury her curiosity as they leave back down the winding roads. Hours pass and bright blues shift to pastel pinks as the sun sets upon Hope County. 

That evening at The Spread Eagle, she’s listening to Pratt and Hudson argue about something; she can’t even be sure what but she’s just amused to not be at the butt of the humor tonight. She’s cramming fries into her mouth when she feels eyes on her. 

“That’d be her right there,” Mary May says, pointed out at Dahlia as she talks to a man the young officer has only seen in passing. Shaggy dark hair under a cap and beard on his face, though the last time she saw him he’d been wearing glasses. She thinks it’s Nick, only having seen a glance of him at his own barbecue. 

“If I’m in some sort of trouble, I’d like fair warning, Mary May.” Dahlia comments, unsure why anyone would be trying to find her in a crowd. The blonde’s smile eases her nerves as she comes across the bar, the man walking Dahlia’s way. 

“No trouble, Deputy, Nick here was just wanting to know which one of you started the apple festival. He’s going fly a banner ad around for Debbie and Doug.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome.” 

“I just wanted to find out who was helping them out, Nick Rye,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’ve been crop dusting for Doug and Debbie for years, last thing anyone needs is for John to get his hands on that place.”

“That seems to be most people’s sentiment.” 

“Told ya just about everyone is sick of his shit,” Mary May says with a shake of her head, “it’s about time he doesn’t get what he wants.” 

“That son of a bitch has been hounding me and Kim for months now, trying to buy our place.”  Nick’s jaw clenches, irritation coming off him in waves. 

“I know Kim damn near broke his nose for it.” 

“Wait what?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow; how often does John harass people? 

“Listen to this,” Nick gesture emphatically, now sitting down next to Dahlia, “asshole shows up to the house while I’m gone, trying to bully Kim into selling the damn place, while she’s pregnant. What kind of sick fuck shows up at a man’s house while he’s gone and tries to strongarm his wife into signing the place over. Fuckers lucky I wasn’t home.” 

“You not being home was kind of the point of when he showed up.,” Mary May reminds him, “besides, no offense, but even ready to pop I think I trust Kim’s right hook protected her more than yours ever could.” 

“Now, that’s just mean,” Nick says with a slight pout to his face, reminding Dahlia of a tall puppy dog. 

“It’s okay Nick, anything you lack in strength you make up for in…” Mary May seems to have to search for the next word, normally brains would be the natural contrast, “well, you just keep being you.” 

“Never really thought about being anyone else; well except maybe an eagle, but I don’t think that counts.”  

“No, it doesn’t really count, Nick,” Mary May says with a slight laugh.

Dahlia stifles her own laugh raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. Nick is sweet and willing to help out with the festival, so she won’t spend too much time questioning his desire to be an eagle. It’s not long before Pratt and Hudson fall into conversation with the pilot; allowing Dahlia to comfortably settle into the background as the night winds down.

It’s not even the noon the following day before things around Hope County manage to pick up pace.  Sirens and lights flashing as Pratt rushes them up north towards the mountain; there’s a palpable tension. Crisis situations are rare; most days filled with handing out traffic tickets and dealing with roadblocks. Hell, the county is boring enough that the sheriff would allow them to actively work on a festival during shift hours. So, a call requesting EMS, all deputies and units, and the F.A.N.G Center; is definitely out of the normal. 

They see the gathering of people as they pull up, Whitehorse is talking with workers in F.A.N.G Center shirts, Hudson and other officers gathered around and EMS workers carrying someone into the back of an ambulance. 

“Pratt, Rookie; over here now!” The sheriff calls out for them and they rush over. 

“What’s going on?” Pratt is the one to ask. 

“Wolf, possibly rabid, but we don’t know. It attacked a pair of hikers. We tried to tranq it but nothing is bringing it down, we gotta find it and put it down before it hurts anyone else.” The F.A.N.G Center employee explains to them. 

“No way to get around killing it?” Dahlia asks, she understands it can’t always be avoided, but she would prefer not to.  

“We hit that damn thing with enough tranq to take down an elephant and it still tried to maul us before running off; tried to get it with a snare pole and it broke it. We can’t rehabilitate an animal we can’t get near and if we let it go; it’ll hurt someone else.” 

“You heard the man, alright,” Whitehorse’s voice booms as he starts addressing everyone, commanding attention “we got a wolf to find, grown wolf, white fur and aggressive. I want everyone to stay in groups; we have tranquilizers, snare poles, and what’s used to put ‘em down. We want to try to do it as humanely as possible but protect yourselves and keep an ear to your radio. We need to make sure the trails are safe and can’t let anyone else get bit; move out!”

The deputies are given tranquilizer guns, the snare poles, and syringes filled with pentobarbital. Though, given what they’ve been told, she’s not completely sure how effective any of it will be. If the wolf has enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant in it already and is still moving; as well as having previously broken one of the snare poles, then how on earth is any of this suppose to work? 

But she doesn’t voice these concerns as she follows after Pratt, Hudson, and another police officer tagging along so they can maintain a decent sized group per Whitehorse’s instructions. 

The mountains are beautiful, she thought that when she’s gone hiking before, but even during this tense situation she finds herself amazed by how gorgeous it is. Bright green summer grass and towering trees as far as the eye can see. Mountains that reach up to kiss the bright blue sky. 

Dahlia stays at the back of the group, letting Pratt and Hudson lead as she keeps her ears and eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The sneer pole is across her shoulders, her wrists on top and holding it there as she walks. She half listens to Pratt and Hudson talk; something about people making up werewolf rumors because the wolves have been acting wilder and wilder lately. She’s reminded of her meal at the Grill Steak, that man who warned a group of people about wolves. He claimed they were trained by Eden’s Gate; but those still just sound like conspiracy theories. 

Tension crawls up Stray’s spine, skin forming goosebumps at the sensation of being watched, then the sound of snapping branches coming from forests that surround the trail she walks along. She moves without thinking, leaving the trail and her group behind, following where she heard the noise. 

Branches and brush scratch at her arms as she ventures deeper into the wooded area; then she sees his back. Jacob Seed, why does there always seem to be a member of their family just around the corner when trouble happens? 

“Something you need,” he says, not bothering to turn and face her, examining his red rifle. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“I shouldn’t be,” he spares her a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes rife with condescension, “last time I checked it’s a free country, ain’t it?” 

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a wolf running around; possibly rabid. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” 

And he laughs; dry and deep, the sound making her raise her eyebrows. Why is the idea of being mauled by a rabid wolf so funny to him?

“You worrying about me?” He asks, finally turning to face her in full, shifting the bright red gun to the holster on his back. 

“I mean, yes? My job is keeping the public safe and you are a member of the public.” 

“Pfff, you’re just a pup,” he says walking past her, “be better off watching out for yourself.” 

His hand is large and rough as it ruffles her hair while he walks by; his palm and fingers nearly encompassing the entire top of her head. His hand is probably bigger than her face she realizes, heat flushing up her face though she’s not sure of why. He’s so condescending and patronizing and fucking giant; the last point isn’t entirely relevant but it’s still true. 

“I’m a deputy, don’t patronize me.” She says, reaching up to grab his hand from her head, capturing it in her own. His rough scarred hand is nearly double the size of her own; warm calloused skin against her own. 

“You having fun there?” He asks, when she doesn’t let go of his hand right away, instead pressing her small hand back against his palm, comparing the immense size difference. He really could probably wrap one hand around her entire head. 

“Your hands are so big, wow.” 

“’Preciate it pup.”  

And he laughs again, still dry and brief in it’s sound, pulling his giant hand from her smaller one before he leaves. She glares at his back; corded muscle shifting beneath his black tee shirt. Despite her pout, she can understand why he’d see her unable to defend herself in comparison to him. She’s been confident in her physical abilities for a while; but she imagines a man like Jacob isn’t scared of anything. 

“Rook, where the hell are you?” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio as Jacob walks off. 

“There was a hunter out here, I was warning him about the wolf,” Dahlia explains herself, she wasn’t suppose to leave the group per Whitehorse’s orders, but no one could blame her for warning a civilian. There’s something odd about thinking of Jacob as just a hunter or civilian; though she’s not quite sure why. 

“We’re in the woods near the Visitor’s Center, get over here, you pain in the ass.” 

The radio crackles out and Dahlia gets on her way; she knows the Visitor’s Center is south of where she is. Though she has no sense of direction, so that has little bearing on her ability to find it. She hikes down, feeling that’s the closest approximation to south that she can get, sticking a little closer to the woods than the paths. She prefers the shade and atmosphere of being surrounded by the trees. 

But the further she travels down, the sparser the trees grow, exposing Dahlia to the sun. Green grass and branches crushing underfoot as she stumbles down the terrain. She can just imagine Pratt and Hudson’s frustration, but warning someone about a rabid wolf is certainly understandable.

A drawn-out howl echoes through the woods, making the deputy freeze. Sunlight is warm on her face and stinging at her eyes as she turns towards the sound. A spire of craggy rocks coming off the mountain; the silhouette of a wolf howling with the sun behind it. She uses her hand to shield from the sunlight, straining to see more detail. Seven distinct darts stick from the wolves back; tranquilizers. 

Dahlia quickly tugs her uniform shirt off from over her black tank top, wrapping the fabric around her forearm. Not quite the cushioned guard they use for training police dogs, but it will provide some barrier between it’s bite and her skin. Worse case scenario, she’ll be taking rabies shots once everything is done. She holds the syringe of pentobarbital in one hand, she has her firearm too if that’s unable to bring the wolf down, but she prefers to let it go peacefully if she can. 

She stays crouched down as she approaches the peaked edge of the mountain, craggy rock building up to a spire, levels to climb up to reach the clearing where the wolf sits. Dahlia stays low as she climbs, moving as quietly as she can, using a blue grappling hook handle to help lift herself up to the final level. There’s a gap in the clearing; a log showing a passage between craggy rock to craggy rock; boulders surrounded by grass. She can see the wolf, but it’s yet to noticed her, another howl echoing out as it cries out to the sky. 

It’s beautiful and she’s all at once ashamed that it has to be put down. Matted white fur with a black nose and lips; it’s eyes are luminously silver, like moonlight. Red is mottled across it’s face, red frothing around it’s mouth, as well as a brighter crimson stroked across it’s brow and down it’s nose. Across it’s furred shoulder blade and spine are seven different tranquilizer darts that were shot at it, how has it not passed out? It doesn’t see her not right away, then it’s nostrils twitch and it’s lips pull back to snarl, red tinged drool dripping down it’s maw. Then it’s gaze is on her, growling and baring it’s teeth. 

And then it pounces.  

She puts up her cloth wrapped forearm, the force of it’s body hitting hers knocks her onto her back. It’s teeth snap into the fabric, as it tries to chew through her arm, the edges of fangs just grazing the flesh beneath. One large paw presses against her wrist, attempting to pin her limb down so it can rip the meat off her bones. 

Dahlia pulls back the plunger on the syringe before slamming the needle into the thick of the wolves neck, sinking through fur and flesh before she pushes the chemical through. The wolf snarls through it’s bite on it, then she watches that shine in it’s silver eyes die. It’s mouth goes slack and then it’s body falls limp on top of her. 

The deputy pushes the wolves dead weight off of her, getting up onto her feet, she touches the torn shirt wrapped around her forearm. Drool and blood has stained the green, small damage done to her skin under. It stings but nothing she can’t deal with; the idea of getting rabies shots worries her more. She crouches over the wolf and looks at it’s face, the red around it’s mouth is darker, rusted and clearly blood. But the brighter more purposeful crimson looks like paint. 

She remembers the warnings she overheard in the Grill Steak before; someone warning conservationists about wolves owned by Eden’s Gate. Though, he called them a cult. It’s not for sure or a real connection; conspiracy theories and paint. But, who could have gotten close enough to paint the wolf’s face? Who would want to? 

“Rookie,” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio. 

“Pratt…” 

“Rook, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Hudson threatens in the background. 

“Please, she’d probably like that.” 

Dahlia’s face flushes at Pratt’s teasing, she can’t say he’s completely wrong, but that’s not the point.  She hefts the wolf’s corpse up onto her shoulder, carrying it’s heavy weight, the head of the furry creature beside her head. It’s fur is soft and thick despite the matted nature. She’s not big on hunting culture, but the wolf would make a nice rug. 

“I got the wolf,” she says into her radio, holding it in one hand while the other keeps the carcass steady on her shoulder as she carefully makes her way down the craggy rocks. 

“What?” 

“I got the wolf,” she repeats to Pratt’s flat question. 

“What? Wh-where the fuck are you?.” 

“I’m on a big ass like spirally mountain thing.” 

“That tells us literally nothing,” Hudson informs her.

“Uhhhh,” Dahlia looks over the edge, of the elevated mountainside, “I think I see a helipad nearby?” 

“Fuck, I know where you are, stay put. Okay, do not approach the wolf.” 

“Uhhh, I think you misunderstood me.” 

“What do you mean?” Pratt asks and she can just imagine his raised eyebrow. 

“I mean, I got the wolf, I already put it down. We can call off the search, but, uh, I think we have bigger issues.” 

“Did you get hurt again?” 

“Hey,” she objects to his tone, “you make it sound like I’m always getting hurt.” 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, I did not get…seriously hurt.” 

“Oh lord,” Hudson grumbles in the background. 

“Look, that’s not the issue, alright. Just get up here and let Whitehorse know what’s going on, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Dahlia finds a steady rock in the clearing to pull herself up onto as she waits, since apparently Hudson and Pratt have figured out where she is. She tries to look for anything else on the wolf that could indicate it being owned; but nothing. Dahlia does find herself wondering why it’s fur is white? Aren’t white wolves usually those in snowy climates, for camouflage? 

She doubts she’ll receive any answers, so she tries to quiet her mind. The sun warms her skin where she sits on the rock, white wolf still up on her shoulder, ripped uniform shirt still wrapped around her forearm. It all forms an odd picture, she’s certain. 

It’s less than an hour or so before she hears the rustle of footsteps; Hudson and Pratt along with the other officer walking up the way to her. Pratt just stops a second and shakes his head, Hudson is rolling her eyes. 

“Hello,” Dahlia says with a soft wave. 

“What the actual fuck, Rook?” 

And she cracks up; unable to help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation and Hudson’s flat response. She may have already hit the highlight of her career here. 

“Stop laughing; it’s not funny, you could have gotten seriously hurt!” Pratt tries to scold her but he’s laughing through his words, the oddity of it all must be hitting him as well. Dahlia presses a hand to mouth to try and stifle her laughter as Hudson gets her radio out. 

The senior deputy radios Whitehorse, letting him know they’ve gotten the wolf. He tells them where to meet him with the body, so the veterinarian and F.A.N.G Center workers can examine it. Dahlia will be reliant on actually listening and following obediently behind the older deputies.

“C’mon, Rookie, let go.”

“Alright.” Dahlia hops down from her rock and starts to follow after them down the mountain. 

“You need help packing that?” Pratt offers, probably because the wolf is nearly the length of her entire body. 

“Nah.” 

“You just feel cool packing the wolf on your back, don’t you?” Hudson is the one to call her out, raising her eyebrow with a soft smirk on her lips, looking entirely too pretty. 

“Uhhh….” 

“God, you’re a dork.” 

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dahlia admits with a red face and shrug of her shoulders, happy to see Pratt and Hudson smiling at her dorkiness. 

“What happened with the hunter you were warning?” Pratt asks after a beat of silence as they keep walking, helping her over a craggy step with a hand on her hip to keep her steady as the weight of the wolf limits her movements.  

“Uh, asshole just patronized me and left. I don’t know why I still talk to him, he’s always a dick,” she says, rolling her eyes when she thinks about Jacob calling her a pup. He likes to comment on her being a puppy a lot. 

“Someone you knew?” Hudson asks, offering a hand to help Dahlia get over a large branch in the way of the path. The ease at which the two older deputies silently help her, makes a soft smile pull at Dahlia’s lips. Silently grateful for them as she answers their questions. 

“Jacob Seed.” 

“Seriously?’ 

“What?” 

“You don’t find it a little fuckin’ weird how the Seeds are always around you?” 

“I mean, they’re not around me anymore than anyone else.” 

“They really fucking are; you went to the barbecue, John jumped at the chance to rope you into that.” 

“Churches like new blood, it’s n-“ 

“You’ve apparently talked to Jacob more than once; I didn’t even know he could talk,” Hudson says rolling her eyes, “all he ever does at anyone outside the church is glare.” 

“She’s talked to Faith a lot too, apparently.” 

“I still don’t even know where she fucking came from.” 

“I’m still not fully convinced she isn’t a ghost,” Pratt tells Hudson. 

“She’s not a ghost,” Dahlia says with a roll of her eyes. 

“And you would know, because they cling to you like leeches, right?” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know what I think it is,” Hudson says after a moment, “you put up with Joseph’s creepy ass speeches and they realized you’d put up with anything.” 

“He’s not….that…creepy…” Dahlia says with zero conviction, because, well. He’s definitely off, but despite all the weird little red flags, he did help her and Cassie. So, he can’t be all bad. Even if his brother is taking people’s shit…and well…she still doesn’t know what the hell was up with the shaved head person. 

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.” 

“Look, we’ve had run ins with him before, he’s the weirdest creepiest person in this whole damn county and that is saying something,” Hudson shudders, “I’d take Zip lecturing me on being a government shill for nine hours over Joseph even looking at me for even a second.” 

“His stare is weirdly intense…” 

“All of them are weird; John’s skeevy, Jacob looks like he skins people alive in his spare time…Faith’s kinda cute, but at what cost,” Pratt tells her and eh, Faith’s not really her type. The Church Mouse is pretty, but a bit too delicate for the young deputy to really get those weird stomach feelings she gets around women like Hudson or Mary May. 

“Really, I didn’t think you liked women who are taller than you?” Hudson asks. 

“Faith is like barely taller than me,” Dahlia says with a snort, watching the pure look of offense on Pratt’s face, how could she be taller than Pratt? 

“How short do you think I am, Joey?’ 

“What?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, confused by their confusion, “ heard she was like six foot something with black hair.” 

“She’s like this tall,” Pratt puts his hand maybe two inches above Dahlia’s head, “and blonde.” 

“Kinda blonde,” Dahlia corrects, thinking of the youngest Seed siblings dirty blonde hair that fades to a slightly light color at the ends. It toes the line between brown and blonde fairly well. 

“Whatever.” 

“Someone told me she was taller than John, I know they did, am I losing my mind?” Hudson tries to think for a moment; gears visibly turning behind her green eyes. 

“Did you ever really have it?” Pratt taunts her. 

“Keep it up, asshole, see what fuckin’ happens.” 

The trio makes it down to where the sheriff asked, a parking place within the northern area of the county with little gas pumps but not much else. The F.A.N.G Center employees and the veterinarian with a stethoscope around his neck waiting for them as they make their way over. A worker with the center helps get the stiffening wolf off of Dahlia’s back, putting it into the back of a van so they can take it to be examined. 

“Good work, Deputies,” Whitehorse congratulates them and Dahlia grins at the praise. 

“To be completely fair,” Hudson interjects, “it was Rook who was able to get him.” 

“Hey, we helped…move the body…” Pratt jokes, in their own ways they’re both ensuring Dahlia gets her due credit and she can’t help but smile. 

“Well, outstanding work, Rookie.” 

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind worried about something.” 

“What’s that?’ The sheriff asks, the attention of him, the veterinarian, and center workers all falling on Dahlia. 

“The wolf has paint on it’s face, like a cross or something…which kinda makes me think someone owned it or…something?’ 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not all blood.” A worker looking over the wolf’s face in the van confirms. 

“There’s nothing else on it, but we definitely will have to keep that in mind.” 

“But, uh, what happens from here?” Dahlia asks. 

“I’ll test to see if it’s rabid or if anything else might be the cause for the aggression,” the veterinarian, his name tag she finally catches says Dr. Charles Lindsay, “I’ll let the hospital know and if needed, the hiker will get treated for rabies.” 

“Ah, uhh, is there any possible way you could let us know at the same time…well let me know…?” 

“Why…?” 

“I may have been slightly bit.” 

“Slightly?” Pratt is the one to yell out, incredulous at Dahlia’s description of her injury. 

“Just a little bit,” She brings two fingers close together in front of her for added effect. 

“Jesus fuck, can you just not get hurt for like a week?” 

“No, clearly not.” 

“Pratt, take her out to the clinic,” Whitehorse says with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t need a doctor.” 

“Yes, you do. Even if the bite ain’t too bad, you never know if it’s infected. Not only could the wolf be carrying something, but it had someone else’s blood in it’s mouth. This isn’t optional, Rookie, you’re going to the clinic and that’s an order.” 

Dahlia can’t and won’t argue with the sheriff on that. Instead shrinking slightly at the realization that her own disregard for her own safety has gotten her scolded despite her accomplishment. She doesn’t think about risks to herself; she needed the wolf put down to save others and if the worst case scenario is her own well-being being sacrificed, that’s worth it to help others, isn’t it?

“C’mon, Wolf-Bait lets get going,” Pratt says, giving her a light smack on the shoulder to follow him. 

“I’m coming, asshole.” 

She follows behind Pratt, back to the cruiser where they parked at the beginning of this day. The sun has long since set, the moon now bright and high in the sky as she climbs into the passenger side seat. Unable to stop herself from pouting slightly that she’s being forced to go to the clinic again. Even if she understands why. 

“Hey,” Pratt gets her attention as he starts up the cruiser engine, “if it makes you feel any better. I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery if it turns out to be a werewolf.” 

“Fuck you!” She yells out through a laugh; his dumb joke bringing a smile back to her face as they go off to the clinic. 

She’s at the clinic late that night, her injury doesn’t need stitches just some bandaging, some bloodwork and tests done to account for anything that could be wrong. Then she’s sent home with antibiotics; the entire time Pratt making jokes about werewolves and silver bullets like a nerd.  All that’s left is crashing for the night and eventually hearing if she has rabies. 

Dahlia sleeps easily that night; thanks to her adrenaline crashing down. She sleeps in the night morning, Saturday never being such a blissful treat for her as she manages to not wake up until around noon. 

The young deputy takes her time when she gets up, eating cereal and grabbing a shower. Faith mentioned her being able to see Cassie at the convent this weekend spending a day together, so that’s her plan on top of doing the rounds on roping folks into the Apple Festival. 

The Convent isn’t far from the trailer park, two buildings seated before the edge of a cliff with craggy staggered mountain range covered in trees beside it.  So many mountains and cliffs within the county. The larger of the buildings has dark roofing, a smaller white church with white latticing canopies between them. Like the material used to construct a gazebo and fields upon fields of the white moonflowers. 

Before Dahlia can step too far onto the property, a woman with long baby blonde hair with flower tattoos spiraling up her arms and the sin of GREED across her chest runs up to stop her. 

“Hello, is there something I can help you with?” 

“Yeah, I was here to see Cassie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our sister Cassandra is busy today.” 

“Sister?” Dahlia asks, blood running cold for a moment. She can’t seriously mean…Cassie wasn’t interested in joining, she just needed shelter.

“Well yes, she’s opened her heart to the Father, a child of Eden’s Gate now.” 

“Interesting…” Dahlia clenches her jaw, “Faith said that I could come see her today.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible, she’s been busy with finding salvation. She’s with herald John, giving her confession, she can’t possibly be bothered right now.” 

“I-”

“Deputy~!” Faith’s sing song voice rings out and Dahlia can’t help but still feel angry, they were supposed to help Cassie, not convert her. The youngest Seed sibling rushes over, nearly floating with the ethereal energy only she can manage. Her white floral dress of the day has a halter neckline and flowers are woven into her braided hair. 

“Faith…” 

“I’m so sorry; I heard, I know you were excited to spend time with me and Cassie today, but I’m afraid things just became too busy with her deciding to join us here.” 

“Yeah…what the fuck?” 

“Excuse me?” Faith says, her pretty little smile fading for a moment. 

“Cassie needed shelter, not Jesus, so I reiterate…what the fuck?” Dahlia gestures wildly, anger tinging her words. Her blood pressure rising and heat crawling up under her skin like pins and needles. 

“Cassie is an adult, she made a choice to join us. Surely, you can’t deny her that freedom, deputy?” Faith’s face pulls into a pout, making Dahlia feel unreasonable all at once, but Cassie was never interested in the religion aspect. 

“Yes, she’s an adult, but she was vulnerable, and I don’t think leaping into a religion when you’re in a shitty place is the best move. I-I wanna talk to her myself.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that can’t happen, not today. But, maybe next weekend or you could write a letter of course.” 

“She still hasn’t responded to my last letter…” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith puts a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder, meant to be comforting but the deputy flinches away, “as I said, it’s been impossibly busy, she’s been studying our beliefs and methods of joining. It’s a long process at times, very time consuming, but I assure you…Cassie opening her heart to the Father doesn’t mean it’s been closed to you.” 

“Yeah, sure, just too busy.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy too, haven’t you?” She tilts her head delicately to the side, still smiling. 

“I have?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. 

“Mmm hmm, John’s already learned of you helping put together an apple festival.” 

“Oh, yeah, Debbie and Doug wanna save that place so why not, I figure.” 

“Yes, we’ve been hearing all about it, John’s not exactly thrilled.” 

“Nothing personal to it…” 

“I figured, I’m not upset, I promise,” Faith offers a soft smile, “the orchard will end up in the rightful hands no matter what. John just worries a lot about getting land for our church, after all we’re growing by the day and need space for our people.” 

“And Debbie and Doug worry a lot about keeping their livelihood, ya know?” 

“Like, I said, I have no ill will over it, I’m just interested to see you’re so full of surprises.” 

“I am?” 

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, but offers no more information, like she knows a secret that Dahlia doesn’t. But before Dahlia can ask another question, a sight among the convent makes her breath catch in her throat. 

Shaved head men and women; tending to fields of those flowers, masks across their face. So, they’re definitely with Eden’s Gate as if she really had to question. They work silently, tending to the fields of moonflowers in their white sweaters. 

“Who are they?” Dahlia asks, giving Faith a pointed look. The girl’s eyes move back and forth from the deputy to the workers. 

“Oh, those are our angels,” she answers, grinning, “they’re high ranking members of our church, so devoted to The Father they’ve taken vows of silence and dedicate their lives to helping The Project. Amazing, aren’t they?” 

“Vows of silence, huh?” Dahlia says, more to herself than Faith. Then why did they mumble lyrics and scream out…why would they attack Dahlia? Is Faith lying to her, she’s got to be, right?

“You know, deputy, if you’re so interested in The Project, The Father would still happily let you join our family.” 

“Hmmm, I’m sure, didn’t realize there was a huge process to it though…” Dahlia comments, hoping Faith will elaborate, what the hell kind of hoops did Cassie jump through? Confession, is all she really knows. 

“Well, “ Faith grabs both of Dahlia’s hands in her own, smiling, “we ask for our new family members to prove they see the truth of our faith, to prove their dedication, rid themselves of their sins and make sacrifices in order to truly cut their ties with sin.” 

“That’s-“ 

“Faith, there’s a call from the conservatory!” Someone calls out and Dahlia’s words die on her lips; the notion that Faith’s description is vague and generally unhelpful. 

“I’ll be right there, see you later deputy, hopefully we can meet with Cassie next weekend.” Faith waves her goodbye and then leaves. 

Stray straightens her jacket before leaving the convent, a flood of unanswered questions and doubts in her mind. Everyday something new worries her about Eden’s Gate. If Faith’s lying…that’s fucking bullshit. She doesn’t want to imagine that Faith would lie to her face like that. But, why would their oh so special angels, even the name makes her roll her eyes, be screaming and murmuring despite vows of silences? Why would they attack her?

The rest of her Saturday is spent speaking to people about the Apple Festival, roping Chad from the Grill Steak into it. At least, she believes she did, she’s not completely sure of anything he says. His dialect unintelligible, so she just upped her cajun dialect until she barely knew what she was saying either. Its good busy work, getting places to hang up advertisements, though her heart and mind are somewhere else the entire time. She’s thankful that most people are just genuinely invested in helping; because she certainly isn’t getting by on her charisma. 

Her night is spent with trying to distract herself, but thoughts always coming back to the weirdness of Eden’s Gate, to her doubts. Wondering what exactly led to Cassie’s conversion… She’s being silly, she tells herself time and time again, but something just doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe she’s overeating; seeing connections and red flags where none exists. But, the case remains that no tv, manga, music, or drawing can distract her that night. 

There’s still a slight cloud looming over Dahlia when she arrives at the orchard Sunday, ready to taste Debbie’s baked apple goods. The sun is high in sky and the smell of apples lifts her mood slightly; but she finds herself still distracted as she parks her bike. 

“Deputy!” Debbie greets her and Dahlia gives the warmest smile she can muster. The older woman’s smile helping lift some of that cloud. 

“Hey.” 

“Staci’s already here, c’mon, we’ll sit in the market stall,” Debbie gushes bring Dahlia over to the picnic tables that are under the covering; where they first talked about the festival. 

Pratt is already there; the smell of baked sugar and apples hits Dahlia’s nose before she even sees the array of food Debbie’s put out. Apple pie, apple dumplings, apple scones, and she’s sure that’s just the beginning. 

“Hey dumbass,” Pratt greets her around a mouthful of apple pie as she sits down next to him. 

“You couldn’t wait like five minutes?” 

“Nope.” 

“Ass.” 

The deputy’s feedback is predominantly noises of happiness; neither really food critics but happy to be shoving it in their mouths. The gloomy cloud is starting to lift by the time they’ve finished off a pie; cinnamon, sugar, and apples warm on her tongue. Apple dumplings settle warm in her stomach and she forgets why she was ever upset. The scones are munched down next; cream sticking to her fingers and lips as she eats. 

“God you’re a mess,” Pratt taunts and she sputters a laugh when she turns to face him. 

“You have food in your beard, asshole.” 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and starts wiping at his face. 

The stuff their faces for a long while longer; strudel, apple cake, apple cobbler, candy apples, and fritters. Pratt leans back from the table, pressing a hand to his face after a while. 

“You alright?” Dahlia asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“Debbie is gonna have to roll me out of here at this rate; are you not fuckin’ full yet?” 

“…No…” She pauses, before shoving more cobbler and whip cream in her mouth. Debbie and Dough are off rushing to get more goodies. 

“Jesus fuck, Rook.” 

“You’re just a baby.” 

“Shut up,” he leans back away from the table and runs a hand back into his hair, “hey, Rook?” 

“Hmm?”

“You ever gonna shoot your shot with Joey?” 

“What?!” She chokes on her food, just barely stopping it from flying out of her mouth, where the actual fuck did that come from? 

“Your little crush on her, you ever gonna do something about it?” 

“Like what?” 

“Ask her out, you know, like people do.” 

“Yeah…why the fuck would I do that?” She cannot grasp his logic here. 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that when people have crushes; they ask the person out.” 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that that would be really fucking stupid.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I already know the answer, there’s no way she’d say yes, and frankly if she did I’d be concerned.”

“Concerned?” 

“Yeah, who in their right fuckin’ mind would say yes to me?!” 

“So, you wanna act weird around her forever and never deal with it?” 

“That was the plan.” 

“I’m just saying the sooner you rip the band-aid off, the quicker you can act like a normal person around her.” 

Dahlia sighs, she doesn’t want to act like a freak around Hudson for the rest of her life or for her little crush or whatever to get the way of life. Pratt knows more about this crap than her, because everyone does. So, if he’s saying this would help, maybe it would? But, her brain still is struggling. 

“But I already know she’s gonna say no, you know she’s gonna say no, literally anyone with a functioning braincell knows she’d say no. So, why would hearing her say no make a difference?” 

“Its like closure and shit; I think it’d help.” 

“Ugh, just sounds like an excuse to make an idiot out of myself.” 

“Compared to the genius you usually are?” 

“Fuck off.” 

She swallows down a mouthful of strudel before the conversation can continue, but Pratt’s words stick with her. It’s not as if she needed any more on her mind, but she got it anyway. The two continue taste testing for Debbie, though the subject of Hudson never comes up. She’s not sure why Pratt is suddenly so keen on helping her work through her little crush, a friendly gesture, she figures. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could stop turning into a red-faced mess around the oldest deputy. 

It’s late when they finally finish tasting everything; Dahlia giving friendly goodbyes to Pratt and the couple before she goes back home. Her weekend coming to a close with her falling asleep with a stomach full of baked apples. 

She’s woken up to her phone ringing; instead of her alarm. Dahlia already knows well that despite shift hours, the nature of their work and the higher level of being deputy means that being called out at odd hours is expected. But her blood runs cold when she sees sheriff Whitehorse is the one calling, something is wrong. 

“Sheriff?” She answers, sitting up on the couch. 

“Rook; I already called Pratt and Hudson, I want you all at the clinic now! It’s an emergency!” 

And that’s all she gets before the call ends. She throws on a uniform and runs out the door, jumping on her motorcycle. Mind racing with each passing second. The hurried and frantic tone in Whitehorse’s voice flaring anxiety inside of her. A million possibilities shooting through her mind as she rides towards the clinic; is it about the wolf? Has there been a murder? Is someone she knows hurt? Could it be an officer? 

She’s practically tripping over herself as she climbs off her bike, running into the clinic. The staff is a mess, nurses rushing frantically to attend to someone. Words of transferring, stabilizing, blood transfusion. Something is wrong. Each word swims around her head, but she doesn’t know who they’re talking about. Then she sees Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt at the front desk. The three living closer than her. 

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia asks running over; all three’s expressions are tense. Pratt shaking his leg, Hudson digging her nails into her arms until her knuckles turn white, and Whitehorse looking a moment away from collapsing. 

“It’s Pastor Jerome,” Whitehorse tells her, “someone attacked him.” 

“Left for fucking dead,” Hudson interjects, a crack in her voice that Dahlia’s never heard before. 

“They’re trying to stabilize him long enough to transfer him to a hospital in Missoula. We need to make sure it stays secure, no telling if whoever did this won’t try to do something again, and we need to be there to ask questions once he’s out of the woods. I don’t want this slipping through the cracks, Jerome’s a good man and he damn well deserves our best effort.” 

“Got it,” Dahlia nods in agreement to the sheriffs words.

Images of the man in the priest collar coming to mind. She’s seen him in passing, never a conversation between the two. But she saw him speak with Whitehorse; Pratt implied that both him and Hudson went to Jerome’s church as kids. He means something to them all and that’s clear in just how serious it’s being taken; obvious in how shaken up they all seem to be. 

She stands next to Pratt, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, wishing she could offer more. He tries to give her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, too worried about the pastor. 

Why would anyone attack him? His church is modest, nearly dying out from everything she’s been told, it wouldn’t make sense to rob him. Hope County has some less than accepting residents; but the idea of a potential hate crime is a hard pill to swallow…

All Dahlia can do is wait with her coworkers, listening to the frantic yells of nurses struggling to save a man’s life. Heart in her throat, anxiety telling her that any second this will become a murder investigation as she watches the hands on a clock ticking away…

[ghive]

three chords ⋆  shawn mendes x reader

inspired by because i had you by shawn mendes

a/n: this is definitely not my first time writing for shawn, but it is my first time posting my work on this blog! initially, i wanted to write a few blurbs first, but this is my debut i guess! i planned this in may because i was planning on writing fics for every song on sm3, which obviously didn’t happen, but now it’s august and i’m finally done. yay for lily.

also i obviously don’t currently have a taglist but if you wanna be added you can send me an ask (or a request!) here

warnings: angst, swearing, anxiety attack

word count: 3.4k

playlist

the 1 ⋆ taylor swift

out of love ⋆ alessia cara

raindrops (an angel cried) ⋆ ariana grande

about you ⋆ fletcher

arms of a stranger ⋆ niall horan

under / over ⋆ gracie abrams

because i had you ⋆ shawn mendes

***

it’s late, but shawn’s not home. he’s been out all day at the studio; he’s been spending more time out writing and recording, so it’s not an unfamiliar situation. it’s empty, too; the air, your heart. you sit at the piano, the view of the toronto skyline almost invisible in your attempt to fill the growing void with song.

three chords, that’s all you’re playing. but you find a small comfort in the melody. it’s simple, unbothered by the tears welling in your eyes. it rings out in the room, like the buzz of the metal had as you dropped the promise ring into the dish that sat on shawn’s nightstand, just an hour earlier.

the door closes, keys jingle, footsteps sound throughout the condo. your fingers dance across the keys one more time, one last time. you’re soft, gentle, with your movements. three chords, two broken hearts, one more moment before it all breaks forever.

you turn around to look at him, hoping the darkness will conceal your glossy eyes. “hi,” you breathe out, pressure rising in your chest as you look over his shadowed face. those warm brown eyes, the scar on his cheek, the soft blush caused by the cool night air. he’s glowing, he always is, but his light is dimming. it hurts.

“it’s late, y/n. you didn’t have to wait for me,” he says, removing his jacket and hanging it up.

“i know, i wasn’t waiting. i mean, i was, but not for you,” you reply in a quiet voice, standing up from your seat at the piano. 

“what were you waiting for?”

you ignore his question. “dinner’s on the counter for you to heat up. i would’ve put it in the fridge when i made it but i wasn’t sure when you’d get home.”

“i’m sorry i’m so late, baby. i just got caught up at the studio, and we were writing and lost track of time-” he rambles, explaining his absence.

“it’s okay shawn, really. go eat. i’ll be awake if you need anything,” you urge, a sad smile painted across your face. he walks to the kitchen as you head toward your bedroom. you grab your last-minute items, your purse, passport. most of your belongings are already in the car - you’re not surprised if shawn’s noticed that the condo’s just a bit more empty - but you can’t be bothered if he has.

you walk into the kitchen, bag in hand. he sits at the table, playing with his food as he fiddles with his phone. you study him for a moment, for the last time. “i, uh, i should go,” you stutter out from your place in the doorway.

he looks up with wide eyes. “where?”

“away.” you close your eyes, a tear slipping out. you feel like your world is crashing down around you, leaving you alone and exhausted.

“y/n,” he stands up, approaching you slowly. you feel like glass, even though he isn’t touching you. fragile, but sharp in the softest way only heartbreak can cause.

“you were right. the other day, on the phone with connor. you’re better off without me. i’m sorry for holding you back.” you brush your fingers across his cheeks. holding him gently, you press a kiss to his lips.

you rest your forehead against him, eyes closed, breathing synced. you step back towards the front door. “i love you,” you say, looking him dead in the eye. he’s still, silent, the situation only settling in once it’s too late. the door opens and closes, you’re gone.

“i love you, too.”

the walk to the underground parking area seems to last forever as you try not to let the tears spill from your eyes. as soon as you sit down in your car, though, a sob cuts through the cool night air.

you cover your face with your hands, salty tears rushing down your cheek and into your shaking palms. you hide away in that position, not sure from whom - maybe yourself, for a few minutes, before sitting up to lean your head back against the seat.

“maybe he’ll finally be happy,” you whisper into the darkness.

he only wishes you were right.

***

that was five months ago, and shawn’s reality is just settling in. sure, you’ve rushed to move on, forget him, but you look happy. you are happy, and you’re sure shawn is too. it’s what he wanted, after all, how could he not be?

he’s not sure how he isn’t, either. but every time he hears your name, or sees your face on a mutual friend’s social media, it gets a little harder. those five months ago, that phone call with connor, the consequences, everything’s still so clear in his mind. it burns more than his tongue when he sips his coffee too soon or touches the flame as he lights candles around the condo. it burns more than anything, and as more time passes, he just wishes he had you to soothe the pain.

his album just came out, and while you haven’t listened to it, your friends have. you don’t mind the sound of his voice, or his name. you try not to dwell on him too much, and that’s easier said than done, but you broke up for him. so, you’re trying to move on for yourself. not to mention the fact that your boyfriend would riot if you even mentioned your ex’s name, and you’re not ready to fight with him, too.

macy’s playlist is on shuffle as the two of you drive through the southern ontario countryside. it’s a calm, safe space, hardly a care in the world as you laugh at your best friend from the passenger seat. that is, until a certain voice sounds from the speakers, his voice.

“what song is this?” you ask, the first few lyrics swirling in your brain.

“because i had you, it’s one of shawn’s new songs so if you want to skip it you can.” macy smiles apologetically, not wanting to upset you.

“no, no it’s okay.”

you just listen. to the lyrics, to the melody, there's something so familiar about it. the song, it’s so obvious, is about you, about that night five months ago. the time it’s taken for you to let go, to finally find a bit of peace.

it’s all fine, maybe you felt yourself tear up just a bit, until you hear those three chords. the three chords that had echoed in the void of your heart for weeks after you left. you weren’t upset with him for using the melody, it was so simple, he probably didn’t even remember it was yours. but the song, the story, your story, you just can’t help but wonder.

***

he remembers. he remembers all of it. the shakiness of your breath before you left, the melody you were playing to make it all go away. shawn knows he should’ve asked you if he could use it in his song, but he couldn’t face you. as much as he craves you, he just has to let go.

he hopes you don’t listen to the album, that you won’t notice that almost every song he’s written since that night and years before has been about you. that when you walked out that door, he’d both gained and lost the most beautiful muse. but if you do listen to it, you’ll know. you’ll know the story, and you’ll know he’s sorry.

you know, and it hurts so much more than you could’ve imagined. in the months since the breakup, his voice had never really bothered you, but when you could tell that you caused the pain he had written about, every single word hit you a little deeper. as soon as you walk into your empty apartment, you drop your bags and collapse on the sofa.

you feel cold, even as you snuggle deeper into the cushions and you feel yourself start to sweat. you swear you can hear someone moving around you, even though your roommate is out on a business trip all week. you’re dizzy, you’re sweating, your head’s pounding. your heart starts to race, your breathing quickens. “i can’t do this right now, i can’t fucking do this,” you choke out.

you rub your hands up and down your arms to ground yourself, shutting your eyes tightly. it’s not stopping you from working up into a panic, and it definitely doesn’t help when his words sound in your head. “you’re okay, baby. i’m here. it’s just me, it’s just shawn,” he’d say to comfort you. it did comfort you, or, it used to, but this time it just sent you farther away from your peace of mind.

“but i’m not okay, and you’re not here. it’s just me.”

***

you lie in bed awake, every little sound amplified in the darkness: the buzz from the air conditioning, the flapping of your curtains, the roar of the cars from the downtown street below. it’s like the sudden return of heartbreak broke the numbness you’ve been living in, bringing you back to the harsh reality of what you used to have.

you sit up in bed, then reach over drowsily to grab your phone. the screen lights up with a picture of you and some friends at the top of the empire state building a few years ago, you had been visiting shawn on tour and met up with them while you were there. you squint slightly as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, 2:39 am reads the clock when you can see properly. you open your phone to the home screen before selecting the spotify app. you sigh, then type in his name. “this is probably a really bad idea.”

shawn mendes it reads, the cover of his self-titled album shining brightly into your bedroom. his face split into three, flowers growing in the empty spaces. it’s much prettier than his other two album covers, much more artistic. he’d never really had an eye for design, so you can’t imagine it had been his idea.

you press play, the first track starting to sound out loud before you pause it to grab your earbuds. once you’re settled, you start the song again, and start to hurt, again.

every song, you can tell when it was written. in my blood, you’ve heard that one before. shawn said it was one of the most vulnerable pieces he’s ever written.

nervous, it’s what he used to be like around you told through a story; not quite the same, but it’s yours. it’s the adrenaline of a young relationship, the excitement of someone new.

lost in japan, he’d written just for fun - you remember him coming home from the studio so tired but so excited, it was a new sound, and it was the start of a new era.

where were you in the morning?, it’s a situation you’re sure he’s encountered numerous times since the end of your relationship. you hadn’t heard even a bit of it before.

like to be you, it’s the exact dynamic you two always had when you were in a fight; it’s perfect. “julia michaels!” he had said that evening when he walked in the door. “i can’t wait for you to hear this song, honey.” if only you had known.

fallin’ all in you, has you in tears almost immediately: the first verse encompasses what you had, the second verse what could’ve been. you had plans, the two of you, to have a few kids, grow old together. “trapped up on a tightrope, now we’re here,” shawn sings.

“where did we get lost?” you think as the song finishes. you used to be so sure that you’d last, and he was too. you wish you knew when he fell out of love, when that promise of forever became empty.

particular taste, it’s new; you hadn’t heard it until now. the girl, whoever she is, you just wish that you could be her, even for only a moment. to have him completely mesmerized, to be that kid in love.

why, you’re not sure why it hurts you the way it does - it doesn’t even line up with your relationship, but the feeling it awakens is all too familiar. it’s like your heart had heard it in another world, waiting for the day it would run through your mind like it had your blood. the feeling confuses you, but as the song comes to a close, you close your eyes to cry a bit, too.

because i had you, there it is, that song. it’s so stupid how it breaks your heart - you thought you had gotten it all for yourself, now. yet, the song rips it to shreds, tearing away at the memories you’ve tried so desperately to let go of. he did this to himself, you think, but you wonder if you hadn’t gone, maybe neither of you would be so broken.

queen, it’s new, too. with every song you haven’t heard before, jealousy burns a little hotter. you’re glad this “queen” isn’t you, but you wish that the songs that were about you weren’t so sad.

youth, it’s cute. a nice refresher from the love songs, but nothing worth dwelling on. the message is powerful, but you’re too distracted by the love songs and heartbreak anthems to pay much attention.

mutual, you remember hearing it before. it was always fun for shawn to play with fiction, test his storytelling abilities, so when this song came around, he was more than excited to put it out. it’s a bit more basic lyrically, but the melodies and aesthetic appeal to your tired ears.

perfectly wrong, it seems innocent at first, but as the song goes on, the lyrics start to set in. it’s the story of what you and shawn were before you left - he’d probably written it around the time of the breakup. you just wish he had said it to your face.

when you’re ready, it’s probably the most sickeningly cute song you’ve ever heard. of course, it’s familiar, you’d heard him playing the melody, or something similar, just a couple of years ago. it’s clear that he’d written it early in your relationship or been inspired by that time, and it’s adorable, but it pains you to hear how hopeful you both were. you genuinely thought you would last, get married, grow old together, and it seems that shawn did, too.

you know your boyfriend won’t like that you’re listening to shawn’s music, he hates shawn more than you ever could. you can’t even say you hate him, after all, he’s the one who fell out of love. you hate that you had to leave, you hate that you’ll never look at a piano the same way again, you hate that you’ve become the muse of his heartbreak songs; but you could never hate shawn, not when you still love him more than anything.

you think maybe you’ll never get over him, they say you’ll always remember your first love. but for now you just hope that you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay like you thought he would be. it’s too late to go back for him, run back into the apartment and beg to fix your relationship. he was supposed to be your forever, but you know that dream’s long gone, you woke up to hellish flames and the screaming chaos of your mind and reality. shawn’s too far gone, and you need to stop reaching.

you’re happy with your current relationship, aesthetically, anyway. he’s there for you, and he’s supportive, and he’s lovely. his job is secure, you know that you can call and know that “soon” means a few hours, not weeks. it’s a storybook romance, he’s perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him. it should be working, and it might be if your heart wasn’t so broken, but you still feel the butterflies start to fade, and the sparks starting to cool down.

part of you, somewhere deep down, knows that you and shawn could’ve figured something out, that you should’ve; but he didn’t fight for you when you left, and you didn’t speak up when you had the chance. you were only 16 when you fell in love, just high school lovers who thought you could be more. you were young, and reckless, and hopeful. everyone warned you that it wouldn’t last, but you wouldn’t listen.

you would lie under the stars, shawn would tell you that you were meant to be forever, that those very stars had aligned perfectly for you to meet. one of those nights, you were 18, you sat in the back of his jeep. “hey babe?” shawn said, looking over at you fondly.

“what’s up?”

“i think we have one of the greatest loves of all time, truly. like nobody’s perfect, but we’re perfect for each other, y’know?”

“yeah, yeah i do know, and i agree.” you smiled, then kissed him softly. in the back of his jeep, under the stars, pretending like you’d go down in history. and for that moment in time, you thought that maybe you would. 

***

your sister still asks if shawn will come back, she’s only a kid, she wouldn’t know better. but you know that he won’t, he can’t. he can write songs that’ll never see the light of day and text messages he’ll never send, but he can’t come back to you.

he can’t come back to your family, to those nights spent all together, teaching him how to make your favourite foods, dancing in the kitchen to songs he’d never heard. he can’t come back to sitting at the large, round table to eat the meal that he could never get quite right, but always tasted perfect because he had put so much love and care into trying.

you want to forget so desperately, you can’t take seeing his honey eyes staring back at you when you’re trying to fall asleep, the ache you feel when you sit down at a piano. he haunts you, living in the depths of your mind and the sharpness of your breath. you want to tell him to go away, leave you in peace. but he lingers, as does his power over you.

shawn’s trying to move on, too. but in the eyes of every one-night stand, every failed date, you’re right there. you’re not his, and he knows it all too well. he has to let go, he has to, but he doesn’t. he knows he broke your relationship, that he was just upset and confused and it ruined his life. he wants to text you, at least tell you he’s sorry.

but right now he’s staring up at the ceiling of his apartment, another woman beside him, curled up in his sheets. she’s beautiful, dark eyes to match the warm brown of her skin. she glows in the morning sunlight, long eyelashes fluttering slightly with every slow breath.

she’s kind, and warm, and loving. she’s supportive when shawn needs her, and she can take care of herself without his constant attention. from afar, she’s everything shawn needs and has ever needed, but to shawn, she’ll never be just right for him, because she’s not you.

he looks down at his shirtless chest, gently pulling the covers off his side of the bed. he pulls on his boxers, a pair of basketball shorts next. he looks back at her, watching as she opens her eyes slightly, a small yawn leaving her plump lips. 

she reaches over to the other side of the bed, but when she feels the empty space, she fully opens her eyes. shawn’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, now fully-clothed, but exhausted.

“you good?” she asks, bringing the sheets up with her to cover her bare chest as she sits up against the headboard.

“i’m so sorry,” shawn chokes out. “i just can’t love you the way you want me to. i want to but i can’t-“ he shuts his eyes tightly, “-i can’t.”

“it’s her, isn’t it?”

“yeah, yeah it is.”

[callioope]

Questions Meme!

Hello, yes, this HAS in fact been sitting in my drafts for ages and ages. Thank you to both @crazy-fruit and @ruby-red-inky-blue for tagging me and for waiting forever for me to answer (oops)! I’m sorry I took so long, but y’all ask really good questions and I had to think about some of them!

Question Set 1

1. How are you?

Oh, I’m doing alright! Thank you for asking. The earlier part of this year was rather rough, but therapy has been helping. I’ve been rather busy these past few weeks with traveling, and my schedule going forward is rather busy, too, so while I’m excited for those things, I’m also excited for the eventual moment I can just relax.

2. What would you say are your talents?

Writing. Making fancy color-coded spreadsheets. I’ve been told that my super power is getting random (annoying) songs stuck in other people’s heads. Does that count as a talent? 

3. If you had the chance to start your life again, would you take it?

NOPE. No thanks. I like where I am at right now, and I would not want to relive my awkward years. Er, at least, my more awkward, younger years. Cuz I’m totally still awkward. Just less awkward. I hope?

4. Which language would you like to speak instantly? 

HMM. ALL OF THEM. It’s really hard to choose! 

Language fascinates me, and in another life I feel like I would have devoted a lot more time to learning more of them. Unfortunately, I really hated German class in high school because of the teacher’s tendency to put people on the spot -- I think that is sort of inherent in a language class, but I get anxiety speaking in public. 

Anyways, I suppose I’ll answer Turkish to this question, since spouse and I keep saying we’re going to try to learn Turkish via Duolingo. For the record, my HS offered six languages, which was the most I’ve ever heard of an American school offering, and I was always quite happy with my choice of German. (The others were Spanish, French, Italian, Chinese, and Latin.) I do wish I had maintained my German better, and I that I had more time to learn Spanish. 

5. Where would you like to be right now?

Honestly? I’m pretty happy when I’m at home. But if I had to answer where “else” would I like to be right now, out of the whole world? Being back on safari in Botswana is a top contender, as are a variety of places in Turkey, and also Munich. 

6. What name would you give yourself?

I’ve always liked my actual name (Elizabeth). I know I go by Liz; one of my HS friends was quite stubborn and I’m a bit stuck with it now, but I don’t mind it. There are worse nicknames that come from Elizabeth. I used to go by Fiona online; I’ve always been fond of that one. 

7. What is something you’re currently learning?

OOF, what a good question. I sorta blanked on this at first, and my first thought was uhhhh learning how to cope with my OCD??? I’m doing exposure therapy right now, ish. Emphasis on the ish. Also mindfulness. Does that really even count? I started a beginner’s knitting project several months ago that I never finished, does that count? (I just need to seam it, that’s what I’m putting off. I have knit plenty of scarves; however, this is my first hat.) I’m sort of teaching myself ukulele although I haven’t really learned any new chords or songs in awhile. I would very much like to take more photography classes with a focus on wildlife photography. That involves buying a new camera and... signing up for classes. 

Question Set 2

1. What is a detail in a piece of art/a text that you like that you really admire?

This was very difficult, at first because it was like looking at a bin full of loose things and just seeing an assortment of color and being overwhelmed by it all, and then because once I did start digging around, I kept finding different ideas and it was too hard too choose.

Character-building: In the A Song of Ice and Fire series, when Arya starts working for the House of Black and White, Martin stops using the name “Arya” as she dons different identities. For example, he uses “Cat” for a bit, among other names. It shows she’s trying to be someone else, but the caveat is that there are still little mannerisms and such that show she hasn’t really left Arya behind (I think maybe she bites her lip or something? I don’t remember specific examples because it’s been over 5 years since I read these books, but I do remember really appreciating the general technique at the time). 

Music: In The Beatles’ “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” I love those repeated arpeggios, over and over, building, intensifying, as the white noise comes in and you can just feel the heaviness of desire, of want... (and then I love how it just breaks so suddenly! And I know it wouldn’t have been intended this way because that’s the end of side one, but since I listen to the whole album on spotify, then those bright chords of “Here Comes the Sun” come in and god Abbey Road is the best Beatles album)

Writing: the poetry of Florence + The Machine’s “All This and Heaven Too,” obviously, since literally the title of my blog comes from that. I’d quote that whole song honestly. There’s something that speaks to me about the incapability of language to fully encompass just... everything. I mean, love in specific here, but also just everything. Words are just these little boats we put meaning on and we hope they make it to the other side but everyone takes ‘em a little differently. 

Like, look at this: 

And the words are all escaping, and coming back all damaged And I would put them back in poetry if I only knew how 

And this: 

Words were never so useful So I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before

Anyways, there’s also something just incredibly soothing about the music, too, and how she sings the song. There’s another line, from Sara Bareilles’ “Miss Simone” that goes “How does she know what a heart sounds like?” which pretty much sums up how I feel about “All This and Heaven Too” (and also many of Sara Bareilles’ song, especially that particular album, but I digress).

Anyways I did have some art examples, but I think I’ve rambled long enough.

2. Is there an idea that you really liked but had to discard because you couldn’t get it to work?

If I really like an idea, I don’t really “discard” it so much as put it on the shelf to attempt later. Out of recent fic ideas, I’ve really struggled with “How to Lose a Spy in 10 Days.” I first thought of this in late spring 2017, and for awhile I couldn’t stop thinking about it, but I was working on Whatever I Do at the time, and wanted to wait before starting another WIP. By the time I got to writing this, the inspiration well had sort of dried up. 

I really like the idea of a fun cat-and-mouse rom-com idea where Jyn and Cassian keep outsmarting each other, with a whole lot of competency kink, some “oh shit we actually work well together!” and maybe some battle couple. And I was really looking forward to both the moment when they both finally let their guards down around each other and the big confrontation when they actually find out each other’s identities. But it involved more mission writing than I was prepared for, and I really struggled with it. I think I need to start over but that involves a lot of working, so it’s unfortunately shelved for now, and I’m working on a “You’ve Got Mail” concept instead.

3. Is there something fandom-related you would like to be able to do (i.e. I’d like to be able to make gif sets but can’t)?

Oh, yes, absolutely! Really anything that’s not writing related, lol. Gif sets, art, etc. But most of all, I have a music video idea for the song “So Close” from Enchanted--like I have a whole story board plotted out in a google doc. But I don’t have any video editing software, don’t even know how you get the scenes for a music video, etc. I have made videos before, but not since high school, and I don’t even have the cheap, basic video editing program I used back then. Sometimes I think I should just attempt make a gif set instead, but there are so many lyrics! and scenes that go with the lyrics! that I don’t know how to consolidate it into that format anyways. 

4. What is a skill you’ve acquired through fandom work?

Hmm, this was tough. I’m going to say HTML. I’m not up-to-date on webdesign at all, but back in my early fandom days, I ran a few fansites. I still sometimes use HTML while leaving comments or to edit posts on dreamwidth or w/e. It’s super basic, but it has helped me at work at a variety of jobs. I take it for granted that people my age should know basic HTML, but a lot of them don’t, and then a lot of people I work with now are older and definitely not tech savvy. 

5. Do you think anyone can learn to create great art, or does it take talent?

Well, I’m going to cheat a little. I do think think that anyone can learn to create great art, but I also think that everyone has a talent at something, and part of learning to create great art is recognizing your skill sets and honing those. If that makes sense? I’ve sort of seen both sides to this. I’ve seen naturally talented people create great things, but I also think that they’re probably cheating themselves if they’re not learning and honing their craft and trying to get better. But I’ve also seen people who started out making things that maybe you wouldn’t call great, but they worked hard over and over again, and looking at their work now, you’d say they were talented without ever knowing the difference. Great art = talent + learning + passion. Did that even answer the question? ...moving on

6. Do you prefer AUs or in-universe? Why?

I prefer to write in-universe, for sure. I find modern AUs more challenging, mostly because--and I feel kinda bad saying this--it’s very difficult for me to tap into Jyn and Cassian’s characters without some kind of tragic background. Their experiences and how they coped with them shape their personalities, and it’s really hard to separate them from those. My WWII was easier because, hey, it’s war, not so different from in-verse. But I initially tried to write Learning Curve in a modern AU and I was just totally bored. Putting it in universe made it more interesting to me, especially having to finagle a happier plot inverse. IDK, it might even be that I generally struggle to make up any conflict in modern AUs that feels interesting.

THAT SAID, lol, I definitely read either. So it’s probably strange for me to be hung up on it because I’ve read nice fluffy modern AUs and found them perfectly engaging.

Tagging: @theputterer, @magalis, @allatariel, @mythologicalmango, @threadsketchier  MY USUAL DISCLAIMER APPLIES: no pressure if you just don’t wanna, AND if anyone sees this and was like “aw hey i wish she’d tagged ME” well guess what, I wish I did too! so go ahead and do it and let me know and then i’ll know to tag you next time, too :-) 

Questions:

When you suffer a setback or a series of setbacks when creating (writing, drawing, knitting, any kind of crafty project thing you work on... even work), what are some strategies you use to cope with that stress and move forward?

What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to create/make and what did you learn from it?

What part of a bicycle would you be?

What’s a helpful writing (art/crafting/work) technique you’ve learned?

What’s a piece of art that made you see things differently?

You’re a new addition to the crayon box. What color would you be and why?

What was the last board game you played and what did you like or not like about it?

*sorry these came out rather writer heavy!

[the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers]

Stay

Title: Stay

Word Count: 473

Warnings: None! Just a comfort fic here!

Ship: The Demon and the Choir Girl (Nero x Myself)

Summary: After having my hopes built up but betrayed once more by my father, Nero decides that staying on the phone isn’t cutting it.

Author’s Note: This fic is mostly inspired by Post Malone’s song “Stay” (Here give it a listen!) Hence the bittersweet ending, but don’t worry after writing this and talking to a few friends I feel better! I just really love the lyrics and needed to be self-indulgent with my dear demon hunter

“Don’t break your back for me.” Rebecca sniffled into the phone, feverishly rubbing at her flushed cheeks to get rid of the steadily streaming tears that flowed from ebony dams.

“I’ll put you out of your misery.” Nero’s voice was quiet yet assuring on the other end of the line. Yet if someone were to listen closely just as Rebecca had, they could hear the underlying vexation in his tone. It wasn’t directed at his partner but what had left her so broken up. But with those parting words, the call ended so that the moonlit haired man could meet with his partner in person.

That call had been half an hour ago. Soon afterward, the distraught lady dressed in grey pajamas was met with a small, comforting smile of her boyfriend waiting at her door. The two now sat on the chilled stone that separated the yard of a long-abandoned house from the desolate sidewalk of their suburban neighborhood, silently bathing in the scarlet glow of the setting sun.

Tell me that it’s all okay, I’ve been waiting on this all damn day,   

Rebecca’s plum locks rested against her partner’s shoulder as earthy orbs stared downwards at the darkened denim that had been dampened by the raindrops that continued to fall from her eyes. Nero’s warm grasp pressed the charcoal colored wool of her sweater against her arched back as his hands mindlessly roamed the lower part of it. Shuddering lightly beneath his hold, neither soul could tell if it was due to his touch or from all that Rebecca was wordlessly letting go of. 

Call me in the mornin', Tell me how last night went 

Nothing more needed to be said between them. The main reason this time being that neither one of them knew what else to say. All Nero could do now was help the short girl beside him stay afloat against the waves of grief that thrashed just behind the half-hearted smile she offered when her bleary sights finally met his defensive gaze. His crystal eyes softened as he slid Rebecca closer and lifted her into his lap. 

Wrapping his arms around still slightly trembling shoulders, Nero now let his touch graze down her cloudy sleeves as a way of soothing her. Resting his chin on her chocolate roots, “I’m here.” Was all he could say, his voice now just above a whisper.

Although lightened by his presence, the nauseating pit that resided in Rebecca’s stomach remained. A deep breath that she hadn’t realized had been caught in her throat pushed through her rose petal lips. Uncertain of how long she could continue on this way, if at all, Rebecca laid her head against the tattered crimson of her boyfriend’s shirt. A silent contradiction to his promise running through her mind,

But don’t count on me to stay...

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

One Of A Kind - Chapter Four - Am I A Psycho?

(Notes: SO! A chapter from Izuku’s perspective, yay! Umm, so, while planning this chapter, I realized how…dark this fic is gonna get, and I apologize for the for the lack of a proper warning, but I’ll be tacking on new tags before this one just in case. Also, Izuku’s chapters will be titled lyrics from Am I a Psycho by Tech N9ne. Don’t ask. I found the song halfway through writing this chapter and I was like ‘oh shit, that kinda…fits?’. Moving on, thank you guys for enjoying this fic so far, and I hope I don’t disappoint!!)

Tags: Depictions of Torture, Mental Manipulation, Multi-Personalities, Non-Consensual Drug Use (+ the tags in the prologue)

Chapter Rating: M

He was scared. Absolutely terrified, as he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to cut out the pain. It didn’t work, but he already knew that. Reminded himself every time he’s in this position, strapped down to a table with Quirk nullifying restraints that made him think back to the day Aizawa-sensei had erased his during the Quirk Apprehension Test. He wished he was back there again. Wished for those days when he was just a bumbling idiot, getting used to a Quirk that All-Might, All-Might, the world’s greatest hero, gave to him. It doesn’t help to wish for such stupid things, but he couldn’t help it.

A sharp pain pierced through his shoulders, and he let out a loud gasp, followed by a rushed breath. Someone chuckled, and he felt the shivers run down his spine. “Now, now, Izu. You know why I’m doing this, so don’t fuss. You broke my rules, and now…now you have to be punished.”

Izuku’s eyes flew open, and he met the gaze of the man who had taken him those four months ago. A hundred and twenty days, and he was still not used to the sharp, almost deranged look in his Master’s eyes. He wanted to flinch back, but there was no give on his restraints, holding him flush against the cold surface of the table. During the first few weeks, he’d wondered how it never seemed to warm up, no matter how long he was left on it, left to suffer. He’s been in this position a lot, more times than he cared to admit, and while it was familiar, it gave him no comfort. His Master grinned.

“Tell me, Izu. Before we begin, you know how this goes. Do it, or I’ll make this a lot worse than it needs to be. I know how much you’d hate that…” The words stung almost as much as the needles that were pressed into his skin, and Izuku took in a sharp breath of air, gritting his teeth. He hated this, hated everything about it, but it was better than any sort of prolonged treatment his Master would give him in return for not following instructions.

He almost bit his tongue as he started. “I-I’m sorry, Master… I broke your rules. I…I t-talked to someone I shouldn’t have and I tried to r-run away, tell them about w-what happened to me,” A hand slid its was across his cheek, almost tenderly, and Izuku had to choke back the disgust rising up in the back of his throat. Instead, he continued. “I should n-never turn my back on you, because you m-made me strong, thank you Master, thank you.” The words felt stiff in his mouth, but he’d done as he was told, and so, the punishment would only last one hour rather than two.

The first time his Master had forcibly activated One For All, Izuku had screamed until he felt as though his throat were bloody and raw. It was different from doing it himself, the power flooding through his body, burning through his veins, as if someone had set his blood on fire. It felt as though it had gone on for hours and hours and hours, when it had only been ten minutes. By the time the pain faded enough for Izuku to form coherent thoughts, Master had healed all of his broken bones, but in a much more painful manner than he could have ever imagined. And then…the process repeated. For one hour. Then two. Then five.

By the end of it all, Izuku could barely remember who he was anymore. It was like the boy he used to be, Midoriya Izuku, ninth wielder of One For All, student in Class 1-A at U.A. High School…was gone, replaced by a hollowed out shell who only remembered pain, and the rules to keep it from happening again. There were times in which Izuku’s consciousness would break, and he’d remember who he was. He would remember his mother, All-Might, his friends…., Kacchan. In those moment, all Izuku could do was cry and scratch, wanting to tear himself apart for all that he’d been forced to do.

It was what had caused him to show up in Katsuki’s dorm in the first place. Gone was the personality his Master had instilled inside of him, filled with submissive actions towards his Master, but sadistic glee towards everyone else. He’d shown up in front of Katsuki, sobbing, only for him to flip again and return. Izuku had almost been free. If he’d…if he’d managed to get himself to stop crying, to stop muttering under his breath over and over again about things that he couldn’t change, he could have begged Katsuki to save him.

But…would it have worked? After all, he’d screamed for someone to save him for the past four months, and no one ever came. Who was to say that being in front of him, the boy who’d been his friend, his bully, his first love, who’s to say he wouldn’t have found him disgusting, and thrown him back? After all, Katsuki hated him, right?

Izuku whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for what was to come. It wouldn’t do anything to help, the pain also forcing agonized screams from his throat, but it was a small comfort. A wasted moment of hope, a thought of ‘maybe this time, maybe it won’t be that bad’.

It was that bad.

His left arm was the first to go, and Izuku could feel as the bones from the very tips of his fingers, all the way up to his shoulder, shattered completely, turning the skin the same unflattering purple familiar to when he’d first used One For All to protect Ochako. A choked scream spilled from his lips, and his body tried to retract, the movement prevented due to the heavy straps across the his chest and limbs.

The pain was excruciating, worse than anything he’d ever felt before. Izuku was used to pain. It came with his Quirk, and his lack of proper control in using one hundred percent of it, but there was something about this that was just…so much worse.

A hand stroked his hair, but Izuku was barely coherent enough to feel it, nor take comfort in the gentle motions. The pain slowly dissipated, and he let out heavy, heaving breaths, chest rising and falling in quick motions.

“Good boy, Izu. You’re doing good. Three more limbs, okay? Three more, and I’ll heal you. I’ll make it feel all better. We’ll only do one round, sound good?” His Master’s voice was soothing near his ear, and Izuku felt himself slowly calm down. One round? That meant…that meant he had something planned. Izuku wasn’t looking forward to it, but it beat going through this two or three more times.

The hand in his hair suddenly tightened and pulled, causing Izuku to grit his teeth and let out a guttural gasp. “Fucking answer me when I talk to you, Izu. Don’t ignore me, or I’ll make it worse. Be good.”

Izuku had to force the words out of his mouth, throat thick with tears that were already beginning to build up. His vision was foggy. “Y-yes Master. It’s g-good. Thank you” The words were rough and seemed to scrape their way out of his throat. Even with his vision blurred, Izuku could still see the smile that spread across his captor’s face. He felt sick.

His right leg was next, and it was so much worse. The crunching of his bones were audible and loud in his ear, and Izuku wondered if the next time he gained control of himself, if it would be better to just scratch at his wrists so hard that he’d bleed out. He’d thought about it before, but he never went through with it. Could never bring himself to that point. No matter how much Izuku hated living, he feared death even more.

He hissed under his breath when he felt his Master slide his hands down his ruined thigh, the flesh disfigured and purple due to the internal bleeding. It was a vile sight. Izuku cried, thick tears falling across his cheeks to the side of his face. He could feel his consciousness fading, the real Izuku fading into the background, hiding away in his, as the hollowed, submissive and sadistic version began to replace him.

Sometimes, Izuku wondered if they were two people sharing the same body. He could hear separate, distinct thoughts from his own. Sometimes…Izuku wondered if he was crazy.

Cold. It was fucking cold. Dammit, he did it again. He broke rules, and now he was strapped to the table again. He went to him, the boy with the pretty ash blonde hair and the violent red eyes that burned when he looked at him. Izu liked him, but he didn’t know if it was because Izuku liked him too. Regardless, he would stay away from him, because being close was too dangerous and it would be breaking the rules. Izu was a good boy. He didn’t break rules like Izuku did.

Sometimes, Izu hated him, but deep down, he knew he really couldn’t. Because Izuku was too sweet, too kind, too good, even if he acted bad sometimes. Izu loved him, even though he was weaker, softer. He wanted to protect him, and maybe one day he could find someone Izuku liked, and give them to him as a gift. Maybe it would finally make him happy again, finally smile.

Izu woke up to sore limbs and his favorite food in a bowl in front on his: katsudon. His Master was sitting at the dining room table in front of him, and Izu grinned. “Master!”

The man looked up and smiled. “Ah, you’re awake, Izu. How do you feel?” Izu stretched out his limbs and pulled his arms behind his head before hearing a satisfying crack. When he relaxed, he nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Good. A little sore, but that’s okay.” He said. His Master got out of his seat and walked over, ruffling the thick green curls of his hair gently.

“That’s good to hear. I made some of your favorite, so eat up. After you’re done, come into my office. I have a job for you. This one is important. Take your time though, okay?” Izu nodded again and watched as the older man put down a book he’d been reading and headed into a room towards the back of their apartment. When the door closed behind his Master, Izu looked down at his hands and arms to see if he’d gained any new scars. It wasn’t rare for new ones to appear after punishment sessions, and Izu liked to count them sometimes.

However, they had started overlapping at this point, making it hard to figure out which ones were new and which he’d already had before. The only part of his body that wasn’t scarred was his chest and abdomen. Quickly growing bored, Izu pulled down the sleeves of his dress shirt and turned to the food in front of his, cheerfully chowing down. Briefly, he wondered what job he would have to do this time. The last one had simply been a test of a new Quirk his Master had developed, and Izu had been sent to try it out on one of the local heros. It had the man into the hospital, and while Master was pleased, Izu knew Izuku was crying on the inside.

He pushed the memory out of his mind in favor of finishing his food, and once the bowl was empty, he dutifully placed it into the sink and walked over to his Master’s office, pushing the door open before closing it behind him.

“Come. Sit, Izu.” Walking forward, Izu took a seat at the chair in front of his Master’s desk, and placed his hands in his lap, ready to hear what he had to do. “Now then, I’m going to be giving you another Quirk in order to complete this job. It’ll only last for twelve hours, so I expect you to be able to do it quickly, and without getting caught. It’s a mind control Quirk that works through skin contact. With this, I want you to bring someone to me.”

No no no no no.

Izu ignored the mantra in his head, the usual buzzing that happening when he’d just woken up, and instead nodded his understanding. “Who is it that you want, Master?” He asked. The man smiled. It was not a very pleasant smile.

“Since you see so fond of this particular delinquent boy, I think it would only make sense to bring him here to us, right?”

NO NOT HIM STAY AWAY FROM HIM NO PLEASE DON’T

“I want you to take Bakugou Katsuki.” His Master said.

Izu smiled a strained smile. It was the first time he wanted to disobey his Master.

<< | < | > | >>

[alphas-and-angels]

SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE THIS

NOTES - DEREK NEVER DOES ANYTHING ROMANTIC OR SEXUAL WITH ANOTHER, EVEN WHEN UNDER JENNIFER’S CONTROL. HIS LOVE FOR STILES PREVAILS ALWAYS. KATE DID KILL HIS FAMILY IN THE PAST BUT THEY NEVER HAD A SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP. IN THIS FIC DEREK IS A VIRGIN AND STILES TAKES HIS VIRGINITY

I WOULD LOVE IF SOMEONE WROTE A FANFIC OR DREW FANART BUT MAKE SURE TO CREDIT THE IDEAS TO ME PLEASE. FEEP FREE TO MESSAGE ME IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS

BASED OFF “THE WORLD IS STILL BEAUTIFUL”

Teen Wolf AU (Stiles is a Rainmaker / Stormbringer)

Title: Love Like Rain (gentle and sweet yet rough and harsh and all-encompassing)

Stiles was born with a beautiful gift, a gift he shared with his mother before she died - the power to create rainstorms. Claudia’s ability was weak, at most she could create a slight spring shower. Stiles’ true abilities become clear the night his mother dies, with rage and despair in his heart he sings to the heavens and the skies open up, letting torrents of water drown the land below them. A horrible storm racked the land for a week before he fell weak and fevered, his voice gone from the strain of singing for so long.

Years later he is captured by servants of a neighboring kingdom - the Hale kingdom. Their land is constantly sunny, the harsh hot rays beating down mercilessly on their land destroying their crops and leaving everyone hungry. It is said the kingdom is run by a cruel tyrant, the very same man who kidnapped Stiles from his family. Stiles is the kingdoms only option to end the drought, but when he arrives he refuses to sing for the king, for the man who took him away from his father. The kings sisters, Cora and Laura, try to attest to the fact the Derek isn’t evil, but his murderous glares and haughty attitude speak volumes to Stiles about his character. Still Stiles sees how hungry the villagers are and he even begins to notice how much Derek cares for his kingdom. He can also see how much Derek’s uncle Peter wants the crown for himself, so much that he’s willing to plan an assassination.

The day that changes Stiles life forever starts in tragedy, Derek Hale is trapped in the castle by a fire set by his executioners (this is how his family died) Stiles does something he said he’d never do again after his mother death, he opens his mouth and sings. He sings for Derek, to save him from the pursuing killers, he sings for the loss of his father, but most of all he sings for his mother, to his surprise the heavens above answer by sending a calming spring shower that washes the land anew, bringing health and nourishment to the crops while also providing a distraction for Derek to capture his pursuers. Stiles is amazed at the rainfall that reminds him so much of his mother, he vows to remember her more by singing for the king who suddenly doesn’t seem so bad anymore, in fact Derek himself seems more than a little awestruck by the beautiful abilities of the boy before him, and maybe the pure beauty of the special creature…although he’d never tell him that, and Derek definitely doesn’t find the sight of Stiles, wet hair slicked back by the rain, droplets of water rolling down his face and across his broad shoulders to his slim waist attractive at all, not in the slightest

His singing is the most beautiful sound anyone has ever heard, inside his voice one can hear the gentle soothing harmony of falling rain, or they can hear the wild untamed power of a lightning storm, all electricity and power washing over them. When he commands the wind you can hear the whisper of power underlying his unearthly voice

His rain doesn’t only enrich the land, it helps to heal the hearts of those that are hurting. It even is able to heal the memory of the terrible Fire that has been haunting the Hales since their families demise

In order for Stiles to summon the rain he has to see the beauty of the land around him, to be surrounded by the natural world in order to draw inspiration for his song, and Derek is the one to show him this world through necessity. Stiles spends his days attempting to show the beauty of nature and the world to Derek who has lost faith in beauty and kindness since his families untimely deaths

Inside the Hale kingdom Stiles faces discrimination, fear, and disgust from many different people. They call him different offensive slurs like Sorcerer and Demon because they don’t know the source of his powers and think that the rain and dark clouds are evil omens and aren’t used to seeing supernatural abilities. Derek doesn’t know how his guards and royals treat the young boy until he witnesses it firsthand

He sings the same song for gentle rainfall and brutal storms but they are sung with a different tone and inflection

Since Stiles song is meant to heal and nourish his rain takes on calming properties, the water is warm and soft, covering everyone in a cloud of love and healing. The raindrops give off soothing sounds as they beat against the ground and walls. The water reflects the light of the harsh sun around rooms glittering and gleaming with beauty. But when he’s angry and is using the rain as a distraction or weapon it becomes brutally cold and hard, beating down on his enemies (he doesn’t like to use his sacred gift as a weapon but he’ll do anything to protect those he loves)

Every weather worker has a different song that focuses their abilities. The lyrics of these songs sync with the thoughts and desires of each singer. In order for this song to manifest the weather worker has to be introduced to the natural wild beauty of the land around them as well as the true nature of the human souls they’re surrounded by so they can find the inspiration their song is born of.

Stiles focuses his power through a hummed melody as a child (he didn’t have enough inspiration for lyrics) but after entering the Hale kingdom he finds awe and inspiration through Derek after he realizes how much depth the cold king has and how badly he is hurting on the inside. Stiles is surprised to find how much he wants to heal that pain, this need to heal and help has Stiles opening his mouth to let out a verse of beautiful lyrics to match his melody. When a weather worker finds their song their abilities are strengthened ten fold which allows their weather to not only affect the physical but the mental and emotional as well (Stiles can not only nourish the land but the souls and hearts of people around him)

Verses of songs are discovered throughout the weather workers life, some may never find their complete song. At Stiles wedding to King Hale the last verse of lyrics pours from his mouth, completing his song and gathering the most beautiful and gentle cloud of rain above them.

When a weather worker sings their voice splinters, creating many different echoes of their song that make up harmonies and melodies and back up. To everyone else it sounds as if the worker is singing an arrangement

If a weather worker experiences severe trauma and negative emotions before their song manifests then their powers can be twisted to evil and dark purposes. Their powers become violent and damaging to both the body and the mind, this is what becomes of Jennifer Blake.

After spending a lot of time with Stiles, Derek begins to open up to those around him, accepting the love of his sisters and friends and beginning to finally heal after his family’s murder. Around that time he begins to fall in love with Stiles voice, his song, and maybe even the boy himself. So of course he’s scared when a neighboring kingdom, who’s noticed all the wealth and joy that Stiles has caused with his powers, starts a battle over the weather worker himself. Derek is terrified of losing him, so he refuses the boy when Stiles asks to sing for the opposing army, hoping to use his powers to put love and peace in the hearts of the harsh men. That’s when a mysterious woman appears at their doorstep claiming to be another weather worker.

Jennifer Blake is a beautiful woman, but her beauty is cold, harsh, and cruel (like frost or diamonds) and Derek finds himself craving Stiles warm eyes and mole dotted skin. Her song mirrors her looks, it’s a somber ballad with haunting lyrics that summons freezing snow and ice, yet Derek can’t help but compare the haunting sad notes to Stiles joyful, calm melodies and he realizes that she is nothing compared to the boy he is beginning to love. She offers to help him win the war, and Derek can’t refuse the offer in order to keep his love safe. She turns her snow against his enemies, freezing the entire army in a matter of minutes, everyone is awed by her strength and power yet during her song Derek feels something inside him ice over, the numb overtaking his newfound warmth for his family, friends, and Stiles. That’s the power of her enchantment, Jennifer’s inner desire to make others suffer and feel numb and cut off from others manifested her ability to literally freeze the hearts of those she encounters. Yet even after that when she begins to seduce Derek he refuses her at every turn, knowing deep inside that this wasn’t right.

Stiles realizes what has happened and makes a stand against Jennifer, but when Derek takes her side Stiles loses faith in his abilities and he falls under her snow and ice and is thrown in the dungeons. Eventually he realizes how much he loves Derek and how much he needs to save him and how much Derek must be hurting himself so he finds confidence again in his love for the grumpy King and uses his rain on the guards to make them feel love and compassion so they set him free. He then confronts Jennifer in the throne room where she’s sitting with a crown on her head and manages to beat Jennifer and Derek’s heart unfreezes and he tells Stiles that underneath the numb cold he felt all the love he had for the warm weather worker and he would’ve made it through eventually, he would have come back for Stiles because he loved him so much.

Eventually Stiles and Jennifer face off and she taunts his ability, stating that a little bit of water could never compare to her ice. Stiles feels nothing but pity for the woman and proceeds to show her his true power - love and healing. Her ice falls against his rain and even she begins to thaw out. At the end of the story she has healed completely of her numbness and she works at the castle, her true abilities allowing an individual to see the genuine beauty in a person, inside and out. She even falls in love herself, with Laura Hale.

As a young girl Jennifer Blake was beaten repeatedly by her father and told over and over again that no one would ever love her because she was broken and an evil witch. Everything changed when she fell in love, but the wolf Kali strung her along in order to use her powers for her own personal gain before leaving her cold and alone saying he could never love a sorceress. She felt cut off from others, numb and broken. Her powers twisted, becoming an imitation of their former beauty. She begged for vengeance and was given the evil ability to make others feel her pain, to make them feel lost and alone and frozen. After Stiles heals her from that pain, her abilities revert back to the course they were originally supposed to take - to make others see the inner and true beauty in a person and the world around them, while her snow becomes soft and beautiful, the cold transforms from treacherous to refreshing and awakening (making an individual feel alive and aware)

Sequel: The Argent kingdom has been waiting, biding their time for when they’ll be able to attack the Hale kingdom, who killed their princess Kate after she murdered the Hale werewolves.

They plan their attack around a young girl, a weather worker, they discover that has the ability to manipulate the winds. The Argents beloved princess, Allison, is charged with seducing the fiery young girl and persuading her that the Hale kingdom is dangerous and violent. But over time Allison falls in love with the smart, beautiful girl before her, and they secretly plan to overthrow the evil tyrant Gerard.

Lydias entire village was murdered while she hid away, this resulted in the intense desire to be able to protect others and know when something bad will happen so she can change it. This trauma kickstarts her abilities, giving her powerful control over the winds and air currents, which is so powerful she can even create tornadoes. Meeting Allison and seeing her beauty and compassion inspires her and lyrics manifest to match the melody of her song. With the lyrics of her melody comes the mental ability to use her winds as a buffer, blocking the physical and mental abilities of other weather workers, along with the power to sense the oncoming deaths of others which manifests itself as a piercing scream that rips its way from her throat.

Lydia and Stiles battle a few times, she’s eager to prove herself worthy of Allison. But after a couple of months Allison overhears Gerard saying that after the witch defeats the Hales he would kill her so she couldn’t turn her power against him. Allison is heartbroken and immediately leaves, taking Lydia with her to protect her. They make their way to the Hale kingdom where they’re met with suspicion. After Gerard brings his entire army of men and witches to the Hale’s doorstep, Derek has no choice but to let them go free in order to help. The three weather workers gather their powers together, their songs merge to form one achingly beautiful melody that no one can resist. The songs form the largest, most powerful storm any kingdom has ever seen, none of the evil witches from the Argent kingdom have the power to go against the weather workers and Gerard is finally defeated.

In the end Allison returns to her kingdom as queen with Lydia by her side. Her father is pardoned after he realizes how wrong he was and Chris becomes her new advisor

Witches in this universe are dark, twisted creatures that are addicted to the rush of their magic and use it to cause pain and suffering on others, their evil power is feared by many

Sequel: Erica Reyes grew up bullied because of her disease, epilepsy was ruining her life. It left her weak, exhausted, acne prone, and with over protective parents. She was utterly miserable, this misery produced a strong desire to save others from feeling the sadness she felt, and that’s when she heard the first lilting notes of a melody hum through her ears. As she hummed them out loud the sky above her responded, the sun growing bright and warm, sending strong shafts of light around Erica, the more she hummed the stronger the sunlight became, over time she was even able to start small fires and burn others. From the second that beautiful tune floated across her mind her disease dissipated, and all her symptoms. She became beautiful and confidant, her power to control the suns rays became second nature and she loved it. With just a few whispered words she can channel the light of the sun through her hair, the golden tresses lighting up with fiery reds and oranges, filtered through with a bright persistent gold sheen (she uses this to temporarily blind her enemies)

She eventually meets a kind young werewolf named Hayden who’s in a loveless relationship with an angry boy named Liam. Hayden ends up breaking off the relationship in order to spend more time with Erica, the strength and determination of the girl before her gives Erica enough inspiration to find a verse of her song, allowing her to bring happiness to others

Rain Melody - Stiles can influence the weather through song. He sings a song of joy and happiness and a light refreshing rain cleanses the land around him, however if he sings a song of sadness and rage the land will be destroyed by floods of water and strikes of lightning

The sadness born today, It soars up high above the grey clouds and hides away. The sky opens its eyes, And calls upon a wind on which my heart can learn to fly.

I’ll keep you safe so don’t you worry, I want to share my destiny with you.

Every tear that you cry, When your heart begins to sigh,

I will hold you in my arms when you feel blue.

It’s a tender rain, May this song reach where you are. And however far, I know I’ll see you again.

So trust in me, If you believe, Then these words will heal your soul.

So let the love you feel make your heart whole.

Singing in the rain, Every drop shines in the sun, Each and every one, They will wash away the pain.

And for this time, The sky will shine, And the world will bloom again.

Although apart, Love in our heart remains.

Please, come the tender rain.

If one day this all fades, I know the passion in your eyes won’t go away. As long as you are here, The world could fall apart and I still would never fear.

To show you that I love you deeply, And understand the feeling that you hold.

Where you’re lying on the ground, There are flowers all around,

And just like you’re heart, they all begin to bloom.

It’s a tender rain, Falling softly through the air. When you call my name, I will always be right there.

I’ll never stray, Or go away, I will stay right by your side.

I’ll always give what my heart can provide.

Singing in the rain, May this be your lullaby. Every word I say, Is a raindrop from the sky.

Through time and space, My warm embrace, In the dark will light your way.

Until the day that we will meet again.

Here comes the tender rain.

No matter where our fate may lead, Our love it will succeed, Cause without you, I cannot breathe.

No matter how your tears fall, The rain will clear them all, And fade into blue skies.

It’s a tender rain, May this song reach where you are. And however far, I know I’ll see you again.

So trust in me, If you believe, Then these words will heal your soul.

So let the love you feel make your heart whole.

Singing in the rain, Every drop shines in the sun, Each and every one, They will wash away the pain.

And for this time, The sky will shine, And the world will bloom again.

Although apart, Love in our heart remains.

Please come, the tender rain.

Come, tender rain.

Air Manipulation - Stiles discovers that his abilities allow him to control the dry air of the Hale kingdom in order to protect himself and others. All he has to do is whisper a command and the wind is at his beck and call