#unless maybe a gate is opening at the church or something

[yelena-bellova]

Wait, there’s no way that…Steve could be getting Vecna’d, right?

[y-rhywbeth2]

Reading about 'tallhouses' and renting in the Realms, and casting a critical eye over the depiction of the city in the game again, with a focus on the amount of houses everywhere: If you live in Baldur's Gate (bar the fancier buildings in Bloomridge and the houses and estates in the Upper City - i.e. outside of being wealthy upper class, or upper-middle class and there's a house available) you do not live in a house and you are almost certainly not a homeowner: you are renting a room in a block of flats/apartment building which, statistically, is owned by a temple or shrine (the temples of Tymora, Gond, and Umberlee are going to dominate) or nobility. Or maybe a building owned by somebody who owes rent to the church/noble who owns the land its stood on. I think there's also been mention of halfling families often becoming landlords in human cities, but I'd have to dig that out again.

I'll leave off the research binge for my thoughts on daily life in the Gate for roleplaying/backstory purposes 'til the current project is done, but I still want to ramble:

The buildings are narrow, and extensions go upwards, and the streets are often overarched with supports so that we can build over that too. I'm pretty sure the structures are classified as tallhouses.

Welcome to the overcrowded city where space is at such a premium we can't have animals bigger than a cat (no room on the streets), street vending is illegal (there is no room on the streets), you can't really gather or cause a fuss outside of the home or pubs (ditto) all graveyards have to be outside the walls, and the only open space of note is the Wide.

Wyll's father is high ranking enough to have a house, unless Ulder really wanted to stick to his roots as the son of a blacksmith. Astarion was an upper city boy before that part of the city officially existed, but his family probably had a house. Lae'zel doesn't live here. Gale doesn't live here either, but he's got his own mage tower so he's not renting. Dunno about his childhood, Waterdeep is also a very populated city where people rent. Durge and likely Shadowheart would've grown up in rented rooms/suites (and Durge was canonically poor growing up, so likely not a very high quality or spacious one). As adults: Durge and Orin were temple priests and Bhaalists, so they'd be living in the temple/compound with the other faithful. Technically, the Sharrans don't have a temple, but she at least spent a lot of time down there and might've lived there; I don't remember seeing a dorm, only Viconia's room, but maybe I forgot something. Though all of these characters may have had public lives to draw attention away from their cult activity. Bhaalist 'daytime identities' and the Sharran love of secrecy, so they might've been renting a room in the city. Maybe a fancier more spacious one in Bloomridge. (Or owned a house, depending on how much one makes and wants to spend. Torilian priests are encouraged to get rich and own property.) Noble or well-off Tavs might've had a house, but other than that: you're renting, and possibly in the Outer City which exists specifically because the city proper had a housing crisis fitting the exploding population in.

Karlach grew up in the Outer City, specifically Tumbledown around the old Szarr cemetary, going off of her surname 'Cliffgate', referring to the geographic location. Considering the poverty of the outer city though, it's probably a case of still being packed into rented rooms and not very good quality ones. Which is, for the established character parallel purposes, probably the same or similar conditions Gortash grew up in.

[unintentionalgenius]

ok @ragequilt asked for these. Up first, the union organizer codywan fic (tentatively titled I ain't cut out for war, unless I know what I'm fighting for)

Someone, at some point, took the time and extra effort to build a swing on the front porch of the little house. Time, and effort, and someone had to go and find the metal links for the chain to hold it up, and the pieces of wood in good repair to lay for the seat, and as many again for the back. It’s worn smooth, maybe the only wooden piece of this house not likely to snag any piece of fabric that lays against it the wrong way. Obi-Wan can’t say if it’s from time or if it was sanded down that way, polished to a shine the first day it hung out here. Like everything else in this region, it’s impossible to say how old it is. Mornings are still chilly, no matter how deep into the summer they progress. The sun rises late, and burns off the inevitable early-morning mist even later. Obi-Wan often carries his little blanket from his pallet out onto the swing in the mornings, cradling his metal cup of coffee in his hands to poach the warmth. It seems easier inside when he’s not there gumming up the well-oiled machine of the family’s morning routine. It’s a Sunday, though, no work to be done for the miners of the family. There’s a cousin who comes with his wife and takes any of the younger boys he can corral with them to church. The older boys all, to a man, decline. It’s polite, but only just, and cold. No one says a word either way to the younger boys, and this cousin succeeds or fails purely on his own merits. It means it’s quiet, fewer bodies around and none of the frenetic awareness of somewhere to be. Obi-Wan sips his coffee and listens to birdsong. The quiet is broken by the rattle and roar of the truck up the dirt lane. Obi-Wan is growing used to the gentle insistence of the engine as it asserts itself, first subconsciously and then loudly enough that you notice in earnest. There’s something almost musical about the brief caesura when the engine cuts out, the percussive rhythm of doors opening and closing, the heavy bass thump of the gate coming to rest. Today there is added the uptempo insistence of Cody’s feet up into the truck bed, soft human sounds of him working as he unloads the cargo he’s brought back. His back is turned to the porch as he works, but there’s strength evident in his motions. He’s unloading bricks and dry goods sacks of what must be mix for mortar. It’s far too little to brick in the house, but Obi-Wan catches himself thinking of it anyway, red brick walls and whitewashed window shutters and a welcome mat out front. That cousin, with his wife, must be a good few years younger than Cody; still with a roundness to his cheeks that speaks of being a boy not so very long ago. Obi-Wan speaks before he really thinks, idly curious. “Cody, why aren’t you married?” Cody freezes, back still turned, and then snorts a laugh under his breath. “Ain’t I got enough to do already, Obi-Wan?"

[witches-and-devils]

Addiction, Chapter 14

What was the point in keeping these mansions out here if nobody was living in them? Surely there was someone who would be willing to go out and bulldoze the place. Maybe the rich-and-mighty just refused to give their possessions up so easily that they’re willing to play the long game and hope someone comes in to destroy the ‘monster’ that haunted the woods.

It didn’t matter if the myth was true or not, in Ace’s opinion. It would serve to keep people away and if there was trouble, he and Damascus could easily dispatch it. It’d been a while since the pair had gotten a chance to settle down in a new place. They needed to take their time. Ace still felt wary of the Church’s ever-watchful eyes and possible competition or enemies needed to have no idea where they were planning on settling down.

At least it was warmer down here.

“Damascus, hold,” Ace called, pausing as he gestured off to the slightly rusted remains of the elegant fencing of what was most likely another abandoned home. For now, it simply looked like the flora and fauna were overtaking everything. Easily missable if you didn’t know what you were looking for, which made it perfect for their needs.

As he approached, his hands made a few quick gestures and some of the plant life was neatly cut away with a burst of wind. “I believe this is the gate. Everything looks overgrown enough that it’d be hard to spot for an outsider… Would you open this for me?” He glanced back at Damascus, motioning towards what looked to have once been a beautifully carved and welded gate that was now reduced to twisted and tarnished metal covered in thick vines and brightly blooming flowers.

“Figures you’d be the mystical bitch that wants to live in an abandoned mansion,” Damascus droned, picking at his ear before raising a hand-

And blasting the damn gate wide open. Ace shot the Familiar a harsh glare, to which he simply shrugged. “You said to get it open. Ya never said it had to be somethin’ elegant.” Damascus stepped over the ruined bars, yawning as he slipped ahead. Ace couldn’t exactly blame him for being sick of their travels. Being quiet and ensuring they weren’t followed meant they were moving at half the speed they were used to. It was probably why they tried their damnedest not to move around as much as they could, but the only reason they’d managed to survive and avoid any ambushes like before had been because of how careful they’d been in the first place.

“Y’know, if some shit actually did live here, it wants to be left the fuck alone too. And unless you’ve got an army of Incubi thirsting for your sorry ass, we’re good.” The Demon approached the door, kicking it open with yet another loud crash that echoed throughout the silent forest. Ace opened his mouth to complain about the being’s childish tantrum, but paused when he watched his eyes light up at the sight of something.

“What are you-?” Damascus lumbered over towards a fireplace, grabbing a gigantic chair and spinning it around once, twice, then flopping into the damn thing. “Are you fucking serious?” All Ace heard in response was a pleased groan as Damascus practically melted into the dusty and worn leather fabric.

“Lazy fuck,” Ace grumbled, rolling his eyes as he began to look around the abandoned home. “As for the ‘monster’, let’s not take any second chances. Besides, if it is real, then if we end up killing it just because you were a little bored, people might start moving back in. And I don’t think they would… would…”

He sneezed, loudly. Stupid dust and its stupid… nature. Ugh, Ace refused to live in a house filled with dust and dirt, and… he gave an involuntary shudder. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a small handkerchief and wrapped it around the lower half of his face. Soon enough dust was flying everywhere. Despite the makeshift mask, the Witch continued to sneeze loudly and quickly became miserable the longer he went to work but- dammit all he was not going to stop until all this fucking dust was gone.

All the dust and cobwebs had been carefully coalescing into a large ball in the center of the main room. As he moved through the house, he began to take in their new surroundings. It was smaller, more of a villa than an actual mansion, but it looked like it had been quite the sight back in its day.

A large room for servants, a well-maintained kitchen, an entire wing of bedrooms with barely any wear and tear, a study, a small library, bathrooms… the part that interested him the most was that the building completely encompassed a neglected and secluded garden area. A small gazebo with overgrown flower beds and stone pathways. Benches lay strewn across the ground and what was once a crystal clear pond was now left dark and murky with algae.

With a bit of work, it’d be a good place to practice.

After a few hours, most of the general dust and dirt had been cleaned from the home and tossed out into the ruined courtyard. He’d focus more on the deep cleaning tomorrow, for now, he could just… relax a little. And by relax, he meant plan his improvements. He… had a thing for perfection when it came to himself and the places he stayed.

⬲⦓⧫⦔⟴

Damascus just rolled his eyes. Every fucking time they moved shop, it had to be a perfect place. Which, logically, if a mansion was suddenly fixed up, wouldn’t that call more attention to it? He wondered if he’d given the Little Boss more to do by breaking the gate and the door and… yeah, of course, he had. Well. At least it’d keep him calm for the time being.

“So. What’s the plan?” Damascus asked bluntly as Ace settled himself down onto a nearby couch with a small notebook in his tiny hands. Uprooting was never really great, but it did make sense. Still, it was a pain in the ass to re-establish themselves and find all the right connections and the life for their kind of work. But that had always been Ace’s job. He was the detail guy. Damascus had a lot of street knowledge, at least when it came to who’s who in Hell anyway, and with his rep, he could get them anywhere. But finding those people? Heeeeeeeeeeeeells no. He had no fucking idea how to work those.

“I could patrol the area.” He thumbed at his nose- totally not hoping to find the supposed mythical Demon somewhere. Nope. Totally not. Not at all. His hopes were crushed, though, when that exasperated sigh left the Little Boss’s lips.

“No, I don’t want anyone possibly seeing you in the area. Not until we’re settled. I want to make sure we’re safe before really diving into anything… but we also need to get our name back out there as soon as possible.” Ace’s brows knitted together as he set the book down and did that creepy… stare-off he did when he was lost in thought. “I’ll go shopping. Grab us food for at least a week. Inquire while I’m in town to see if there are any general issues and look around for anyone who might need a few hired guns.”

Damascus huffed. When was he going to relax about the whole thing back on that mountain? Honestly, the little redhead was looking for any excuse to put some distance between the two of them. Yeah, yeah, so Ace’d been brainwashed by the cult-y Church and Damascus’d had a son. He didn’t want to talk about it. They needed to drop it.

And yet, things between them still felt awkwardly tense instead of almost murderously tense and he was starting to get sick of it.

“Sooooo, you’re telling me to just sit here. In this chair. And not do anything?” Damascus shoved his chin into his hand. If it was possible, his stare became even blander. Ugh. He was so fucking bored. Maybe he could find some cool shit in this house? Unless ACe was going to lock him up in a circle to make sure he didn’t do shit. Blegh.

He could spend some time repairing this chair since he was going to make it a good successor to the last one. But beyond exploring and hoping to find some literal bodies in the basement? He had no idea what to do. He wasn’t a ‘sit around and wait’ kinda guy. Never had been.

At least with the whole trek through the wilderness, he’d gotten to hunt and kill shit for them. That was the only entertaining crap he’d done in days. He could probably cook some of that last bit of venison in some sort of underground barbeque. What else could he even do? Relax?

Again, wasn’t his thing.

He sunk further into the chair, boredom seeping into his every bone.

He heard the telltale sign of annoyance, that clicking of Ace’s tongue before frustrated eyes turned in his direction. “Seriously? You could do something. Stop looking like I just kicked your puppy.” Great, he couldn’t even muster the energy to sound angry like he used to. What the hell was this? “Look,” Ace began, looking at his reflection in a busted hallway mirror as he threw his jacket back on and began to carefully style his hair with the tips of his fingers, “I’m going to leave and find us some possible lead so we can stock up. You… fine. You can go out. To hunt. And ensure that the area is at least safe. But-!”

The Witch spun around to face Damascus, hands on his hips and lips pursed. “I don’t want you compromising our location. This house seems safe. It’s in a good area, it’s hidden. Best of all, no one is looking for some guys to be holding up in it. If you run into anyone, Demon or no, you avoid them and you tell me when I get back. The poor little forest beasts are yours to fuck with, maybe stock up on some meat if the mood hits you. Fair?”

Damascus perked up a bit at that, giving a stiff nod as he sat up a bit straighter in his chair with the promise of some damn movement. “Yessir, Little Boss, sir,” he hummed, snickering when Ace rolled his eyes with enough force to barrel him over.

“Just… be careful. We don’t want to have to go through this all over again.”

Outside, Damascus couldn’t help but wonder about the imagination of Humans. Demons had been around for as long as Humans had magic, and that was before history books could ever record it. So you would think they would have a good enough idea of what one looked like, but…

He was starting to wonder if a bunch of prissy rich people ran off because of some big bear.

Almost everywhere on the planet had some trace of Demonic influence. It was like a footprint of the beings that passed through throughout the years. A siren in the water, a Changeling in a chimney, they all left traces of themselves. Kind of like a place where deer had walked for years and would show old tracks.

But as he stomped through the remains of old houses with thigh-high grass- which was saying something for a guy as big as Damascus- he wasn’t getting anything major. Just whiffs. Which could mean someone was hiding their presence very, very well, but… Well, Demons were territorial pieces of shit. He should know. He would’ve torn somebody’s throat out by now if they were just walking around his house without asking as much.

⬲⦓⧫⦔⟴

Romaric had been antsy all day. It was easy to tell with the lanky Demon. The grafted winds on his back would twitch and curl instead of lying flat as they should. He’d start picking at the heavily chipped and damaged horns on his head, and he was constantly giving off a small, worried whine. The Demon gave another low whine, pulling his scarred arms up to his chest with a huff. “Itchy.” Romaric never did like the grass.

The being stood at a lanky six and a half feet tall, his arms were thin and his once sharp claws had now been replaced with a twisted metal that would occasionally rust over and need treatment. His skin was varying shades like someone had tried to go over the darkened parts of his skin and graft on different shades to find which one looked the best. His ‘wings’ were functional, yes, but feathers constantly fell and revealed ugly patches of stretched and pale skin. Even his large, once sharp teeth had been painfully filed down to blunted and fragile things.

At least he still had some of his fur. His ears flopped over with black tufts of fur and hair on the outside and a fluffy white bit inside.

“Grass makes tiny cuts on your skin that makes you feel a bit itchy. But if you leave it alone now, it’ll itch less later.” Barnabus gently put his book down. His hands carefully reached out to guide the Demon’s hands away from his arms. Sometimes explaining things to Romaric helped him stop; other times, he didn’t quite get it. Others, he did, but just kept doing it anyway.

He was a being that required a lot of patience and care. Not that Barnabus minded. Not much to do in his ‘retirement’ anyway. The Demon whined again, freezing and shrinking down a little. He turned towards the old man beside him, crouching to his level.

“Noise!”

Despite how damaged the guy’s mind was, he never discredited his sense. He stood, cracking his back slightly. “Want to go see if there’s anybody to scare off?” It was a bit of a necessary evil. The mansion was quiet, with plenty of room to explore and no one to mind if a certain someone accidentally broke something. It was ideal for his studies, and for him to take care of the damaged Demon. Sometimes Romaric was up to it- even enjoyed it. Others, he wanted to hide and let him do it. Others still, he wanted them both to hide, so ‘Barn wouldn’t leave him.’

He carefully reached out to pat his arm… sometimes Rom didn’t like that either. It was a bit of a coin flip to see when he did or didn’t want to touch when he didn’t initiate it.

“I can do it if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“No, s’dangerous,” Rom grumbled worriedly, reaching out and snatching Barn’s hand. He gave him a worried look. The Demon huddled closer to Barnabas, crouching down into the itchy grass as best as he could before carefully leading the man towards the sound he’d heard. His wings twitched in uncertainty, but he usually felt pretty safe with Barn nearby.

That’s when Romaric froze. “Bear-” he whined, his ears drooping a bit as he nestled further into the grass. Barnabas strained his neck, quickly noting the large man with an alligator-like tail and a series of horns on his head. “Should… go. Bear should go.” Romaric began to whine a bit louder, his fingers digging into the ground underneath him and his blunted teeth roughly bit into his lip. “Bear needs to go. No bear.” The Demon moved to stand up, beginning to growl loudly at the intruder.

Barnabus began thing, Yeah, no, that’s definitely not a bear-

Around the same time, Damascus started to say, “What the actual fuck?”

⬲⦓⧫⦔⟴

Normally, he’d leap to attack something growling at him but this… this gave him pause.

What was before him was undeniably a Demon. It smelled like it. It fucking acted like it. But… there was something wrong with it. Not just in its appearance. It looked like someone had tried to stitch Angel parts to it, making Frankenstein’s abomination. It… what…? The two Demons started circling each other like cautious animals.

It definitely wanted him gone. But could it talk? Was it smart? So many questions whirled through his head. The one thing he knew for sure was that only the Church could do something so sick and twisted… But it would explain why no one had come to the area in so fucking long.

“What the fuck did the Church do to you?” His voice sounded strained, almost pained. The very sight of this being made him sick. Not for what it looked like- he’d seen Demons far more grotesque- but simply because… what the fuck had this thing been through to get to this point? The Demon seemed to falter a moment before tensing even more than he had been previously, long ears pressing against the sides of his head as he seemed to shrink back from Damascus.

Then it all changed again. What looked to have been a momentary lapse of fear passed quickly as the strange… hybrid crouched down and hissed loudly at Damascus before lunging at him in an attempt to claw into his shoulder while screaming, “No- no! Leave! Leave! Bear should go! Go, go, go!”

Oh, he really fucking hated doing this- Damascus, big and hefty as he was, wasn’t built for dodging. He barely managed to avoid a particularly vicious blow, but then another quickly came. He felt like he was fighting a rabid animal, barely able to get a word in before the next attack came.

He was torn. Should he retreat and tell Little Boss? He didn’t know how to handle this. He wanted to fucking kill this thing out of pity. But he also wanted to find out what the fuck happened to it. Maybe if it was connected to the Church, it could have some idea of his son’s bones-

It’d occurred to him to ask the Little Boss, but if he was hiding his whole life there from him? Why the fuck would he tell him anything more-? Fuck, this was making him angry! He snarled at the abomination before him. It was raising a claw again-

But the blow never came. And frankly? Damascus was too fucking surprised to see an old man appear out of nowhere to stand in front of him.

“Rom.” A soft blue chain manifested in the old man’s hand. He didn’t pull on it, he just let that gentle weight fall on the Demon’s neck as he stood before a stunned Damascus. ‘Rom’ continued staring past the stranger, locking gazes with Damascus before he seemed to contort into another expression of fear. Whimpering and kneeling in front of the Witch. He leaned in, resting his head on his chest and letting out a frightened sob.

“The Bear is a Demon, Barn- Demons aren’t good- they aren’t! This one was big and messed up Home and- and- and- I’m sorry-!” He whined loudly, pulling back and shaking his head.

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. You’re not in trouble.” ‘Barn’ put his hands on the hybrid’s cheeks, resting his forehead against his. “You were just trying to protect Home. You’re okay. Remember, the chain isn’t bad. It’s our bond. I’m not going to use it to hurt you. I just used it to remind you that you don’t have to be angry and that I’m here.”

What the fuck?

“You’re okay… you’re okay. Breathe, Romaric, breathe.” The man pulled away to massage the Demon’s ears. “That’s my boy. Good. You’re doing good. Let me handle this from here, okay?”

“...Am I interruptin’ something?” Damascus shoved his hands into his pockets. Then the old man turned- and did a complete 180 as he stared at the Demon in front of him. He leaned up against Romaric and stared deadpan at Damascus.

“Fuck do you want?” Those old eyes, musted by age, stared deep into the Demon’s soul. And Damascus wasn’t intimidated but he felt… unnerved. This wasn’t just some old man.

“What the fuck happened to him?”

“None of your business.”

“I-”

“Leave.” Barn pushed off of the Demon. And to Damascus’s surprise, sparks started dancing off his fingertips… That wasn’t common magic for Witches… given the whole ‘burning at the stake’ shit. Fuck- he wasn’t good at this but- it was damage control time.

“Okay, look-” He spread his hands out in front of him. “My Little Boss and I need to stay here. We got uprooted, we’re just here until we can find another place to crash-” A lie, but it was better than this guy trying to fireball them out of existence. Little Boss wouldn’t be happy about it, though. “- and yeah. I. Look, I just want to ask about-”

“You can stay, but we’re not talking about the Church. If you fuck up, I’ll burn you alive in your sleep.” Barn patted Romaric, gently guiding him to turn. His demeanor immediately changed yet again. “Come on. Let’s go get you something to eat and drink. Do you want tea?”

“...Bear is staying?” Damascus heard Romaric ask, his brow furrowing as he glanced between the Demon and the old man. “Won’t Bear hurt Home?” Damascus felt a full-body shudder come over him as the thing seemed to perk up at some thought floating around in his head. “Who is Little? Barn- Barn, I want honey tea!” It seemed like the Demon had completely forgotten about the tears that still lingered on his face. He was back to standing to his lanky height and was already starting to look around the area as his wings twitched. “Is Bear having honey tea?”

“He’s not having honey tea.” The Witch easily followed after the Demon. “I don’t know who Little is. That’s what I want to find out.

[lucillemartinisme]

Les Twins Birthday Song at Tampa Workshop

So me left with the taxi man n me noticed that he had a accent n he told me that he was Haitian n then started going off about the Haitians beating the French n me didn't know where that came from since me didn't tell him that me was there seeing anything french but it could've been a coincidence but anyways instead of going to the ATM we went to McDonald's first then he bought me food then we went to a gas station n he asked me did me want anything n me asked him would he buy me some cigarettes and a beer n he did he then asked me what time the bus was coming me told him middle of morning maybe only cause me forget what time so he like ain't you the only woman up there n me like yea something like that n he said let's go to my place and we can drink a lil there n that he had some beer there n me went along with that n he said he had a dude roommate but he was gone to work n won't be there n me like ok so anyways we got there some gated apartment community n we walked to his apt it was spotlessly clean black furniture black stereo black Jesus at last super n the only thing weird was a bottle of water in the middle of the living room floor the furniture was in shape of a open square n water bottle in the middle we went in his room and he closed n locked his door n he had a mini refrigerator in it with beer he was about 50 n had a nice ok body for 50 n had a bald head he took his shirt off saying he was hot from driving all day anyways do what it do just as expected n handed me a beer me didn't really drink it he kinda made me nervous by locking door behind him n he was supposed to be the only one there n taking off his shirt but it is Florida so he got a beer n started talking about our brains being nothing but wires n shit like yep me believes n then start spraying Victoria secret body spray on him think it was some type of vanilla n then sprayed some on me then laid down across the bed talking about he was tired from driving all day n you know the men how they do he get to asking me how old me was n me was about 45 possibly n said me look like me in me 20 's n if any other men come me way again after he dropped me off back at the Greyhound tell them that me was in me 20"s n thought me was lying about me age anyways so he started touching here n there but light flirtatious touch n asked me can he eat me kitty n me was looking cray cray to me remember me missed the bus n traveling walking eating at churches n sitting at parks with Hershey so food stains on clothes the bus is cold had on sweats that was to big n kinda falling off me n no wigs me had dreadlocks under me wigs but never showed them unless they got cameras in the bathroom at the hotel me don't believe but anyways it was about a day and a half ride n still was mad at the whole experience especially Larry Bourgeois n dude the cab man was dark skinned n kinda built like me ex husband for 50 anyways cause yea most dudes in 50"s body aint built n he told me how pretty me was looking like 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

From the whole ordeal ESPECIALLY Mr Larry Bourgeois of Les Twins indeed

[leggypuppy]

Where in the mansus do you think the best dates can be had?

For me, it's a toss-up between the Red Church, the Malleary and the Door to Nowhere

RANKING ALL MANSUS LOCATIONS ACCORDING TO HOW WELL THEY SET THE MOODTM

The Wood: romantic in theory, but you'll spend more time tripping over tree roots and reverting to the primal mammal state than anything else. too many bugs 3/10

The Well: gross. do not bring a date here unless you're both the kind of people who find looking at pondlife under a microscope to be an intimate couples activity. 2/10

The Temple of the Wheel: Comparatively not too bad. unfortunately has little to recommend it if you're not into really obscure history. 4/10

The White Door: Better than the Wood, but not by much. At least Trafalgar Square or something doesn't occasionally open up onto a river of neither pus nor joy that wishes only to infect and become. Too many dead/tourists 4/10

The Lodge of the Sage Knight: This is more like it! Velvet cushions, blue silk, imaginary wine. Absolutely the best place to relax and get to know each other a bit better. 7/10

The Orchard of Lights: A bit more dangerous than the Lodge, but hey, where else do you get to catch a glimpse of the Solar Hours when they're not actively trying to kill you? I would commit crimes to hang out and feed my partner little pieces of those sunset fruits. 8/10

The Stag Door: Has a built-in third wheel. 3/10

The Ascent of Knives: Pretty okay so long as you're not dumb enough to try and climb it. 6/10

The Painted River: Absolutely one of the better ones. Very scenic, not overly deadly. Might be a bit boring if you're the kind of person who thinks gallery dates are a bit naff. 6/10

The Spider's Door: Absolutely not. Complete horrorshow, and not in the fun way 0/10

The Malleary: not the worst, but probably best experienced solo. I don't think the Forge would look super kindly on young lovers in her workshop. 5/10

The Chamber of Ways: Genuinely stunning and intense, but bringing a date here would be like going on a tour of an art deco office skyscraper, or maybe a funeral. Too much like hard work 5/10

The Peacock's Door: Objectively the sexiest date spot in the Manus, apart from maybe the Red Church. Literally a yonic symbol that you have to get off to pass through. Loses a point for also coming with a built-in third wheel, but Vak isn't there permenently, and is probably more fun to talk to than Ghirbi. 8/10

The Red Church: Maybe not on a first date, but if you really wanna bone this person, you can't do better than here. The Ivories and the Lovelies know how to fucking party. Plus it's LGBT+ inclusive! 9/10

The Worm Museum: About as good as the Red Church if you're more for the intellectual persuits. Again, maybe not on a first date, but if you and your date can stand a bit of existential momento mori, it's really pretty awesome. 8/10

The Tricuspid Gate: Honestly it's been so long since I won an Apostle game I can't remember much about it. Too close to the Glory for comfort. 4/10

The Glory: No. 0/10

[deanstead]

down the aisle

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Request by anon: would you maybe do an engaged Jay x reader where she’s gotten to know Voight pretty well along their relationship and she asks Voight to walk her down the aisle?

Characters: Hank Voight

Word Count: 755

Warnings: none

JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST

You touched the ring on your finger and smiled, just as Jay walked out of the room. He smiled at you, heading for you and bending forward to give you a quick kiss.

“Everything okay?” He asked as he headed to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

You nodded absentmindedly.

Jay frowned. “You worried about something?” He headed towards you, sitting on the couch and putting an arm around you.

You turned to face him, shrugging your shoulders lightly. “I’m not calling him.”

A look of knowing crossed Jay’s face as he gently took your hand in his. Jay knew that unless absolutely necessary you never referred to your father as your father. You barely had a relationship with him since the last time you’d seen him was when he’d left your mother more than twenty years ago. You probably wouldn’t even recognise him if you saw him on the street.

“I’m not calling him.” You repeated.

Jay smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He whispered.

It was only a few days later that you’d gotten an idea, a better alternative to walking down the aisle alone.

You knew Jay was at Molly’s so you’d told him you would meet him there but had made a detour to the district first.

“Hey Trudy, can you let me up to see Voight?” You asked, leaning against the desk.

Trudy raised an eyebrow but nodded, opening the gate.

“Thanks!”

You jogged up the stairs. The bullpen was already dark and only Voight was still here. You swallowed. Now that you were here, you weren’t sure if you were really doing the right thing. Maybe you should have told Jay and had him come with you.

You took another deep breath before you walked right up to his office and knocked on the open door.

Voight looked up from what he was doing, his frown lightening when he saw it was you.

“Y/N?”

You smiled. “Sorry to bother you, I wanted to… I wanted to ask you something.”

Voight closed the file he was working on. “You okay?” He asked, frowning. You couldn’t blame him either. Of course he’d think something was wrong.

You stepped into his office, your fingers unconsciously playing with the fray of the shirt you were wearing, not sure where to begin. “So, Jay and I… we’re getting married.”

Voight smiled. It was a smile you didn’t see a lot but one you knew he had in him. Over the course of your relationship with Jay, you’d met Voight enough times to know him pretty well and he looked out for you as well.

“I know, I haven’t seen you since Jay told me but I’m really happy for you and Jay. Congratulations.” Voight stood and moved forward to give you a hug.

You welcomed the hug, hugging him back. Voight stepped back, leaning against his desk as he looked at you, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t know if Jay ever mentioned… I… my dad, he… well…” You took another deep breath to steady yourself. “I don’t have a dad, not really. So I don’t really have anyone to… you know… give me away.”

You paused. “I was just wondering if you could…”

You looked up at him mid-sentence and faltered. Maybe this was too weird. “You know what, never mind. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Voight’s hoarse voice stopped you in your tracks. “I’d be honoured to walk you down the aisle.”

Your head snapped up. “You would?”

Voight smiled. “Of course, I will.”

You broke into a huge smile. “Thank you.” Voight patted the side of your face affectionately, smiling.

You took a deep breath and pressed your dress down for the millionth time.

Voight put a hand against your back and smiled, as the doors were pulled open.

You threaded your arm through his and you looked up at Jay, standing at the front of the church. You were just a mere few metres away from him, the aisle wasn’t just an aisle, it was your journey to the future with Jay.

This was it, the wedding you’d been planning for months.

“Thanks for doing this for me.” You whispered as Voight and you reached the front.

Voight smiled and gave you a hug. “Congratulations.”

You turned to look at your future and he smiled, extending his hand out to you.

With absolutely no trepidation, you put your hand in Jay’s.

LOVE HEARING FROM YALL! SHARE WITH ME YOUR FAVOURITE LINE/PART OR WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF IT!

FOREVER TAGLIST

@nocturnalherb16 | @supreme-doritos | @pinkrockstar19 | @isthatmaryanna | @zizzlekwum | @fan-girl-in-denial | @mbjackie | @mrs-scottmccall | @23victoria | @sophiatellerrhodes | @camillyb

JAY HALSTEAD TAGLIST

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[asscreeds]

Heila - Chapter 4

thank you again to @freyastrider​ for letting me yoink your screenshots :’D

TW for graphic descriptions of violence & death. Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The cool midday wind blew from the North, hastening the journey by longship, and Eivor thanked the Gods for their favor today. Curled up at the Wolf's feet, Nali hissed at Dag almost comically when he had boarded, scarcely recognizing the man, making Eivor chuckle. Not even five minutes into the journey, Dag started up another one of his stories, and Eivor did not realize how much she had missed the man's silly tales until her crew burst out into laughter at something absurd he said, the Wolf-Kissed joining in heartily.

Four hours passed and they had just passed Roucistere. By then the sun had sunk further into the sky, sending its rays into everyone's eyes and turning the sky and eastern sea a beautiful gold. Were it any other day, Eivor would have found the scenery beautiful, yet even with Dag's stories and the lightheartedness of the journey as her and her vikingr were reunited on the ship once again, she could only think of the battle ahead and prayed that it would go smoothly. 

Thinking back to your sobbing form made her heart squeeze with some unknown emotion; she could not decide if it was pity or something else. The name 'Gunnar' stuck in her mind. Who was the man to you? Part of your clan, obviously, but what was he to you? A companion? Brother? Lover, maybe? Despite her trailing thoughts she surmised it was not for her to know and began chastising herself for even pondering. It was not important to her; what mattered was honoring her promise to you and seeing that he and the others were returned to you safely.

As they pulled into the docks, Eivor could see a few of her men that had been sent forward earlier in the day had already set up a small camp above the beach, higher on the hillside where the two-dozen horses could graze and rest. Jumping from the lypting of the ship to the dock she bid her vikingr follow her up the hill to the forward camp, the raiders most grateful for being able to stretch their legs after the journey. 

As they gathered about the campfire, she called for their attention. "From what the scouts have told, the Danes are being held to the southwest of the barracks, near the most open portion of the city. There is a northern gate near the barracks that leads to the heart of the city that we will rush through. If two or three could ride forward to fire arrows and slay the gate's guards, we will catch them off guard and ride forward with little problems. The issue lies in exiting the city once we have freed the Danes, as the northern gate will be undoubtedly crowded with the soldiers from the barracks. We may either leave by the most western yet farthest gate, or the closer eastern gate - it depends on how the guards will react. Whatever happens, stick together," she explained, and her vikingr nodded, some cheering. Before letting them mount the horses she added in one final thing: "Remember, these are people who have been scarcely fed for days and been treated as animals. There is a very low chance that they will be able to defend themselves if they are targeted - load them onto the backs of your horses, then ride as fast as you can. Do not engage in battle unless you must, if you are outnumbered or are blocked from pushing forward. If all goes well we will overwhelm them with the suddenness of our attack and we will be able to slip in and out with little issue."

Then she let them go, and they each mounted a horse, standing near the mouth of the road waiting for her to lead them. To her surprise she found her personal mount among the horses; Askr, the rowdy, black destrier stallion she had purchased from Rowan a few months ago, whom she had just recently bonded with enough to be able to ride him into the heart of battle. Patting his nose, she mumbled, "I pray to Thor that you will not suddenly turn your heart in the middle of this and buck me," and then took her seat in his rune-inscribed saddle. The horse only gave her a side-eye and snorted.

Walking Askr forward to the road, she raised her fist to the sky, looking at the vikingr. "To Canterbury!" she cried, and the resounding war cries of the warriors hastened their mounts forward into a comfortable gallop on the stone road. By now the sun had eased down into the horizon, and they would reach the city hopefully just in time for the gap in guard rotation as the day rota switched for the night. 

Even in the dim light of dusk Eivor could still see the steeples of the church rise into the sky as they rode over the hill, and then Eivor pulled them all to a slow trot. Much to her delight, they had just begun lighting torches for the night and even from a distance she could see only one lone guard at the northern gate. Looking over and nodding to an archer, she sent them forward to deal with him before they rushed in and the guard could call for help. "Light your torch near the gate once you have dealt with him." One Norseman would only puzzle him, instead of seeing an entire raiding party descending down the hill like a flood.

By now the last light of the sun had nearly gone, and the sky turned a deep indigo as the first stars began to shine and the slim crescent moon began to rise higher. For what was about to transpire, it was such an incredibly calm night; a gentle breeze, the soft chorus of crickets, the hooting of an owl nearby. As they crested over the hill in definite eyesight of any eagle-eyed guardsmen she saw the torch of the archer being waved around near the gate; their signal. Bidding Askr into a canter, she and her warriors rode forth to the gate, meeting with the archer that had remounted their horse. The breach was quiet, and though the thunder of the horses' steps were a dead giveaway, it seemed that scarcely anyone had noticed their arrival. Good.

 Things did not go so smoothly once they rounded the corner to the area where the Danes were kept. Almost instantly four or five guards jumped up with weapons drawn from where they had been conversing around a table, and Eivor could only give a smirk as she and a few others drew their bows back to release a volley of arrows upon the men, not missing a single mark. They quickly fell, and she rushed forward to the imprisoned Danes. Despite their cages being secured with a lock and her nor the guards having the key for them they bent and broke easily enough. Drawing out her torch and stepping forward into the cage she was met by sad, sunken eyes that should have never belonged to any human being. Slowly, she approached them.

"I have been sent by y/n to rescue you. We will help you to mount the horses, take you to our longship and to Ravensthorpe where you will be fed and bathed," she said quietly, and immediately some burst into tears, rejoicing, others staring ahead quietly afraid. In all there were only maybe a dozen of them, four women and eight men divided into separate cages, all as visibly ill as the next. She did not ask any of them for their names.

As the fifth Dane was paired to a horse, a patrol rounded the corner to the clearing, and Eivor felt the rush of adrenaline blanket her mind. They were met with swift swords to their shields almost instantaneously as her vikingr beat them back away from the Danes, and the shouting from the conflict seemed to wake the entire city. Another two Danes were paired, and suddenly the church's bells began to ring, splitting the calm air of the night in two. Shit.

Moving as fast as she could she lifted a large man with bright blue eyes to rival her own onto her shoulders, placing him on the back of her horse. The man groaned with the movement and in her torchlight she could see dried bloodstains about his torso; another sad victim. She bid him to wait, leading Askr a few paces away in a shadowed alleyway between buildings to hide, and then ran back to the others to continue to pair the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Dane.

By now many of the Saxon guardsmen knew what was happening and descended upon the warriors like fighting dogs, and though the Raven Clan had a mounted advantage they were beginning to be pushed back into the clearing. Some had already fled, beginning the ride back to the longship. Eivor prayed that they would not be followed. 

 Grabbing the final Dane was where things went sour. An arrow flew right into the eyesocket of a Danish woman, who fell limp in the saddle and shocked the warrior at the front with the sudden dead weight at their back. More heavily-armored guards rushed in from the barracks and were poking and slashing at the horses chests, spooking them; little by little they were losing ground and precious time. The last prisoner secured, and with a final push from the guards, Eivor mounted Askr and commanded her warriors to follow her and run. They galloped higher into the city, heading towards the eastern gate with hopes of escaping cleanly - unfortunately, these guards were intelligent and had swarmed not only the east gate, but all other exits, too. They were penned in. 

Eivor could not see any other solution. Pushing Askr into a hard gallop she rode forward as archers stationed in the barbican above the gate released their arrows and the Wolf-Kissed had raised her shield just in time to prevent them from piercing her and the man's flesh. Some others were not so lucky nor swift enough. Three more Danes were struck by arrows. In the pause of archers knocking arrows again her vikingr rushed behind her, yet this time the arrows were set aflame. The portcullis was still open, thankfully, though beset by a formidable wall of soldiers.

They would fall and be trampled just as any other.

Galloping forward in the final stretch Askr's chest connected with the unfortunate men in the path of destruction, hooves pounding on their bones as if wading through water. What a good horse. Thankfully, he was never wounded by the effort. Taken aback by the feat most archers did not fly their arrows a second time, and those that did scarcely hit their target. Nobody was injured that time. The other horses followed close behind and soon there was a pretty pile of corpses lying near the mouth of the portcullis like a disgusting blanket.

Exiting the city and breaching the cold night of Cent made Eivor release a breath she did not know she was holding, the shock of adrenaline still hitting her hard. She definitely was not going to do that again any time soon. Glancing behind her to check they were not followed, she opted to take the quickest route to the longship; regardless if someone came after them they would still board the ship as quickly as they could. 

 She decided to try and talk to the man on her horse, just as she'd done to you. "What is your name?"

The man stirred slowly, as if he did not recognize that he was being talked to. He could not focus on much past the way his body felt as if it were being carried forward by a valkyrie, mounted on her horse and riding towards Valhalla. "G-Gunnar," he croaked, and Eivor nearly choked on the cool night air. Ah.

Looking behind her at the state of the man, she realized he was in a far worse state than you were when she'd rescued you. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, dried blood seeped down from a wound at the center of his forehead; he was weak, with the way he barely clung onto the Wolf-Kissed's smaller frame despite being heads taller than her. There were the dried blood stains at his middle, too, and she could not guess where those wounds came from.

She prayed to all the Gods she could think of, even those that she did not revere, that he would stay alive long enough to make it to Ravensthorpe.

"Alright, Gunnar. I am Eivor. We're taking you and your clan to a safer place." The ride to the ship felt much longer than riding from it, despite being the same route.

Gunnar would seemingly gain awareness some moments, holding tighter to Eivor's waist and groaning in pain, and then completely lose it at others, falling limp at her back and scaring her each time thinking that the man had passed.

Only one time did he address her. "Y/n sent you…?"

"Yes, she did," Eivor said, and the beach and her longship were in her sight. Nobody was followed. Five of her raiders and their paired Danes had already boarded the ship, keeping it still to the harbor even in the night's high tide.

Gunnar let out a breathy wheezing sound. "Ah, she's alive…" he said, and Eivor could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Alive…"

Slowing Askr down to a trot they approached the longship, the tide rising to the point where the horses were lifting their legs in the water. There were still more of her clan stationed at the forward camp; they would return the horses to Ravensthorpe after they departed. Dismounting the horse, she grabbed Gunnar by the waist, laying the large man over her shoulders and carrying him to the ship. He could not find the strength to sit up on the seats. Eivor slowly lowered him against the side of the ship, propping him up. 

Taking a headcount, every single one of her drengr survived; out of the dozen Danes they rescued, five would not live. 

Jumping to the lypting again she commanded the ship be turned round and the sail raised. The sea's wind roared, boosting the speed of their getaway, though it would not hold over the river Thames as they passed Roucistere. The night's calm northern breeze did little to bend the cloth of the sails, so it was lowered. 

 At some point, Gunnar roused again. Nali had curled at his bloodied side and was purring furiously, and the man gently petted the cat, in another spell of awareness. "Hello, little friend of Freyja," he spoke, spooking Eivor.

"You are awake, Gunnar. Are you feeling better after a bit of rest?" Eivor asked, grasping at anything to keep the hope of this man reaching Ravensthorpe alive.

"No," came his simple answer, looking up towards Eivor. Blood began oozing from the corners of his mouth and his nose. Immediately Eivor rushed to his side, and all her warriors turned their heads, and upon seeing why the Wolf-Kissed acted so suddenly, they understood. 

Gunnar could only look to Eivor still with an unreadable expression. Taking a cloth from her pouch she began wiping away at the blood, though it continued to run and run, and then Gunnar smiled at the Wolf-Kissed's efforts. In the calmness of the moonlight and Gunnar's awareness she realized how bright his eyes were and how they crinkled at the corners when they were not clouded with pain. Grabbing her hand, he willed her to stop.

"It is no use. I am a dying man," he said, and then let out a great, wheezing cough to drive the point home. Blood still ran from his mouth, down the scraggly hairs of his beard, onto the front of his tunic. Eivor stared, wide-eyed, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stared at the fading man. 

"...What would be your last wishes, drengr?" she asked, and Gunnar picked Nali up from his side and set her down farther away, and though Nali only weighed not even a stone it was a great effort for the man, who then fell limp after. 

Gunnar seemed to pause, taking in wheezing breaths, thinking of the many answers he could give. Avenge my clan. Slay Frederik. Send word to my wife and daughter in Denmark of my death. Above all he chose one.

"Keep y/n safe," he rasped, suddenly reaching for Eivor's hand and holding it firm. "Keep her safe. Keep this clan safe. There is nothing else left of us.

"I have known her since we were children. Like a brother. I have cared for her as I have cared for my own blood. She is the voice of reason that kept us all bound together in times of strife. I could not protect her when I swore I would. I have known I would die this way for months, yet I did all I could to fight against it. For her. Please, keep her safe. In this world, and the next," he said, and his cryptic words both puzzled and troubled Eivor.

Eivor nodded, and squeezed the man's hand. "I heed your dying words. I will protect her to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, like the moon's face dwindling away as the sun rose each morning, he faded, the light in his eyes dying with him, and he went with a calm exhale into the night air. Eivor set his hand upon his lap and closed his eyelids. He would be given a proper burial, though where, she did not know. It was for you to decide.

The rest of the journey was in silence.

...

You had spent the better part of the day anxious, uneasy, unable to rest like Valka had wanted you to. To keep your mind distracted she asked you of your homeland, to which you gave mostly simple answers, and eventually you grew so anxious you had to pace. Scarcely moving around for days except to relieve yourself made your body shriek in pain with the effort of moving that you would have collapsed if Valka had not caught you. She scolded you like a mother would a child, and then you'd begged her like a child (much to her amusement) for her to help you relearn to walk.

After an hour and some more food and drink you were able to hold your own weight again, and after two more you could walk, albeit slowly, without the strain of the sliced muscles in your back bothering you too much. Valka took you to the pond behind her hut, and you revelled in the sound of the waterfall, and though the movement pained you enough to cry you could not stop yourself from cupping the fresh water in your hands and splashing it in your face. Valka laughed and said she could draw you a bath later. You stayed there for a while, until the sun began to hang lower in the sky, and then you noticed peculiar wisps of light that you've never seen before - catching one you found it was some type of delightful insect that held light within its body, and you let it be free again.

By now your stomach growled with hunger and you slowly raised yourself off the ground and went back into the hut where Valka had already gotten the two of you fresh bowls of soup and bread. Ever grateful you ate quickly, feeling a little calmer after the day. After you ate Valka drew a bath for you, and though the water was lukewarm to ease the pain of your injuries you were grateful to be able to clean the layers of sweat off your body. Valka helped you with the areas that you could not reach, even helping to wash and rinse your hair, and not once did you feel uncomfortable with your nakedness in front of the other woman. It felt natural, in a way, and you surmised she wouldn't really care, anyway. After redressing your wounds, you were surprised by her giving you a freshly-washed, simple chemise, made of soft linen and about ankle length, saying that "It would be easier on your body to sleep warmer, yet not be inhibited by heavier clothing," referring to the men's trousers and tunic you had been dressed in as a prisoner.

Then Valka made you more of the sleepy tea, and you fell asleep before the sun had even set. Thankfully you did not have a nightmare this time, and were back to the normal nonsensical dreams that you would never be able to recall come waking up.

Your sleep, however, was disturbed by the sound of a horn being blown, your mind instantly connecting the sound to Frederik’s horn, and you were sent into a minor panic before you remembered who was blowing the horn. It was not Frederik coming to face you, nor were you back on his longship heading to the monastery; it was Eivor, bringing the remnants of your clan to you. Adrenaline fueled you and you leapt from the bed, frightening Valka who had not yet fallen asleep and she rushed to your side, bidding you to return to bed, but you could not. You had to see Gunnar, you had to see your kinsmen. Limping forward a few paces out into the cold air of the night Valka ran back to her hut and returned with her heavy fur cloak, gently setting it about your shoulders so that you did not freeze.

You walked past the stables, down the western side of the longhouse, past numerous buildings you did not know the purpose of and saw several people getting off the longship. And even in the dark of the night you could see bodies being lifted onto stretchers, and your heart dropped. Some deep, deep, ugly part of you hoped that they were Eivor's warriors and not yours, to no avail. There were five of them, and you rushed forward, stumbling, and in the light of the torches you tried to make out faces.

A hand was felt on your shoulder, preventing you from toppling over, and you turned to face Eivor, who looked at you with a somber, defeated face. You did not like that look, nor the way you were turned away from looking at the final body of your kin. You could only stare silently into the Wolf's eyes.

"Y/n, I…" Eivor started, unsure of the right words to say. She sighed, and then took hold of both of your shoulders and squeezed. "I am sorry," was all she said, pulling you closer to her chest in comfort. You did not like her tone and what it meant. You could not make yourself move to match the warmth of her hug. The entire clan had gathered, but they were all silent.

Slowly, she let you go, and you turned around to look at the bodies. You could recognize the pallid faces of poor Lissi, and Jørgen, and Erna, Nils…

 And then there was Gunnar, stiff and pale, blood staining the cloth of his tunic all around, and you froze, your mind not processing what you were looking at. And then you drew in a great breath and wailed, a painful, broken-hearted sound pulled from your throat like a bow running harshly across the strings of an instrument. You dropped to your knees, crawling closer to the man's body and pressing the palms of your hands to his cold cheeks, sobbing and gasping for breath. like a madwoman over his body, willing your hot tears that fell onto his face to bring him back to life. Why was he to die like this? Away from his family? His home? He did not even die in battle. He did not deserve this death. You hunched over his body, still sobbing, pressing his cold forehead to yours and then closed your eyes, and prayed that he would find his way out of Hel's domain to where he belonged, seated with the other einherjar in Valhalla. Maybe guided by a valkyrie, maybe out of his own will. 

When you pulled away you were now weeping silently, and you could not bring yourself to look at the bodies of the rest, nor look at the faces of those that were alive, passing by you as they were carried to the barracks. You instead looked out into the forest on the far side of the river, and you could not bring yourself to move even as Eivor's men began to haul the stretchers away. 

The Wolf-Kissed approached you, slowly, and set her palm on your shoulder again. "He passed peacefully, facing the moon and stars. His wounds were too dire for him to go on," she said, and you rose from kneeling on the ground, her hand on your shoulder a wonderful feeling keeping you grounded in reality. You could not speak, only staring ahead still. Eivor stayed by your side, silent for a moment.

"He… he called for me to protect you, to keep you safe as his dying words," she said quietly, and this made you turn and look at her through your tear-laden lashes. Eivor's heart squeezed. "I promised to him that I would. And my word is my bond. I will keep you safe, until… until you decide what you want to do," she said, the last bit sounding strained, as if that was not what she truly wanted to say. This was all very sudden to your already exhausted mind.

You stared at her for a moment longer, and Eivor felt you were looking through her, not at her. Blinking some tears away you slowly turned from her, looking at the water's edge and how it reflected the moonlight, trying to clear your head. "I… he… " you began, trying to find your words and will the lump in your throat away. "H-he… he was not my blood. But we grew up together… a big brother to me," you mumbled, not truly knowing why you were telling Eivor this. "I… I cared greatly for him. I still do. I've thought before what I would do if he passed, and even that hurt, but… this is…" Snivelling, you pressed a palm to your mouth so that Eivor would not have to see the ugly way your face contorted and lip quivered as you tried to hold in another anguished cry. The woman did not think any less of you. She stood unmoving behind you. "This is… this is Frederik's fault. All of it. If he had done anything…" you croaked, the lump in your throat rising again to the point where you could not speak further nor breathe, choking on air and holding it for far too long, and Eivor set her large palm on your shoulder again. When you did not respond, she slowly pulled you into another hug, being ever mindful of the injuries at your back, and you immediately clung to her, shoving your face into her chest even though it was still armored, your head under her chin, and sobbing anew. You couldn't help it at this point. You felt like a maelstrom of emotion, waves of sorrow washing over you as you kept thinking of Gunnar's soft smile that he gave you on the longship and how it contrasted with the stillness of his pale, dead face. And then you realized how cold you were, even in Valka's coat, when the warmth of the larger woman began to seep into your body; a small comfort. Eivor shushed you gently and dared to smooth your hair out just as Valka had, and you felt yourself growing calmer in the arms of the warrior.

After some time you felt more composed, calmed, and you slowly removed yourself from Eivor as the intimacy of her consolation and promise to Gunnar hit you and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, stepping back and looking to the patterns in the wood of the docks. 

"I know Gunnar had a wife and child, back in Denmark. They should know of his passing," you said, running your fingers over the edges of Valka's cloak. Eivor nodded. "I will send a letter, then." 

Swallowing, you thought of her words earlier. Protect me until I decide what I want to do, she says… you did not see any other path. 

"You… you said that you would protect me, until I have decided to go elsewhere," you started, looking up to match Eivor's blue eyes, though difficult it may be. The woman blinked slowly and nodded. 

"I… I do not think I could go elsewhere. I do not want to return to my family, knowing that Frederik could potentially return there, too. And whatever lies he spun they would believe his words over mine. I do not have a home there, not anymore," you explained, and then broke eye contact with the drengr, feeling a burst of anger at the entire situation for a moment before you took a deep breath, sighing.

"And you… you saved my life. You and Valka, you've helped me to recover. And that is something that I feel I can never repay."

You met Eivor's blue eyes again, and even in the dim light of the moon could see how soft they've grown. "I would stay with the Raven clan, if you would let me," you said, feeling small again. Eivor blinked again, and then her expression somehow grew softer, and nodded. "Of course, y/n. You will always find a home here in Ravensthorpe, and wherever else we may go," she said, sending you a muted smile. You will always find a home with me.

You let out a breath, sighing in relief and in exhaustion, and realized how cold it had gotten when you could see it hanging in the mist, and then you felt it seep into your bones. "Th-thank you, Eivor," you shivered, and the Norsewoman took note of your state almost immediately, and on instinct pulled you to her side and began walking you back to Valka. "Of course, lagr kærr."

Passing the barracks you were relieved to see some of your kin already tended to and resting; you would speak with them tomorrow of your decision. You did not have a leader, not anymore, and it was up to them whether they wanted to leave or stay once recovered. You, however, would find a home in the Raven clan yet. 

 Valka was, as expected, not in the hut, most likely at the barracks treating the last of your friends. After such a long day both you and Eivor were exhausted, and the Wolf bid you farewell at the door, turning to go to her own place of rest. Shrugging off Valka's coat you placed it in it's usual spot and then crawled into your cot, still straining with the movement. Your body had its own celebration when you finally relaxed, and though you would certainly feel the soreness tomorrow you were glad that you still had some mobility after the wounds near your spine had become infected. You would heal in time. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep blissfully quickly.

In the shadows of the longhouse's exterior, Randvi had watched how your smaller form tucked into Eivor's as the two of you ascended to the seeress's hut, and felt an ugly twist of envy in her gut. She turned away from the scene to storm to the alliance map. She still had reports to write.  

[shirtlesssammy]

3x04: Sin City

Then:

Dean killed Azazel

Now:

A nun wanders an empty church, replacing hymnals. The priest finds her and offers to walk her to her car. They both find a parishioner in the balcony who gets their attention by announcing that “God’s not with us.” He then shoots himself in the head. Ooof. 

While Dean and Bobby work on the Colt, Sam informs them that he’s found sightings of demonic omens. Bobby stays behind to figure out how the Colt works while Dean and Sam take off for Ohio and the new case.

Interviewing the priest, the brothers learn that things changed in the town about two months prior --the same time they opened the devil’s gate. 

The brothers then head to their motel room, where Dean runs into an old hunter friend, Richie. They banter and then they all talk shop. Whatever’s happening, doesn’t make sense. (Sidenote: Dean’s pumped that the room has Magic Fingers. Yay, bby) Dean asks about anyone in town whose whole personality has changed. Richie answers, “There’s Trotter.” He’ll be at his bar in a couple hours. 

The town is anything but a boarded up factory town. It’s got coeds as far as the eye can see, and Dean’s ready to do some research. Trotter’s Bar is the epicenter of debauchery. They find the priest there. 

Sam wonders what the padre is doing there. He goes where the flock is. 

Dean then gets to flirt mildly with the bartender and fun fact: He likes Hurricanes. I feel like this is one part of Dean’s personality not explored in later seasons. Let the boy drink his fruity drinks, 202K! 

Before anyone can react, a man walks in and shoots another man dead. 

Dean tackles the assailant before he can off himself. Sam throws holy water on him, but he’s not possessed. The man admits that the victim slept with his wife. (Sam sees Dana Scully’s dad from across the bar. Man, things are REALLY WEIRD here.) (Natasha: Nooo he’s the general from Stargate!)

The cops later take the man away and tell Sam and Dean that the paper will be there shortly to take their pictures.

That’s the brothers’ cue to leave. Dean wonders where Richie is before they take off. 

Richie is with the bartender. She’s taken him to her parent’s country estate. It’s secluded and has toys. Just when things are getting interesting for poor Richie, the bartender reveals she’s really a demon, and she knows he’s a hunter. WHERPS. He tries attacking, but she snaps his neck in two seconds flat. Richie!

Later at the bar, Dean forgoes eating his burger to track down the missing Richie. Sam decides to follow Trotter. 

Bobby, meanwhile, is getting the Colt back into fighting shape. Ruby shows up and taunts him to test out the Colt. He does. The aim is true but the bullets aren’t right. She offers to help him with the gun. 

The brothers practice seriously dangerous cell phone usage (Seriously Sammy? You didn’t put it on silent? Seriously Dean? You’re driving while not hands free? UGH.) 

Dean’s back at the bar and a prostitute approaches him for a discounted good time. Dean doesn’t pay. (Or is that Sam? IDK, neither of them have to pay. Have you seen them!?) The bartender is back at work and saw the whole thing. It doesn’t deter her that Dean struck out with a prostitute and they head out for fun times elsewhere. 

Sam watches Dana Scully’s dad leave his office and heads in himself to investigate. Dana Scully’s Dad Trotter appears again and there’s a slight tussle before Sam realizes that he’s also not a demon. Sam awkwardly realizes his mistake and makes his exit. Sweet dumb boy. 

Dean, meanwhile, is heading down the same path as his dead buddy Richie. Dean’s no dummy though and sets up a devil’s trap. He pulls out his Latin book to exorcise her back to Hell. He doesn’t have it memorized yet and she starts up a demon wind machine. He loses the pages AND the basement door caves in. Worst Date Ever.

Later, Dean explores his new prison to the amusement of the demon trapped with him. She mocks him openly for not having an exorcism memorized. 

The demon taunts Dean expertly. Dean Bean’s offended at being labeled the dumb one and I am OFFENDED on his behalf! They wait to see whose rescue is going to arrive first - Dean’s or hers. 

Sam frets at the bar over his missing brother, and bribes the bartender for his whereabouts.

Meanwhile, Dean and the demon’s snarkfest marathon continues. She tells him that she didn’t even have to engage in mystical hijinks to send people in town into an evil tailspin. All she had to do was drop a few suggestions about the profit of vice to Trotter and humans took care of the rest. She describes humans as weak and corrupt. 

For Constantly Weak for Dean Winchester and SYMBOLISM Science:

Sam heads inside her (other) house and finds sulfur. The game is afoot!

Meanwhile, Dean and the demon enjoy a little philosophical exchange. “Do you believe in God, Dean?” she asks him while I chew my own arm off. She sets up the apocalyptic battle from the demon perspective. Humans have wrought carnage on their world, so it’s the demons’ turn to “do it right this time.” 

Sam’s back at the bar again, calling Bobby to report that he can’t find Dean. I guess the game is...not so afoot after all. The bartender offers him booze before downing a shot himself and, frustrated with the townsfolk, Sam zeroes in on the priest who’s still hanging out in the bar. 

Demon Casey tells Dean that she’s faithful to Lucifer, light-bringer and the one who will raise demons up. She’s a believer. Dean oh-so-casually asks what Hell is like and the BRAVADO masking the FEAR! Jensen Ackles, your face hurts me sometimes.

For HURTSSSSS MEEE Science:

She sees right through him. “It’s a pit of despair,” she tells him frankly. “Why do you think we want to come here?”

Sam, meanwhile, is involved in a terribly awkward discussion with the priest at the bar. He’s worried about his brother and thinks he might be…..in trouble. The priest offers to bring Sam to Casey. His eyes turn black as he turns away from Sam. 

The demon and Dean have settled into a friendly heart to heart at this point. She tells him that she actually likes him and thinks he did something good when he sold his soul to save Sam. 

Dean tries to laugh off her real talk. He thinks it’s freeing to be damned - he can live his life any way he wants now. He’s totally not scared at all. Not at all!!!

The demon riding the priest interrogates Sam, asking him about his aspirations for the future. Yeah! Why aren’t ya in college, Sam!

Dean and Demon Casey continue to bond, and the scene takes the tone of a couple kids just chilling in the basement talking about life. Which is...actually sort of accurate. 

Casey tells Dean that Yellow Eyes, a.k.a. Azazel, had a plan to bring the minions of Hell to Earth, but Dean killing him put a significant wrench in those plans. She tells him that Sam was supposed to lead the demon army. Uh. Wherps. Instead of Sam, there’s a power vacuum in Hell. Demons everywhere are fighting for the crown. “For the record,” she tells him, “I was ready to follow Sam.” And damn, if I don’t get the feeling that Dean likes her a little better because of that. 

Sam and his demon priest arrive. Dean issues a warning to Sam, but Sammy doesn’t have to worry because Bobby shows up with the Colt! Bobby hands off the gun to Sam, Ruby smirking in the background. The priest breaks into the basement and smashes through the devil’s trap holding Demon Casey in. They kiss while Dean looks on in surprise.

Surprise, Dean! They’ve been lovers for centuries! Casey begs the demon priest for Dean’s life and it gives just enough delay for Sam to shoot the priest with the Colt. The priest flashes out. Dean tries to stop Sam from killing Demon Casey but Sam shoots. She flashes out as well. Remember, kids, there’s no room for love on Supernatural unless it’s DOOMED LOVE. 

The next morning, Dean tries to figure out what they actually won from this hunt. There are two demons dead and one alive - and very bad - human. “Maybe these people wanna destroy themselves. Maybe it is a losing battle,” Dean opines to Bobby. He notes that Sam’s dispatch of both demons was “cold” and brings up Azazel’s words to him: When Sam came back, he might have come back different. They both agree (halfheartedly) that Sam is doing FINE and is definitely not at all concerning.

Sam and Ruby meet up in a hotel room. Sam’s suffering regrets and calls Ruby a “cold bitch.” She takes issue with this assessment, particularly since she’s saved his life a few times. I mean, knowing about Ruby aside, I fully agree here. Fun fact! The word “bitch” was used four times in this episode! Ruby continues to dangle the hope that she might be able to help save Dean from his deal. Sam levels the Colt at her.

Sam threatens to kill her, but it’s just empty words. Ruby warns him that the fight ahead won’t be easy, but she’ll be there by his side. A little “fallen angel” on his shoulder. (Shakes my head at this goddamn show.)

Where Everybody Knows Your Quotes:

Toys trump oils

A demon with a heart. Wow

You don't get it. All you got to do is nudge humans in the right direction

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[fictionadventurer]

Father Brown Reread: The Absence of Mr. Glass

The consulting-rooms of Dr Orion Hood, the eminent criminologist and specialist in certain moral disorders, lay along the sea-front at Scarborough, in a series of very large and well-lighted french windows, which showed the North Sea like one endless outer wall of blue-green marble.

I like how the first and second collections both start with a story focusing on a professional detective who’s not Father Brown.

True to form, we’ve got a color word in the first sentence. And not only that--a hypenated color word! You don’t get much more Chesterton than that.

Everything about him and his room indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home. Fate, being in a funny mood, pushed the door open and introduced into those long, strict, sea-flanked apartments one who was perhaps the most startling opposite of them and their master.

Highlighting this because “Fate, being in a funny mood” is a great phrase.

But also because I love when the stories contrast Father Brown’s clumsy, homely shabbiness with characters who look more distinguished and accomplished.

"My name is Brown. Pray excuse me. I've come about that business of the MacNabs. I have heard, you often help people out of such troubles. Pray excuse me if I am wrong."

It’s odd that Father Brown is consulting another detective on this. He doesn’t seem the sort to seek out other help. He usually just winds up on the scene of the crime by accident.

It seems like he should have the confidence to solve the mystery himself.

It seems like the more natural way to bring Hood into the story would be to have the girl approach Dr. Hood and Father Brown just to be at the house for priest reasons before figuring out the mystery.

But maybe Father Brown’s stumped from lack of evidence and doesn’t have the time for an investigation. (Actually paying attention to his priestly duties for once?)

After all, it’s only luck that the crisis that gives them an excuse to investigate the apartment happens two minutes later.

And of course, the whole point of the story is getting this Holmes detective to the same crime scene as Father Brown to contrast their methods, so it doesn’t much matter how he gets there.

And there is a lot of fun in seeing shabby little Father Brown in this professional detective’s immaculate study.

"Oh, this is of the greatest importance," broke in the little man called Brown. "Why, her mother won't let them get engaged." And he leaned back in his chair in radiant rationality.

It’s not a full-fledged Father Brown story unless the mystery is centered on a romance, is it?

A stock Chesterton exchange: foolish-looking character says simple, silly-sounding statement as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world, before being forced to elaborate by a confused listener.

This story gives us Father Brown at his most silly-seeming. Here he’s not just unassuming and sheltered; he seems like one of Chesterton’s holy fools. He hasn’t looked this simple-minded since “The Blue Cross”

"Mr Brown," he said gravely, "it is quite fourteen and a half years since I was personally asked to test a personal problem: then it was the case of an attempt to poison the French President at a Lord Mayor's Banquet.  It is now, I understand, a question of whether some friend of yours called Maggie is a suitable fiancee for some friend of hers called Todhunter.  Well, Mr Brown, I am a sportsman. I will take it on.  I will give the MacNab family my best advice, as good as I gave the French Republic and the King of England--no, better: fourteen years better.  I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Tell me your story."

Sure, he’s a condescending ass, but I can’t help liking this guy. He’s got a good heart and a good sense of humor.

I kind of wish he’d have showed up in at least one or two other stories (preferably with a better end than Valentine).

The little clergyman called Brown thanked him with unquestionable warmth, but still with a queer kind of simplicity. It was rather as if he were thanking a stranger in a smoking-room for some trouble in passing the matches, than as if he were (as he was) practically thanking the Curator of Kew Gardens for coming with him into a field to find a four-leaved clover.

I like this metaphor very much.

Brown is still very, very much the simple little curate of “The Blue Cross”. But with the bumpkin traits turned up to eleven.

I’m very curious about Dr. Hood’s past cases, and how he achieved such renown.

"I told you my name was Brown; well, that's the fact, and I'm the priest of the little Catholic Church I dare say you've seen beyond those straggly streets, where the town ends towards the north.

Yet another parish! How many is this? This seems like the most distant, rural parish that Father Brown has yet had.

And Father Brown’s actually doing some work at it!

He seems to have quite a pocketful of money, but nobody knows what his trade is.  Mrs MacNab, therefore (being of a pessimistic turn), is quite sure it is something dreadful, and probably connected with dynamite. The dynamite must be of a shy and noiseless sort, for the poor fellow only shuts himself up for several hours of the day and studies something behind a locked door.  He declares his privacy is temporary and justified, and promises to explain before the wedding.  

Doesn’t the landlady have a key to the door of her own lodger? Can’t she just demand to look?

British people, I tell you.

Unless the daughter is preventing her from looking, out of respect for her beloved.

And, you know, he does promise to explain, so it’d be rude to just barge in.

So why bother consulting the great detective in the first place? If Todhunter’s really on the up-and-up, he’ll explain eventually, they’ll get engaged, and all will be well.

he is tirelessly kind with the younger children, and can keep them amused for a day on end

Given Todhunter’s chosen profession, this makes perfect sense.

You see, therefore, how this sealed door of Todhunter's is treated as the gate of all the fancies and monstrosities of the 'Thousand and One Nights'.

Another Father Brown mystery built upon a fairy tale atmosphere.

To the scientific eye all human history is a series of collective movements, destructions or migrations, like the massacre of flies in winter or the return of birds in spring. Now the root fact in all history is Race. Race produces religion; Race produces legal and ethical wars. There is no stronger case than that of the wild, unworldly and perishing stock which we commonly call the Celts, of whom your friends the MacNabs are specimens. Small, swarthy, and of this dreamy and drifting blood, they accept easily the superstitious explanation of any incidents, just as they still accept (you will excuse me for saying) that superstitious explanation of all incidents which you and your Church represent.

A lot of the most racist characters in Chesterton are the most educated, scientific and progressive.

Granted, Chesterton does a lot of stereotyping along national lines himself. But usually it’s not with the idea that these differences are bad things. And certainly not with the idea that race is the cause of all war.

the door opened on a young girl, decently dressed but disordered and red-hot with haste. She had sea-blown blonde hair,

Is this the first blonde female love interest in these stories?

They were quarrelling—about money, I think—for I heard James say again and again, 'That's right, Mr Glass,' or 'No, Mr Glass,' and then, 'Two or three, Mr Glass.'

Given the eventual explanation of what’s really happening here, wouldn’t she have heard some other noises (possibly crashing noises?) alongside this?

"I do not think this young lady is so Celtic as I had supposed. As I have nothing else to do, I will put on my hat and stroll down town with you."

Wow, you were really just going to disbelieve her because of her nationality, weren’t you?

Playing-cards lay littered across the table or fluttered about the floor as if a game had been interrupted. Two wine glasses stood ready for wine on a side-table, but a third lay smashed in a star of crystal upon the carpet. A few feet from it lay what looked like a long knife or short sword, straight, but with an ornamental and pictured handle, its dull blade just caught a grey glint from the dreary window behind, which showed the black trees against the leaden level of the sea. Towards the opposite corner of the room was rolled a gentleman's silk top hat, as if it had just been knocked off his head; so much so, indeed, that one almost looked to see it still rolling. And in the corner behind it, thrown like a sack of potatoes, but corded like a railway trunk, lay Mr James Todhunter, with a scarf across his mouth, and six or seven ropes knotted round his elbows and ankles. His brown eyes were alive and shifted alertly.

The clues are laid out very nicely here.

This is one of the most Romantic (in the literary sense of the term) crime scenes in all of fiction. Every clue is as picturesque as possible.

"How to explain the absence of Mr Glass and the presence of Mr Glass's hat? For Mr Glass is not a careless man with his clothes. That hat is of a stylish shape and systematically brushed and burnished, though not very new. An old dandy, I should think." "But, good heavens!" called out Miss MacNab, "aren't you going to untie the man first?"

This entire segment is so funny. I laugh every time one of his long-winded deductions is interrupted by the common-sense demand to untie the man.

Now, surely it is obvious that there are the three chief marks of the kind of man who is blackmailed. And surely it is equally obvious that the faded finery, the profligate habits, and the shrill irritation of Mr Glass are the unmistakable marks of the kind of man who blackmails him. We have the two typical figures of a tragedy of hush money:

So much of the Holmesian deduction process relies on stereotypes, doesn’t it? Sure, Holmes doesn’t label people in “types” quite this way, but it relies on using the evidence to reach the most stereotypical conclusion without factoring in the random possibilities of life. (The suspect might have ink on his hands, but it doesn’t mean he’s a clerk). It’s fun that this story calls out that conceit.

"No; I think these ropes will do very well till your friends the police bring the handcuffs."

Okay, so there’s a sensible explanation for why Hood ignores their cries to untie Todhunter. But it doesn’t make the previous exchanges any less funny to read.

"But the ropes?" inquired the priest, whose eyes had remained open with a rather vacant admiration.

It’s interesting that Father Brown’s actually buying into this. My memory had him being more skeptical of the deductions, but he’s admiring the chain of logic being built here.

It’s kind of a nice change from the usual Chesterton tack of the mouthpiece character disdaining every scientific explanation.

It was not the blank curiosity of his first innocence. It was rather that creative curiosity which comes when a man has the beginnings of an idea. "Say it again, please," he said in a simple, bothered manner; "do you mean that Todhunter can tie himself up all alone and untie himself all alone?" "That is what I mean," said the doctor. "Jerusalem!" ejaculated Brown suddenly, "I wonder if it could possibly be that!"

And we’re off! I always love the moment when Father Brown puts everything together, and it’s especially satisfying here, after he’s spent the whole story sitting back and letting another man do all the detective work.

"His eyes do look queer," cried the young woman, strongly moved. "You brutes; I believe it's hurting him!" "Not that, I think," said Dr Hood; "the eyes have certainly a singular expression. But I should interpret those transverse wrinkles as expressing rather such slight psychological abnormality—" "Oh, bosh!" cried Father Brown: "can't you see he's laughing?"

Each sentence gives a vivid picture of the three different personalities here. The tender-hearted young woman. The too-practical man of science. And the brash common sense of Father Brown.

He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another with what seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting into an equally vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those who had to watch it.

Irritating to watch, I’m sure, but very amusing to imagine.

"But a hatter," protested Hood, "can get money out of his stock of new hats. What could Todhunter get out of this one old hat?" "Rabbits," replied Father Brown promptly.

I love the hat conversation and these lines in particular.

He was also practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the Davenport Brothers

According to Wikipedia, the Davenport Brothers were an American magician act that toured England in the 1860s. They built on the Spiritualism craze and claimed all their tricks were done by spirit power. There isn’t much about what their tricks wer, (besides a couple of escape tricks and spirit cabinet things). Most of the Wikipedia article is about the many times their tricks were debunked. (Naturally, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle refused to believe they were frauds).

But the mere fact of an idler in a top hat having once looked in at his back window, and been driven away by him with great indignation, was enough to set us all on a wrong track of romance, and make us imagine his whole life overshadowed by the silk-hatted spectre of Mr Glass."

This isn’t so much a debunking of the Holmesian deduction methods as a case study proving why logical deductions have to be built upon sound premises. One mistake at the beginning can send you in a completely false direction.

"You are certainly a very ingenious person," he said; "it could not have been done better in a book.

I love when the characters get meta.

This is a very snide remark in context, but of course Father Brown proves himself.

Mr Brown broke into a rather childish giggle. "Well, that," he said, "that's the silliest part of the whole silly story. When our juggling friend here threw up the three glasses in turn, he counted them aloud as he caught them, and also commented aloud when he failed to catch them. What he really said was: 'One, two and three—missed a glass one, two—missed a glass.' And so on."

I can’t explain how deeply I love that the entire mystery is built on a pun. This one section is the reason this is one of my favorite Father Brown stories.

This drives home the idea that mysteries and jokes are the same types of story. They both require laying out information that’s put together into a surprising conclusion.

There was a second of stillness in the room, and then everyone with one accord burst out laughing.  As they did so the figure in the corner complacently uncoiled all the ropes and let them fall with a flourish.  Then, advancing into the middle of the room with a bow, he produced from his pocket a big bill printed in blue and red, which announced that ZALADIN, the World's Greatest Conjurer, Contortionist, Ventriloquist and Human Kangaroo would be ready with an entirely new series of Tricks at the Empire Pavilion, Scarborough, on Monday next at eight o'clock precisely.

I grew up on cheesy sitcoms. I’m a sucker for the “everyone laughs” ending.

If Todhunter’s willing to admit the truth here, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble by just admitting the truth right away. (I don’t buy the “he keeps it secret to keep his tricks secret” explanation. You can tell people you’d a magician without giving away everything about your act).

Does Mrs. MacNab let them get married? Now she knows he has a harmless vocation, but it’s not exactly a stable one. Would she let her daughter marry a guy so flighty that he can’t even settle on a coherent focus for his own stage show?

Given that the story ends here, we’re supposed to assume that she does. I guess he must be a successful performer--part of her mistrust came from the fact that he had too much money. So he and Maggie should have a comfortable life together.

I’m glad. He seems like a nice young man.

[danaduchy]

NPCs about Seeds

Full script of Far Cry 5 (except cutscenes)

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

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

John

Resistance

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

Peggies

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

Joseph

Resistance

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

Peggies

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

Jacob

Resistance

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

Peggies

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

Pratt

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

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 10

<- Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 ->

Summary: It’s your wedding day. Things are... great. 

Thank you @sexy-opium-ravioli​ for helping beta! This is an important chapter, so I hope it scans! 

Everything feels numb. There is a veil draped between you and the world, even before someone—your mother, perhaps—drapes a veil of gossamer over your face. It’s fitting. You sit behind it and pretend you are not there as the world moves you.

Someone fusses with your hair. Someone dresses you in a gown. Someone takes your arm and you are inside a church. Someone puts a plate in front of you, a rich meal of savory meat that tickles your nostrils—the kind of meal you should expect with a wealthy husband (as wealthy as this small village can offer). But you don’t eat.

It’s funny. You had worried about starving if you ran away with your monster, but now you have food and can’t eat anything.

Where was he at this moment? Far away, you suppose. You broke his heart and betrayed him. You’re marrying a man you despise because you were too afraid to go with him. He always did try to push you away whenever his feelings were too raw—to claim you were better off without him—so you know exactly what he did. He left without you, thinking it was what you wanted.

Or maybe he is close—he loves you too fiercely to just leave, doesn’t he? He might be watching the proceedings from some secret hiding place, weeping and raging, unable to do anything to stop it. It’s not as though he could claim you as his rightful wife. He can never show his face to the world without putting himself in danger; he can’t protect you from the realities of life. He can’t undo your choices.

Then again, he had also told you he was afraid of the evil he was capable of in the absence of love. You spurned him, and threw him back into a loveless world, where all he will ever know is rejection and isolation. Seeing you, who had promised yourself to him, start a family with another could be enough to push him over the edge. You had seen flashes of his anger before, his fits of passion. If Ferdinand had gone though such lengths to reclaim you after you left him, and he is a mere mortal, what is the daemon capable of?

He would never hurt you, you’re sure of that. Or you were sure. You never betrayed him before. What if he hates you, and that hate turns into vengeance? If he burns Ferdinand’s house down with you inside, that might be the most satisfactory ending left to you now. It would be favorable to living as Ferdinand’s wife for the next twenty years, unless you could manage to die in childbirth sooner.

Your mind drifts to that deep and rapid river, flooded with icy spring snow-melt, and you wonder how much trouble everyone would have been spared if the creature had never pulled you from its deathly current. At the bottom of that black stream, you imagine the sheer layers of your gown floating gently above your head, surrounded by bubbles, and the veil pulling off your crown and washing away into the turbid dark. A kind of peace settles over you. You think of nothing else for a long time.

 **********

 The organ plays a funeral march as your father drags you down the aisle, and you find yourself, through no will of your own, standing before an altar with vows being read to you and practically no memory of how you came to be there.

You feel sick.

Perhaps if you throw up on your husband’s shoes it will be some small rebellious victory. You feel your face want to smirk at that, instinctively. It’s what your cheeks would normally do. Yet your facial muscles remain slack and lifeless.

A sea of uncaring faces watch with curiosity from the long wooden pews, with a faded red carpet dividing them in two. Neighbors turn to whisper in each other’s ears with a frown or a smirk half-hidden behind a hand. They all came to watch. None of them had spoken to you in years, but they came for the show.

As the priest makes his pronouncements, your mind swirls with a torrent of self-reproaches. Why didn’t you fight while there was still a chance? You could have screamed and struggled until your parents had no choice but to let you go. Until Ferdinand realized you weren’t worth the trouble. You could have tied your sheets together and sneaked out the window before dawn—the storm had stopped by then.

It’s too late, you gutless fool. You can’t make a scene in front of all these people.

“If anyone knows a reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Someone save me, you silently pray, but the large wooden cross looming above the altar seems to be on their side. Your eyes dart across the indifferent faces of the guests, desperately hoping for a savior, but they were only spectators. They know you’re being forced into this, and they’re complicit. Not that you had fought it either.

Not that you had fought it. The realization breaks upon you like an avalanche in spring. How could you expect someone else to save you when you would do nothing to save yourself from this fate? When you turned down your own best chance of escape because you were afraid? Now it was too late. There was no way out anymore.

Your stomach turns, and a sob breaks through the numbness that had swallowed you. Even through the veil, there was no hiding your tears, or your wail of abject sorrow.

The crowd gasps in unison, but not at you. At that same moment, the heavy double doors of the chapel burst open, banging against the walls in an explosion of splinters and a shattering roar: “I object!”

Standing beside you with a clear view down the center of the aisle, your mother makes a sign of the cross over her chest and points into the doorway, now filled by a massive silhouette. “The demon!”

A wave of reaction spreads through the crowd like the churning of a river around a large rock as the witnesses scream and push each other trying to get away from the enraged monster, flooding toward the back of the church and pressing themselves against the far walls.

He stands glowering in the doorway, eight feet tall and filling the entire entrance that he has to stoop to get inside. His arms spread wide from throwing open the doors make him appear even larger—inescapable. Silhouetted in the light streaming behind him from outside, his face is a vicious mask of cruelty and stark shadows.

Your heart stops beating, or races so quickly that you can’t distinguish one beat from the next, and you feel the blood running from your face. He—he came. He’s here. How can he be here? He can’t be here! Not like this. There was a chance you could have introduced him little by little to people you trusted, like Bess, if she hadn’t walked in with such poor timing. She might have understood. But this? He is poisoning himself to them forever. Why? Has he come to rescue you… or to take revenge?

“It is I—the Serpent,” he snarls in a voice that booms and resonates through the arched ceiling. You haven’t heard this voice since the day you encountered him in the forest and he tried to scare you away. “He who reigns among of the Legions of Pandemonium, sprung from the Deep, through the gates of Hell lays claim upon this woman. All the Seraphim of heaven shall not keep me from my prize!” He raises himself to his full height, scattering guests left and right with his sheer enormity and the terror of his presence. Your mouth goes dry as you suddenly become aware of how much he hunches over when he’s with you to make himself less intimidating. You’ve never seen him like his—his teeth bared and his long black hair whipping around him. The gentle creature who milked your cows and waited patiently for you in the dusty hayloft was gone. A cold shiver runs down your spine.

The demon snaps his huge white jaws at the crowd like a feral beast, lashing out at one side of the aisle and the other as he stalks up the faded strip of carpet. Each crashing footfall shakes the whole floor under your feet and sends dust streaming down from the rafters. With each threatening lunge, fresh screams of panic erupt from the congregants still frozen in their seats, and those fleeing toward the rear of the church now creep along the walls toward the front as he moves away from the broken doors. A trickle of congregants risk sneaking out the doors behind him, and when the first brave group manages to run to freedom without the monster whipping about and killing them, more flood out the doors in a turbulent stream of pushing and screaming.

What is he doing? You spent so much time and care hiding him, and now he’s in the middle of the village, exposed in full view, deliberately calling attention to himself. It’s as if everything you strived for together doesn’t even matter. Is he trying to get himself killed? Does he not even care anymore?

“Your God cannot help you now,” he thunders as he approaches the small wedding party at the altar. “I am the Prince of Darkness, the Morning Star, and a curse be upon any soul who stands in my way!” Your mother takes a quick step backward, then drops to the ground with a thud. Your father turns and runs, abandoning her.

No one is trying to stop him. They’re too terrified. You rip off your gossamer veil and look around the church—those who are not mobbing the exits are fainted or quivering in shock.

Everything you strived for doesn’t matter. All that hiding and pretending didn’t work—if you stay on that road, it leads to you marrying Ferdinand and living the rest of your life in a cold fog waiting to die. It’s time to try something different.

This.

All cards on the table. Winner takes all.

He towers over the trembling priest, and pronounces with a warning glare, “I claim this woman for my wife! No mortal shall touch her; no contract under God may bind her—her soul belongs to me!”

His eyes flit down to you and he stutters in his fierce tirade. Your wedding dress is new—a modestly expensive modern gown purchased by the groom to show off his assets. A taffeta robe the color of summer is pulled back to reveal a bright white petticoat underneath, and a neckline plunging almost scandalously low shows off more of your cleavage than he is used to seeing. His pale cheeks redden at your beauty, and for a moment he looks so much like an infatuated school boy it nearly gives away his act. To you it does, at least. At that moment, you’re certain what his intentions are, and the relief at those loving eyes you thought you would never see again makes your vision swim with tears.

He drops to one knee, sweeping his cloak out behind him, and holds a hand out to you. “Take my hand, and be my bride,” he commands in a booming voice, then adds, softly, earnestly, locking his eyes with yours, “If you will have me.”

You smile and cover your mouth, a warm feeling fluttering through your stomach.

You take his hand.

“I knew it,” growls a voice behind you. “I knew I did not imagine you, fiend! And you,” he shoves aside the preacher, still a trembling mass of robes, so he can grab the hand raised to your mouth roughly by the wrist and pull you back toward him. “I knew you were a whore! I’ll teach you to know your place!”

“Let me go!” you scream and try to twist away toward the creature, but Ferdinand holds on with bruising force. You cry out in pain.

The creature roars in outrage and snatches Ferdinand’s wrist just below where it grips yours. There is a sound of snapping bone as his hand goes limp and releases you, and the giant being of immense strength pulls the smaller man’s arm upward until he hangs off the ground like a limp rag doll. You pivot and join the creature at his side, interlacing your fingers with his.

“Her place is where she chooses. No one shall force her hand so long as I will live,” the creature snarls in the boy’s face, gnashing his dripping teeth. “You should have begged to be worthy for her to choose you.”

A slow, unhinged laugh shakes Ferdinand’s dangling form. “Choice?” he cackles, “She would choose to leave me? For this thing?! Then it is fortunate you have no choice, you filthy sow!” He lashes out with his feet, but the creature whips him away, a symphony of popping joints and screams following, until he hangs limp and defeated again.

“Yes, I do,” you growl. “I always have; you just didn’t want me to see it. But I see it now, and you can never have me.”

“Would you like me to rend him limb from limb?”

“No,” you reply coldly. “He isn’t worth the mess.”

“Disgusting wench!” Ferdinand coughs, wriggling impotently like a marionette on the end of a string. He’s at least learned not to kick. “Your defile yourself in the eyes of God!”

“If God wants me to be with the likes of you, then consider me happily defiled,” you sneer. You’re feeling downright brazen now at seeing your oppressors so weak and helpless—how pathetic they really are. You have every right to be with the one you love, with the one who makes you happy. “There is nothing wrong or immoral about what we have.”

Ferdinand’s eyes spark with rage. “So you admit it, then. All along you’ve made a cuckold of me. You were mine! Corrupting devil,” he spits, “She was the perfect woman when I chose her for my own—meek and biddable—there was no competition for her hand due to her social defects, but I could have tamed those peculiarities in short order. Instead you made her stubborn and willful. I will not forgive you for making her your whore, beast!” His free hand reaches into the lining of his waistcoat, and he pulls out a dueling pistol. “This time my aim will be straight for your heart—die, vile adversary!”

You see him raise the gun to the creature’s chest, and you don’t think. You slam your full body weight against his arm, pushing it out to the side as he pulls the trigger. A shower of sparks erupts from the muzzle with a loud bang, and a lead round embeds itself in the chapel wall. Burning black powder makes you cough. The creature grabs the gun from Ferdinand’s hand and crushes the barrel with a single squeeze, then tosses it and Ferdinand away like so much garbage.

Ferdinand crashes into the altar, candles toppling down over him in a heap.

“Bitch! You bitch!” Ferdinand shouts disparaging swears from his position on the floor. It’s more than the impotent rage of defeat. He pulls the second dueling pistol of the set from the other side of his waistcoat—he was paranoid enough to be wed with two loaded weapons strapped to him—more shrewd than paranoid, considering the outcome. He takes aim at you this time.

He had struck the creature while both were sprinting through the undergrowth of the forest—he was a good shot. At only a few meters distance, he is unlikely to miss. The blood freezes in your veins and time seems to stand still as you watch his finger slowly depress the trigger, millimeter by millimeter. This is what you had been terrified of for the past months, why you had so feared discovery. You squeeze the creature’s fingers, still locked in yours, and you smile. You smile like it’s the last time you will ever get the chance to, because you’re afraid to die.

The flint snaps down onto the flashpan and tiny golden sparks spray out from the top of the pistol. The spark reaches the barrel, but carelessly loaded and ill-maintained, the ball does not fire, but the barrel explodes in his hand, sending shrapnel whizzing past your head and setting the cloth of the altar ablaze. He shrieks in agony, dropping the wreckage of the gun from his mangled and bleeding hand.

The creature pulls you to him in a protective embrace as time starts moving again.

“Goodbye, Ferdinand,” you say through your teeth. “If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you.” Eyes wide with terror and pain, Ferdinand scrambles away from the spreading flames.

You leap into the creature’s arms, a grin spreading from ear to ear as he holds you in a bridal carry. He smiles back triumphantly, chest heaving from adrenaline. You don’t know how this happened, how everything turned upside down so suddenly, but you’re ready now. You already felt the cold jaws of a living death closing around you, and as the fire begins to spread out from the altar, you feel alive again—truly alive, for perhaps the first time in your life.

The growing fire spurs a rapid call to activity—swooning parishioners startle awake at the smell of smoke, and shake their stunned companions out of their trances. The priest, to his credit, kneels beside your mother and lifts her to her feet. She gives one last bleary-eyed look of confusion at you with your bright wedding gown streaming down from the dark-haired monster’s arms before the priest guides her out a side door.

You clasp your arms around the back of the creature’s neck. His smile has faded to a faraway sort of sadness. “I never meant to hurt you, I just… panicked,” you explain quietly. “I was so afraid of dying with you, but I realized just now, there are worse things. When I resigned to marrying him, I kept thinking of the merciful ways my life might be cut short so I wouldn’t have to grow old in his house. I was afraid of living. You make me afraid to die.” He carefully wipes a tear from the corner of your eye with a calloused thumb. “Can you forgive me for being such a coward?”

“Of course I do. I only wanted to give you a choice. You could have renounced me, and then all would know you were innocent. That none of it was your fault. So disrupted, the ceremony would at least be postponed, and if you cast out the demon, perhaps they would not force you into marriage.”

“That… that was really your plan?” You hadn’t considered for a moment the possibility of turning against him.

“I was hoping you would choose me,” he shrugs sheepishly. “What is your choice, my angel? Do you wish to leave with me?” His question is uncertain and soft and familiar now that you’re alone. You lift a hand to his cheek, and he turns his face to nuzzle into your palm.

“I do!”

Your sweet daemon leans his head down and kisses you before the burning altar. As the church begins to fill with the dry smoke of ancient timber, the creature hefts you in his arms, hugging you closer, and carries you down the aisle.

[scorpio-skies]

OC as a Companion Meme!

NAME: Nora Hart

FOUND: Near Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, fighting raiders at the church. 

COMPANION PERK: The Bear Necessities - Acquire Honey the yao guai as an extra companion.  

ROMANCEABLE:  Yes 

(I was tagged for this a very long time ago, but always wanted to do it! Tagging: @eluvisen​ @mrninjapineapple​ @ariejul​ @sociallyacceptablemadness​ @lothrilzul​ @slothssassin​ @mars-colony​ @lookbluesoup​ @tarberrymentats​ @leporidaefluff​ @charomiami​ @beckiboos​ and anybody who’d like to do it! If you’ve done it before feel free to rb your original unless you wanna make another for a diff OC >:3c but no pressure at all!)

 WEAPON OF CHOICE: 

Lucky (.357 magnum revolver from FNV ;p)

Combat rifle

 I THINK WE SHOULD TRAVEL TOGETHER:

“Then let’s hit the road!” 

“Time for another adventure? Count me in!”

“You can count on me, boss!” 

“Let’s get going, then!”

“The road’s a-calling.” 

“Sounds like fun!” 

(Romanced) “Good! I was hoping for some quality time with you.”

(Romanced) “I’d follow you anywhere, love. Lead on.”

 USE MELEE:

“This is too close for comfort!” 

“Let’s hit ‘em hard and fast!” 

“Just go down already!” 

“It’s about to get messy!”

 USE RANGED:

“I’ve got your back!” 

“They won’t get past me.” 

“Nothing like a long-distance relationship!” 

“Got it!”

 OPEN INVENTORY:

“That’ll be twenty-caps. Just kidding!” 

“What do you need?” 

“Here’s what I’ve got!” 

“Sure thing -- just don’t mess up my pack.”

(Romanced) “Oh? Did you get me something nice?”

 IF OVERENCUMBERED:

“See, this is why caravans have carts and brahmin.” 

“Shame Honey isn’t here to carry that for us… / Why don’t you see if Honey’ll carry it for ya?” 

“I mean, I love junk as much as the next gal but... don’t you think you’re overdoing it?” 

“Let me carry some of that for you.” 

“You’re gonna hurt your back like that!” 

“Your pack’s gonna pop…”

 STAY CLOSE:

“I’m with you.” 

“Right beside you.” 

“I’m here.”

 KEEP DISTANCE:

“Gotcha.” 

“You got it.”

"Sure."

STEALTH:

"The sneaky way, huh?" 

"Like shadows." 

"Alright, let's go quietly." 

"They won't know what hit em." 

 BACKUP:

“Oh! Sorry."

"I'll give you some space." 

“Sorry -- don’t mean to be stepping on your toes!”

BE PASSIVE:

“Always worth negotiating!” 

“I definitely prefer talking to violence.” 

“Sounds good to me, boss. I’d prefer not to shoot if I don’t have to.” 

“Turn on the charm!” 

“You’re quite the people person.” 

“You’re a real charmer, ain’t ya?” 

(Romanced) “That’s my hero!”

 BE AGGRESSIVE:

“Just say the word, boss.” 

“I’m ready.” 

“Guess it’s too late to ask them nicely?” 

“Alright. Let’s bring the mayhem.”

“Well, if we can’t talk them down…”

 USE STIMPAK:

“Ow… thanks, boss.” 

“Ugh, needles… remind me not to get shot again.” 

“Phew that’s better.” 

“Thanks -- I’m good.”

“Back to it!”

WAIT HERE:

“Don’t go too far, okay?” 

“Alright. Hurry back before I get too bored though, yeah?” 

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

FOLLOW ME:

“Welcome back, boss!” 

“Alright, let’s get back to it!” 

“Lead on, boss. I’m with you.” 

“Glad to have you back.”

LOVER’S EMBRACE: 

“That was a good roll in the hay…” 

“Jackpot!” 

“Now that’s what I call a rodeo...”

“Morning beautiful/handsome!” 

“Could stay all day in bed with you…” 

“I love you. I want you to know that.” 

 DISMISSED:

“Well, you know where I’ll be.” 

“Alright then. Take care of yourself, boss. You know where to find me.” 

“Okay then. I’ll tell Kammie and Honey you said hi.” 

“Alright -- you be careful, though. You hear me?” 

“Time to head home then -- come and see us soon, yeah?” 

(Romanced) “If that’s what you want, just… come home safe to me, alright? I’ll be waiting for you.”

 ENEMIES (LONG RANGE)

“Today is not your lucky day!”

“You’re gonna regret this!” 

“Shouldn’t pick fights ya can’t finish!”

“Hope you’ve made your peace!”

(Raiders) “You’re not gotta loot us!”

(Raiders) “You’re not hurting anybody else!” 

(Raiders) “Time to answer for your crimes!” 

(Gunners) “Let’s teach these thugs how to shoot!” 

(Gunners) “I ain’t losing to the likes of you!” 

(Gunners) “Hope those caps were worth your life!”

(Insects) “Ugh. These things creep me out!”

(Insects) “Buzz off!” 

(Synths/Robots) “I’m gonna sell you for scrap!”

(Synths/Robots) “Time to shut you down permanently!”

(Super mutants) “Why are they always so big and angry?”

(Super mutants) “We’re not on the menu!” 

(Super mutants) “I’m not going in some meat bag!”

(Behemoth/Mirelurk Queen) “Holy shit!” 

(Behemoth/Mirelurk Queen) “The bigger they are, the harder they’ll fall!”

(Feral ghouls) “These things creep me out.”

(Feral ghouls) “Boss! Ferals!” 

(Deathclaw) “Deathclaw! Run!” 

(Deathclaw) “Deathclaw! Look out!” 

(Yao Guai) “Don’t tell Honey!” 

(Yao Guai) “I’m sorry bear!” 

(Dogs/Radstags/Brahmiluff) “God I hate having to do that.” 

(Dogs/Radstags/Brahmiluff/mole rats) “I’m sorry -- you left me no choice.”

(Critical Kill) “WOO! Nice shot!”

(Critical Kill) “Lucky hit!”

ENEMIES (CLOSE RANGE)

“Bring it!” 

“Let’s dance!” 

“Look out!” 

“They’re on us!”

(Insects) “Ugh -- I hate these things!”

(Insects) “Disgusting!” 

(Insects) “You’re really starting to bug me!”

(Synths/Robots) “Where’s the off switch?”

(Children of Atom) “Hope you said your prayers!”

(Super mutants) “Wow, you’re a big fella.” 

(Super mutants) “What do these guys eat? No -- don’t answer that.”

(Super mutants) “I am not a snack!”

(Feral ghouls) “Get away from me!” 

(Feral ghouls) “Shit!”

(Feral ghouls) “Way too close!”

(Mirelurks) “These guys sure are crabby!”

 WHEN ENTERING:

GOODNEIGHBOR

“Well, this looks like a good place to get mugged.” 

“Ah, Goodneighbor. Crime capital of the Commonwealth -- watch your back here, boss.” 

“Yeah, Goodneighbor has walls but it’s got plenty of cut-throats within them. We’ll need to watch our backs. Also our caps.” 

“Oh, boss. You always take me to the ‘nicest’ places.” 

“Is everyone’s staring at us, or is that just me?”

 DIAMOND CITY

“So, this is the great green jewel of the Commonwealth… I’ll have to get Kammie a souvenir.”

“Hey -- mind if we stop by the market? I wanna see if I can wrangle us some deals.”

“Noodles? Served by a robot? Kammie is not gonna believe this...”

“Do you think these people ever get tired of looking at the walls?” 

“So this is the infamous Dugout… You hear a lot about this place in the caravans. Home of Bobrov’s Best! Fancy getting a bottle?”

 BUNKER HILL

“These guys are miserly, even by trader standards. If you need anything, let me do the haggling, yeah?” 

“Bunker Hill’s a popular stop for caravans. Me and Kammie were planning on stopping here, but I’m not sure they’d let Honey through the gate…”

“I’ve been here before, you know. But it was a long time ago.”

 BOSTON AIRPORT

“Do you really think those wrecks could fly? I can’t even imagine what that’d be like…” 

“If we could still fly like that… think of all of the places we could see.”

(After Reveille has triggered) “Wow… Just look at that airship!”

(After Reveille has triggered) “Looks like the Brotherhood mean business. Maybe we should move on?”

(After Reveille has triggered) “I don’t really wanna tangle with the Brotherhood, boss. They’re bad for business.”

 THE PRYDWEN

“Wow -- just look at that view!”

“This ship is amazing -- and look at all the power armour!”

“Hey, do you think they’ll sell me a suit if I ask nicely?”

 THE CASTLE

“The Castle must have been a sight to see when the Minutemen were in charge. Shame about the current tenants...”

(After Castle is restored) “It’s great to see the Castle back in Minutemen hands!”

(After Castle is restored) “The Minutemen have done a great job fixing the Castle up again!.”

(After Castle is restored) “I bet the sunrise is something to see from those walls...” 

(After Castle is restored) “Me and Kammie were talking about whether we should join the Minutemen or not… do you think they accept bears?”

 QUINCY

(Before clearing Quincy) “I heard about what the Gunners did to Quincy… nothing but a bunch of murderers.” 

(Before clearing Quincy) “Look at what they did here… The Gunners are no better than raiders.”

(After clearing Quincy) “I really hope Quincy can rebuild and recover someday.” 

 THE GLOWING SEA

“So… which of us will turn ghoul first?” 

“Is there a way to turn the Geiger counter off? It keeps reminding me we’re dying and I don’t like it.” 

“This place… it’s like we’re in a nightmare.” 

“I keep seeing things moving in the fog…” 

“Do you think they really knew what they were doing when they dropped the bombs?”

“We’ll have to drink a few pints of radaway after this…”

 CONCORD

“That vertibird makes an interesting installation...”

 LEXINGTON

“I heard Lexington is overrun with ferals… are you sure we can’t go around?” 

“I feel like there’s something around every corner...”

“Why can’t the ferals just eat the raiders?”

 SALEM

“This place belongs in a horror comic.”

(Devil’s Due) “I don’t like the sound of that...” 

(Return egg to the deathclaw) “I’m proud of you, boss. Those deathclaws deserved better… now, let’s back away nice and slow and leave them to it, yeah?”

 LYNN WOODS

“Those claw marks on the rock… Deathclaw territory. Stay alert.”

“Try not to make too much noise. If a deathclaw comes after us, I don’t know if we can stop it.”

 NAHANT

“Keep an eye out. There’s a floating raider fortress nearby.”

“Caravans have disappeared around here, and the survivor stories...? They’re not good.” 

“I don’t think we’ll find anything other than crabs and scrap around here.”

“I hope there’s no big mirelurks around…” 

“What kind of maniac wants to live out by the sea, anyway? You don’t know what’s out there!”

 CAMBRIDGE

“That police station’s well fortified -- here’s hoping they’re friendly.” 

“Why is this place so quiet…? I don’t like it.” 

“I thought raiders had taken over the place… not that I’m complaining.” 

“Oh. Ghouls. God I wish it was raiders.”

 SANCTUARY

“So this is your old home, huh?” 

“We should set up a supply line between here and Sunshine! We can help each other out.” 

“This is quite a nice place!” 

 SUNSHINE TIDING’S CO-OP 

“Home sweet home!” 

“You think we can stop by for some of Kamal’s lasagne?” 

“I’ll check in on the animals while we’re here.” 

(when greeted by Honey) “Hey there, Honey bear! How’re you today?” 

“I’m gonna go check on Kammie.”

“Home is where you keep your bear!”

 AGGRESSION: not aggressive/aggressive/very aggressive/frenzied

CONFIDENCE: cowardly/cautious/average/brave/foolhardy

ASSISTANCE: helps nobody/helps allies/helps friends and allies

 LOSE AS COMPANION PERMANENTLY:

Too many dislikes

Siding with the Institute 

Choosing Institute option in personal quest 

Destroying the Railroad

Selling Billy to slavers in Kid in a Fridge

Killing Kent Connolly in The Silver Shroud

Siding with Covenant

Destroying Acadia 

Destroying Far Harbor 

Siding with the Nuka-World raiders

Raiding the Commonwealth for Nuka-World 

Bringing X6-88 near (will turn Nora, Honey and Kamal hostile) 

Attacking Honey or Kamal 

Killing Phyllis Daily 

Killing Paladin Danse in Blind Betrayal

Killing Jules in the random synth encounter

 PERSONAL MISSION: Override 

Nora can be found fighting raiders at the church near Sunshine Tidings Co-op with Kamal and Honey. After the player helps them dispatch the raiders, they introduce themselves as traders seeking a safe place to set up their business. If the player has unlocked Sunshine as a settlement, they can send them there. This unlocks Nora as a companion, and Kamal as a trader. Honey operates as a guard-bear. 

After the player unlocks the Institute for the first time, they return to Sunshine to find the settlement under attack by coursers. 

Once the coursers are dispatched, Nora and Kamal have a panicked discussion where Nora worries that the Institute is on to her. Nora and Kamal lead the player to a quiet area of Sunshine and Nora tells Kamal that she trusts the player. 

She then confesses that she’s an escaped synth, and that the coursers were after her. She doesn’t know much about her past other than her time with the caravans, but over the years has been the victim of attempted reclamation by coursers. She and Kamal returned to the Commonwealth to try and learn how to stop it. 

If the player has not taken Nora to the Railroad or discovered them, Nora and Kamal mention that they’ve heard of the Railroad and were hoping they could help them. The player can then offer to find out more. 

If the player has taken Nora to the Railroad before, she will ask the player if they can convince the Railroad to help her. 

If the player goes to the Railroad, Tinker Tom provides a holotape. If the player uses it in the Synth Retention Bureau, it wipes Nora’s record from the system as well as some other escaped synths. 

After the player wipes Nora from the Institute’s records they can assure her that she’s safe and doesn’t have to run anymore. Nora and Kamal are overjoyed that they don’t have to keep running, and they agree that they want to set up a ranch at Sunshine. 

Nora will mention that Honey’s overjoyed too and has taken a liking to the player. The player has then unlocked Nora’s perk, The Bear Necessities, and Honey shall accompany Nora when the player character recruits her. 

Honey can be ordered much the same as Dogmeat, but she has a greater carry capacity, health and damage. She can be told to stay at Sunshine. 

The player can, however, choose to instead inform Ayo of Nora’s location. 

When the player next returns to Sunshine, they’ll find Kamal waiting for them with Honey. He’s injured and frantic, informing the player that coursers took Nora. If the player admits they handed Nora over, both Kamal and Honey will turn hostile.

 If the player feigns innocence, Kamal will insist he knows something’s not right. 

If the player tries to convince Kamal Nora’s gone forever, he’ll swear to keep looking for her no matter what it takes. 

When the player returns to the Institute, Nora can be found but renamed with her synth designation, C9-42. She reacts to the player character with the same deference as other synths, but knows them only as Father’s parent. Although she has the same bland smile as other synths when talking to the player, outside of conversation she will have a sad expression.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

To the Light of Day || Solo

TIMING: Early morning, after the destruction of Constance

SUMMARY: Morgan tries to lay her pain to rest.

CONTAINS: brief mentions of parental abuse

The snow was coming down hard enough to bury White Crest as Morgan walked home from the outskirts. The sirens had quieted and the Christmas lights all switched out. The only sign it was morning came from the ring of church bells as a midnight service let out and oblivious churchgoers turtled out to the parking lot in their puffy coats. From where she stood, Morgan could see the flicker of Advent candles, the Christian bastardization of her Yule log. Morgan watched a pimply twelve year old snuff them out one by one until the last of the faithful left and the door shut for the night. She walked behind the straggling flock, head bowed against the snow as it fell harder. She wanted to imagine what being a part of them would be like, just one of the humans, lighting a candle against her fear and praying en masse to a big nice dad in the sky who would whisper while you slept that everything was okay and for your own good, just you wait and see. But Morgan had never known anything close, and she didn’t deserve much of an escape right now, did she?

When she was little, Morgan spent Yule with her parents gathered around a row of three tapers nested into a log holder, one for each of them to burn all night and day. Her mother lit the candles because Morgan ‘didn’t do it right’. Her dad picked out the prayers from the family grimoires or wrote something more personalized to the family on his own. And Morgan agonized over whether she should wish for snow or a new friend or a pony. They were together and apart keeping this sweet, wonderful secret winter holiday from all the boisterous Christmasers. The room never erupted with the sound of their poetry recitations, the songs her parents picked to honor the day changed from year to year, so she never grew a familiar, cuddly attachment to any tunes except for the verses of ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ they stole for themselves. When Yule became just Morgan and Ruth, the candlelight seemed dimmer, their voices barely rose at all, and her dad’s old prayers rang hollow without his intentions to power them. The darkness of the longest night grew heavy in a primeval way that reminded Morgan that the first Yuletides were made to make sure the sun wouldn’t abandon humanity for good. It was the kind of dark that you could drown in, the kind that broke your shoulders to strain against. Morgan felt that old, cruel weight of the night wrapping around her now as she walked. She didn’t have a yule candle log for herself this year. After dying and the various breakdowns that followed, merrymaking and yuletide seemed like more of a pipe dream. And peace, after what she’d done? Morgan scoffed bitterly at the thought.

“It’s not about the candles, pumpkin,” Ruth’s voice said. On their first solstice without her dad, Ruth had fumbled their last match, and it was too icy to run to the 24-hour pharmacy for more. Morgan fretted so hard conjuring up a fire to replace it, she’d scorched the candles and ruined their old log. Ruth grabbed her hands before she could do anything else. “It’s still Yuletide. The sun is still coming back.”

“But it’s not the same! What’s the point of the ritual if we can’t even get one stupid candle going to pretend like this is going to get better!”

Morgan couldn’t remember what her mother had said to that. She only knew that afterwards she’d left the room and cried, missing her dad and the kind of life where you didn’t hold your breath for the next crisis and just did things. At sunrise she went out to the window to watch the return of the light and found her mother in the backyard, praying in a stone circle she’d cast the mundane way, reciting the charge of the Goddess...

Morgan trudged through downtown until she came across Al’s. Half the rainbow lights strung around the awning were burnt out, and the inside was dead except for the lonely old man Morgan always saw in the corner. The old TV in the upper corner was switched to one of those fireplace broadcasts, where the flames never dimmed and the lights shined on glass baubles just right. Morgan couldn’t help but stop and watch. It wasn’t the best picture quality; what billows and whispers she imagined coming from the flames were more from her memories of better, brighter fires. But it was the first fire Morgan had seen all season, and it brought tears to her eyes.

Could you wish on a yule log if it was fake? Was it an affront to the ancestors or the spirits if you paid homage through pixels? Morgan laughed hopelessly. The spirits she knew had been pretty clear about what they wanted her to do, and after tonight, wishing on a crappy TV probably ranked really low on the list. What would she wish for anyway? A fucking do-over? Morgan pressed her fingers to the frosted glass, staring as hard into the screen as possible. “I’d do it all different if I could,” she whispered. “If anyone could just tell me how to make it stop hurting without passing it off to other people or--fuck, killing random nobodies who never did anything. If I could just know how we’re supposed to…” Morgan quieted and shut her eyes, realizing that for all intents and purposes, she was talking to herself. She had lied, threatened, stolen, maimed, and killed for her pain. And here she still was, carrying it like a growth in her chest she couldn’t excise. What do I do? If someone could just tell me what to do, tell me how this stops. I don’t care what else I have to do as long as we can all stop hurting...

But the universe didn’t speak to you in words, it didn’t speak at all. It just worked. It moved. Energy cycled through you and around you and sometimes if you were lucky and alive, you could move it back. But it’s not about the light, pumpkin, Ruth said again. Morgan reached for her in her mind, to that soggy, miserable Yule and the purple sunrise that came after, and the words her mother had said to the reborn sun.

To thou who thinkest to seek Me, know that thy seeking and yearning shall avail thee not unless thou knowest the Mystery: if that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without.

“Fuck,” Morgan whispered. Could it be that simple? Was that something she was allowed after death? She opened her eyes. The TV had been switched to some Christmas cartoon, but that didn’t matter. Morgan resumed her walk, swift and purposeful in a way it hadn’t been before. She didn’t stop until she made it to the cemetery on the East End, where the weeds were always a little too tall and the stones a little grubby with moss. Morgan played the words in her head on herself, burning with longing.

She was dead, her nerves were smothered in death, she couldn’t grow or age or shift along the wheel of life the way the living did, but she grew a new hand for every one she lost. Her body frayed and sagged closer to the earth it could never rest in when she got hungry, but maybe that wasn’t a mark of betrayal. Maybe it was a reminder from the earth, a hand on her hand, a bridge between the flow of the world and the place where she dwelled in between. Maybe it was a rope to keep her connected. Maybe the dead could still pray. She had come back this far, hadn’t she? She’d done it wrong and twisted and broken all over again, but she could walk and burst through the rickety gate and carry herself to the highest mound in the place and brush back the snow gathering over the graves. She had enough sense to be sorry and scared. She had enough of her self to wonder.

Morgan cleared the snow away until there was a body sized patch of brown grass to lay in. She fell face forward and dug her hands in deep. Please… If I am still a part of you, please…

The ground was hard with death, but the deeper Morgan dug her hands in, the softer it grew. Layer by layer, into that place where life only slept, like the day during the long night. Was that her? A night, a season, moving slowly until her sense of light came again?

If that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without.

Let me, Morgan whispered in her heart, the words no longer a question. I need you to let me. And I need you to take this. She crawled up to her knees and dug her nails into the fabric of her sweater. She worried at the threads, thinking of the memories that had twisted around her heart every time she’d had a chance to let Constance leave this plane for good and said no. Yelling at the paramedics while her dad was wheeled away, her mother’s nails cutting moons into her neck and shoulder as she dragged her down the hall, the pole in her stomach and how her head flashed with pain every time she tried to move, the coffins lowered into the ground, the phone calls unanswered, the weeks lost to laying in bed because there was no point in getting up when it was all going to get ripped away again, the loneliness, the sting of every lost friend and broken hope… Morgan pulled on herself, shuddering as she let the hurt cut her on the way out, as sharp as if they’d been made fresh. In her mind, she made them into one braided cord, plain and riddled with knots and kinks in the fibres. She pulled, letting the other awful little things stick and tangle into it. When she could think of nothing else she pulled again, feeling the claws at the end of the hurt clinging to her.

Let me give this to you for safe-keeping, she silently asked the earth. Take this in lieu of my body. Let it decay in its own good time and nourish something else. Because it’s going to take me away from you and myself and everything I love. I trust you not to use this for any ill. You have held me up this far, and you will hold me further still, my dear, old Earth. Even Morgan’s wildest imagination and most desperate devotion couldn’t unhook every cord binding her to her hurt, but some of them gave, root and all, and fell into the ground. She piled the dirt she’d loosed over the spot her mind’s eye conjured the fallen cords. There was nothing to forgive, because the earth didn’t weigh value like that, only poison and barbs that needed to be worked out. Only healing for the holes the cords had left in her, rest for the girls she’d been and was no longer, and courage for the woman she wanted to be from now on. Someone who touched others with understanding before spite, who guarded the world against her hurt, who stood up for as many people as possible and not just her friends, who was kind and soft and forgave as much as her soul could bear it. Someone who could mourn and atone for the hurt she spread instead of brushing it off. Someone her past selves could be proud of and mystified by. As day follows night and spring follows winter, keep me steady until I find my own light.

“So may it be,” she said, promising herself even more than the ground at her feet. By the time Morgan finished, the dark had washed away to a pale gray. Through the veil of snow clouds, Morgan was sure she saw a white silhouette of the newly turned sun.

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXII

January 5, 2278.

Percy tosses aside her wrench and huffs, putting her hands on her waist and admiring her work. “Looks like you’re finally ready,” she says to the motorbike that she has been tinkering with for weeks.

“Now let’s see if you work.”

My partner hums as she leads the cruiser through Megaton’s gate, ignoring gawkers and onlookers. We wear our helmets, which Percy picked up from Moira this afternoon.

She sits on the motorbike seat, exclaims a triumphant “Yes!” when the engine roars to life… and screams when the damn thing went careening around in circles.

I caught her before she could crash, and the bike fell to its side as she got off of it, legs shaking.

“Dammit,” she curses, clinging on to me, breathing hard. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“If it’s too dangerous to use, we can still travel on foot, but it may delay our plans,” I tell her, steadying her to her feet.

“Delaying is not an option we have the luxury to choose now,” Percy sighs, pulling the bike back into position.

“Then I suggest that you navigate with your PipBoy. I’ll drive.”

My partner looks at me curiously. “You know how to ride a bike?”

“Yes. I am proficient in driving pre-war vehicles.”

Percy clears her throat. “Was that a part of your training?”

I run my ruined hands through the driver’s seat’s worn leather, and get on.

“Yes.”

I start the engine, and Percy gets on the passenger seat behind me.

“Now, hold on tight.”

She did as I said, wrapping her arms around my waist, and letting out a surprised scream when we zipped away from the gate.

As we sprinted past jet-addled raiders and freaked-out mole rats, Percy was whooping and laughing, her body warm against by back despite the winter air blowing.

“Holy shit! This is fun!” Percy yells, and I feel her heart pounding through her chest.

I’m glad she’s behind me, or she would’ve seen the smile I had when she held me tighter and leaned on me.

I could get used to this.

As we rode our way to our destination, my mind wandered back to the conversation we had with Doc Church earlier today.

Percy got inside the clinic first, and I followed suit, looming over Church, who was sitting on his desk, looking over a medical clipboard.

“Unless you’re dying I- Oh. It’s you.”

“Doc Church. Do you have any patients with you today?”

“None. I’m not sure how that is any of your concern, though.”

“Charon, guard the door,” Percy instructed me, and Church was about to get up when Percy pressed on his shoulder, forcing him to sit. I lean against the metal and watch the two intently.

“We know about Paradise Falls.”

All the color from the doctor’s face drains.

“You’re training to be a doctor too, am I right? The oath requires me to offer my services to whoever is in need. Slavers included. Even so, I’ve put that all behind me when I opened this clinic in Megaton. Please, don’t hurt me,” Church blurts out, defensive.

“I understand your intention to follow the oath. Don’t worry, we’re not planning to hurt you. In fact, we need your help.”

“Aside from offering my services as a doctor, I have nothing else to offer. I’m sorry.”

My partner turns to me, and nods.

I come forward, cracking my knuckles in a show of intimidation. The old man shrank in his seat even further.

“I know you remember me,” I tell him, and he gulps. “And I know you remember the people you worked for.”

“We need information about Paradise Falls. Names, a layout of the location, and anything that could help us take down the slaver operations there,” Percy continues.

Church’s eyes widen, and he gives us an incredulous look. “Even if I give you the information you need, you can’t take down Paradise Falls, kid. Those slavers have contacts everywhere. You’ll have a target on your back for the rest of your lives.”

Percy shakes her head. She drags a chair and sits in front of the doctor.

“I’ve gotten used to looking over my shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, doc. That doesn’t concern me anymore. What concerns me is there are innocent kids who were snatched from their home by bastards who think that people are a commodity to be sold. I know you think that’s fucked. Why else would you pack up and leave? This is your chance to make things right.”

“Make things right? Kid...”

I felt the urge to speak up. I look at Percy, asking for silent permission, and she seems to understand, taking a step back and allowing me to take the helm.

“Percy is right. Why else would you leave that life behind and start a clinic here, where people needed your help the most? You feel guilty,” I tell him.

He was as still as a stone.

“You still think about the horrible things you saw in Paradise. You regret being instrumental in keeping those slavers healthy and alive as they hunted down more people to sell as slaves. This is an opportunity to let go of that guilt. You don’t get that chance every day. Don’t waste it.”

“What, do you have psych training now too?” he asks me, mockingly, disbelievingly.

“No,” I tell him. “It’s an observation, from a ghoul who’s in the same boat.”

Tense silence fills the room. Finally, Church relents, taking a pencil from his desk drawer.

“I’ll look for a piece of paper.”

I let out a breath that I was holding. Percy sighs in relief too.

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor.

The old man sketches the layout of Paradise Falls on a yellowed piece of paper, and tells us all he knows about Paradise Falls before his departure.

As he went on, my memories of the place started becoming clearer, but I have no desire to dwell on them.

When we got back to the house, Percy looped her arm around mine. Percy looks at me with those eyes again, filled with trust, devotion, and now… admiration.

“I’m proud of you, big guy.”

I stroked her hair and went on with our preparations.

My mind snapped back to the present as we reached Tenpenny Tower, and I parked the bike as Percy rings the intercom. Taking off my helmet, I look up at the tower, which sticks out like a sore thumb in the Wasteland. The people who lived inside were obsessed with the finer days from before the war. Worse, Tenpenny was a landgrabber, their chief of security, Gustavo, was a gung-ho bigoted bastard, and their doctor made assumptions about ghouls without even looking at one up close.

They reminded me of the people I used to serve, the ones responsible for my indoctrination.

Percy hated them so much.

However, we need all the ammunition we can find, and Gustavo trades them.

“Huh, no one’s answering,” Percy mumbles. She touches the gate lightly, and gasps when it opens on its own.

“Did you think something happened?” she asks me, and I retrieve my shotgun, loading it with bullets.

“I thought you hated those people.”

“Yeah, but, after helping the Warrington station ghouls get in I thought I’d give them a chance to change their mind about ghouls…”

Percy trails off as her eyes scan the courtyard. There were no more human residents present, only the ghouls she helped get in the tower.

“Don’t tell me...”

Gasping, Percy pushes the gate and rushes inside, pushing the heavy double doors open. She runs up to a ghoulette, the one called Bessie Lynn.

“Bessie, where’s the rest of the residents?”

The ghoulette squirms in place, nervous. “Oh, I don’t know where they are. But everything is fine! Roy said not to worry about the other residents.”

I could tell she was lying, and Percy could too, so she moves on, running past the timid woman. Michael Masters, another one of the Warrington ghouls, sits in the lobby.

“Michael!” Percy exclaims. “Where are all the humans?”

The ghoul laughs. “Roy took out the trash. You better steer clear of the basement storage room. I’m glad I lost my sense of smell.”

“He did fucking what?”

Percy brushes past Masters, footsteps heavy as she stomps her way to the basement. As she opened the door, her hands flew to her nose at the stench of rotting bodies.

Most of the corpses were unrecognizable. They were brutalized. The only one I could recognize was the old man’s. Herbert Dashwood. That one was the only human resident who didn’t insult me when we first visited this place.

His face was bloated and decaying. I looked away.

Percy retches, eyes wet and shiny with tears, and I grab her, pulling her out of the room and slamming the door shut behind us.

She was shaking. I pressed her against my chest as she trembled and sobbed.

Then, I heard a mocking laugh. I looked up, and the leader of the Warrington ghouls was strolling towards us. Roy Phillips.

“Hey kid. Thanks again for helping us get in.”

Wiping her tears away, Percy faces him. She wore that expression she had when she talked to Ahzrukhal, when she confronted Wally Mack, and when those Talon mercs ambushed us.

That look on this angel’s face is one of the few things in this world that frightens me.

“Nice pile of bodies in the storage room, Roy,” Percy spits, shoulders tense. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Assholes had it coming,” Phillips spat back. “But I don’t answer to you, or any other smoothskin. In fact, you’d best piss off before you join them.”

Muscle memory kicking in, I shield Percy with my body at the bastard’s threat. He looks at me, disgusted.

“What the hell are you even doing, defending this smoothskin? You should be with your fellow ghouls.”

“Charon, this is hopeless. Let’s get out of here,” Percy tells me, touching my arm.

“You get out of here,” Phillips interrupts. “I’m not done talking to him yet.”

The asshole turns to me, looking at me from head to toe.

“Not man enough to ditch this little girl and stick with us? How much is she paying you for you to betray your own kind?”

Phillips gave me a hard shove when I didn’t give him an answer.

“Huh. ‘Not man enough?’ Wow, sounds like someone is projecting his insecurities about his masculinity,” Percy interrupts, hand flying to the spot on my chest where the other ghoul shoved me. Phillips’ eyes flick to my partner’s hand, and he gives us a mocking smirk.

“Oh, I get it now. This kid gives you a taste of smoothskin pussy and now you’d tail her ass around like that stupid dog of hers? You’re her fucking gigolo?”

“God, you’re disgusting. How could someone as nice as Bessie stay with someone as horrible as you?”

“Keep your mouth shut, smoothskin bitch.”

Percy grabs him by the collar, knocks him off-balance with her footwork, and slams him against the wall, like she did with Wally Mack.

“No! You listen, you piece of shit! I helped you get into this fucking tower in hopes of a non-violent solution to everyone’s problems. I guess that was a fucking mistake, huh? I’m not going to shed tears for Gustavo and the other bigots who wanted you dead. But Dashwood? Does it make you feel like a bigger man, killing a senile retiree? You killed the only person in the tower who viewed you as people, too.”

“That asshole was gloating about having a ghoul manservant. I’d fucking do it again. Of course you’d defend him. You have one too, you two-faced bitch.”

Percy falters, but then slams Phillips against the wall again, his head hitting it with a dull thud.

“Charon is not my manservant. He is my friend. You don’t know a single fucking thing about us. Forget it. You can rot in this tower for all I care.” She lets him go. Then, she turns to me.

“Charon, let’s get-”

As Percy turns around, Phillips lunges for her neck, but I move her out of the way and grab the other ghoul’s arm, twisting it and shoving him to the ground.

“Traitor,” Phillips spits at me. “Goddamn smoothskin titsucker! You’ll pay for that!”

“Percy is my contract holder,” I start, towering over him. “And my friend. I don’t care what she is. I am loyal to her.”

“Is that it? That’s all you ever want to be? You’re fucking hopeless, kid. She’ll use you and throw you away once she’s done with you.”

The mere suggestion of Percy abandoning me coming from his mouth made me want to shut him up.

“Big guy, don’t listen to him. C’mon, let’s just go.”

“Once she finds a human who can protect and fuck her better, you best bet she’ll put you down like the dog you are.”

He should shut up.

Shut up. Shut the hell up!

I’ll fucking shut him up!

“Charon, enough! Stop! I order you to stop!”

Small hands were pulling me away, and Percy’s orders went in my ears as sharp barks.

Conditioning kicking in, I freeze. I look down, and my hands are bloody.

I smeared Roy Phillips to the ground.

Fuck.

Around us the other ghouls, his followers, were too shocked to even fire their weapons. Lynn runs over, looks at me, then her boyfriend’s brains on the ground, and lets out a frightened wail.

Percy grabs my arm and pulls me towards the entrance. “Charon, we need to get out of here!”

Behind us, they were firing their guns like crazy. One of the bullets grazed my thigh, but I kept going, the pain numbed by holding Percy’s hand.

We rode our way out of there.

It’s getting dark and unsafe to drive.

Making camp on the side of the road, Percy treats the bullet graze on my thigh in silence. Then, she stares into the fire, eyes glazed over.

“Charon, what have I done?”

I scoot closer to her, and she begins to cry.

“You couldn’t have predicted that Phillips would turn against his word.”

“No. I trusted him and now people died because of me.”

Doing my best to soothe her, I stroke her hair. “Can I make a suggestion?”

She nods.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things you have no control over, angel.”

Percy sniffles, and looks up to me.

“You know, I hate it when people call me that. I’m just a kid who’s also imperfect and makes mistakes… not some Wasteland Avenger, and definitely not an Angel.”

“I can stop, if that’s what you wish of me, Percy.”

“If it’s you? It’s fine. Consider it my thanks for allowing me to call you ‘big guy’.”

Pulling her closer, I chuckled.

Percy kisses my cheek, yawns, and settles in my arms.

I smile.

[redneckangelsdrinkmoonshine]

Heaven Forbid/ 5. November, 2021

Chapter 1 - "When It Rains, It Pours" (draft)

It was almost as if the Georgian skies were falling apart; rain poured down freely while the wind wailed like a banshee that was hiding somewhere off in the distance. It seemed to carry the same promise of death and destruction.

The wipers of the Impala squeaked and screeched like never as they struggled to fight off the Tsunami that was gathered at the bottom of the windshield. Sam thought that he should maybe turn them off, at least then his brother wouldn’t have to get new ones because these were bound to break any second. However, that was the least of their concerns, and they seemed to have plenty. Surprisingly, the storm with chances of a tornado wasn’t one of them either. What was, was currently bleeding out on the backseat while Dean’s shaky hands applied pressure to the wound on the poor creature’s abdomen while holding him at a weird angle so neither his back or stomach were in contact with the seat. Creature, because they had no idea what Cas was anyway.

Castiel started coughing violently when he and Dean jerked to the side due to the harsh turn. Dean wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing, but he decided it was a good thing; if Cas had enough air in his lungs to cough then he was going to be alright. “Okay, Sammy, we’re gonna go down Chestlehurst road, pass two churches, cross the bridge that goes over Keg creek, then at the end of the street you’re gonna make a left. Then we go down, the farm is on the right.”

“Go a bit faster, Goddammit! Would’ve been faster if we carried the freaking car there!” The last part was muttered under Dean’s breath, his wide, green eyes skimmed all over the place, from the red of Cas’s blood to the scenery that passed by them, always searching for the signs on the highway, showing which miles they passed. Dean’s free hand cradled Cas’s head closer to his chest as his other hand pressed down even harder, letting out a barely there sigh when Cas muttered some nonsense under his breath, “Ey buddy, just hang on a little longer, alright? You’re a tough son of a bitch, the toughest one I know.” Castiel's shirtless self was shivering hard, which was understandable, he had lost a lot of blood. Dean paused before he buried his face in Castiel’s dirty, tousled hair and planted a careful kiss on the top of his head, “Don’t you dare prove me wrong, you hear me? I know you hate to disappoint me, you’ve never done that so don’t start now, okay?”

The older Winchester continued to track the plates on the highway, making a mental check to make sure they were heading the right way. He sighed in relief when he saw the exit, along with the sign that said “sixteen”, “Here! Right here!”

Dean cursed under his breath when he felt the blood soak through the handkerchief and seep into his hand like ink, he didn't even want to think about the open wounds on his back which were left to the mercy of the air, “Alright Sammy, I don’t care about the freaking damage from potholes or whatever, Baby can handle it, however – look, the shock absorbers are stronger than Cas right now so just go freaking faster.”

They were almost there but it still felt as if it would take ten more hours. Just when Dean started to fear the worst because Cas was way too quiet for way too long and almost completely unresponsive, the farm came into view. He patted Cas’s shoulder as his younger brother breathed out a sigh of relief, “It’s okay Cas, we’re here, we’re gonna be okay.” Just when Dean was ready to let out a colorful combination of curse words, relief washed over him when he saw that the storm had taken care of the gate that would’ve been in their way was it otherwise. Sam went all the way to the house, parking the car on the side. He opened his door as Dean gave him instructions, “Tell them we need help, I don’t want to move him unless I know exactly how to.” Sam nodded as he scrambled out of the Impala and rounded the side of the house. Dean took in a shaky breath and all of the air left his lungs when he noticed that Castiel was way too still for his liking, “Cas? Castiel?!”

The door to his side opened and there stood Sam, a man with a white beard and a guy who looked way too much like Bobby. They helped get Cas out of the car gently, somehow Castiel didn’t even grunt in protest, and once Dean was somewhat stable on his feet, he accepted the weight of the fallen angel in his arms. The older man spoke,”We’ve gotta take ‘im to the infirmary, from what I see we don’t have much time.”

-

The storm had calmed, but not the one inside Dean’s head. He was sitting on a chair, his eyes were unfocused and his dull nails were picking at the blood that seemed to be almost like ink that was deep under his skin. The rain outside was nothing but a calm drizzle, however it caused them nothing but anxiety. Sam was pacing back and forth, shooting worried glances at his brother, but Dean didn’t even have the energy to tell him he was fine. Maybe because he wasn’t, he was far from it.

The scene from earlier that day played in his mind on repeat, over and over again. His own terrified scream made his ears ring and his head pound, the vision of Castiel chained up like a rabbit with zero signs of life showing. Surprisingly the only threat was a deep wound in his abdomen that made both Sam and Dean fear that he had already lost a lot of blood, but thankfully that wasn’t the case. It was almost like Cas had fought so hard to stay alive just so he could make sure they found him so he could say goodbye.

The brothers finally regained their control and returned to the plan, they had to get Castiel out of these chains and into the Impala. Dean stood in front of Castiel yet again, ready to catch him before he fell. However, when Sam started to undo the restrains, Castiel’s eyes opened but he didn’t seem to see a thing. His mouth was open in a silent scream, ready to fight whoever was in sight which made Dean equally terrified and proud. But then Castiel’s eyes finally met Dean’s and he immediately calmed down. He tilted his head to the side in his typical Cas way before he breathed out with a barely there smile, “Dean?” With that, his eyes rolled back and Dean accepted Castiel’s limp body into his arms when the last chain was undone.

Of course, they couldn't have nice things. They found Castiel, he was alive, but the wound on his abdomen wasn't the only major one.

When Dean cradled Cas’s face in his shaky hands, his vision was blurry with tears. Sam started to undo the chains while Dean got in the right position to accept Castiel’s weight, but then Sam jumped back with a startled "Son of a bitch!". Of course it didn't sound well, so Dean went to stand next to Sam. The sight in front of them was gruesome: there were six slices across Castiel's back, parallel to one another. The longest set was seven inches long and about three inches wide, the other two were about five inches in length and two inches in width. The longest set was the one in the middle, the first row was on the shoulder blades and the third was maybe just shy of the small of Castiel's back. Slightly underneath them, on either side of Castiel's loin, about eight inches under where the third set of cuts ended stood another set of wounds, but in a round shape. They were slightly burned, almost as if whoever made these cuts decided to seal them shut. Their attempt to stop the bleeding was more or less useless, because blood still oozed and trickled down slowly but steadily.

When the two week marker of Castiel’s absence hit, Dean decided to look for clues. However, he had no idea where to begin. Thankfully, when Dean used his heart, Sam used his brain.

All types of feelings burned in his veins. Dean was overwhelmed with sadness, anger, hurt, and hopelessness, but the worst of it all was grief. What was he going to tell Claire and Jack? Why did Cas go off somewhere in the first place, without even telling Dean? That son of a bitch had to have the nerve to die before answering Dean’s many questions.

Dean had no idea how it was so hard for Cas to learn. Through the past thirteen years, whenever Castiel or any of their trio, sometimes even the extended crew, whenever anyone didn’t tell the others what they were up to something bad happened. But Castiel always took it to the next level. The thing with the Leviathans was bad, then Naomi, Metatron. From bad to worse. However, Cas getting stabbed and not having the ability to heal himself? That only meant one thing, Castiel’s grace was damaged or completely gone. He was no longer an angel. Dean decided that Castiel had scraped the absolute bottom.

Back in the beginning of it all, when their father had disappeared and Dean went to look for him with Sam, they looked for clues in John’s journal. Ever since they found the bunker, they no longer used that thing. Whenever Castiel was around and they didn’t have a case, he would sit around with a book. Castiel was the only one who had read all of the books, some of them even more than once and whenever he left the bunker, he would come back with even more books, some were normal novels, others were books they could use for research. That one thing Castiel loved to read more than anything was John’s journal. When Dean noticed that his friend had read the journal for the fiftieth the time, the next time he went out to get more beer and some pie, he stopped by the bookstore he knew Cas liked and bought a travel journal. The thing looked quite thick, it had enough pages for Cas to fill with his smartass thoughts and discoveries. Dean even bought a bunch of pens and some pencils, along with a sharpener and an eraser, for all he knew Castiel was a hidden Picasso. The only reason Dean had bought that journal was because the leather covers were the same beige as Castiel’s trench coat and the silk string that separated the pages was the deep shade of blue that was Cas’s newest suit.

Castiel was stunned, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. He carefully peered inside the bag and a child-like innocence lit up his face. His eyes were wide and Dean decided to ignore the way his heart started beating faster. He shrugged as he pushed himself away from the door frame, “At this point you’ve read dad’s journal a hundred times. I’m sure you’re an expert now and I, I decided it’d be a good idea to create your own journal.” Castiel’s lips trembled slightly before he beamed with an adorable, sickeningly-sweet smile on his face, the type of smile that made his nose scrunch up and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Thank you.” Dean nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed before he reached out and patted Castiel’s chest gently, “Alright, get in the shower, you smell like crap.” Castiel rolled his eyes with a hint of a smile before he stepped back enough to close the door.

Dean knew he would always remember Castiel’s face when he gave him that journal. He had it in a simple paper bag, Cas was in his room in the bunker, the number fifteen was no longer black, Cas had changed it to gold when he claimed the room as his own.

Cas and Dean never knocked on each other’s doors. When he opened the door, Dean was taken by surprise when he saw Castiel doing handstand push-ups in perfect form, “Damn, I don’t know if I should come back later or go get some popcorn and a drink.” Dean had to mask his laughter with a cough when he scared Castiel so badly that he crumbled to the ground with a squeak, “Y’know Cas, I thought angels were supposed to be graceful-” “And I thought humans did that thing where they knock and ask for permission before they enter a closed door.” Dean tried to look wherever but his eyes were glued to Cas's naked, sweaty upper body. The fact that he wore some of Dean's old sweats didn't help at all. Maybe the angel knew what he was doing because he purposefully lifted himself on his hands before he set down his feet and slowly straightened up to his full height. Dean cocked his head to the side in surprise, “I didn’t know you have a tattoo.” Cas looked at the ink on his ribs as he scratched it, “Got it back when I was human. Angels were, as you say, on my ass, and I needed to protect myself somehow. It hurt like hell but I ended up liking it. I could heal it completely, remove the ink from my body if I wanted to, but I don’t mind it.” He undid the strings of his pants to redo them and Dean found it nearly impossible to look Cas in the eyes, “What’s up, is there a case?” Dean shook his head as he licked his lips, “Nah, we’ve got a day off, for now. Look, I've, uh, I’ve got something for you.” He held out the bag with a small smile.

Castiel loved that journal way too much. He carried it everywhere and wrote in it a lot. He would sit at the big wooden table, surrounded by books and he would write whatever he found important in a notebook, then write it in the journal and he would even separate the different subjects and highlight important things. From thoughts to detailed sketches here and there that made John’s sketches look like doodles done by a toddler. Dean knew all of that because Cas would show him his progress from time to time. Of course Dean waited until Cas was not around so he could read whatever was on Cas’s mind. There was a single section of the journal that was written in Enochian and the fact that Dean didn’t understand it pissed him off, but he never asked what any of these words meant, because he respected Castiel's privacy.

Looking through John’s journal helped them find him so Sam was sure that if there was a place where they’d find any useful information it would be in Castiel’s journal. Dean had found it in the pocket of Castiel’s trench coat which was folded on the foot of Castiel’s bed. That was a huge red flag since Castiel never took it off and never went anywhere without the journal unless he was going to get in some real dirty business.

The man moved on, this time talking about Castiel's recovery, "We need to be sure he’s going to make it through the night, when he wakes up we’re going to turn the respirator off and we're going to figure out a way to make him rest on his side so he wouldn't have to put pressure on his back. I suggest someone stays with him all the time, I will also send one of my daughters from time to time to check his vitals. If all goes well, he should wake up tomorrow, well, today by noon. Worst case scenario, he'd be out for days, but he should pull through.” Sam sighed as he put a hand on his chest, sincerity dripping from his tone, “Thank you so, so much and I apologize for coming so late, but you were the only option we really had. We were sure you would be the best shot.” Dean nodded as he shoved his hands in his pockets, “Yea, really, that guy there? He’s family. We‘re really, really grateful for what you did. Every single second you spent working on him. Thank you.” The elderly one nodded his head, his deep eyes showing nothing but kindness and sympathy. “Thank me when he wakes up, son. I’m sorry about Bobby. He was a good man, such a shame he’s no longer with us.”

The door to the living room opened and the brothers looked at the newcomers. The man from the earlier walked inside, followed by a woman with kind eyes and blonde hair. The man was still wiping his hands on a towel, smears of Castiel’s blood stood out his snow-white shirt. Dean quickly got to his feet as he turned to the man, ignoring the warning look his brother sent him, “How is he? Is he going to be okay?” The man gave a single nod as he replied, “He is stable. I have fixed people up before, but I wasn’t really sure if he’s human at all, not that I wouldn’t have helped him, I just needed some time and information. Your guy is a lucky one, people with his injuries usually don’t last as long as he did. He’s going to be okay.” Dean sighed as he allowed his chin to fall against his chest while Sam slapped his back in victory. They returned their attention to the man when he spoke up, “He’s under right now, the medication I fixed in his IV is going to make him rather drowsy for a while, but his body needs to rest. There were multiple stab wounds, cuts, and bruises. Clear signs of torture. The stab wound in his abdomen is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, the ones on his back... I had to operate, but it should heal nicely. For now we’re keeping him on a respirator, better safe than sorry. There's an extra cocktail of pain killers because until he wakes up, he has to rest on his back and even if the removal was done nicely -" "Wait, removal?" Dean stepped forward as he pointed military-style, all five fingers pointed at Hershell, "What do you mean by removal?"

The older man was quiet for a second, trying to choose his words wisely, "If I'm not mistaken, your friend is an angel. A Seraph, judging by the count of the wings. I'm a religious man and to be completely honest, I have no idea how they did what they did... But the easy explanation would be that your friend had his wings and uropygial glands removed. I can't say anything else now until your friend has woken up and I've been able to run an actual check-up. There are zero traces of grace, of anything holy for that matter. He was turned mortal in a surgical way, something I've read about in some Norse myths." Dean lifted his hand and wiped his mouth, struggling to bottle the fear he felt. Sam had gone visibly pale and he was gaping like a fish out of water, so Dean could only guess that the news had hit him just as hard.

A moment of silence followed, Dean had to bite his tongue to swallow the urge to roll his eyes at the man and his wife when they did the “cross my heart and hope to die”. Dean reached out his hand as he introduced himself and his brother, “I’m Dean, this is my brother, Sam. The guy back there, his name is Castiel, but we call him Cas for short.” They all shook hands and then the man put a hand on the woman’s back, “I’m Hershel. This here, is my wife Anette. She pretty much did most of the work, thank God she’s a nurse, just like our youngest, Beth. These two are the brains, I’m nothing but a Christian man and a vet with a little bit of basic knowledge.”

Both Dean and Sam gulped at the same time. They shared a look, “A vet? Like... You mean a military doctor or-” Sam paled while his brother simply stood speechless, “-you mean veterinarian.” Hershel nodded before he shot a look at his wife who was struggling to hide her amusement. Dean cleared his throat as he pointed towards the door, “You, do you mind if I go check up on him? Y’know, just to make sure you haven’t attached bunny ears to him or some-” The “thing” came out in a grunt when Sam elbowed his brother a bit too harshly. Hershel gave him a nod as he stepped out of the way.

-

Mud stuck to Dean’s boots and he cringed when he saw that he had already left a print or two on the white tile floor of the infirmary. He paused to take them off by the front door and just as he was putting the left boot next to the right, he heard a voice, “Hey, don’t worry about it, I’m going to clean up in a second.”

While the girl got back to wiping the floors, Dean took his sweet ass time in front of the door that separated him from Castiel. He was afraid his heart was going to burst from anxiety. He bowed his head as he allowed his body to shake off the nerves, “Alright, stop acting like a chick.” He breathed in through his nose before he almost angrily gripped the door handle.

There was a girl that reminded him of the human version of Bambi. Her blonde curls were up in a messy ponytail with a fell braids here and there, her big blue eyes were almost like skies on a hot, summer day.

She had a kind smile on her clean, round face, such a comforting smile that Dean felt his own lips quirk up, “Don’t want to give you any more work, I’m sure we’ve already made a mess.” The girl was almost offended by Dean’s comment, “No, no! It’s okay, really! Like Daddy says, a good Christian is always there to help people.” Dean’s smile flattened a bit, but he made sure it wasn’t obvious, “Sure, I agree, I guess. Hershel is your dad, which probably makes you Beth?” The girl nodded with a soft "mm" sound as Dean awkwardly padded his way over to her in his socketed feet. He felt almost naked without the comfort of his boots but he tried to ignore it, “I’m Dean.” They shook hands, Dean was surprised by her firm grip and slightly calloused, warm hand, “Thank you for what you did to help our friend. His name is Castiel, by the way.” Beth’s smile softened, sympathy overtook her angelic features. “Oh, don’t even mention it!” She did a quick once-over and a childish mischievousness showed in her eyes, “I should probably let you get to him, would be nice for you to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. Goodnight, Dean.” Dean paused before he decided to ignore it and instead flashed her a smile, “Goodnight, Beth.”

Just as he opened the door, he stopped like a deer in headlights. Once he snapped out of it, he closed the door so he could give them some privacy. Well, himself. Because he didn’t want to break down in front of Beth.

Castiel looked so small, he almost disappeared in the bed. The machines beeped, one dripped, the scariest of them was the one that hummed as it blew air into something that was like a muzzle, hiding that beautiful face. Castiel almost didn’t look like himself, the hospital gown was way too huge on him and he looked like he was drowning in that clothing.

There was a cut over his left eyebrow, another cut that seemed to go all the way from his bottom lip went down to his chin. He was wearing a shiner, his cheekbone was a sick, dark purple with red dots all over it, the corners of the bruise were already an ugly shade of green. However Dean knew that these injuries were nothing compared to the wound on his abdomen.

Dean lowered himself on the chair by Castiel’s bedside. His panicked eyes roamed all over the room and then over Castiel. He took a shaky breath before he reached over and took Castiel’s hand in his, “Alright, Cas, you son of a bitch. No matter what happens, no matter what you did, we’re gonna figure it out. You, me and the gang. You just need to wake up. That’s all, that’s all we need from you.” He furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes finally settled on Castiel’s closed ones, “That’s all I need from you. I need you.”

Dean’s hand went up to drag his palm over his face before he ran his fingers through his hair and pulled, hoping that pain would wake him up from whatever nightmare he was in. Even if Castiel’s injuries weren’t that bad, Dean knew that the emotional damage would be hard for Castiel to handle.

Castiel was drowning in guilt as an angel and angels weren’t supposed to feel emotions. Sure, Castiel was different, almost special, but he was still an angel. Angels were God’s soldiers. There was no thing such as a military man that walked away with all of his mentality. PTSD, depression, anxiety, that was just some of it. Castiel was once God's best soldier, a commander of his garrison, not to mention how many times Castiel proved that even if he was protecting the humans on Earth, his biggest priority was to serve God. Well, it used to be. Dean saw it all happen with his own eyes, the day Jack became God was the day Castiel gave up on religion and instead chose family. However, his past was still heavy on his shoulders. Dean was one to know God’s ways weren’t fair, so he didn’t even want to know, didn’t want to think of what Castiel had to do in Chuck’s name. Not to mention the things he did after he joined Team Free Will, the things he was so guilty of and the ones that once made him consider suicide.