#Jacob Seed is the older brother who wants to beat the living shit out of the spoiled young one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ms-rampage · 3 years

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New Dawn: New Horizons Chapter 3 - With A Little Help From The Devil

Warnings: Language, and slight angst.

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Lucifer confronts Gabriel seeking his help to find the other angels that were cast out of Heaven.

Guest OCs: The usuals

Guest Characters: Lucifer (Supernatural), John and Jacob Seed (mentioned), Wheaty (mentioned).

Written by @athenalillystar and myself. Hope ya'll enjoy!! 💗💗

Taglist: @wargames94 @rabbitsoldier @vicki-the-sinner @mrsladydiana

Note: This is a Far Cry New Dawn and Supernatural crossover with my OCs

*********

Lucifer has his hand over Cristina’s mouth to muffle her screams, stopping her from alerting the family.

He clicks his tongue a few times, and says. “I thought we came to an understanding. I told you, you’ll see me again. Guess I should’ve been more specific”.

“What do you want?!” she asks, her voice muffled by his hand.

“You promise not to scream?” he asks, his voice deepens, almost in a whisper.

She nods her head in response. He moves his hand away from her mouth.

“What do I want?!” he asks, his index finger on his chin, walking towards her bedroom window.

“Well first off, I would like to know what is so special about your cousin?!. The small one with the cotton candy hair”.

“Daenerys?” she asks, in slight confusion.

“Yeah, for some reason she happens to be the most important thing in the world to Gabriel” he says, bitterness in his voice.

“That’s his daughter, that's why she’s so important to him” she responds, in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

He chuckles, “Ehh not quiet”.

She looks at him in confusion, furrowed her eyebrows at him. “What is that supposed to mean?!” she asks, getting slightly irritated.

“Well you see. Gabriel is no-”.

He gets cut off when her bedroom door opens, and Gabriel appears in the doorway.

“Uncle Gabe I-” she says before getting cut off, and going unconscious by Lucifer snapping his fingers.

Gabriel steps into the room, closing the door behind him, “I told you to leave them alone” he tells him, his voice deep, and angry.

Lucifer shrugs, “You know I never listen”.

“What do you want?!” he asks.

“You know what I want” Lucifer tells him, “I want you to come with me, and we can find all the others that fell.”

“But why do you care if the others fell?. No one did when you fell” Gabe asks.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I know. That’s why I want to rub it in dad’s face when we confront him”.

“Do you even know where the others fell??!” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Samandriel, Uriel, Castiel, Michael, Gadreel, Raphael and you are the only ones that I know of that fell. I'm not sure where, but they're most likely scattered".

Gabriel goes silent for a moment, looking down at the floor.

“Okay. I’ll go with you” he says.

A smile appears on Lucifer’s face, “Good, we should get-”. He gets cut off by his younger brother “But, it’ll have to wait until the morning”.

Lucifer rolls eyes, throwing his head back in annoyance, “Are you serious?!”.

He nods his head, “Yes, I want to give them an explanation. I’ll tell Daenerys that I’m gonna go help out some survivors with the Highwaymen, or something like that”.

Lucifer shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, and says.

“So you’re gonna keep lying to your “daughter” huh?!”.

Gabriel sighs, “As much as I don’t want to. I have to. How long will this search be?”.

“A week, maybe 2. See you tomorrow little bro”.

Lucifer disappears from the room, and Cristina is still unconscious.

With the very little powers he has, Gabriel wipes her memory from the last 2-5 minutes.

He goes back to his and Kate’s room, laying next to her in bed.

********

The next morning at around 7:30am, Gabriel is packing some of his gear that he’ll most likely not need, but has to make it look like he’s going out on a week-long hunting trip, or at least a few days.

“So how long are you gonna be gone?!” Daenerys asks, sitting at the kitchen table, looking up at him.

He sighs, “A week. Maybe 2. Depending on how long they're gonna need me”.

Kate leans against the doorway of the kitchen, who knows the real reason why he’s leaving.

“So who is that you’re gonna be searching for?!” she asks, playing along with this situation.

He looks up at her, “It’s a group of hunters that were ambushed by the Highwaymen. Mickey and Lou wanted them captured, and they escaped. Fled into the nearby forests, not far from the radiation zone in the Henbane”.

He finishes packing up, and he heads outside to his truck.

All of the adults Paige, Kenneth, Mandy, Barbara, Adrian, Mark, Nate, Cody, and Martin all know the real reason why Gabriel is leaving. Trying to keep the kids from knowing the real truth. To help out Lucifer and find the angels that were cast out of Heaven, and were now wandering the Earth, either human, or half human, with little to no powers, or angelic grace.

The kids don’t know the real reason why he’s leaving. He hugs every single one of them, he holds Kate and Daenerys longer, placing a kiss on Daenerys head.

“Please come back whole” she says, hugging him tighter.

He laughs softly, “I will”. Placing another kiss on her head.

He kisses Kate goodbye, gets into a truck, and leaves the property. Meeting Lucifer at the meeting point.

They all go inside, back to what they were doing, letting Gabe go to find these “hunters”.

*******

After a half an hour drive later, Gabriel arrives at the meeting point Lucifer had sent him via angel radio. Surprised he was able to get through, even with the very little powers he has.

A few miles away from the radiation zone of what was once the Henbane River.

“Great. You showed up!” Lucifer says, enthusiastically.

“Okay. So where are we going?!” Gabriel asks.

“That way” Lucifer says, pointing into the direction of the radiated part of the Henbane.

“Into the radiation zone?!?” he asks, eyes wide. Not sure if he’ll actually survive going into that death zone, even with the amount of powers he has. He’s pretty much a human at this point.

“Yeah. So lets goooo” he says singfully. Walking towards the dead zone.

“I don't even know if I can go through there!” the half angel protests.

Lucifer stops walking, “You’ll be fine. I went through there, and I’m still alive”.

Gabe rolls his eyes, groaning “Yeah because you still have your powers. I don’t. I barely have my powers”.

Lucifer groans back, “Okay. You’ll be fine. Raphael, Uriel, Gadreel and all the others are there, and they most likely don’t have any of their powers. They’re basically human with very little angel powers. So let's go!!” he says singfully again, and walks towards the radiated part of Hope County.

The youngest Archangel groans, and follows his older brother into the radiation zone. As much as he doesn’t want to, he still does.

****

Back in Holland Valley, everyone is working, doing their own thing around the compound.

Jeffrey and Thomas are helping the guys, and a few others put up guard towers around the wall.

The whole thing is basically a second Prosperity. Open to those seeking shelter from the Highwaymen.

Paige, Kate and their mother Mandy are supplying guns to some of the residents and all those living on the compound. The three teenage girls are putting up cameras, and motion sensor spotlights with the help of a few others from Prosperity. Even from 40 feet away, and with her back to her. Kate can detect that Daenerys is worried about her father.

“I can tell she’s worried” Kate mutters to her mother and sister.

“Wouldn’t you?” Paige responds. Kate looks over at her, and nods her head.

Paige sighs softly, “I get that you never really got to know dad, but still. I still worried whenever he left. I was just a child. I was afraid of everything”.

Sighing, “Yeah, I know but this is different. I just don’t want her, or anyone to know that we have an Archangel living with us” Kate tells her.

Mandy doesn’t speak up in this conversation, or put in her two cents, she just listens in on their conversation.

“Or that you’re married to an Archangel” Paige adds, “What about John?!”.

Kate scoffs in annoyance, “What about him? He's dead”. She never thought about John Seed in several years, she kept his name and the thought of his existence out of her mind.

“Yeah, I know. You and Wheaty killed him, or maybe it was Nick Rye. I don't know, I was too busy killing Jacob Seed” Paige tells her.

“Yeah” Kate whispers remembering all the great times she had with Wheaty, “I don’t want her to know about John. Bad enough she has his eyes. It's a constant reminder that she’s his kid”.

“She also has his small hands. Have you noticed that?!” Paige tells her, while doing jazz hands like movement with her hands.

Kate laughs softly, and says “Yeah. I could’ve saved him”. Paige looks over at her, “Who?. John?”.

She scoffs, and shakes her head, “No Wheaty. I could’ve saved him. I’d rather have him be Daenerys’ father than John. I can’t imagine how she would’ve turned out if John were to live. A sadistic little shit. Yelling out “Say yes!. The Power of Yes!. Confess your sins sinners!”.

Paige laughs at this, “I would’ve had Cristina, or Bianca beat her up”.

Kate takes a deep breath, trying to hold back her tears, “I could’ve saved him, I could've gone back, and got him. I still think about it every night” she tells her, voice trembling, "I miss that Native guy so much". Light tears start to run down her cheeks.

Trying to reassure her younger sister, “You gotta stop beating yourself up about that. I understand you, and Wheaty had something special. I definitely prefer you and him, over you and John, but I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to move on. I know if I would've let you gone back, and get him. You would've died as well".

Kate nods, agreeing with her “Yeah I know, I know. I thought I would’ve ended up being a single parent. I still remember the day after we killed John and Jacob. Wheaty said to me that he wouldn’t mind being a stepfather to our child, then hopefully had kids of our own".

She stops for a moment, and Paige continues to reassure her sister.

"We lost a lot of people that day. A lot of friends Eli, Tammy, Wheaty, Jess, Mary, Pratt, Hudson and Whitehorse. Do you know if Morgan, Ryan, Sarah and all the others made it? ".

Kate nods, and continues, "Yeah, we did but then Gabriel came into the picture. Him, and I grew closer, he helped me raise Daenerys, he took care of me throughout my pregnancy. I know he’s not used to the human lifestyle, and it was all new to him. But he adjusted very well, and I’m glad he’s here. I don’t know if they made it, I haven’t seen, or heard from them, but I’m sure they’re all dead”.

********

Lucifer and Gabriel walk through the Henbane River, and to Gabriel’s surprise he’s not coughing up his lungs, and dropping dead.

“Eessh this is depressing” Lucifer mumbles, clenching his teeth.

“How much further?!” Gabriel asks, getting tired of walking. Lucifer looks around the dry, dead and gray scenery “It’s not far”. He’s not even sure if they’re going the right way, it’s all a dead zone.

"What are we even looking for?!. How are we even gonna find the others?!" he asks.

"Static. From angel radio" he mumbles, still unsure where to go.

They continue walking through the radiation zone. After a few minutes Lucifer senses something, he stops dead in his tracks as does Gabe.

“What is it?!” he asks. He shushes him, and listens closely. “This way!" he tells him.

He follows him further into the dead region.

“What is it?!?” Gabriel asks, annoyed that his brother isn't answering him.

“It’s one of them” he answers. “Raphael?!?” he adds before walking towards the sound that only he can hear. Gabriel follows behind him.

******

Back at the compound, Cristina, Bianca and Daenerys are setting the motion sensor lights.

The youngest of the Winchester kids, Daenerys can’t concentrate due her father not being around.

“He’ll be back Dae” Cristina comforts her younger cousin.

“Yeah I know. I just worry whenever he’s not here” she tells them, “Especially with those douchebags running around and capturing people”.

“He’ll be back. He said he will, and he’s gone to help others several times before” Bianca tells her.

She tries to keep her mind away from her dad, reassuring herself that he’ll be home within a week or 2, or even a couple of days. Cristina’s mind keeps wandering as well, remembering what her mom, and aunt had said to her the night before.

She wants to tell Daenerys and Bianca but promised her mom and aunt that she wouldn't.

Lucifer keeps coming to mind, and that scares her. She had a dream that he appeared in her room, and he was about to say something about her uncle Gabriel and Daenerys but was woken up by her alarm.

After a couple of hours they finished setting up the lights and cameras.

The guard towers are all complete, the Winchester-Smith compound is complete.

They have all of their workshops setup. The training yard, infirmary, cartography, garage and the garden are all set.

Their bunker had been made into an infirmary, storage facility and an armory. As an underground shooting range.

Later that night at dinner. Everyone that is living at the compound is seated at the main dining room in the main house.

Mark, Nate, their wives and kids. Martin, his wife, and kids. Adrian, his wife and kids. Cody and his wife. Kenny, Kate, Daenerys, Bianca, Jeffrey, Thomas, Barbara, Cristina, Mandy and Paige.

Paige stands up, clears her throat and gives a speech.

“Okay, everyone if I can have your attention. First off I just wanna say thank you to all of you for your help. I know it’s been a huge adjustment. With the Highwaymen running around Hope County, it’s not really easy. We just need to stick together, and fight against them. I know Gabriel will be back within a week or two with those missing hunters maybe sooner, and we can recruit them to fight against the Twins and their followers. We have everything we need. We just have to keep on our feet. Watch over, and protect our home. Don’t let our guard down because we don’t know when they’ll strike. But if we fight, and push back, they’ll get the message that we’re not to be fucked with. So with that being said. Thank you, and I know we can win this fight”.

Everyone applauds Paige’s speech, and they all eat their dinner.

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heartofsnark · 3 years

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This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

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

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source. A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say. Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

“Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head, her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it. He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her. They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio. Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area. Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress. There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it.

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag.

“And I was hunting him.”

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand.

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.”

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry.

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her.

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Wow, that’s not comforting.”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason.

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else.

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

“Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.”

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them.

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it.

“You the conservationists?”

“Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?”

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.”

“Friendly advice?”

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.”

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-”

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.”

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.”

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.”

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves, the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner, asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #john seed #jacob seed #this is love #dahlia hale #joseph seed #if you ever think im like smart or competent i want you to know that everytime i post a chapter i doubt my ability to count #like i know last chapter was chapter 7 but am I reeeeallly on chapter 8 is that reaaaaalllly how numbers work

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papa-rhys · 6 years

Text

Pretty Little Thing: Part 1 (Jacob Seed X f!Reader)

Note: I’m not proofreading this because I have my second migraine in 12 hours, so please forgive any mistakes. Enjoy!

Summary: You’re a young college girl, having fun and living for the moment. when you meet Jacob - an older man with rugged good looks - in a nightclub, you don’t pass up the opportunity to get down and dirty in a bathroom stall.

Word count: 1768

Warnings: None that I can think of!

College: an interesting experience. Between cramming for exams that you don’t really have much of an interest in taking and making up for lost sleep by napping in the corner of the library during free periods, you still somehow find the time and energy to party. After all, you’re in your 20’s as of last week and time waits for no man (or in this case, no 20-year-old college girl). Determined to have fun before the inevitable depression and overwhelming fear of adulthood sets in, you’ve come to your favourite nightclub – a colourful place with good music and cheap drinks, thriving on the trendy side of the city.

As you make your way over to the bar, dripping with sweat after a solid hour of dancing, you spot him – the man you’ve already decided to go home with tonight. He’s stocky with ginger hair and a fiery beard to match. He’s sat at the bar, hunched over a beer bottle that he sips from occasionally, and even though he’s sat down, he’s still taller than most of the people around him. The most important detail about this mystery man, however, is that he’s alone.

You glide over to the bar and stand beside him, running your fingers through your messy hair. You can feel his eyes on you as you wait for the bartender to notice you. After a few minutes of waiting, you turn to the man. “You got anything I can throw at this prick?” you ask him, nodding your head towards the bartender, who stands at the other end of the bar, chatting to a group of blonde women.

The man chuckles and takes a sip of his beer. He’s much older than the rest of the people in the club – mid 40’s, you’d guess – and he looks a lot grumpier, too. The coloured lights flash over his features, revealing a scarred face. If you’d met him in a dark alleyway, you’d run for your life. He looks sketchy at best but being young and daring, you’re kind of into it.

You pick up the dog tag around his neck, holding it between your fingers and reading the name engraved on its surface. “So, Jacob,” you start, letting it fall back against his chest. “What’s a guy your age doin’ hanging around a nightclub full of college girls? Kinda creepy, isn’t it?”

Jacob smiles. “Actually, my baby brother dragged me here to meet him. This is more his scene than mine.”

“Your brother? You sure about that?” you ask, looking over his shoulder. “’Cause I don’t see you talkin’ to anyone other than me.”

“He didn’t show up.”

You nod your head and give him a doubtful smile. “Riiight. Of course he didn’t. I’m sure you totally didn’t just come here to hang out with girls half your age,” you say, sarcastically.

“What would I want with a bunch of pretentious college brats?” he asks, looking you up and down with hungry eyes.

“You tell me,” you smile. “Some men like ‘em young.”

“Well I like ‘em experienced.”

“Who says you can’t be both?” You grin at him and he lets a small smirk slip. There’s a beat of silence before you look down the bar and the bartender – still flirting with the women that no one has had the heart to tell him are out of his league. “You do much dancin’?” you ask Jacob, turning to face the dancefloor and leaning back against the bar.

“At my age?” he scoffs. “Thought I was just a creepy old man?

“You are, but that don’t mean I don’t wanna dance with you,” you shrug. “Maybe I’m in a creepy old man kind of mood.”

Jacob smiles. “No offence, darlin’, but you’re just a kid. I’m – “

“Old enough to be my dad?” you interrupt. “So?”

“So, maybe I ain’t the guy you’re lookin’ for.”

“I’m talkin’ to you, aren’t I?”

He stays quiet, shaking his head with a smile and raising his bottle to his lips for another swig of his beer.

“Pssh. Suit yourself, old man.” You turn around and lean over the bar, your tiny skirt riding up as you do so. You pick a cocktail stirrer out of a container behind the bar and throw it at the bartender, hitting him on the back of the head and earning a cheer from the growing crowd of people waiting for drinks. “Are you gonna do your job or am I gonna have to climb over this damn bar and do it for you?” you yell, prompting the bartender to roll his eyes and make his way over to you.

“You’re a bit of a firecracker, huh?” Jacob asks from behind you.

You look over your shoulder to find him staring at your ass as your skirt barely covers it. He’s blissfully unaware that you’ve caught him and you consider letting him enjoy the moment before ultimately deciding that making him squirm will be a lot more fun. “You enjoying the view back there?” you ask, a wide grin spreading across your lips.

Jacob sips his beer. “It’s alright,” he shrugs. “Could be better.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and take your drink from the bartender. You turn to leave, leaning in close to whisper in Jacob’s ear. “that’s not what the lower half of you is saying,” you smirk, sipping your drink through your straw and giggling as he looks down at his crotch. “If you change your mind and decide you want to loosen up, then I’ll be on the dance floor.” You give him a wink and wander off into the crowd.

You get a few feet into the bustling sea of people before someone grabs your arm from behind. Turning around – your straw still held between your pursed lips – you find Jacob, holding your arm with one hand and beckoning you with the other. He pulls you back in the direction you came from and you shove your drink into a stranger’s hand on your way past. Jacob drags you into the women’s bathroom and you watch with a smile as he checks every cubical to make sure the coast is clear. He pulls you forward by the wrist and shoves you into a cubical.

Once the door is shut and the latch is down, Jacob is all over you. He presses you against the wall, kissing you urgently and desperately. You’d figured he’d been in need of a little company when you saw him at the bar, but the way he clutches you, pulling you as close as humanly possible… this man is lonely.

“I thought I was just a pretentious college kid?” you smile as Jacob buries his face in your neck.

“Maybe I’m in a pretentious college kid kind of mood,” he grumbles.

You lift his head up from the crook of your neck and kiss him, throwing your arms around his neck. Your heart races as he reaches under your skirt in search for your underwear – the look on his face when he realises you aren’t wearing any is priceless.

“I never wear any,” you tell him, panting heavily. “I don’t really have much need for ‘em.”

“Kids these days,” he smiles.

You help him unbuckle his belt and he returns the favour by hitching up your skirt and lifting you into the air. You wrap your legs around him and throw your head back against the wall of the cubical as he lowers you down onto his hard cock. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, pulling a smug smile from Jacob as he slowly moves you up and down. You kiss him again as he sets his pace, holding you in the air with only the help of the wall that you’re pinned to. “Fucking hell,” you mutter, moaning into the kiss as you take him all the way to the base. “You do this often?”

“First time in a long time,” he replies.

“Bullshit,” you scoff. “No one is this good at fuckin’ when they’ve been dry for a while.”

Jacob chuckles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You giggle and rest your head back as Jacob keeps his rhythm – bouncing you up and down with ease.

You figure it makes sense for him to be able to hold you up like this; after all, he is wearing shiny dog tags around his neck. He’s probably used to lugging his gear around all day in the hot sun, so 10 minutes of lifting a young college girl in the bathroom of a fashionable nightclub is probably a walk in the park for him.

His beard scratches the soft skin of your collarbone as he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your throat. He grunts like a wild animal as his thrusts become harder and faster. They’re almost violent and you can’t help but be turned on by this complete stranger fucking you like a rabid beast – that your body is enough to revert him back to his most primal nature.

“Oh shit,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You clutch the sleeves of his T-shirt, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric as you whine and whimper your way through your orgasm.

Jacob watches with glee as your face reddens and your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Good girl,” he grunts through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be so condescending,” you laugh, hitting him lightly in the chest with all the strength you can muster (which just happens to be all the strength of a newborn puppy).

Jacob chuckles, lowering you down until your feet are planted firmly on the floor. He keeps you pinned to the wall, running his thumb along your lower lip with one hand and finishing himself off with the other. He shoots strings of fluid all up your skirt, littering the fabric with white splotches.

You swipe the pad of your thumb across his tip, gathering up the excess cum and putting it in your mouth. You look up at him through your eyelashes as you suck your thumb clean and he watches you with a smirk.

You take your thumb from your mouth and wipe it dry on Jacob’s T-shirt. “Thanks for that, bud,” you say, cheerfully. “I’ll see you around.”

You move for the door, but Jacob pulls you back into a kiss. “Oh no you don’t,” he says between kisses. “You’re coming home with me.” He pulls up the latch on the door and throws the door open. You giggle excitedly as he takes you by the hand and pulls you out of the bathroom.

#Jacob seed #Jacob seed x reader #far cry 5 #my writing #writing: Jacob seed

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