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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter five: dark vibrations

word count: 11.4k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: body horror, hallucinations (?), mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide. spooky scary activities ensue. elliot has an increasingly difficult time keeping a grasp on reality. we knew this was gonna happen, though!

notes: howdy! i hope y’all enjoy this. sometimes i go weeks without updating and sometimes i wait like, 4 days before manically writing an entire chapter. you know how it be like that sometimes. i was feeling a bit more inspired and felt like i finally hit a groove on where this story was going, which i think definitely helped, and i hope you all enjoy it!

thank you, as always, to everyone who reads, likes/comments, even if you just come into my dms with two nice words or write something nice in your tags; it really does make my whole night to see even one person enjoying anything i’ve made. <3

Cold morning light filtered in through the window, drenched in wedding-silk grays thanks to the wintery cloud-cover. Everything in the room looked to be placed with absolute intent and care; polished, porcelain-white decor in elaborate geometrics, gold accents, a king-sized bed with impeccably pressed sheets. Truthfully, John had thought for certain he’d come back into the house to be informed by Elliot’s statuesque mother that, in fact, she had rescinded her offer to let him stay and actually, he would need to depart immediately, lest the authorities be called.

He was glad that it hadn’t come to that, of course, because it would’ve been such a shame to have to dampen Scarlet’s opinion of her own daughter so quickly into their meeting.

Dropping his small bag of belongings—the manila folder packed full of information, including his own scribbled notes; the burner phone; a few quickly-packed clothes that had been meticulously cycled to avoid the most long-term wear—John paused as the heat in the house kicked on with a delicate whirr.

Everything in Scarlet Honeysett’s home seemed to be precisely the shape and color that she liked, with not a single thing out of place; and yet, as the heat kicked on, he was certain that he could hear the sound of sharp, hushed voices downstairs, a little ripple in the woman’s perfect, arcadian home scene.

It was good. It felt good, to be here. To have gotten the upper hand. So much of the past weeks he’d spent with Elliot had felt like he was slowly, violently spiraling out of control, but this? She was here, and she had to play by his rules for once, and—

And he’d wanted just one more second alone, with her. To watch the way her eyes flickered over his face, to drink in the way her chin tilted up in defiance but not unlike the way she used to do it when she was waiting for him to kiss her, the same lovely high-color in her spreading along her cheekbones and the same little spark in her gaze. Whether it was anger or allure was neither here nor there, anymore; with Elliot, they were interchangeable, a stepping stone one way or another, just the way it had always been with them.

Because John liked her anger. He liked her wrath. He wanted to put his hands on it, his mouth on it, break it into pieces and wring it out of her and put it back and do it all over again, while she said his name, his name, and not anyone else’s. God, she’d been so fucking close—so close, and he couldn have just had her if he really wanted to, grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her when the sting of her slap was still fresh on his face. She liked when he did that; kissed her, like he was starved for her. Because he was starved for her, and then she could knot her fingers into his shirt or dig her nails into his skin or whatever it was she wanted to make him desperate.

The sound of excited barking downstairs broke him out of his thoughts. John blinked, taking one last swift look-over of the immaculate room his mother-in-law had decided to put him up in before he nudged his bag beneath the bed and stepped out into the hallway.

To say old money would be almost an understatement. Surely, this house had to have some kind of historical significance; it was several stories, with one of those grand staircases that was wide going up, hit a landing, and then split to either side of the house. As he made his way down, he caught sight of the flicker of Scarlet’s silk robe in the kitchen; music drifted out of it, the same kind of hazy, older music that Elliot had turned on in her mother’s house back in Hope County.

“Stop moving,” Elliot was saying to Boomer, strapping him into a little reflective vest that sat on him like a saddle blanket. For a second, she didn’t notice his presence—or willfully ignored it; he couldn’t say for sure one way or another—and instead focused on the Heeler, rubbing his ears and kissing the bridge of his nose. A tiny little smile ticked the corners of her mouth, and he thought he heard her say, so handsome, best boy, yes you are.

Boomer’s attention snapped to John, now at the foot of the stairs. He let out one sharp, accusatory bark (could dogs sound accusatory, John wondered, or was that just Elliot getting to him?), and what little of his hackles were visible from out under the vest spiked up instantly.

“Good to see you too, beastie,” John greeted him, trying to ignore the way the hound’s low-pitched, reverberating growls made his skin crawl. Flashes of Boomer’s numerous and vicious takedowns of not only Eden’s Gate members but at least one member of the Family that had the misfortune of having chained the dog up darted across his memory, like a flipping through a photo album.

“Don’t talk to him,” Elliot snipped, cupping Boomer’s ears protectively. “I don’t need him getting the idea we’re friendly.”

John rolled his eyes. “More than friendly, I’d say.” His eyes darted over her, drinking in once against the shock of her appearance—red hair, so fucking red that every time he looked at her it was almost like staring at a stranger until he took in the rest, the freckles smattering her nose and the flush in her cheeks, cupid’s-bow lips that were glossed. Had he ever seen Elliot with more than river-soaked mascara on before?

The woman shot him a look, dry and unamused, coming to a stand. He asked, “Going for a walk?”

“Trying to,” she replied tartly, “but someone is evil enough that Boomer doesn’t trust them.”

“We’re pals,” John offered pleasantly. “Me and the beast. You know, were, anyway. He probably just needs to spend a little time with me.”

“Speaking from personal experience, more time makes you less palatable.”

“Let me come on the walk with you,” he tried again, letting her little barbs and jabs roll right off of him, water skating off of his feathers. At this point, he really quite enjoyed her venom; it was familiar. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty to catch up on.”

Elliot eyed him warily, eyes giving him a scathing once-over—eerily reminiscent of her mother’s own disdainful look, and now he thought, ah, yeah, that is where she gets it from, then—as her mouth twisted around whatever it was she wanted to say but wouldn’t let herself. Something too vicious for Scarlet to overhear, perhaps. The threats she’d made in the past had been wildly colorful, but each second that Ell spent considering her words more carefully rather than saying whatever it was she felt with her eyes darting to the kitchen was another second that John became more aware of how little Scarlet actually knew.

“Fine,” Elliot said at last, her eyes narrowing. “I suppose that we do. Mama, we’re leavin’.”

The little quirk of an accent at the end of her sentence made him swallow back a laugh. He’d barely heard that Georgia accent back in Hope County, but maybe spending time with her mother had reinspired it.

“Alright,” Scarlet said, drying her hands on a towel as she stood in the doorway. Her eyes glanced between them, inquisitive for a moment, before she said, “Be quick. Doctor’s appointment in an hour and a half.”

John tilted his head. “Oh? Baby check-in?”

“Can’t imagine what else it would be, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet idled. “Are you familiar with the process of pregnancy?”

“Not beyond the knowledge of a man, I’m afraid.”

“Well, allow me to educate you,” the blonde said, her voice light. “When a woman is carrying a baby, she has to make frequent visits to the doctor, to ensure that all is well. Can’t have anything going wrong with the baby, you know.”

John steadied the intake of breath so that it did not sound so abrupt. He would have done a double-take and thought perhaps she was just overbearing, and not attempting to insult him, were Elliot not smiling. Certainly, only her mother’s attempted insult of him could elicit such an expression out of her.

“Then my arrival was fortunately timed,” he announced. “I look forward to it.”

“And you’ll be sorely disappointed,” Elliot cut in, her humor fading. “You won’t be coming.”

Ah, yes. That’s why I don’t love her attitude. “That’s absurd,” he replied, incredulous. “It’s nearly six weeks, and I haven’t seen a single ultrasound of our baby.”

He was careful, this time, to keep it to our baby. He’d seen the way Elliot’s expression tightened when he’d said my baby, even though that’s what came so naturally to him now, being that they were hardly on the same team—but he’d seen it, that look in her eye, the way she’d squared her shoulders like she’d suddenly been ready to go at him.

Only one thing to do with a rabid dog, Jacob had said, not two days before they found Elliot drenched in another man’s blood in the woods.

John half-expected Scarlet to jump in, to say that it was the father’s right to be there; she was more traditional than Elliot, if her comment about wedlock or her insistence of him staying were anything to go by, but when he turned his gaze to her, the older woman’s expression was devoid of any sympathy. Typical of Honeysett women, he was coming to find.

“If she doesn’t want you there, then you won’t be there. I won’t have my daughter stressed out,” Scarlet told him. “Stress is bad for the baby. Surely that falls within the realm of what a man knows about babies, Mr. Seed?”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Surely.”

“Good. Hour and a half, my beloved, do not be late.”

That a woman had become so capable of tacking the softness of my beloved onto something that verged on a threat was nearly beyond John—would have been, certainly, were he not accustomed to Isolde’s particular brand of venom that was not so unlike Scarlet Honeysett’s.

“I won’t,” Elliot promised. “Can you call the handyman? My TV’s been acting up lately. Turning on static and whatnot.”

“Fine,” Scarlet replied, waving her hand. “I’ll have them come out this afternoon.”

Elliot turned on her heel and opened the front door out into the frigid morning, letting Boomer dart out ahead of her and not waiting for him in the least. He fell into step beside her easily, shrugging into his coat halfway out the door as it clicked shut behind him; she trudged through the snow, passing the garbage can and opening the gate that led out into what had once been pastureland and towards the woods.

It was the same fence that she’d been standing at, early that morning, face lax and serene. If the return to the fence bothered her at all, it didn’t show on her face any more than her irritation at having him there.

“Your mother’s quite...” John’s voice trailed off. “Tall.”

“Mm.”

“Statuesque, even.”

“Mmhm.”

“I get the feeling she doesn’t like me that much.”

“Yes,” Elliot acquiesced, her tone dripping with something close to venomous amusement, “I’ve never seen her take so poorly to someone so quickly before.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“You would be.”

A fourth of the way into the snowy pasture and Boomer was far ahead of them, leaping like a little speckled gazelle in drifts of snow. It was easy to forget that the dog had been ready to rip him to shreds just a little under an hour ago (and once more, more recently). Still, as they trudged through a path that it seemed Elliot had worn through a few times before, John let out a little puff of breath and glanced over at her.

For just one second, she wasn’t spitting any venom at him, but rather seemed to favor the act of pretending like he wasn’t there, which was a bit worse than having her fix her fury on him. Her gaze was focused forward, following Boomer’s little lines in the snow. Attention at all was one thing, but acting as though he didn’t exist?

John said, “So, Burke just got his autopsy reports back and dropped you off right here at home, huh?”

Elliot’s face had already gone pink from the cold, right on her nose and spreading through her cheeks. At his words, a new flush of color rose, a shade more vicious than the last, and her gaze slid to him. If looks could kill, he thought, that dreamy little spike of delight at her eyes on him going straight to his head. Look at you, my little Wrath. You’ve got the good girl mask on, but I know what your true face is.

He’d seen it. Kissed her when the blood was still in her mouth. Let her feed the monster inside of her when she told him to beg, when she dug her nails into his skin, when her breath hitched in her chest from the pressure of his knife blade against her sternum—not in pain, necessarily, but delight at that pain.

The scar had to still be there, of course. The reminder of its existence, swathed in the heavy winter fabrics she wore now, made his fingers itch. If he could just get his hands on her—get his mouth on her, if she would just stop being so obtuse—but he didn’t think he’d be so fond of her if she wasn’t.

“The same way the government probably drove you and your siblings back to the compound and dropped you off,” she replied at last, her voice tight, “isn’t that right?”

John flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Very astute, hellcat.”

Her expression tightened at the moniker. She sucked her teeth, fixing her eyes forward again, shifting back into the strategy of being withholding of her attention rather than entertain him.

“Oh, come on,” he said, swinging around in front of her and stopping her single-minded journey across the pastureland. “You can’t say you didn’t miss me even a little bit, Ell.”

“I told you,” she replied tartly, “not to call me that.”

“Because it reminds you of what it was like when we’re together,” he agreed.

An exasperated noise came out of her. “Did you forget that I lied to you?”

“At the end, sure,” John said, eyes flickering over her face. “But I don’t think you’re so good a liar you could lie about all of the times you said please, or the way that you said my name, or—and I think you’ll recall I’ve insisted on this bit from the beginning—the undeniable connection that we’ve had since we met.”

“You are a fucking lunatic,” Elliot snapped, her face flushing red. “And don’t fucking talk about me like I’m—like I wasn’t there, I know what I—” She sucked in a sharp breath; lower, and more threatening, “I’m aware of what I said. Of what I did.”

“And you’re going to tell me that it was all fake?” he prompted, unwilling to let go of this little thread. Gripping, sliding through his fingers, but he wouldn’t be so quick to let it escape him now that he didn’t have to think about her mother pitching in an unwanted opinion. “That you lied the whole time and you don’t feel anything for me, that—”

“Of course it wasn’t fake,” she bit out. Her voice had gone venomous, sharp, unbridled in its timbre. “I’m not a fucking psychopath, John, I can’t fake loving someone like you can.”

John opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, there was a part of him that was sure Elliot had her doubts about his intentions, otherwise she wouldn’t have fucked off to the middle of nowhere (nor turned them in), but—still?

“You think I—” He paused again, blinking. “You’re not that stupid.”

Her eyes narrowed. Everything about her stiffened, quite suddenly, like maybe she was bracing to take another swing at him. “You are fucking begging for a punch to the face.”

“I mean,” John began quickly, waving his hands a little, “that you surely don’t think that whole time I was just—”

Elliot made a disgusted sound and brushed past him, letting out a high whistle; the sound immediately drew a flurry of activity as a flock of birds when bursting from the treeline, followed closely behind by Boomer’s gray-and-black speckled form. John fell back into step with her, huffing out a breath of air. He was going to table that discussion for later—she was clearly still upset, still a little sore and tender from their departure, and that was fine. There were a lot of things at play concerning his wife’s mood, including but not limited to being pregnant.

So she did, he thought, glancing at her through the corner of his eyes. Love me. Back then, and maybe now, still.

“How have you been sleeping?” is what he said instead, when the moment had spread between them long enough for him to think that he was safe to speak again with incurring her wrath once more. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine,” she replied, her voice tight.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. Elliot blinked once, slow, clearly trying to temper herself. “I just remember what a restless sleeper you were, back home.”

He wanted to say, I saw you at three AM, twice, staring out your window and then walking out into the snow barefoot. I saw you sleepwalking, I know you aren’t sleeping well.

He wanted to say that, and he couldn’t, because if Elliot knew he’d been tailing her for a while she’d go berserk—pull the plug, self-destruct, take whatever loss she had to in order to fucking end him.

“I’m sleeping fine,” the redhead reiterated. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something; her eyes flickered uneasily, like something was bothering her and she hadn’t been able to say it to anyone but maybe she wanted to, and maybe she could say it to him, but something in the treeline drew her attention away. They were about ten yards away, now, the low breeze skimming pine needles against each other as Boomer barked conversationally at the birds that had so rudely taken flight.

Elliot’s molars clicked, grinding together. Her lashes fluttered, and she sucked in a sharp little breath through her nose.

“Elliot?” John glanced at the trees, but that was all he saw—tall, dark pines, bunching together erratically through years of growth spurts and inevitable fellings. He turned his gaze back to his wife, gaze inquisitive. “What?”

“Don’t you—?” She stopped herself, and sucked in another sharp breath, and now John felt the concern spike sharp and hot in him, because when he reached up she didn’t even seem to register his movement; Elliot, the same woman who had snatched his wrist and threatened to snap it in half for having the audacity to ‘sneak up on her’ when he’d been in the middle of talking to her, completely transfixed on something that he couldn’t see.

“Elliot.” He tried something firmer this time, his hand coming up to sweep the strands of her hair away from her shoulder and neck. The gesture finally startled her out of wherever it was she had gone, yanked her back to reality.

Her shoulder bunched up to her jaw in an effort to deter his hand, swatting at him absently with her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you going to tell me where you were just now?” John asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I was here. Just thought I saw something in the trees,” she replied tightly, turning away from the treeline and clearing her throat. “Just birds.”

Just birds, she said, even though the birds had already taken off and the forest was otherwise still and serene. Behind her, Boomer whined before beginning to follow her back towards the house. Elliot moved with a newfound purpose, one that she had been distinctly lacking before.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. John turned his attention back to the trees, searching for anything—any tangle of branches of play of shadows that might read sinister or threatening.

Only the trees and their shadowy pines. He thought about that night he’d fished Elliot out of the Family’s grip, when she’d been so fucking drugged up to her gills that she’d balked at the sight of the treeline on their way out. I don’t think I can, she’d said then, her voice pitching high with the anxious vibrations of panic. John, I don’t think I can—

“John,” Elliot snapped from ahead of him, “are you coming, or are you just gonna stand there all fucking afternoon?”

He thought about the way Ase had grabbed her hand, blood and viscera coating Elliot like she’d become a tried-and-true Scream Queen. If he searched long enough, if he sat in the memory long enough—did Ase’s mouth open? Had she said something to Elliot? What had she said?

“John,” came the grinding demand, again, less patient than before. “As much as I would love to leave you to freeze to death for insinuating I’m stupid, mama would hate to have to deal with a corpse on her property and I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I missed our banter,” he replied, though the jest did not quite land the same way that it would have were he not so deep in his own thoughts. By the time he’d started walking in her direction, his back to the forest, something uneasy had settled just under his skin; the feeling of being watched, eyes on the back of his neck, anticipation prickling along like his spine.

The house loomed, polished and pristine, on the horizon; as they picked their way across the snowy field, Elliot puffing out breaths occasionally from the labor of it all, John tried to shake that pervasive feeling of dread that had settled over him.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Weyfield was just Weyfield, a small town not unlike Hope County, and maybe he was just jumpy from the way the Family had conducted their business, and maybe it was the same for Elliot, who had certainly been put through a different experience than he—but regardless:

The sooner they got out, the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Shouldn’t have agreed to let him drive me here.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

It was stupid. Stupid, I should have put my foot down, told him to fucking stay at the house and wait for me to come back.

“Elliot?”

She blinked, vision fuzzing and refocusing around the sterile white of the doctor’s office. Her abdomen was sticky, and the ultrasound machine had been turned off along with her shirt tugged back down. Like usual, Dr. Harding did not say anything about the gossamer-webbing of scars, but did pause upon first seeing them, as though she hadn’t seen them times before.

“Sorry?” Elliot said, the apology quirking up at the end in question. She sat up from the bed, the paper crinkling beneath her as she moved.

“I asked,” Harding reiterated, “have you been getting enough sleep?”

Elliot knew the answer. She felt the exhaustion souring in her mouth already, the way something spoiled when it went too long without attention. A sickness. She should say that she hadn’t been sleeping well at all, that she’d begun sleepwalking, that

(seeing things, I’m seeing things when I close my eyes and when I look in the dark treeline, I see faces, heads, people I don’t know but they feel familiar and their faces drop down in between the branches of trees on invisible silk threads and their terrible dark mouths open but they can’t scream)

she’d been feeling out of sorts, as of late. That seemed like a nice way to put it.

The dark images that had fluttered between the trees on her walk earlier that morning with John felt as real as any memory—and that wasn’t to say that her memories always felt real, because they didn’t. But the validity of this morning’s waking nightmare of floating heads drifting between tree-trunks, swinging loosely while John asked her how she’d been sleeping.

“Fine,” Elliot said after a moment, feeling a fresh wave of nausea come over her. “I think, um, maybe the stress about the baby is keeping me up at night.”

Harding regarded her for a moment. The severe sharpness of her dark hair pinned back did nothing to soften her expression—though the woman was hard-pressed to be cheerful, she, at the very least, never sugar-coated anything. “Have you been trying those breathing exercises before bed? And spending time at the stables, as I suggested?”

“I have,” she replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue—she was doing at least one of those things. “It’s just been a lot of—stress, is all. I’m sure it’ll get better once the holidays are over.”

“That can definitely help,” the woman agreed, nodding her head and typing a few loose notes into the computer. “If you find that you aren’t getting enough sleep—enough,” she continued, pointedly, “restful sleep, you let me know and we can figure out some next steps.”

Elliot nodded, coming to a stand; the sudden movement had her head rushing, and she for a second she thought again of the floating heads, swaying with the breeze through the pine boughs.

“I’ve been sleep-walking,” she blurted out impulsively, her doctor’s gaze turning quizzically towards her. “I mean—um, just twice.”

“Do you have a history of it?”

“No,” Elliot began, “but I’ve always been a restless sleeper.”

“It’s not uncommon for sleepwalking to increase with pregnancy, Miss Honeysett,” the doctor replied, her voice even-keel. “It sounds like you’re under quite a bit of pressure, as well. I would suggest trying something mild—an over-the-counter sleep aid would be fine. Unisom is a typical one. Try half of one first, and see how it makes you feel.”

“Okay,” she murmured, sliding her coat back on. Something that was less heavy-duty than the pills her mother had left for her might be good. “Are there any—symptoms? To sleeping pills?”

The doctor adjusted the glasses on her nose, regarding her for a long moment. “Some adverse side-effects, on occasion. Usually with stronger, prescription sleep aids, you could have worsening anxiety and depression, day-time drowsiness. That kind of thing.”

So, no hallucinations, then. No sleepwalking, no lost time, no...

“Are you having other symptoms?” Harding asked.

You’ll think I’m crazy, Elliot thought, you’ll think I’m fucking nuts if I tell you about my dream with the television, and Joey’s body, and walking out nearly to the treeline in my sleep clothes. You’ll think I’m fucking nuts and I’ll have to be committed.

So Elliot said, “No, just curious,” and Dr. Harding hummed as she scribbled the name of the sleep aid onto a sticky note for Elliot to take out with her.

“You have a healthy baby, Miss Honeysett. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” The brunette gestured for Elliot to head out the door, walking with her back up the hallway that led to the front lobby once again. “Next appointment we can find out the gender, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, surprised. Was it that soon already? Had it already been that long of being—like this? With child? She swallowed, pleasant little flutters in her chest. It was the first time that she’d felt something other than dread concerning the baby. Well, first time, sans John’s annoying little assertion about his claim. Why had that bothered her so much?

“You can decide to keep it a surprise,” Dr. Harding added, sound a little amused. “Think about it, and in the meantime, get some rest. Half a pill to start, remember.”

“Will do, thank you.”

She waded through the small collection of people in the lobby and out onto the street. Something strange was humming inside of her—it was sad, she realized, with a little spike of panic. She felt mournful. So fast, and so soon, she would figure out the baby’s gender, and suddenly the baby would be all the more real and she’d have to start thinking about names, she couldn’t have a baby without a name, and how was she supposed to pick a name? How was she supposed to decide something a real human being was going to be saddled with, forever?

Was the baby a Seed? Or a Honeysett?

Which one was she?

“What’re you doing, just standing out here? You’ll freeze.” John’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, shaking her back to reality again. He must have seen her standing there, glassy-eyed in the middle of the sidewalk, from where he’d been waiting—perhaps, if she was lucky, even suffering over the fact that he hadn’t been allowed into the doctor’s appointment—and come out. He’d kicked up a big enough fuss about not getting to come in that she’d said, fine, you can fucking drive me there, but that’s it, and true to his word John hadn’t pressed the matter any further than that.

Even though he wanted to. She could tell he wanted to, the second they had parked on the main street. She could tell he wanted to say, so, maybe I do come in, hm? What do you say to that? But he hadn’t. And that was...something.

Fuck, she needed to stay focused; she couldn’t keep letting her mind wander like that. Twice in less than an hour?

“I was just—thinking,” Elliot replied, feeling exhausted already. John’s brows furrowed at the center of his forehead, and she sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He arched a dark brow loftily. “Like what?”

“Like you fucking care,” she snapped.

“Contrary to what you might believe concerning my feelings for you,” John quipped, his voice tart, “I do have every reason to be invested in the well-being of our baby.”

She thought to reiterate again that the baby was, in fact, hers, and not any part his, as she was doing all the work and John had done nothing to endear himself as an acceptable father-figure, but she was too tired. Something about the doctor’s office and the way she’d had to dodge the truth of how she’d been feeling left her empty, scooped out her insides like she was a Jack-O’-Lantern and left her floating, aimless.

“Ell,” he began. His voice had pitched lower, now, and his hand reached up; she saw it move in the corner of her vision and something inside her said, yes yes yes, this is what we want, we remember you, we know you. He twisted a loose curl around his finger, letting it smooth out against her shoulder, the corner of his mouth ticking upward when she absently batted his hand away. “Tell me about the appointment. Did everything go well?”

“The baby is fine,” she told him, and then sighed. “I mean—healthy. The baby is healthy. The doctor wants me to pick up an over-the-counter sleep aid, so we’ll need to stop at the store on the way home.”

“I thought you were sleeping fine?” John prompted. He sounded sly. His was a gotcha tone, the way he got when he thought he’d walked a particularly fine circle through the holes in what she chose to tell him or not. Elliot’s expression flattened. She ignored the way that he was looking at her—hungryhungryhungry, always greedy and never, never content with what he had—and fixed her eyes on the passing traffic behind him.

She said, “Just when you’re being somewhat tolerable, you have to go and ruin it.”

“If it’s intolerable for me to point out when you’re withholding information from me about your health,” he demurred, “then I’d prefer intolerable.”

“I cannot believe that I have to say this to you,” Elliot bit out, the sudden spike of irritation flaring hot and violence in her chest, “but I don’t fucking owe you anything. I don’t owe you the truth, or an explanation, and quite frankly, the fact that I allowed you to even chauffeur me to this fucking appointment is a sign that I’m being incredibly generous with you—far more generous than what you deserve.”

John’s teeth flashed in a grin. Before, back in Hope County, the venom had bothered him—he’d hated it, frowned and fought back with a little poison of his own, despised that he had to work so hard to get to the nitty-gritty underneath. But he had once, and perhaps now that he had known her, it only thrilled him.

How frustrating.

“Everything I did,” he said, lowering his voice as he closed some of the small distance between them now, “whether you believe me or not, was for us—”

“Ugh.”

“—and I might have gotten a little heated,” John continued, and this time when he reached up again Elliot’s mouth twisted into a grimace and she tilted her face away, don’t say it don’t say it don’t you fucking say it fuck you fuck you fuck you, “back at the ranch, but I meant it when I said that I l—”

“Honeysett!”

It was Via. Her greeting immediately cut off John’s words, effectively driving a wedge between their metaphorical—and physical—closeness. Snapped her out of the magic of his cologne and his voice and his hand coming up to her shoulder with its grounding weight.

“Missed you at the barn today,” the blonde chirped, cheery as she approached, hands tucked into her fluffy parka pockets. Her eyes flickered over to John, inquisitive. “Friend?”

And then Via turned her eyes back to Elliot, waiting expectantly. It struck her quite suddenly that Sylvia was checking—that despite the kindness and warmth in her voice, she was giving Elliot the opportunity to escape, to wave a red flag and ask for help. She said friend?, and what she meant was, is this man bothering you?, and it made a fuzzy warmth spread right through Elliot’s chest, uncomfortable in the softness is inspired in her.

“Hey, Via, this is...” How best to proceed? How to explain, this man is the father of my baby—which, by the way, I’m pregnant—and also technically we are legally married, oh and also he’s supposed to be in Federal custody right now but he isn’t, somehow, but it’s fine, we’re all good? “...my...John.”

Sylvia eyed her for a moment, sticking out a gloved hand. “Howdy, Elliot’s John. I’m Sylvia.”

John was clearly trying not to have the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he shook Via’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Sylvia,” he replied pleasantly, once again reminding Elliot that the man was a tried-and-true practiced liar and could slip a perfect face on at any time. The knowledge was almost enticing, to know that she’d seen him without the masquerade, more than once.

It made, in hindsight, reflecting back on that moment he’d come unraveled at the ranch—No way, baby, I’m fucking it for you—have a different light. She had done that to him.

Good.

“Y’all busy?” Sylvia asked, blissfully not prying any further for an elaboration on what the nature of their relationship was. “I was just about to meet Wyatt at the Wild Rose. It ain’t trivia night, but they do have a live band playing tonight that’s supposed to be good.”

“Oh,” Elliot said faintly, “I don’t think—”

“That sounds excellent!” John interrupted. “I’ve barely seen anything of Weyfield. What do you say, Elliot?”

I say you can eat shit, she thought, but Sylvia was watching her closely—trying to make sure everything was okay, she supposed, considering Elliot had said nothing of John since they’d become friends. She took in a little breath and looked at the blonde, giving a small smile.

“No harm in a little time out of the house,” she agreed after a moment. “I’m starving, anyway.”

She wasn’t hungry in the least. The sticky note with the doctor’s suggested sleep aid was crumple in her pocket, and a little sweaty from the way she’d been clutching it, but somehow the idea of returning back to the house only seemed to fill her with more dread.

The tv, buzzing static, dull and thrumming in the back of her head, in the roots of her molars. HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? And the heads, twisting and turning in the breeze, their silk-spun puppet threads invisible, their mouths swinging open as they try to scream.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

“Well, can’t have you starvin’,” Sylvia said amusedly, looping her arm through Elliot’s own and beginning to walk. “You’re not keeping my girl well-fed, Mister John?”

“Trying my hardest,” John replied, his gaze sly, “but she can be a bit ornery.”

“Hm, that does sound like her. Where are you visitin’ from, anyway?”

As they chattered, over her, John on one side and Sylvia on the other, Elliot got the distinct impression that her friend was quietly, politely fishing for information without putting Elliot under the stress of it.

HAVE YOU

Snow underfoot. The forest breathing, expanding, swelling because it holds some great, dark beast just waiting for her to get close enough.

BEEN HAVING

(Itwaitsforyouitwaitsforusallanditwillhaveyou)

STRANGE

“Careful,” John cautioned, reaching for the door with all of the gentlemanly nature of a man not possessed by the devil to hunt her down across states, “it’s slick.”

He opened the door into the Wild Rose, the sweep of warm air rushing over her a pleasant shock to her system that managed to draw her back to reality. Sylvia nudged her inside, effectively planting herself between Elliot and John as they moved single-file into the crowded bar.

She was tired, and having nightmares, and once she finally got some sleep she would feel a lot better about everything. All she needed was some sleep. And in the meantime, try to enjoy her time with her friends as best she could.

Get some sleep. Feel better in the morning. Burke’s old mantra popped up in her head, running through the worn grooves that were a sad, bittersweet sort of comfort to her now; the second you think you can’t anymore, you keep going anyway. Dig, dig, dig, until her fingers were dirt-packed and bloody, as deep as she fucking needed to go to keep moving, because it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

Sylvia had drifted out from their little formation to make her way to the booth they had recently staked out as their own, where Wyatt already sat waiting and waving for them. John planted his hands on her shoulders, squeezing and lowering his mouth to her ear. “What do you want to drink?”

“You’re acting awfully domestic for someone who should be in Federal custody,” Elliot replied lowly, looking at him over her shoulder just in time to see him flash a smile that was all teeth.

“C’mon, hellcat,” and he all but purred the words at her, making her skin prickle in a type of anticipation that wasn’t purely dread. Traitorous, treacherous body. “You can at least play at liking me while your friends are around.”

“Iced tea.” She shrugged, disembarking his hands from her shoulders. “No lemon. A lot of ice. Think you can swing it without, I don’t know, lying halfway to Hell on your way there, Slick?”

“Anything,” he replied, pitching his voice even lower amidst the din of the bar, “for my lovely wife.”

Elliot’s head snapped around, ready to grab a fistful of his shirt and remind him to watch his fucking mouth, but he’d already started his journey to meander through the crowd and reach the bar on his little fetch quest.

Fucker, she thought, even when her stomach twisted with something other than vicious disdain. John had only been here for a day and was already too comfortable taking liberties; she’d have to make sure that got nipped in the bud before he got any funny ideas about his own personal redemption arc.

It would have been nice, to just be able to turn off any and all feelings whenever she wanted. But she couldn’t, and that meant she’d have to do the next best thing:

Get John the fuck away from her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eden’s Gate did not make a good first impression. Eden’s Gate did not even make a good second or third impression; in fact, Isolde had come to the conclusion that Joseph’s little compound was incapable of making any impression that didn’t fill the observer with a sense of despair. Every time she stepped out of the little building Jacob had set her up in, she was overwhelmed with disgust—eyes followed her, but none of them held anything beyond a dull spark of interest, nearly smothered by what seemed to have been a full-body beat down by the other cult.

The other cult, she constantly had to remind herself, because that’s what Eden’s Gate was. A cult.

A few miserable days at the hands of Montana’s coldest winter by record had her in a foul mood. The snowfall seemed inevitable, like it wouldn't ever stop, and the amount of times there had been paths shoveled between buildings—all leading to the chapel—were equally endless. Isolde couldn’t imagine coming to fucking Montana for fun, let alone for work, and yet she was somehow here for the latter and not the former. Distinctly, painfully lacking in fun.

It didn’t help that Joseph was insufferable. It didn’t help that every time he fixed his eyes on her, she felt an uncomfortable heat dripping down her spine like some kind of molten IV, like they hadn’t left on the worst of terms. Like she hadn’t told him to get the fuck out of her loft, like she hadn’t thrown an engagement ring on the floor like it was poison.

That was a time of her life that she had the distinct desire to not revisit, not even once, and yet in his presence—she found it nearly impossible to ignore. Joseph seemed to take a special, muted pleasure in making her hackles raise, and at least that hadn’t changed about him.

“Sol!”

Jacob called to her from halfway down the compound’s yard, a truck idling beside him. She stopped her trek back to her little hovel and looked at him, arms crossing over her chest.

“You wanna get out for a little?” He inclined his head toward the truck. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

“What kind of errands do the Collapse dictate?” she asked.

“The important variety.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t elaborate on that any further, and Jacob waited only one heartbeat before he reached for the driver’s side door and opened it, slowly.

“Going once—”

“I am not a child, Jacob.”

“—going twice—”

Fuck, did she want to get out.

“Fine,” Isolde snapped, “but bring that truck here. I’m not hiking through a snowdrift to get to you.”

Jacob, sounding quite pleased with himself, replied, “I thought you weren’t a child?”

He seemed moved enough by the dramatic eyeroll to oblige her, and if he found it annoying, it didn’t show; enough so, at least, that Isolde was able to clamber into the passenger side of the truck once he pulled it around, tapping the snow off of her shoes before pulling herself in.

“Thank you,” she huffed, shutting the door and rubbing her fingers to circulate the blood again. “This weather’s a bit abnormal, don’t you think?”

“Not anything out of the ordinary for this time of year, no,” Jacob replied. He nudged the windshield wipers on, plowing a thin layer of snow that had already begun to accumulate off of the window before starting to pull out of the compound. “I think you’re just not suited to the snow.”

“Could have told you that myself,” Isolde snipped. “I’m a hot-blooded creature.”

Jacob made a noise, something like an mm, a place between agreement without incriminating himself by agreeing too fervently or elaborately. She glanced over at him through the corners of her eyes as they turned onto the highway. In the comfortable silence that elapsed between them, Isolde settled back against the seat of the truck and tried to appreciate being out from the stifling dread of the compound.

It did seem to her that Joseph was markedly different than he had been, before. In the few instances in the last couple of days where he hadn’t been picking a fight with her, it almost felt normal—but of course, he was doing it in his own way, this pot-stirring, this instigating. With politeness. With kindness. By remaining completely unrattled by anything she said to him, every, any critique, so self-assured in his righteousness that not even reason could make him look twice at the state of his congregation.

Then, he had always been that way. Righteous. Assured. She had found it appealing, once—she liked a man with confidence—but now she found it—

Equal parts frustrating and attractive. Objectively, of course. Not anything that she felt herself.

“Trying to account for the bodies of the Family against the ones we know we saw before,” Jacob explained, when she had been quiet long enough to let him sort out his thoughts. “Seems like they started killing themselves, in pairs, once the two leaders were done with. I sent out a couple of scouts and they radio’d back some locations, but they’ve gone quiet for a while.”

“Dedication,” Isolde murmured, digging the nail of her thumb into her lower lip. “How dreadful.”

“The dedication, or the act?”

“Both. Imagine being so bound to something or someone.”

Jacob’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, and he brought the truck to a crawl. Two bodies, swallowed by snow nearly up to their waists, sat propped against the cliff face. He fished a pad of paper and a near-worn out pencil out of the center console of the truck and held them out to her.

“Mark it down, Sol.” When she blinked at him, he continued, “What, you thought you were gonna get out and not help me?”

“Well, I was hoping.”

She sighed, taking the pad and pencil—a glorified secretary is what I am, she thought bitterly—and marked two tally marks down. From where the car was stopped, she could see that the arms of the corpses came together, and though it was buried in snow, she had to think that beneath the white frost their hands were intertwined.

They went like that for a while; Jacob would drive to a spot, have her mark down the amount of bodies, and then go on. By the time they had reached Fall’s End, Isolde had counted nearly twenty dead bodies. As they rolled into the far end of town, Isolde realized very quickly that most of the buildings were blackened, and when she rolled down her window, the stale scent of charcoal still sat in the air.

“What happened here?” she asked, grimacing and scrunching up her nose.

“Dunno,” Jacob replied tightly. “Someone with an agenda.”

Isolde’s gaze snapped to him, to try and wring any information out of his expression, but true to his nature Jacob remained completely unreadable. It wasn’t until they had gotten to what appeared to have once been a bar and tallied up the bodies there that Jacob threw the truck into park.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, eyes fixed forward. When Sol followed his gaze, she realized that it was fixed on someone—someone running towards them, frantically, nearly falling over themselves in the snow.

“Is that one of yours?” she asked. “Jacob?”

“Shh.”

He had busied himself fishing around in the back seat, and as he did Isolde squinted, trying to get a better look at what was going on. The man running definitely had to be Eden’s Gate—he had the big red emblem on his shirt, but he wasn’t wearing any coat, and—

And there were others.

“Jacob,” Isolde said, “there are more.”

��What?”

“Bodies,” she managed out, “there are more bodies.”

The snow wasn’t so deep on the roads that she couldn’t see the width of a body, and she did—see it, that is, tousled dark locks reflecting wet and sticky in the overcast, late-afternoon light. The man running was waving his arms and yelling for help, and then he fell over one of the bodies, fell to his hands and knees over the body of someone else, and made a sound kind of like anguish.

Jacob finally managed to pull out what he’d been looking for—a pair of binoculars—and immediately lifted them to his face.

“Shit,” he said. “Fuck, they’re ours.”

“All of them?” Isolde demanded. “They’re all—”

“Yes,” he bit out, opening the driver’s door and grabbing the rifle from the back seat. “They’re all ours. Isolde, stay in—”

Jacob’s words were cut off by the violent crack of a gunshot. For a split second, Isolde saw nothing; in the space between heartbeats, sluggish from panic, she saw the arterial spray coming from the back of the running man’s body before he hit the ground, screaming.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, he was still crawling, dragging himself through the snow, leaving a smear of red behind him, and that’s when Isolde saw them.

Jacob had stopped moving as well. The person at the far end of the main road leading through Fall’s End had yet to shoulder their weapon. From here, Isolde could see that she was tall—short-cropped, blonde hair, swathed in dark clothes, but beyond that the features were near impossible to make out.

“Close the door,” Isolde hissed, not moving, her instincts screaming to duck but the fear that sudden movement would draw attention prevailing. “Jacob, close the fucking door.”

The eerily satisfying click-click of what could only be the bolt-action rifle in the hunter’s hands clattered around in her head. The rifle was returned to their shoulders, brought up level, and then fired again.

Out of pure instinct, Isolde flinched—but once again, the bullet was aimed not at them, but at the man already crawling in the snow. The sound of the gunshot, and the subsequent bullet-on-bone impact, was enough to make her stomach churn; now, at least, the man lay slumped in the snow, one of the many bodies that seemed to have been the unfortunate pull-and-fire clay birds for the stranger.

“Who,” Isolde whispered furiously, as Jacob carefully put the truck into drive without letting it move forward at all first, “Jacob, who the fuck is that?”

The redhead’s expression was unforgivingly tight, pulling taut with it the scars and mottling of his skin visible outside of his beard. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather kept his eyes fixed forward, as he closed the driver’s side door.

“Fifteen men,” he ground out between his teeth, “that’s fifteen fucking men I sent out here to figure out the body count.”

The stranger finally lowered their rifle, apparently satisfied with their work. This far away, it was hard to tell, but Isolde got the distinct impression that they were being watched, looked at now, where before the attention had been elsewhere.

And then it was confirmed, because the stranger lifted one gloved hand and pressed her index and middle fingers right against the hollows of her jaw. A snakebite. A cut right to the carotid. A message.

Jacob cranked the wheel, the tires shrieking in protest against the snow as he pulled between buildings in a sudden rush of acceleration. The stranger was quickly cut out, stifled by the side of the used-to-be-bar, leaving them out of direct range of a sniper rifle. Not that her companion seemed that pleased about it, anyway.

“Fuck,” he bit out, seething as he tried to navigate the narrow space in the clumsy Eden’s Gate truck. “Fuck, did you count how many bodies were on the ground?”

“Hm, no!” Isolde snapped viciously. “I was a bit too busy trying to make sure they were going to shoot us!”

Jacob gritted out another string of swears between his teeth, turning the truck until he could take what looked to be a back alley in the opposite direction of their little hunter. He checked the rearview mirror frequently; his expression was set in a deep frown, and he only looked at her once before continuing his regular scanning of the road behind them.

“Well, aren’t you going to turn around?” she demanded.

“For what?” Jacob replied flatly. “I’ve got a hunting rifle, not my HTI.”

“I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care,” Isolde bit out.

“It means, the chances of me getting shot before I get a shot on them are significantly lower,” he told her, his knuckles whitening along the steering wheel, “and as confident as I am that I could kill them before they killed me, I’m not confident they wouldn’t take a shot at you first.”

Isolde’s stomach rolled. It wasn’t the violence that bothered her—it wasn’t the death, or the guns, or even the blood—but the message itself. The Stranger had been hunting the Eden’s Gate men and women for sport. For fun. To pass the time, while they waited. But what for? What could they be waiting for?

She stayed quiet, listening to Jacob radio back to the compound quick, short orders that flew right over her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about it—the gesture. The stranger. Who were they? The remainder of the other cult, perhaps? What were they waiting for?

You’re next, that two-fingered, snake-bite-right-to-the-carotid gesture had said.

You’re next, and I’m coming for you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sylvia did not seem that impressed with John Seed, and Elliot could not blame her.

John was exceptionally charming. So charming, in fact, that he and Wyatt seemed to get along smashingly. It was almost frustrating, how quick the blonde took to John—but then, Wyatt did strike as the type of man who got along with everybody until they gave him a reason to think otherwise. After all, he’d been kind to her, and she was...

Needless to say, Sylvia was a harder sell, which was nice. Reassuring. It made Elliot feel more grounded, to see Sylvia politely smile at John’s chatter—she’d nearly forgotten how much he liked to talk—but then decidedly turn to Elliot to ask her about something or dive into a different conversation. It was pointed, and if the way John watched them interact was any indication, the message of it was not lost on him.

By the time the evening had drawn to a close, for her and John at least, the brunette had departed to go warm-up the Jeep and left her standing by the doorway, keeping warm, with Sylvia.

“You sure you’re doin’ okay?” the blonde asked after a moment, propped up against the wall in the tiny little doorway that led out to the main street. “You look tired. Stressed out. I was worried when we didn’t hear from you this morning, about comin’ to the barn.”

Elliot felt a little pang of guilt digging in, just there below her sternum. “I’m okay,” she promised. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I—had a doctor’s appointment this morning that I completely forgot about until my mama reminded me, and John showed up this morning too, so it’s just been...”

“A crazy day,” Via agreed, her nose crinkling cutely in amusement. “He’s a funny fella, that John of yours.”

Oh, if only you knew. “I think so, too.”

“What is he?” she asked, conversationally. “Maybe a—car salesman?”

Her friend’s playful jab was enough to elicit a laugh, billowing out of her and catching even herself by surprise. But then, she shouldn’t have been shocked to find that Sylvia had gotten a quick read on John. Given the way she’d quickly diverted from the attention on Elliot’s scar and carried on, she thought maybe Via was more perceptive than she liked to let on.

“Lawyer,” Ell replied, and Via winced comically.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean—Elli,” Via intoned playfully, “he might as well be sellin’ you snake oil when he’s a lawyer.”

Elliot sighed ruefully, glancing out the window to see John clambering out of the front of the jeep. Snake oil seemed a light judgment for him, all things considered.

“Hey, Via,” she began, swallowing a little, “if I tell you something, you’ve gotta promise you won’t say anything?”

Via regarded her curiously, head tilted. “Okay, sure, Freckles. What’s up?”

She shifted on her feet. “John and I are actually, um—” Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to, because saying it out loud—her, and not John—made it real. Gave it legs. Forced her to face what had happened and what she couldn’t change yet.

“You don’t have to,” Via told her gently. “I could tell there was somethin’—you know, out of sorts. You don’t get a slick-talkin’ lawyer grinnin’ like the cat what ate the canary if he hasn’t done somethin’ to piss a woman off.”

Elliot shook her head. “We’re actually, uh,” she tried again, pulling at a loose thread on her shirt, “m—married.”

Saying the word out loud didn’t feel as wretched as she thought it would, which was almost three times as concerning. She felt, instead, more dread waiting for Sylvia’s reaction—waiting to see what her one friend had to say or think about that.

The woman’s face screwed up comedically. “Oh, Freckles,” she said, her tone teasing. “Say it ain’t so.”

“I’m not kidding!” Elliot felt a nervous little laugh bubble out of her. “I mean—what, Via? You clearly have an opinion on him.”

“I don’t know the man from Jack walkin’ down the street,” Sylvia demurred. “I just think...well, I just think you’re a real peach, you know? And you didn’t seem too pleased to have this John walkin’ around, and I take that kind of thing seriously.”

Sighing, Elliot scuffed her shoe against the ground, watching John pick his way through the crowd back down the street.

“We left on—bad terms, sort of,” she explained. “He showed up to make amends.”

“Do you want to make amends?”

The question caught her off-guard. It was an obvious one—obvious in that, it should have been one of the first things anyone asked her regarding John, even John himself, and yet: no one had. Not a single person had asked her if she wanted to suffer through making amends with the man who had lied to her, violated her trust, and still somehow managed to be the one person she didn’t have to fear seeing the worst, ugliest parts of her.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said after a moment, clearing her throat. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then I will reserve judgment,” Sylvia replied firmly, “so you can make a decision on your own.”

The door to the street opened, bringing with it not only a waft of chilly wind, but John himself and the scent of his viciously-expensive cologne. It took every ounce of Elliot’s self-control not to burst into laughter at the absurdity of it—John Seed, charisma-extraordinaire, somehow managing to make poor first impressions both on her mother and her friend.

“Car’s all warmed up,” John announced, rubbing his hands together. He glanced between the two women, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “What’s so funny, hm?”

“Nothing,” Elliot replied. “Just talking about you.”

This piqued his interest. He said, “Good things, I hope,” and she could see it on his face—the painful reminder of the way John had craved Joseph’s approval, the way he’d lit up like a nuclear mushroom cloud the second Joseph deigned to say anything remotely kind to him.

“Jury’s still out,” Sylvia said lightly, and then flashed a pretty smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry bud! We’ll get you there eventually.”

John tried very hard to feign polite laughter, but the uneasiness bled through readily—and it was a little satisfying, to see John squirm, to see him out of his element, no longer surrounded by a constant chorus of Yes hitting his dopamine centers nonstop. No wonder the man had a conniption anytime someone dared to dislike him.

“Better get this lady home, she looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing,” Sylvia announced, reaching and giving Elliot a gentle hug. “Night, Freckles.”

“Goodnight.”

John and Sylvia bid each other a pleasant goodbye as Elliot stepped out onto the street, careful to avoid icier parts of the concrete as she made her way to the car. Her brain felt fuzzy—a lot of socializing, a lot of time spent trying not to let John get to her. It had been long enough since she’d had to hold her walls up for so long that she felt exhausted from doing it, even for this long.

Maybe that was his strategy. Wear her down, then swoop in, just like last time.

“Did you have fun?” John asked, and she realized that she was at the car, having climbed into the passenger seat already. He closed the driver’s side door, settling in before carefully beginning to back out of the parking spot.

“I mean, having you loom over my shoulder the entire night was a little odd.”

He made an affronted sound. “I was not looming.”

“You were,” Elliot told him, “a little.” She paused, feeling the exhaustion pulling at the edges of her vision, begging for her to close her eyes—but she couldn’t. Not in the car, not with John driving. If she did, he might just keep driving and not turn back around. “It’s funny—”

“My quote-unquote looming?”

“How much different you are,” she finished, “when you’re not around Joseph.”

John was clearly trying very hard not to look like he was stiffening at her words. Gotcha, she thought, with a little pinprick of pride. Yeah, I didn’t forget. I didn’t forget how much you hated it when I brought him up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” John replied, keeping his voice light. “I’m exactly the way I’ve always been.”

“You haven’t tried to drown me a single time.”

“That time was a miscommunication,” he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to drown you. Just—coerce you. And besides, that’s behind us now. I know you, Elliot Honeysett, intimately, which means such forms of brute persuasion aren’t required.” He paused. “It’s much better when you indulge me willingly, anyway.”

Elliot’s nose crinkled. “You sound fucking nuts when you say that. ‘That one time I thought about drowning you was just a miscommunication’. No wonder Sylvia doesn’t like you.”

“So she told you? That she doesn’t like me?”

He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering over to her, and when he saw the very subtle upturn of her mouth he exhaled out of his nose.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not necessarily. But if I was—it would be the least you deserve.”

He was different, out from the insane pressure of the cult, out from under Joseph’s thumb. It was like, given room to breathe, he was suddenly relearning what it was like to make his own decision—to exist outside of Joseph. Back in Hope County, John had been fervent in his belief that he owed Joseph everything. Maybe the distance had done him some good.

Don’t, something inside of her insisted viciously, as she turned her attention out to the side of the road where the headlights illuminated snowdrift after snowdrift. Don’t get soft on him. That’s how he got you last time, you know. Don’t let it happen again.

But if he wanted to press the issue about Sylvia—or about her comment concerning Joseph—John seemed to exercise a remarkable amount of self-control and instead focused on driving. In the quiet, without him chattering on about doing things for them or how much he missed our banter, it was almost...Comfortable.

“Finding out the gender,” Elliot said after a moment, the exhaustion now settling like a deep chill in her bones. “Of the baby, I mean. At the next appointment.”

The brunette shifted in his seat. In an attempt at nonchalance, he said, “Oh, yeah?”

What am I doing? she thought. He plays nice for one night. He’s good at that. Short-term goodness.

“I’m nervous,” she added after a moment. “About finding out.”

“Not excited?” John tilted his head.

“No,” she admitted. “Nervous.”

Ahead of them, she saw the dark blur of a figure. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. John was saying something—something about how he’d read a number of books and it was normal to feel nervous, or some other kind of psycho babble—but she shifted forward in her seat, eyes straining to see.

“Slow down,” she said, “I think there’s a dog...?”

“What?” John asked. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

“Just up ahead. Have you not been paying attention to the road?”

He made an indignant sound—“I am the best driver between the two of us, you know,”—but before Elliot could think up a response, the dark, furred creature slowed down ahead of them, stopped in the middle of the road, and turned its head.

The headlights caught it immediately. It was a dog, four-legged and large and shaggy black fur, but when it turned its head, it was a man’s face, the mouth slung open and the gently-rounded teeth of a human’s mouth blaring white in the headlights. Something dark and slick oozed between the teeth, in that split second, she watched the dog-human-creature push off from the ground and stand on its two hind legs.

She screamed, and John swerved, and immediately threw the car into park and slammed his hand on the hazard lights button.

It was dread, pure dread and fear, sending a pulse of adrenaline straight to her brain. Bent over at the waist, Elliot closed her eyes tight, trying to will the image out of her head, out from behind her irises. John had quickly unbuckled and reached over, his hands doing the same to hers.

“Elliot,” he said urgently, fingers pushing the hair back from her face. “Ell, take a breath, come on—sit up, you have to take a breath—”

“Is—is it gone?” she asked, but the words came out closer to a wail, the fear spiking viciously in the timbre of her voice. Please, God, what the fuck, please let it be gone. God, oh fuck, what the fuck what the fuck— “The—the—”

“There’s nothing—?” John stopped. Elliot frantically scrabbled at the high neck of her parka, fingers shaking and clumsy. “Ell—”

“Can’t breathe,” she managed out. “Too hot, can’t—”

The brunette reached over the console and stilled her hands. She was still bent at the waist, but he made do, pulling the zipper of the parka down until she could pull her arms from it; once it had been deposited in the back seat, his hand went to the back of her neck.

She sat up slowly, her eyes immediately making a frantic search of the road. There was nothing. Only quiet snowfall.

“Where—” She paused, swallowing thickly. “Where did it go?”

“Ell,” John murmured, “there wasn’t anything in the road.”

“What do you mean?” she moaned. “I saw it, the—I saw the—”

“You saw...?” he prompted. His thumb swept across the back of her neck, coaxing.

“The dog,” she insisted. “It was a dog, but it had—it’s face was—it was a man’s face, and it f-fucking—it fucking stood up, John!”

He was watching her carefully, his gaze searching her face for a long moment. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t see anything,” he told her. “Just that you—you just screamed, so I pulled over.”

“I’m not crazy,” Elliot bit out, her voice wobbling.

“I know,” John replied plainly. “Maybe it was just—you know. The snow. In front of the headlights.” And then: “Have you really been getting enough sleep, Ell?”

She felt her lip tremble, the desire to cry almost overwhelming. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t stand John being tender to her, worrying about her, questioning the validity of her saying that she had been sleeping fine because he could see that she couldn’t. He was wretched and wicked and it needed to stay that way.

“Please take me home,” she said finally, re-buckling and rolling the window down to let the cold air on her face. “Please just take me home.”

John waited for a few heartbeats before he turned the hazard lights off and put the Jeep in drive.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he told her after a moment, glancing at her a few times. “I mean it, Ell.”

“Fuck you,” she replied, exhausted and feeling furiously wound up. “Just take me home.”

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

#my writing #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #ch: helmi #ch: isolde khan #ch: jacob seed #fic: witching hour #she gets a lil face lift #as a treat : ' )#far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed x deputy #fc5 oc #john seed/deputy #normally i would be making more of a commentary in the tags but head empty !!!!#but: thank you thank you anyone and everyone who reads!!! ily!!!!!

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fuschiaghosts · 4 years

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Arcadian Inquisition Characters as John Mulaney Quotes

Ash: I’ll keep all of my emotions right here. And then one day I’ll die.

River: Now we don’t have time to unpack all of that.

Abe: Everyone get out of my way! I just want to sit here and feed my birds.

Robert: Sometimes, people would say. “What do you think you’re doing?” But that just meant stop. They didn’t actually wanna know my thought process.

Ash, about River when they first met: I will cross to the other side of the street, because 8th graders will make fun of you, but in an accurate way.

Abe, to Ash: Go get some rest, tall child! You can't keep burning the candle at both ends!

Ash, about joining the guard: I was just shiny and young and dumb and easy to trick.

Shitposts for @baelpenrose ‘s Arcadian Inquisition series >:D

You can read it here!!! It’s very good, pls give it a look if you want to read a post-apocalypse story with actual thought put into it, interesting worldbuilding and extremely lovable characters

#arcadian inquisition

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ringwaldtworldbuilding · 3 years

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Ringwaldt the Timeline

Boring Homework today sorry folks!!!

Today I’m gonna ramble about the history making in Ringwaldt both how it is chronicled world wide and in general.

First and foremost Era’s are ended at major events globally such as ‘The Star Fall’

An Era gets its name from the event that causes it to start usually. Or at least that is my current thoughts

So that means the Star Fall happens and resets the Calenders to 0.

The current year after the star fall is 524. Or abbreviated to SF524.

(No you are right its kind of a mess and i’m only posting the events not the details or context for each)

Here is a rough timeline of some major events mostly situated to Arcadia, Rivermoot, Aghul, and Dragons Reach. Along with a few other things.

God Fall/Star Fall : 0000

Formation of the Star Fall Cult : 0001

The Great Drought : 0002

The Amazon Invasion Begins : 0004

The Collapse of the Sho Empire : 0005

Clan Wars : 0009

The Great Drought Ends : 0014

The 13 Knights(Soon to be 13 Kings first meet) : 0016

The Amazon Empire is Formed : 0017

The Rebellion Begins : 0018

The Amazon’s are Pushed Back to there Capital : 0021

The Amazon’s are forced off the mainland : 0022

The Amazons land at the Isle of Cambrid : 0023

The Empire of the 13 Kingdoms is Formed : 0025

Reconstruction Ends as Discontent forms : 0035

First Instance of Elachi Figurine Belts : 0041

Amazons Establish their first new city : 0049

The Divine Emperor of Eriona : 0057

Dissolving of the Empire into 13 Kingdoms and City States : 0065

The 3 Major City States of The Spine Make the Pact of Good Trade : 0068

Beginning of Prosecution of Sexuality in Eriona : 0076

Rising Tensions in the Nagash Rivervalley : 0085

Arcadian Unification Begins : 0090

Arcadian Unification is Finalized : 0100

The formation of the Kingdom of Rivermoot : 0107

The River Valley Rumble : 0111

Formal Creation of Rivermoot Tax Code : 0124

The Vanished King : 0145

The Nagash River Valley War : 0147

Unification of the Nagash River System under the Kingdom of Rivermoot : 0154

Incorporation of the Causeways, into the Kingdom of Rivermoot : 0159

The Fall of Aghul & Zenkar : 0162

Heeding the Dragon’s Law : 0163

Landing of the Goblins : 0204

New Colonization of the God Fall Archipelago : 0250

Orcish Raiding Fleet : 0263

The Wars of Strife : 0267 -to- 0465

First Major Creation of Firearms : 0275

The Icewind War : 0283

War of Rivermoot and Dragon’s Reach : 0297

Pirate Confederacy : 0301

War of the Spine : 0309

Independence for (Insert Name Here City) : 0315 : There is an ongoing debate for the cities name in my notes

The Iron Revolution : 0337

Aghul Revolt : 337

Development of Rifling : 0398

Reclamation of Aghul : 0341

Aghul Council : 0342

Black Brew Trading Company Founded : 0290+

The Aero Rebellion : 0275+

Formation of the Winged Republic : 0275+

Elevation of Suhnder Nobility : 0275+

Invention of Mystical Prosthetics : 0300+

Lightning Rail Creation : 0400+

Automated Carriages : 0400+

Founding of Magic Academy(Rivermoot) : 0400+

Founding of Magic Academy(Arcadia) : 0100+

Suhnder Desert Conflict : 0350+

The Clan Schism : 0305+

The Burning Fae : 0350+

Sacking of (Insert Name Here City - Rivermoot) : 0335+

Arcadian Succession Crisis : 0450+

The Suhnder / Aghul Trade War : 0350+

Founding of Rivermoots Inquisition : 0300+

Suhnder’s Conquest of Suhveir : 0350+

Major Archaeological Digs and Dives Throughout The Starfall Archipelago : 0300+

The Son of Dragons : 494

Prince Wylem of Rivermoot is born : 0509

Crowning of Prince Wylem of Rivermoot : 0519

THE CURRENT YEAR : 0524

(Cute dragon to break things up he needs a hug!)

There are a few of the events here with a + symbol, that indicates they occur during at some point post that year. I am unsure of where exactly I want them to occur.

Obviously I also need additional events and some historical internal conflicts that have yet to be included. This is just the rough messy version

Side Note I’ve been using Kid Gilgamesh art to reflect King Wylem of Rivermoot, as he’s only 15. Which is why in early Ringwaldt notes Rivermoot, is sometimes entitled Boy Kingdom or the Kingdom of Boy.

I feel like Kratos going ‘boy’ every time I bring that up.

As a note I have about 50 events that don’t even have a rough year which were not included.

Ranging from a Suhveir rebellion to Suhndar. Major changes in minting coins in Arcadia. Various assassination attempts of Endra of Dragons Reach

Now I end you all off with this be wonderful gif.

The full timeline document for rough reference stands at 85 Pages.

And that is including about 50+ events that are just this happens, or X of event of this etc.... this is because i know my timeline; but putting pen to paper is something I suck at.

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canyouhearthelight · 2 months

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Nihilus Rex, Ch. 16: "...and Tragedy"

Pretty sure that title says it all, so I apologize in advance. Please don't kill me!

Co-written and beta-read by @baelpenrose, so he's partially to blame. But he did pick out the song lyrics!

Warnings for racism, hate crimes, off screen deaths of minor characters.

Save yourself a penny for the ferryman

Save yourself and let them suffer

In hope, in love

Mankind works in mysterious ways

Nightwish, “Planet Hell”

Lash

Despite Nils’ earlier errors, the conversation with my parents was going surprisingly well. At some point, Nils had let slip that he didn’t get along with his father, and Baba just let the floodgates open on how hard it was to deal with man. Apparently, Mr. - sorry, DOCTOR - Andover was a complete and utter bastard, even by Baba’s very forgiving standards.

To say Nils and Baba got along was a huge understatement. “Oh no, sir, I’m not offended, everyone knows that he’s a great surgeon and an amazingly mean person. I think there’s a running gag somewhere about not letting him near the patients until after they’ve gone under?”

Baba chuckled - practically a roaring laugh for him - and nodded, knocking one hand on the table. “Yes! The nurses are the only people who are not intimidated, and seeing them physically drag your father away from a patient is often the highlight of my day.”

“It’s probably the highlight of the patient’s day too, they just don’t know it. Trust me, waking up to that frowny, disappointed-Catholic face when you’re already in pain…not ideal.” Nils grinned.

Mama started to say something, but I didn’t hear her as the sound of broken glass made Nils’ head jerk over to one side. “Nils, it’s a cafe. Glasses break all the - “

“Something is burning,” he cut me off. “Chemical burning, not food burning.”

Just as he said that, another crash led to one of the aunties we had been watching earlier jumping up with a scream, beating at the hem of her skirt. Another auntie threw the contents of the nearest cup on it, steam pouring from what had been a burning piece of fabric. Nils stood, yanking me to my feet by my arm. “Start getting everyone out of here,” he demanded. “If you smell gas, find another exit.”

I grabbed my parents first. “Someone is setting the cafe on fire,” I explained. “We need to go. Find an exit that isn’t on fire, and go through there.”

They took off, grabbing people as they went. Usually, Uncle’s shop was wide open, with doors that rolled up rather than windows, but tonight was especially chilly, so most were closed and locked down. Each one I touched was scalding hot, and the only option was one that wasn’t on fire yet but reeked of gasoline. “Lift your skirts!” I shouted, heaving the door up and gesturing people through. “Don’t drag it in the gas!”

Another wash of heat from behind, and I heard Nils shouting something, along with Baba and Mama. Both my parents were determined to help get as many people out as possible: Mama hurling any available liquid on clothes as they caught, Baba carrying older women out and rushing back in for another. Nils had pulled his leather jacket’s sleeves down over his hands and wrenched open one of the latches on the rolling window shutters before shoving it up. Flames roared on the other side, and I saw my father pick someone up and rush through, shielding them from the heat with his own body.

Mama and I took the hint and started yanking cloths from tables and shoving them in a sink full of dirty water, ignoring complaints as we wrapped them around people who could not get out fast enough under their own power. Each one, Baba or Nils would lift and carry out while we found the next, dunking whatever cloth we could in any water we could find. “UNCLE!” I screamed. “You have to get out! UNCLE!”

I couldn’t see him anywhere. “Did Uncle get out!?” I shouted at Baba.

“He is not on the outside,” came the response as a young mother and her baby were wrapped and ushered through the flaming exits.

Smoke started filling my throat, and I dropped to the floor, coughing for cleaner air. Someone pulled at my arm, and I yanked it back without looking. “UNCLE!” I screamed again before another coughing fit.

“We have to get out of here!” Mama was pulling me, Nils was pulling. A blast of fire came from the kitchen as shocking cold, stinking water poured over my head. “NOW, Elakshi!”

Mama and I were ushered out by Nils and his singed leather coat, Baba on the other side. I fell into the cold night air, gasping thirstily for it, as Baba ran back in one last time, shouting something I couldn’t understand. My vision swam as I tried to look around and count faces, desperate to find all of them.

I was still frantically looking for a handful of people - Imran, Uncle, one of the aunties who constantly tittered at me and Nils - when I was shoved to the ground by an unearthly noise. I shoved myself from the ground, hands cutting on the asphalt, to see Mama hit the ground coughing, Nils barely standing and holding up Baba.

“Lash, help!” Nils was coughing. “Press your hand down, here,” He planted a point on my father’s thigh. “Broken glass hit him. Hold it down no matter how much he yells. I have to get a belt off and make a tourniquet or he’s gonna die.”

Hot tears streaked down my face as I did what he told me. Baba groaned, and I pressed down like I was trying to crush his leg into the pavement. Nils ripped Baba’s belt off and tightened it around his leg, hard, twisted it, pinned it there with a pen, hard enough to make Baba shout. “Sorry, hold it here. DO NOT TAKE THIS OFF until the doctors look at it. Please.” His eyes were blazing.

“Check on Mama!” I begged, cranking the tourniquet as tightly as I could, slamming my shoulder into Baba’s chest to both keep him from moving and hide my sobs. “She can’t breathe.”

Nils sprinted over and I couldn’t see what he did, but he seemed to be giving Mama an airway check, then water, and pulled her over towards me, slowly sitting her down away from the fire. “Your dad got the worst of it. Your mom needs oxygen when the medics get here, best I can do is keep her from overexerting in the meantime. Keep her calm. I’ll keep an eye on your dad.”

Frantically, I ran my hands over my mother, checking her for any hidden injuries. I took several slaps to the arms and two directly to the face, but kept checking. When I was satisfied, I turned to Nils and Baba, where Nils was doing the same I had done - pinning Baba to the ground with one shoulder while cranking the tension as tight as possible on the belt around his leg. A smaller explosion within the cafe snapped my head up, and I started running. “UNCLE!” I screamed, still not having seen his face outside the now-burning shop.

A hand darted out and yanked an ankle out from under me, just in time for a lanky, leather-clad leg to pin me down. “I have two horribly burned and wounded Botelhos right now. I do not need a third. You can’t help him. Your mother starts,” he coughed, then finished in a snarl, “screaming she’s gonna die. Her lungs can’t handle that right now. Keep her calm.” Nils' voice was furious, and panicked, but as driven as I’d ever heard it.

I nodded numbly, going to reassure Mama while glancing around frantically. The young mother Baba had practically carried out was bouncing her screaming baby, and my nerves unexpectedly started calming. I don’t know that I had ever been so happy to hear a baby scream so hard in my life, but it was the reality check I needed in that moment. Those of us out here were still alive, by inches or miles, and we had to stay that way to keep the bastards who had done this from winning.

I pulled Mama to a sitting position. “We need to keep everyone calm,” I told her, well aware of what drove her more than anything else. I saw Nils mouth something that could only mean ‘tell her not to start shouting’. “I am going to prop you up where you can keep an eye on Baba, and I am going to bring people who are upset but not hurt. Can you help me keep them calm?”

This woman - my magnificent monument of a mother - looked at me like I had deeply offended her and all my ancestors. “Set me right there,” she gestured to a spot close but in clear line of sight to Baba and Nils, “and bring them to me.”

I did exactly what she asked. As neighbors came down to bring water and blankets, Mama commanded them like a general with her armies so that I could focus on those who were injured and needed more. Even then, Nils would shout what people needed, and Mama would command if someone didn’t listen. Someone would start wailing, looking for a family member who was unaccounted for, and after Mama started coughing, I did my best impression of her.

“It is the living who need us now. We will attend the rest when these are in the hospital.”

Baba was the first to go in an ambulance, with Nils shouting down his objections. “You may have waited too long to save the leg already and I don’t want you throwing a clot. GO!”

Every argument of “damn the leg” was met with an aggressive “you could still die, and then who will make sure the babies stay still for an x-ray”, until Baba surrendered under a murderous glare from the three of us. After that, it was the elderly, burn victims, smoke inhalation victims - a whole new argument from Mama, one which required sedation - and finally those of us who were part of the walking wounded were left to lick our wounds in peace.

“You should go, Lash. Your family’s hurt.”

“I need to call Mori,” I responded before adding lamely, “My sister. In case you didn’t pick up on that. She… she’ll want to know.”

“I can drive if you need. Call on the way.” he paused, then added, “Since the hospital is on the other end of town, it’s…probably better if someone drives you anyway.”

I felt myself falling into my mother’s role, unexpectedly and out of a habit I hadn’t realized I had until now. “The apartment needs to be locked up. I need to do that. And I need to let Uncle’s widow know… she shouldn’t have to hear about this from strangers. Baba and Mama will ask, so I can’t go to them without doing those things.”

Nils looked at me. “Lash. If you don’t want to go yet, if you can’t face it, I won’t make you. But your sister can lock up if she lives with you. Since you’re calling her. And Uncle’s widow is another call you can make. It’s a bit of a drive, it’s on the other end of the city.”

“No,” I cut in. “Mori lives an hour away, with her family. And I don’t know how it works for your family, but I do not want Uncle’s wife hearing this from a stranger. I can - and have - faced what is happening to my parents. But, when they wake up, they will ask these things, and I have lied once today. I will not lie about something so important.” I drew myself as tall as possible and sniffed back a sob. “You may escort me, if you wish, and then drive me to the hospital. Baba is in surgery, and Mama is in triage, so I can do nothing for them right now. But I can do the right thing for other people.”

Nils looked at me for a long moment, then he nodded. “Come on, then. Call your sister on the way to meeting with Uncle’s widow. We’ll tell her first.”

His phone started ringing, and he glanced at it and hung up. I only barely made out that his father had called him. “Come on. Let’s make sure you tell who you need to tell.”

#nihilus rex #afterverse #prequel #traumatized characters #the miys #arcadian inquisition #original fiction #science fiction #original writing #original science fiction #writeblr #modern dystopia

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writing-with-olive · 2 years

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I made a short comic based on the Hymn of Trials from Arcadian Inquisition by @baelpenrose a while back (also has some references to Miys by @canyouhearthelight)

Lyrics to the original song can be found here (imbedded)

#art #my art #artists on tumblr #writing #arcadian inquisition #ai #comic #song #hymn of arcadia #ave terra mater #hymn of trials #miys #afterverse #clifi #post post apocalypse #olive's writing vibes

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lesbiankoby · 6 years

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i have a lot of fucking....dragon age trollhunters au thoughts but im trying to get the mental rpg party in order

kanjigar was duncan and now he’s dead lmao

jim lake jr:

player character, elf (dalish origin), warden

he’s a rogue with the duelist specialization but im fond of the idea that he’s like, a spirit warrior? spirit rogue? because then he can name his duel spirit daggers (like the inquisition knight enchanter sword) sunlight and eclipse and have this weird....duel class thing going for him

jim and toby find the mirror but only jim got tainted

barb is the keeper ? i dunno if jim was the first, though. its an interesting angle but......i dunno....probably just a hunter (and the best chef in the clan, a position he appreciated).

sylaise vallaslin

toby

warrior, city elf that joined the arcadian clan when his parents died (his grandmother is the halla keeper), ...not a warden? probably not. hm.

joined jim’s journey to get “cured” of the taint at ostagar, wrapped up in Blight(tm) shit

WARR HAMMER motherfuckers toby is buff as hell

did not have his vallaslin yet at the point of leaving. prefers not to discuss this.

his companion gifts are cool rocks and pulp novels

blinky

dwarf lmao. he’s a lover not a fighter

(he and aaarrrgghh are the bodahn and sandle of the party except aaarrrgghh is also a party member and blinky stays back at the camp and enchants items/ peddles shit maybe?)

he and dictatious both used to be ex merchant class shapers of the stone until dictatious took advantage of blinky’s “theft” of aaarrrgghh (aaarrrgghh is a golem and fully capable of making his own decisions lmao) and political maneuvering to get him kicked out of orzammar

the casteless brand still stings but he’s made a life up here

blinky and aaarrrgghh got themselves picked up by kanjigar (dwarven, warrior caste, grey warden) and spent many years at his side as his companion.

adopted all these young adult losers

he’s got a set of like...steampunky magnification goggles with multiple lenses that he switches between, creating the profile of “multiple eyes”.

companion gifts are history books and things that remind him of orzammar

AAARRRGGHH!!!

the “shale” of the party

golem who’s been traveling with blinky for a very long time

they’re married bc blinky isnt a coward

i think his control rod got picked up by a particularly clever darkspawn in the deep roads for a while (to the point its the only life aaarrrgghh could really remember) until aaarrrgghh broke it? or was hit hard enough as to become self aware again? something

the ultimate point is he walked himself down into orzammar eventually which kicked off the series of events that left blinky casteless and exiled and running off with aaarrrgghh

eventually he unlocks his own tragic backstory and remembers he was a dwarf named Aarghaumont, once (a casteless criminal that was apprehended and turned against his will into a golem).

one of his companion gifts is an uncrushable cat

claire

human blood mage, probably a noble. possibly another warden.

she’s got some unholy combination of the player character mage origin and morrigan’s plotline going for her i think? mostly bc i suspect the pale lady is flemeth.

which would make NotEnrique the jowan of the dynamic and, i think? enrique the conner. yikes.

she.......................................dabbles. but totally knows what she’s doing, guys.

she’s one of the most promising mages in the tower but whomstever the head enchanter is he doesn’t know what she was up too on the side.

she likes evil looking magical trinkets and flowers

angor rot

i think he’s a spirit of.....something that morrigan keeps bound to the mortal plane lmao

i cant tell if he fills a rogue spot in the group or another mage...?

i dunno im thinking this isnt nearly all of my Thoughts(tm)

might be a qunari

he likes worry stones and things to whittle with

he was ordered along by morrigan and spends a lot of his time not quietly watching talking to claire, for some reason.

draal

dwarf! warrior! probably an axe guy tbh. he is a warden eventually.

orzammar dwarf specifically, warrior caste

has been trying to enlist with the wardens for YEARS but nobody in their right mind would actually do it

kanjigar would have killed them

draal blames jim for kanjigar’s death and his recruitment quest is in several parts

he challenges jim to fight him at the proving grounds

ends up joining the legion of the dead

ends up ultimately recruited into the wardens FROM the legion of the dead, at the end, reluctantly

not even close to all of it i just like throwing ideas out

darcy is probably a party member (another rogue? bard?)

#//#///#/////#//////#//////////#trollhunters

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historybehindassassinscreed · 7 years

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In Game:

Apples of Eden were types of Pieces of Eden, a very specific type of technology made by Isu (more commonly referred to as “The First Civilization”).

Long before humans existed, the First Civilization of technologically advanced beings inhabited Earth. They created humanity and enslaved them by modifying their brains to be manipulable by Pieces of Eden. For some time there was a forced peace until Adam and Eve stole one of the Pieces, an Apple, and started the Human-Isu War.

A major solar flare impacted the earth, after which the First Civilization began to go extinct. From there, humans populated the earth and began to see their predecessors as myths or gods. The Pieces of Eden were not destroyed by the blast, and throughout time, humans started to recover them from various locations (such as beneath Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem or Basilica di Santa Maria in Aracoeli in Rome), also causing a split of sides based on different mindsets; Templars and Assassins. The Templars were out to restore peace in the way the First Civilization had once done, forced by the Pieces, unlike the Assassins, that fought for freedom and a flawed humanity, putting free will above order.

The Apples are the most well-known Piece of Eden, being favored by Abstergo Industries in their plan of a New World Order, being likely the most predictable Piece, as some other Pieces were known to be able to create time paradoxes.

Apples were designed to create illusions and to control human minds and even turn thought into reality, as stated by Juno, hence, they were used by many great rulers throughout history, proving the efficiency of the Apples' powers.

Although there have been many different Apples (at least seven are mentioned throughout the games), some of the most notable wielders include Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore de Firenze, Aguilar de Nerha, Cesare Borgia, Queen Elizabeth I, George Washington, Napoleon Bonaparte, Adolph Hitler, Desmond Miles, Alan Rikkin, and Callum Lynch.

The locations of five of the Apples are unknown, though the one that belonged to Altaïr was destroyed; Abstergo Industries had been experimenting with it underneath Denver International Airport. The Templar, Daniel Cross, upon visiting the underground facility, fell under the influence of the project's Apple of Eden and killed everyone in the facility before the company's clean-up crew had arrived. The Apple itself was ultimately destroyed. This would later become known as the DIA Satellite Accident.

Aguilar’s Apple of Eden is the other with a known location; it is currently in the hands of the Assassins. During the 15th century, it came into the possession of the Sultan of the Emirate of Granada, Muhammad XII, though it did not help him win his conflict against the Christian kingdoms of Iberia, Castile, and Aragon. When the Spanish Inquisition under the command of Grand Inquisitor Tomás de Torquemada, a leading Templar, caught wind of Muhammad XII's treasure, they abducted his son to be used as ransom for the artifact, only to be promptly deprived of it by the intervention of the Assassins Aguilar de Nerha and Maria. From Aguilar, the Apple was in turn transferred to the Italian explorer Christopher Columbus for safe keeping. In October of 2016, the Apple was briefly in the hands of Alan Rikkin, the CEO of Abstergo Industries, before he was killed by the Assassin, Callum Lynch.

In Real Life:

Golden apples show up in various mythologies around the world.

In Greek Mythology, the first time that a magic, golden apple makes an appearance is in the tale of Atalanta. Atalanta was the daughter of Iasus (or Mainalos or Schoeneus, according to Hyginus), a Boeotian (according to Hesiod), or an Arcadian princess (according to the Bibliotheca). She was a virgin huntress of Artemis (Diana, in Rome), unwilling to marry.

Because of her beauty, she gained a number of suitors and finally agreed to marry, but under the condition that her suitor was obligated to beat her in a footrace. Competitors who failed to beat her would be put to death. As Atalanta could run extremely fast, all her suitors died.

Melanion, however, as one of Atalanta’s suitors, realized that because she was under the protection of Artemis she could not be defeated in a fair race. Thus, he prayed to the goddess Aphrodite (Venus). The goddess gave him three golden apples and told him to drop them one at a time to distract Atalanta. Sure enough, she quit running long enough to retrieve each golden apple. It took all three apples and all of his speed, but Melanion finally succeeded, winning the race and Atalanta's hand.

Another myth in Greek Mythology that involves golden apples is the tale of the Golden Apple of Trojan War. In Olympus, Zeus (Jupiter) held a banquet in celebration of the marriage of Peleus and Thetis. Eris (Discordia), the goddess of discord, was not invited for her troublesome nature, and upon turning up uninvited, she threw a golden apple into the ceremony, with an inscription that read, “For the fairest.”

Three goddesses, Athena (Minerva), Hera (Juno), and Aphrodite all claimed the apple of discord for their own. They brought the matter before Zeus. Not wanting to get involved, Zeus assigned the task to Paris of Troy. Paris had demonstrated his exemplary fairness previously when he awarded a prize unhesitatingly to Ares after the god, in bull form, had bested his own prize bull.

Zeus gave the apple to Hermes and told him to deliver it to Paris and tell him that the goddesses would accept his decision without argument. As each goddess wanted to receive the apple, they each stripped off their own clothing and appeared naked before Paris. Each of the goddesses also offered Paris a gift as a bribe in return for the apple; Hera offered to make him the king of Europe and Asia, Athena offered him wisdom and skill in battle, and Aphrodite offered to give to him as a wife a most beautiful woman, Helen of Sparta, who according to legend was already married to Menelaus. Paris chose Aphrodite's bribe of committing adultery, a decision that caused the destruction of both adulterous Paris and his city, Troy, via the Trojan war.

(Image source)

The third Greek myth that involves golden apples was the eleventh labor of Hercules. After Hercules completed the first ten labors, Eurystheus gave him two more claiming that slaying the Hydra didn't count (because Iolaus helped Hercules) nor did cleaning the Augean Stables (either because he was paid for the job or because the rivers did the work).The first additional labor was to steal the apples from the garden of the Hesperides.

Hercules finally made his way to the Garden of the Hesperides, where he encountered the Titan Atlas holding up the heavens on his shoulders. Hercules persuaded Atlas to get some of the Golden Apples for him, by offering to hold up the heavens in his place for a little while. This would have made the labor – like the Hydra and the Augean Stables – void because Hercules had received help. When Atlas returned, he decided that he did not want to take the heavens back, and instead offered to deliver the Apples himself. But Hercules tricked him by agreeing to remain in the place of Atlas on condition that Atlas relieve him temporarily while Hercules adjusted his cloak. Atlas agreed, but Hercules reneged and walked away with the Apples. According to an alternative version, Hercules slew Ladon, the dragon-like guardian of the Apples, instead.

Golden Apples make appearances in Norse Mythology as well. In Norse Mythology the Golden Apples are cultivated by Idun, the goddess of love, fertility and the personification of springtime. The immortal gods of Asgard would have to eat one of the apples every day so that they could ward off disabilities and old age and diseases, in order to remain beautiful, young through countless ages and vigorous.

(Image source)

Irish Mythology has stories of Golden Apples as well. They are far more minor and less specific in Irish lore, mostly because it is an element of the Silver Branch, or Silver Bough, a symbol that is connected to the Celtic Otherworld. It is described as “A branch of silver with three golden apples on his shoulder” and is said that if someone were to try to travel to the afterlife before the time of their death, they would have to have the silver branch with golden apples as payment, further continuing the apple's divine connection found in Greek and Norse myth. Additionally, the apples themselves were said to have produced a music so beautiful that it could put anyone to sleep.

Lastly, Golden Apples make appearances in several fairy tales from different European countries; Germany (”The Golden Bird” and “The White Snake”), Russia (”The Fire Bird and the Gray Wolf”), Bulgaria (”The Three Brothers and the Golden Apple”), and Romania ("The Nine Peahens and the Golden Apples"). Most of these stories usually begin the Golden Apple being stolen from a king, usually by a bird.

Sources:

https://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/Heroes/Atlanta/atlanta.html

http://www.uexpress.com/tell-me-a-story/2014/12/7/the-golden-apple-of-discord-a

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labours_of_Hercules#Eleventh_labour:_apples_of_the_Hesperides

http://www.messagetoeagle.com/goddess-idun-and-the-golden-apple-myth-in-norse-mythology/

#Assassin's Creed #Multi-Game #Objects

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thechocobros · 7 years

Text

“SEE LUNA SAFE TO ALTISSIA” - part 3

Pair: Nyx Ulric / Lunafreya Nox Fleuret

Previously: AO3 link

Words: 4437

Plot: Luna and Nyx didn’t fell in the Empire’s trap, Nyx didn’t had to use the ring and he survived. What would have happened if Nyx really had the chance to ‘see Luna safe to Altissia’, like he promised to Regis? Here the part 3: Nyx and Luna leave Hammerhead and arrive in Lestallum, where they get ready to face the Titan.

Personal Comment: This chapter is a bit longer and we can have them finally bonding a bit. Still, Luna will keep this professional attitude for awhile, because that’s the way she is I think xD Nyx will have an hard time with this princess, but ok, he likes it ;)

And next chapter ... the Titan. Omg. That’s gonna be taugh to write.

Ah, almost forgot! thanks to @loveiscosmicsin for helping me out with this chapter too <3

Luna slept almost well, in spite of all what happened just the night before. Of course, she still felt her chest compressed by the heavy sense of uncertainty about the destiny of the world on her shoulders and by the guilt of seeing so many deaths with her own eyes, but somehow … Someone … Made her feeling protected too. She regretted almost every minute of her past and feared every minute of her future but the present, that was a safe place.

Because she was not alone in all this.

She had a night of dreamless sleep which was better than she could have hoped for. Sleep didn’t come easily, for she feared that if she closed her eyes, it would be the last. A knock at the door woke her up. It was a disorienting lapse of thought, not realizing where she was and why, but then a familiar voice called her out:

“Ehm, milady? Are you up?”

Luna boggled up and she instinctively covered her chest with the blanket, even though she was dressed and all. She finally realized what was happening and asked with some trepidation in her voice, “Nyx?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Doubt Niffs would be this polite at knocking doors.”

“What time is it?” She asked, leaving the bed and looking for her shoes on the floor. The caravan was pretty small so she found them quickly.

“Almost 11 AM.”

“What? Did I sleep so long?” she asked surprised, putting her heeled sandals on.

“It’s fine. You were very tired.”

Luna rapidly opened the door and found Nyx there, dressed exactly like the day before but a bit cleaner.

“Good morning... Did you make a bath?”

“Wow, if that’s the first thing you notice it means that yesterday I was a real mess. The answer is yes, I didn’t sleep so much as Your Majesty did, so I had plenty of time to go on mission, kill monsters and coming back, having a bath and buying you breakfast.” He raised an eyebrow and waved at her a small package, like he did the day before. Luna took it, thanking him more than she should have, causing Nyx laughing about it more than he should have. Nobody ever thanked him so much for a simple breakfast and he found it kinda funny.

They both sat in the chairs outside the caravan. It was a warm morning but the air felt fresh, which made it even more enjoyable. The gas station was almost empty so they could afford to stay outside for breakfast without risking to be recognized.

Luna opened her package and found a plastic cup of coffee and a croissant in it. She smiled.

“Is it okay?” Nyx asked, stretching the legs on his own chair and sipping his black Ebony. His eyes on her were inquisitive. “I still don’t know what you usually have for breakfast so I just tried to guess.”

“It’s perfect. Well, actually i have my coffee with some cream in it, but this is fine too.” She had a first bite on her croissant. “It tastes delicious. Thank you again.”

Nyx chuckled. “Stop thanking me.”

She just ignored him and kept eating her breakfast with renewed pleasure. Nyx lost himself watching her for awhile, overwhelmed by lazy thoughts.

“What?” she asked, taking a sip of her Ebony. The shiny light of the morning made her eyes sparkling like blue diamonds.

“You need to tell me if you have some allergies or if you’re intolerant to something.” That was one of the weirdest questions Luna ever got.

“Where is this from?”

“You know, my mission is ‘seeing you safely to Altissia’, so I guess I should try feeding you with things that aren’t poisonous.”

It was Luna’s turn to laugh. “Oh, really? Guess what, Sir Ulric, I can buy my own food if you prefer, no need to 'feed’ me. Anyway, no, I don’t have any allergies.” Nyx was smiling but in the same time he was serious too.

“Ok. Then, do you suffer with asthma?”

“No!” she answered, undecided if she should feel scandalized or amused.

“Low blood pressure?”

“Not either” she chuckled. “Listen, I’m young and my health is good!”

“Really? It didn’t look like that yesterday when you healed me.”

Luna suddenly stopped laughing and stared back at him. He wasn’t smiling anymore either.

“So, that’s what you really wanted to insinuate.”

“You slept for almost fifteen hours after that, princess.”

“Excuse me, I saw the Crown City being destroyed, the king dying, and the weight of the world is now on my shoulders because of this dangerous ring. Maybe my tiredness may be considered normal.”

Nyx put the elbows on his knees and looked straight at her eyes, like he was about to extort every secret out of her. “Don’t lie to me” he whispered. His voice wasn’t rude. He was genuinely worried and that flustered her.

Luna’s eyebrows frowned. “I’m fine, Nyx. You needn’t to worry.”

“Your health is literally my mission. Of course I need to worry” he said, opening his hands. “So let me get this straight: are we going to play the game 'which one between us is more stubborn’ or you gonna tell me what’s wrong with you now?”

“There’s nothing to tell. My health is good. Healing people tires me a bit but I can handle it.” Nyx tightened his lips and sighed.

“Awesome. Looks like the game has started. You really like to make things complicated, don’t you?”

“Nyx…”

“Like this changes things. I’ll stand by your side anyway, princess. I promised you that and I won’t back down now. I’d just like to know what we got on stakes here, so I would manage things differently maybe” he said, standing up on his feet again and not wanting to look at her anymore.

“Nyx. Look at me, please.” Nyx eye rolled and then looked at her. The damn 'please’ word was starting to become a problem for his own credibility. He instantly let his walls down and felt weak.

Luna’s face was so angelic and sincere, she would be able to melt an entire iceberg with just one glance. “You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing,” she continued, her lips trembling.

Nyx slowly shook his head first, but nodded in the very end. “Ok” he said reluctantly. “Have it in your way.”

Luna sighed in relief. “I appreciate your understanding.”

Nyx took a little walk around so Luna could finish her breakfast but he quickly came back after three minutes. He still was nervous because of the talking they just had, but he managed to be kind somehow when he asked her: “Can you at least tell me what’s our next stop? I should control the map and check out the safest way.”

Luna knew she would make him angry by answering at that question but she didn’t have any other choice. “The Disc of Cauthess.”

“You serious?” She nodded and apologized again. Nyx really had an hard time trying not to scream out his frustration. “Just great” said instead, heading back to the car.

Before leaving, Nyx decided to buy the newspaper.

'INSOMNIA FALLS’ was the main title. He and Luna read the article in silence, standing next next to the car, their thoughts were too heavy to actually express them. Luna’s lips clutched as she read over Nyx’s shoulder, the article stated that both her and Noctis dead. They were not. They both were alive. They both had still to fulfill their duty. What they lost the day before, though, was probably the most awful damage they would ever endure and she wandered if Noctis was feeling the same way she was: scared and bruised, but determined in doing what she has to. No turning back now.

“Are you okay?” Nyx asked, holding the paper with both hands, standing by her side like he promised. He was starring at her and when he read the anxiety on her face he decided to close the newspaper and pull her closer. Nyx noticed a man observing them with caution from a distance. He was old, with a grey beard and dressed in orange and yellow, and his eyes were so shrewd they look like they knew: yes, for a very short moment, Nyx was 100% that the old man recognized them.

“We better go, princess” Nyx hastily whispered in her ear, returning the glance to the man in the most menacing way he could. He wanted to make clear that the princess was nobody’s else business but his. The old dude just smiled and shook his head, then turned away, touching the visor of his hat. Again he had that aware expression on his face: he 100% recognized them. Who was he? Nyx didn’t want to know. “We have to leave Hammerhead as soon as possible.”

To arrive to the Disc of Cauthess and to avoid the imperial troops which controlled the area, they had to take the longest way. They would have stopped in Lestallum first.

“Lestallum is far from Cauthess.” Luna casually said, looking at the map. She was not occupying the backseat this time, she chose to sit on Nyx’s right.

“I know, but I don’t feel like to face the entire army for you to have fun there with the Arcadian. They’re tracking us down, so we have to divert them far from the Disc and then seep in unnoticed. Lestallum offers protection, we can buy what we need there and we can wait for the right moment to act.”

“Diversion? Slip in unnoticed?” Luna didn’t understand exactly what he meant.

“Once in Lestallum, we’ll spread the voice about your survival, so the Empire will look for you there and leave other borders without control. In the same time, we will go to the Disc, so we will be able to enter unnoticed.” Luna lifted the eyes from the parchment and looked at him.

“That sounds like a plan. I’m impressed. Why weren’t you in command of the Kingsglaive?” Nyx smiled.

“Because Drautos was.” Luna smiled back, but with some sadness in it.

“Yeah, right. Do you think he’s still alive?”

“I surely hope not. He’s strong and intelligent, which makes of him a terrible enemy. And that’s not even the worst part.”

“What would that be?” Nyx shook his head.

“He’s a traitor. Traitors are … the worst kind of enemy. He killed Crowe in a certain way and I will never forgive him for that. He helped the Empire destroying the city. A lot people died yesterday because of him. Furthermore, he killed the man who give us a future when we did not have one… He killed our King.” Luna leaned down a bit, putting her gentle fingers on the clutch, where Nyx’s hand rested.

That simple gesture really comforted his tormented heart. He turned a bit to look at Luna’s eyes - now so caring and worried - and then focused on the road again. “I’m sorry you had to see that too, Princess.”

Hearing those words reminded Luna the moment when Regis was killed in front of them. Her forehead frown a bit, trying not to show her true and deep sorrow. “We can’t change the past. We have to look forward to our future.”

Nyx didn’t answer. He simply turned up the palm of his hand, grasping her little fingers in his. They didn’t even know who needed comfort the most right now, they just knew they needed a short moment of affection to soothe their pain away. Luna was the one letting go first. When she retrieved her hand, Nyx felt bad for holding it in the first place. He was about to say sorry out loud, but in the end he preferred to shut up and keep on driving.

They arrived in Lestallum just thirty minutes before the sunset, bringing a sigh of relief to both of them.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Luna as they parked and left the car.

“We’ll check if they have free rooms at the hotel and then we’ll go shopping” he answered, trying to be enthusiast about the 'shopping’ part when he clearly was more interested in the 'room’ part: driving for so long made him extremely tired and he really needed a good sleep.

“Separate chambers?” Luna inquired.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he smiled back, raising eyebrows and keeping on playing with the keys.

To hell the 'of course’. At the hotel they only had a free room. “I’ll sleep in the car again, no problem” Nyx said immediately, to calm her down.

As a matter of fact, Luna already blushed and frowned. “No, you shouldn’t. After all you did for me until now, you deserve a bed too, Nyx” she answered, her voice nervous. “So I should be the one sleeping in the car or we can both share a room.”

“What man would leave a girl sleeping alone in the car when he’d get a comfortable room all by himself?” Nyx asked, outraged. “Especially a girl like you.” He didn’t want to say 'a princess’ out loud, fearing to be heard now. But that was what he meant.

“So, we’re gonna share the same room. They have separate beds anyway, it’s not like you’re gonna do something bad to me, right?”

“Of course I won’t, it’s just that…” He was uncertain. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” Even with that positive answer, Luna swallowed hard and that failed her.

Nyx raised an eyebrow, noticing it. “Okay, I’ll sleep in the car.”

“No! I can handle this. Therefore, you can’t protect me in case of necessity if you stay in the car, can you?”

That convinced Nyx in the end, but actually he didn’t have anything against it in the first place. He didn’t dislike the idea of staying in the same room with the princess. On the contrary, he was only worried about her embarrassment, because he didn’t want to complicate things for nothing and a glaive sleeping in the same room with the princess would have been considered unprofessional by the 95% of the nobility.

“Fine, for your safety” he murmured, as he paid for the room.

“For my safety” Luna whispered without being heard, mostly to convince herself.

The chamber was roomy and comfortable even though not the most modern one they had ever seen. One bed was near the balcony, the other one was on the opposite side.

“So,” Nyx began, “you can choose now.”

“I want the bed next to the balcony.” Luna answered without skipping a beat.

Nyx laughed.“I was expecting you to wait until I ask, but you can have that bed too if you really want it.”

“Oh, sorry, what did you want to ask me?”

“We have to buy food, water, and maybe new clothes. So I’m going to go to the market now. Do you want to stay here and have some rest all alone or do you want to come with me?” Luna was tempted by the idea of having a shower without any other man in the room, but she was thrilled by the market more.

“I haven’t been to a market in ages. I’d… like to come with you.” Nyx figured it. Of course she wanted to see the world a bit, she was kept prisoner for almost twelve years.

“Sure.”

The market was crowded and messy, people from every part of Eos came there to buy specialities which weren’t easy to be found elsewhere. The stands were colorful, the people were noisy, but even if everything was very intense, for Luna felt like a breath of life. She finally found a distraction from the sorrow which was distressing her in the last days. She didn’t say a word, but Nyx would have noticed her enthusiasm from two hundred miles. He immediately bought her a white foulard and wrap it around her hair.

“It would be a shame if someone recognizes you before we’re ready to start our mission’s plan, right?” Luna didn’t complain because she was too occupied looking at some dresses hung up in a corner. “Now, I’m pretty sure that’s not very comfortable for a journey like ours” Nyx commented seeing the princess looking at a very specific long white dress.

“But it’s so beautiful” she replied, caressing the soft material. “I want this one.”

“Milady, it’s not like one hunt made me rich. If we buy that dress, we won’t be able to buy you anything else. You sure you don’t prefer something more… practical?”

Luna shook her head. “No, I want this one.”

Nyx sighed, as he remembered the times when he used to go out shopping with Selena. Luna’s expression now was exactly the same of his little sister’s. He just knew he couldn’t say no to her. Maybe girls were all like that.

“Awesome, I see you have a thing for white. Wouldn’t be nice wearing another color for a change?” he asked, taking out the money to pay the shop girl.

“You should buy some new clothes too, Nyx. Lestallum is too warm for your leather trousers.”

“Since I just spent almost all the money for your pretty outfit, I seriously doubt I’ll have a gil to buy something for me” Nyx said, shaking the shop bag in front of her. “So, if the leather trousers will be too warm, I’ll just have to go out naked, I suppose.”

The princess giggled, heading herself for the next stand. When they arrived at the restaurant, she looked at it with such an excited desire, that Nyx couldn’t deny her that little pleasure either. He was sure he wasn’t even protecting her anymore: he was just fathering her, paying for every wish she had.

They relaxed when they had dinner in the public square, they chatted a bit about the city and its history - Luna read a lot about it and she was so thrilled to finally see it with her own eyes - and then they finally headed back to the hotel. They really had fun for a couple of hours, but now it was time to go back to reality.

“You must be exhausted” Luna said casually, as Nyx opened the door to their room.

“I am. But don’t worry, you can use the bathroom first.”

“No, you can go first. Have a shower and change your clothes” she replied, indicating the shopping bag which contained the dark jeans and the t-shirt they actually managed to buy him somehow.

“Okay, I’m almost sure you’re trying to insinuate I stink and that I need to have shower, right? Fine, I’ll go first.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nyx looked a brand new man. Without the Kingsglaive uniform he was finally feeling like a normal man out for a day off. He came out of the bathroom, adjusting his dark grey t-shirt on and noticed Luna on the balcony, looking at the moon. He stopped, watching her in silence for a minute. Strange enough, the only sight of her calmed him. Finally, he took a deep breath and joined her.

“Are you okay?”

Luna boggled. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear you. Yes, I’m … Fine.”

Nyx lifted his eyes from her to watch the moon. It wasn’t a full moon, but it was large and sparkling, beautiful like no other celestial body in the sky. He looked at the girl next to him and saw no difference after all. She too was beautiful and ethereal like nothing else that night. He started to understand why she was so precious for all Eos and for every single person living in it - why she was so special for Prince Noctis too.

“So” he started, turning around to rest his back to the railing of the balcony. “Open up your hand” he ordered, with a shy smile.

Luna seemed taken back by the request. “My hand?”

“C'mon, trust me.” After some reluctance, she did as he asked. Quickly, Nyx let something sparkling falling into her hand.

“What’s this?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s a mere trinket they sold at the armory. It was cheap and when I saw it, I thought you would have liked it. That’s it.” Luna look at it under the feeble light of the night. It was a nice necklace with a small pendant of the shape of the moon.

“This is the moon” she said like it wasn’t pretty evident by itself. Her voice was barely audible and surprised.

“Well, yeah. Your name means moon, right? So …” He shook his shoulders and tried to look indifferent. He actually wanted to understand with every fiber of his being if she actually liked it. It was the first time in ages he gifted something to a girl. His manners may have been a little dusty by now.

“This is… really nice of you. You shouldn’t have.” Luna’s voice was trembling a bit, but she tried to keep her composure calm. Concealing her feelings when he caught her by surprise like that was starting to become more difficult. “Thank you, Sir Ulric.”

He smiled. “You seemed to like my name when you used it before.”

“What? Um, yes. I like your name. Why are you saying this?”

“I don’t understand why you come up with this 'sir’ thing if you are perfectly able to call me with my proper name.”

Luna had to look down because his grey eyes were different now, on that balcony, in that situation, under that sky. They grew more invasive in his lingering gaze. “Because it helps to keep our interactions strictly professional.” she admitted. Nyx swallowed.

“Right. We’re not on vacation here.” Saying this, he automatically straightened up and moved a bit away. He should have known this was the way it would have ended. “So... I’m, uh, gonna go to bed, yeah. Take your time. I’m gonna do everything possible to not annoy you with my presence, I promise. I’ll be quiet. Have some good rest, princess” he said, nodding in her direction.

But as he started to move away, Luna called him. “Nyx?” He turned to look into her eyes. The princess dangled the pendant in front of her. She was smiling now. “You don’t know what this is exactly, do you?”

“Excuse me?”

“This trinket is sold in the armory because it protects you from turning into a frog in battle.”

Nyx looked at her for a good thirty seconds and then burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

Luna giggled. “Well, my gallant soldier, you’re the one who should have known and I don’t have any need for it.”

Nyx spread his arms in disbelief. “Of course I didn’t know! I bought it because it was … cute!” He was so embarrassed now but also relieved, because the Princess was laughing with him. There was nothing better than her smile to break the ice in that heavy atmosphere.

“I’ll carry it with me always” Luna decided as she linked the necklace. It was beautiful on her neckline which caused the lump in Nyx’s throat to bob in silence. “Just in case. You never know what the Empire wants to turn you into.” “Thank you again, Sir Ulric.”

Luna woke up with the robust scent of the coffee in the air. “With the cream this time,” Nyx said, giving her a cup. In the light of the morning, he looked casual, relaxed, and may the Oracle add, handsome. “Just as you like it, princess.”

Luna looked around her and took a couple of minutes to remember why she was there and why with a man like that. This used to happen often to her. At night she used to fall asleep so deep that in the morning she barely remembered anything. In this very moment, this side of her was particularly convenient, so she wouldn’t have worried too much about having been in the same room with a grown up men which was not her brother.

“What time is it?”

“8 AM. Sorry for waking you up this early but I think we have stuff to do. Unless you want to take another day off.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re right. We have to proceed with the plan.”

“You’re finally going out in public without being disguised.”

“Yes. People think I’m dead and this probably has caused them a deep sense of lost. If they know that I’m still alive, they will start to hope again.”

Nyx grimaced his lips in a weird expression. “I was thinking more about using your 'resurrection’ to sneak into the Disc of Cauthess, but okay, I guess that giving hope to people is important, too.”

Luna adjusted her dress a bit and then put her hands on the knees in a very composed position. “Fortunately, we can do both.”

“When I went out to buy coffee, I learned there’s a journalist named Vyvin town. He offers a lot of gil in exchange of a good scoop. I think we might use him. So we’ll have money for your expensive royal habits and … a free pass for the Disc at the same time too!”

Luna’s eyes lit with a brilliant idea. “Yes. And I perfectly know what to tell him.”

Nyx didn’t agree of course, but Luna ignored his objections and did what she wanted.

She established a short meeting with this Vyv - a funny, overweight, nerdy guy who didn’t look like a journal president at all - and when he interviewed her, she took his hand and talked like a true Oracle to him. Nyx understood immediately that was a way to manipulate him into writing what she wanted, and he secretly found himself proud of her. But at the same time, Nyx couldn’t agree about what Luna wanted Vyv to write.

“I still don’t get the whole picture, but healing people is… Painful for you, right? I don’t think you should do it anymore.” He recommended to the Princess when they still were in their room.

“It’s just a bit tiring, but I can handle it. Announcing a healing session via media it’s a fast way to draw the Empire’s attention on us.”

“Maybe too fast.”

“I’ll heal just a couple of people and then we’ll set off for the Disc. Hopefully enough, we’ll be unnoticed and we can arrive there… safely.” Nyx and Luna look at each other and smiled.

“Well, isn’t that what I do best?” The glaive replied, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

Luna nodded. She just knew she was in good hands.

#lunyx #lunafreya nox fleuret #nyx ulric #final fantasy xv #fan fiction #fics #obina writes and this is weird

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canyouhearthelight · 4 months

Text

Nihilus Rex 8: Opener

Finally getting into the technical side of things, and I will attest: @baelpenrose and I decided that the next several chapters are probably the only time the really technical stuff happens on screen.

It was all, undoubtedly, an absolutely nightmare to get right, simply because I am a subject matter expert in one of the areas, he is in the other, and... yeah. It got complicated very quickly. But hopefully that pays off!

Say you have a little faith in me

Just close your eyes and let me lead

Follow me home

Need to have a little trust in me

Just close your eyes and let me lead

Follow me home

To where the lonely ones roam

Digital Daggers, “Where the Lonely Ones Roam”

For the next handful of days, I heard from Nils sporadically. The first couple of days consisted of just being updated that he was still alive, promises that he was eating something other than drugs and coffee, and one celebratory announcement that he had showered without drowning - which, admittedly, was kind of gross since that was around day three, but I didn’t have to smell it, so I left it alone.

It was around the fifth day that he sent me an address. Not the hacker cafe, and nowhere in my neighborhood. I was warned to bring my own coffee under threat of instant and strongly suggested to bring a change of clothes. Part of me started to type back a quip about the kind of girl he thought I was, before sense won over and I deleted it.

“Not for anything weird - well, not for anything that isn’t our kind of weird, anyway. This is gonna take a while.”

Totally reassuring, I thought as I started throwing stuff into my bum-around bag. Toothbrush, water bottle, battery bank for my phone… after a bit of consideration I tossed in extra socks, because there were few things I hated worse than wet socks. Laptop and all its gear went into my backpack, and I headed to the front door. Mama and Baba weren’t home from work, so I left a note taped to the fridge and one on my bedroom door just in case. Heading out to a friend’s for a school project. Probably going to be there overnight, took clothes just in case. I’ll have my phone. Love.

A bus, a subway trip, and a hour and a half later, I was walking to the address Nils had sent, suppressing the urge to look around suspiciously. The address was in an area I generally avoided on foot, and if something brought me here I took a taxi - even if I was only going a couple blocks. I muttered prayers to any deity listening as I arrived at the location, a tall building covered in graffiti, with what windows were still intact covered in makeshift grates or bars.

Nils was standing right outside, looking around for me, and spotted me as I approached, waving me over. He had slight circles under his eyes, and a slight five o’clock shadow, but he was intent, grinning slightly. “Lash, good to see you!”

“Yeah, good to see you’re alive and I haven’t been getting messages from your ghost,” I joked drily before glancing around. “Although, I’m still not convinced I haven’t somehow taken a bus to some underworld. You do know my kidneys aren’t worth as much as you think, right? AB neg blood, terrible for donation.”

“I assure you you are more likely to be solicited for drug purchases or asked if you’ve considered sex work than you are to be black bagged and have your organs sold here. I say this having had both happen to me within a week of moving.” His voice was annoyingly casual. “I do apologize for the walk though. Come in, I made tea.”

My eyes widened. “Wait. ‘Moved’. You mean you live here?”

“I mean, we’re not doing the thing where I live. We are talking where I live. We’re doing the thing at this old mall that still has power where I set up a router in the crawlspace a while ago. But I figured we’d talk here first? But yeah, I live here.”

“Doing this thing at an old mall, cool, cool…” I responded, laughing in something like relief. “But you want to talk where you live. Which is here.” I waved a hand at the half blown-out street lights and nearby sewer grate before waggling it at the graffiti and boarded up windows. “You live here. Voluntarily.”

“My apartment has snacks. And coffee. And tea. If I leave those things in the shitty ‘Doing super illegal L33t Hacker Shit’ den I set up in an abandoned mall, my not-home evil lair gets overrun by vermin. So yeah, talk here. Probably come back here for like. Netflix or some shit to celebrate.” He paused for a beat. “Also, yes. I live here. Away from the really rich friends of my parents who would potentially see me and tell my family what shit I’m up to and what kind of trouble I’m getting into, then I hear about how much I’m screwing up our reputation, how could I be so ungrateful, blah, blah blah, it’s easier to stay as far away as possible from any of their friends. Besides,” he said, slowly. “This is a lot more real than anything I saw when I was a kid.” It felt like there was more he could say, but wasn’t going to - a refreshing change from how he’d been the last several days.

“Your family, your cow, etc,” I muttered, looking around again and resisting the urge to wipe my hands off against my pants. “Still, I feel like I need to introduce you to our lord and savior ‘Any Deity Who Will Convince You Self-Flagellation is Not Penance’ or something.” Before he could respond, I waved my hands in a shooing gesture. “Come on, let’s go inside and you can introduce me to your six-legged roommates.”

Ushering me forward with a comically formal sweep, Nils buzzed me into his building - I was honestly shocked it was needed, but it calmed me somewhat. We made our way up a couple flights of grungy-looking stairs, and I instantly felt guiltier the further we went: for all that the stairwell looked filthy, it was extremely well lit, bleach-scented, and not a single stair creaked thanks to what looked like various ages of patches.

The city may not care, but the residents certainly seemed to.

On the third floor, we exited the stairwell and made our way to a very nondescript door. All three deadbolts and the hinges moved without a sound, and Nils stood to block my entrance, drawing himself to his full height, chin up.

“Lash, O caller of bullshit, expert at puncturing egos, enter the portal to the domain of the greatest hacker and dumbest bitch of the age, and see if you can find a roach in sight, for nothing enters here without my permission. I am Nils Andover, lord of this tiny apartment and a terror of cyberspace. Enter, and enjoy my hospitality.” He spoke with a ridiculous faux-accent to top it off, which wasn’t quite British but might have been his attempt at doing a Victorian Crackhead.

No amount of self control could keep me from giggling and cursing myself for doing so. I stepped through the door, surprised by how clean and pristine it was on the inside. Still, I reminded myself that I brought spare socks as I toed my shoes off and set them beside the door before taking another step. “Masala chai?” I asked, sniffing carefully.

“You said become your Uncle’s best customer.”

“Tch,” I clucked. “I did.” Suddenly, I realized what he said. “Wait,” I gasped, “you think Mr. Yildiz is my uncle??” I covered my mouth to hide a smirk.

Nils paused with embarrassment. “Maybe. You don’t seem the type to call people uncle unless they’re related by blood, marriage, or adoption, so…”

I managed to sit on the arm of the couch before gasping for air. “Nils… Oh my… hooo culture difference, okay…” With a more controlled breath, I composed myself. Poor guy looked something like a wet cat in his confusion. “Lots of cultures use the term Uncle or Auntie as a term of respect. Something…less formal than Sir or Ma’am is the closest I can explain. So, he’s not my Uncle, he’s just Uncle. Every young person’s. Baba and Mama call him Brother, blah blah blah.”

The look of shocked embarrassment was replaced with complete comprehension. “Ah. Gotcha. That makes perfect sense. Sorry about that.” He blinked and absorbed that for a moment, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of me.

“Now, I’ve been reflecting on what you said, managed to look at what I’d have to do to get the liens out on homes, vehicles, and businesses. Will say this - there’s a little layer of complication for how they hold onto liens for state compliance. We can release most to the holders outright, but some of them its going to be required for us to release them to both the holders and to their city or county halls at the same time for archiving. That is, just barely, on this side of being possible.”

He took a breath and waffled his hand as he took a sip from the tea. “The trick is that we have to have all the malware and spyware to do it ready to roll well in advance of the attack, and we have to be able to shoot it all in, operating, and releasing all liens simultaneous to the attack itself, to be able to use the attack as a smokescreen for what’s happening. If we do it before the attack, the bank can use physical records to re-upload the destroyed digital ones, and if we do it after, we’re going to cost a lot of innocent people their cars, homes, businesses.”

I was more shocked than I should have been that he thought it through to such a degree. Yes, I had practically screamed this at him less than a week ago. No, I was not used to people actually listening to a word I said. It was kind of flatt - no.

Sounding somewhere between exhausted and frustrated, he added. “There’s…probably a lot of reasons this hasn’t been tried, to be honest. Did I mention that even if this goes right we need to be able to punch in, get the worms loaded, and then databomb the shit out of everything within a few minutes?”

“Oh, joy…” I responded with what I hoped was very clearly fake enthusiasm before draining my tea and grabbing my bum-bag to dig through it. Without looking up, I admitted my shortcomings. “I don’t think you and I can make that happen in… what, twenty-five, thirty minutes?”

“Twenty.”

“Even better,” I grunted as I grabbed my thermos. Unscrewing it, I refilled my cup with high octane ambrosia before offering it to Nils. “No matter how good you are, I don’t think the two of us are going to make that happen in twenty minutes.”

Nils took the coffee and sipped, smiling slightly. “Yeah. There’s someone in my network who may have an in, if only because he’s worked on and off at vendor sites in a lot of banks, but I’m not sure how down he’d be with the overall plan. He’s really good, but he tends to avoid extremely high-risk stuff. Rather keep the “racist hicks as pawns” bit out of it, when we talk to him. And if there’s anyone in your network who might be able to join, I’m open to suggestions. The QAnon cannon fodder stays between us.”

I thought it over. “There is… well, I’ll admit. He’s older, one of those ‘I wrote the internet’ types, so the social con part probably won’t go over well, but thankfully he likes knowing as little as possible outside of what he needs to do. I’ll reach out to him, worst case, we have double the help.”

“Let’s see whose guy answers first?” Nils said, not really asking and already picking up his phone.

I had the good grace to take a deep inhale of caffeinated goodness before savoring the flavor. Then I grabbed my phone and messaged Bishop. Nils’ got a response before I had even typed the message, but I chalked that up to my habit of messaging Bishop more details than most, knowing he wouldn’t go to the police if he turned down the job. The man had a whole ass hydroponic set up in his basement, and I’d seen it - he wasn’t going to the cops on me unless I killed someone.

“Lash, is there some reason you and Nothing are messaging me on the same day, at the same time, about what I’m pretty sure is the same job?”

I didn’t move my head, but looked through my eyelashes at Nils, who wasn’t showing any signs of being called out. Carefully, I texted back. “I didn’t know you were acquainted. Now I’m intrigued. U n or not?”

“I didn’t know you two were acquainted. And I’m in mostly to see what that’s going to look like, Baklava.”

“Did you already tell Nothing?”

“Yeah, I told Creampuff I needed to see this. I’ll be there in ten. Try not to blow anything up between the two of you before I get there. And if you brought coffee, save me 2.”

I smirked and slowly screwed the cap on my thermos. “My guy will be here soon. He’s pretty excited.”

“Mine’s on his way, should be here in ten.” Nils paused. “He seemed more concerned.”

Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, I reminded myself. “I have dirt on my guy, so I’ll admit I gave him more info up front than I do most.” Seven more minutes…

“Yeah, makes sense. So, in the meantime, uh. If I were to order pizza, anything you’d want on it? It’s uh. Gonna be a long day and we’re gonna want something to eat.”

“Small with anchovies,” I said automatically. “I’ll eat it in the hall, don’t worry about the smell.”

“Absolutely the fuck you will not - you’re a guest. I’ll handle the smell if it’s a problem.” Nils was smiling, faintly again, as he pulled up the Mountain Mike menu.

“I am going to guess you’ve never been in the vicinity of an anchovy pizza, so when you change your mind, let me know.” I was used to it… as much as I loved the opportunity to have one, I was well aware of how long the smell clung to anything in the room for days at a time.

“I have not, it is the principle of the thing.” He moved, clearly feeling awkward. “We don’t have much to do but kill time until he gets here, so like. What do you do for fun?”

“First, if it’s not too late: order extra lemon wedges with whatever you can,” I added. Least I could do. “Second… I watch a lot of anime, doodle, and sit on a bridge scaring people into thinking I’m a jumper. There really isn’t anything else, unless you consider a semi-unhealthy relationship with music.”

“Requesting a few lemon wedges. I also watch a lot of anime, listen to a ton of music, sometimes a bit of gaming. Not a lot of fun in person, to be honest. Used to have a friend I’d hang out with, but you met me the day of that funeral, so, yeah, I’m fairly boring now.” He leaned back on the couch and offered me the spot further away from him, presumably to make me more comfortable. “How’d you get into voice acting?”

“Deliberately,” I surrendered, looking mournfully at my thermos and wishing I had brought a larger one. “It took a ton of effort and practice, and a lot of voicing my own animations - “ I was cut off by the buzzing of someone requesting entrance. Bishop? Or Nils’ person? It wasn’t nearly long enough to be the actual food.

Nils buzzed the person in, and within a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. Nils opened it and grinned. “Harvey, been a while. You’ve been quiet. It’s good to see you again man.”

Bishop was standing there, glowering between the two of us. “So. One more time. Why the fuck are you two hanging out, and what are you contacting me for?”

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