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#V; From Across The Distant Shore
starsallalight · 1 year
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@avictimofthejazz / @anoseforrottenapples : Eiluned & Murphy/Gavin
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“Can you help me?” The young woman asked, her voice calm even though her eyes bordered on desperate. “Please. I have to find my son.”
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painted-bees · 4 months
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>>part i and ii<<
>>part iii, iv, and v<<
vi)
  Rafael was running on fumes.
  In retrospect, driving to and from Vancouver Island on only two distant hours of sleep was probably not the wisest choice he had ever made. But it had been the only choice. At least, that’s what he had felt. When he found her, Magritte was not herself. Her stare was vacant, and her words were vague and distant…he wasn’t even sure that she had recognized him.
  That scared him the most.
  It had taken him every ounce of self restraint not to smother her in a crushing, unending hug, not to kiss every inch of her face until she finally said his name–either in bemusement or irritation, he wouldn’t have cared which. The impulse to overwhelm her back to her senses almost robbed him of his own. But, he had managed. He had gotten her warm, dry, and hydrated and he kept his own shit together all the while. The euphoric relief of finding her–clashed with the disheartening terror of finding her unwell. He couldn’t, for the life of him, find any assurance that she was going to be alright.
  Until, finally, she mentioned something about orcas.
  Raf had been attempting to steal a wink of sleep in the cardeck of the Heriot Bay ferry when Magritte’s voice chimed energetically about having seen orcas. It was hoarse and raspy, yes, but it was her. The broad, open mouthed smile he saw on her face when he opened his eyes–it was her. And then, they had a conversation. A proper conversation. As they did, all the adrenaline that had been keeping him alert and awake slowly evaporated out of his body.
  Margie was okay.
  And he–
  He was so, so…so fucking tired.
  The car ride across Quadra Island had been alright. He kept Magritte awake by telling her about the flooding he saw, how it had even waterlogged the campsite. He told her about calling in the missing person report, and about sheepishly calling again while waiting for the ferry–to inform that he had found her. He told her about the weird, disjointed conversations they had, before she had fully come-to…how it was a lot like the funny little conversations he’d sometimes have with her while she was fast, fast asleep in the middle of the night. 
  In turn, Magritte told him about more of her memories as they came to her. She asked if he knew anything about a kind of orange starfish with thirteen legs. She told him what it felt like to be suddenly whisked away by the tide, and boasted to him about how nonchalanty she had managed to compose herself afterward.
  “I thanked the orcas for showing up, and then I was like ‘please don’t flay me, l-m-a-o’.”
  Apparently, that was the last thing she remembered. 
  The lack of closure provided by the gaps in her recollection didn’t seem to bother Margie much–but it gnawed at Raf. Even if the tide had somehow pushed her back onto shore, Magritte should have been hypothermic. She had been shivering from the cold when he found her, but her body was hot–feverish. Raf couldn’t conjure an explanation in his mind for how she had survived, or how he had found her walking back home. He hoped to get some answers at the hospital.
  When he and Magritte both cited the tidal swell as the cause of Magritte's injuries, the doctor cleaning her wounds seemed dismissive. The same way the lady who had received Raf’s missing person report seemed dismissive. Upon meeting the doctor’s subtle incredulity, both Raf and Margie dropped mention of the tidal event in favour of simply agreeing that she had been swimming irresponsibly and was dragged out by a riptide in the middle of the night. It wasn’t a detail they had planned to abandon together, but operating on the same exhausted wavelength, they simultaneously agreed that vying for the doctor’s belief wasn’t worth the energy. 
  Raf might have been a lot more bothered by the doctor’s impersonal aloofness–if he wasn’t so damn tired. Whether the doctor genuinely cared about Margie’s wellbeing or not didn’t terribly matter. Raf oversaw the man as he worked, confident that the doctor would be less likely to disregard Magritte’s comfort while he was being watched.
  Despite receiving a local anaesthetic that numbed her hands, Magritte kept her head turned away–her eyes wrenched shut–as the doctor flushed saline solution through the gashes carved into her palms and fingers. Raf, on the other hand, took the opportunity to observe the full extent of damage that had been done. The deeper lacerations appeared to have been filled with some manner of black, tarry silt. The saline that went into those wounds came out faintly red at first, and then ran suddenly black and thick with mud. Once the tarry mud had been flushed, the solution flowed deep crimson with blood for a brief while, until it cleared up again–but never as faintly as it had begun. The mud had been…almost scab-like in how it suppressed the bleeding.
  The doctor muttered; more to himself than to his deliberately inattentive patient. “How’d you pack so much dirt into these..? Must have been one hell of a current.”
  Within at least one of the freshly cleaned wounds on her palms, Raf caught a glimpse of white beneath the thick layer of pink and bleeding flesh–bone or cartilage, he couldn’t tell. It bothered him enough, though, that he felt compelled to ask something on Magritte’s behalf. But…
  Raf cleared his throat. “"Pardon, pouvez-vous parler français?"
  Whether it was because he was focused on his task, or because the question struck him as strange, the doctor was slow to answer. “Je peux, pourquoi?” 
  “Au cas où la réponse est mauvaise, je ne veux pas la contrarier.” Raf said, plainly, with an alleviating smile to avoid piquing Magritte’s concern.
  “Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?”
  Performing a lighthearted shrug and a sheepish grin, Raf replied, “Elle est musicienne–pianiste. Est-ce que ses blessures vont affecter son jeu au piano?”
  Raf watched the doctor hesitate before sighing through his nose. Unfortunately, he wasn’t interested in playing along with Raf’s diversionary nonchalantness. “C'est dur à dire. Des dommages aux nerfs sont bien possibles. Ce genre d'abrasions ont tendance à s'infecter.” The doctor then looked at Magritte rather sternly. “You’re going to need to keep your hands clean and–importantly–keep them dry. If you want them to make a full recovery, don’t use them until the stitches come out.” He nodded to Raf. “Make him do everything around the house, doctor’s orders.”
  Raf set his jaw in annoyance.
  Magritte, apparently surprised at being addressed, turned to the doctor with wide eyes. “He already does!”
  Her candid defence disarmed Raf completely, and won a genuine smirk from him. He straightened his back with a small surge of pride.
  “Good, that means you’ll have no excuse the next time I see you.” The doctor stepped back from her, having completed the task of cleaning her abrasions. “Let’s get you stitched up, then.”
  Magritte’s complexion was naturally very pale, and the chill she had caught made her paler yet. Raf hadn’t thought it possible for living flesh to be wholly devoid of colour–but any hue left on Magritte’s face ghosted away as she watched the doctor ready his suturing instruments. Raf could scarcely provide more than a pitying smile. He moved in closer to her, and caressed her hair as a way of distraction. Unfortunately, the tried and true ‘hold my hand and squeeze as hard as you need’ was, well…Her hands wouldn’t be holding anything anytime soon.
  Thankfully, the doctor worked quickly, and Raf had kept Magritte’s mind occupied by talking about ice cream, pretending to forget what her favourite flavours were so that she’d tell him about all of them. Mint chip, cookie dough, and around-the-world chocolate, all absolute bangers, by Magritte’s tastes. 
  “Also,” Raf reminded her, “strawberry rhubarb, no? The homemade stuff sold out the back of that one house on the bay, specifically.”
  “Yeah, but that one’s obscene! It’s so good, it’s not even fair to count it as ice cream!”
  When all was said and done, the hospital sent Magritte home with sutures in both hands, as well as her left elbow, knee, shin, and the underside of her right forearm. Each area was lightly dressed and well wrapped. Raf had received a sizable little goodie bag of gauze, bandages, polysporin, and naproxen, as well as antibiotics for her sore throat and fever. The dazed state he had found Magritte in was, apparently, the symptom of a concussion. Aside from instructing Raf to wake her up every few hours and assess her condition, the doctor seemed to have no real concern about her head. Raf just had to trust him on that.
  Magritte was alive and well…ish. She wasn’t in any danger. Her health had been seen to and confirmed by a medical professional–he had no choice but to trust that she was going to be just fine. Finally liberated from panicked urgency, Raf was left vulnerable to a nearly debilitating fatigue, and it settled upon him like a stone. 
  The same oppressive exhaustion seemed to have burdened Margie, as well. Soon after they had turned out of the hospital parking lot, she fell fast asleep in the passenger seat next to him. He let her. Though he would have appreciated a conversation to keep his own consciousness from drifting, she needed the rest more badly than he did, and a sleepy Magritte never made for very rousing conversation anyways. As a little treat to himself, he picked up a coffee from a drive-through, on the way out of Campbell River. It was a poor replacement for Margie’s adorable chatter but it was certainly better than nothing.  
 The final ferry off of Quadra was, by far, the greatest test of his resolve, and he finally forfeited to sleep during the forty-five minute ride. The PA system had failed to wake him, but the loud diesel engine of the truck parked next to him did the job just fine when it roared to life in preparation of departing. 
  Thankfully, the road from there was as empty and uneventful as the island’s roads always were. At 4:12pm, Raf’s little sedan finally rolled down the long, uneven driveway to the cottage. Parking his car and turning off the engine, he dropped his head back against his seat and let out a long, alleviated sigh.
  Without lifting his head, Raf cast his gaze towards the prodigal goblin passed out beside him. She’d be the ruin of his life; all because she was what made it worth living. Eventually, he’d find his own legs to stand on in that regard. But the events of the past twenty-four hours laid bare to him just how much work yet needed to be done towards that end.
  Be patient with yourself. It’s been…a rough fucking year.
  A rough year, but things were okay. Margie was okay. He was okay.
  “Margie, hun.” Raf reached over to smooth back her hair and gave her neck a gentle rub. “We’re home.”
  “...Already?” Slowly, Magritte sat up and pried her eyes open. Her brow furrowed deeply over a squinted gaze and she looked so…pained.
  “Yeah.” Raf unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. “Hang on.” He grabbed the bag of medical goodies from the back seat before coming around to Magritte’s side of the car and opening the door for her. 
  All he had to contend with was the fatigue of a sleepless, stressful night–and it had hit him hard on the ride home. Magritte had the night’s fatigue as well, no doubt, but she also had the additional delight of physical trauma. Much like the exhaustion, the pain of being pummelled by Poseidon’s angry fists undoubtedly made itself fully apparent to her as the adrenaline, local anaesthetic, and pain medication waned. It showed in the wary stiffness of her slow, careful movements.
  One of her flip-flop adorned feet emerged from the car, and then another. Raf helped her up, careful to grab hold of her right elbow and not graze the minefield of fresh sutures hidden beneath the loose sleeves of her sweater. She crawled up the porch stairs with little more than a limp, and patiently waited as Raf unlocked the front door. 
  She was sluggish getting up the narrow, steep flight of stairs to the second floor, but otherwise had no trouble making the climb. Somewhat reluctantly, Raf had to stop her from b-lining to the bedroom at the end of the hall.
  “Hold up, hang on. Over here, first.” Hands on her waist, he gently–somewhat playfully–pulled her back and steered her towards the bathroom. She immediately knew what it was about.
  “Y-yeah…okay. S’fair. I gotta destink.”
  “That, and if we want any hope of combing these tangles out, it’s gonna require an entire bottle of conditioner.” As Magritte was in the careful process of removing her sweater, Raf managed to excavate a piece of foliage out of her matted curls before helping her pull the garment over her head. “You’ve got like…a whole cluster of burs stuck in there somehow.”
  For the first time since leaving the hospital, Raf realised the extent of the work ahead of him. Literally everything about preparing for–and taking–a shower required the use of hands. And, unfortunately, Magritte wasn’t the sort to wait on him for something as simple as turning on the faucet. She jumped ahead to carry out the task, and winced through the pain of it.
  “Margie…”
  “Wait, no…what? No…” Her words were drawn out in a whine as she came to Raf’s same realisation. “I don’t want to be treated like a decrepit old lady until my hands are better. It’s probably okay to do like…little stuff, right?”
  “Little stuff, very infrequently, I'm sure is fine” Raf relented. “But you heard the doctor as well as I did.” He removed the shower head from its bracket. “Anyways, let’s try to keep soap and water away from your stitches for now. Sit on the side of the tub, and I’ll wash your hair.”  
  Magritte did as he asked, sitting down and holding her bandaged hands limply between her knees. Raf had to bring the heat of the water up to near scalding before the shuddering from her feverish chills relented. Once the water ran nice and hot, however, she closed her eyes and melted beneath his fingertips as he massaged shampoo into her scalp.
  Getting all the detritus out of her hair was a task and a half. The leaves, twigs, and grass came out easily enough, but the burs required copious amounts of conditioner and patience. Until then, her hair had felt brittle and harsh, like dry hay. Thankfully, the conditioner pulled through in rehydrating her thick, curly locks, imparting it with a tropical coconut scent that was far more pleasant than ‘shoreline rot’. Employing the help of a comb, Raf was able to brush out the burs and tangles with a very gentle hand. 
  It took Raf the better part of an hour to scrub the reek of sea decay off Margie and clear her hair of knots and debris. She seemed even more relieved than he was when he reached for the towel after one last rinse. Equal parts boredom, ache, and sleepiness likely contributed to that. He threw the towel over her soggy nest of hair and tousled it vigorously, knowing he had no more than ten seconds to get her dried off before she felt compelled to get up and leave.
  Sure enough, he’d only just started to pat the towel down her back before she picked herself restlessly up off the side of the tub and began limping eagerly out the bathroom door.
  “You’re not dry yet,” he called fruitlessly after her.
  “I’ll put a towel under my head, don’t worry.” Her answer arrived after she had disappeared into the hall, but Magritte poked her head back into the bathroom again to make a plain request. “Come nap with me.”
  With a sigh, Raf pulled himself to his feet, and grabbed a dry towel off the rack before joining her in the hall. She scurried into the bedroom with haste motivated by feverish chill and, as he watched her, Raf took inventory of the scrapes and bruises he could see discolouring her skin. The ocean had thoroughly battered her…but it returned her to him, alive.
  A burning ember or resentment seared his mood for a brief moment before being smothered by thankfulness–with a conscious and very deliberate effort.
  In the bedroom, Magritte had already begun shimmying under the blankets before Raf reached over to lay the fresh towel neatly over her pillow. At least this way, once her hair was properly dry, she could just shove the towel off the bed and not have to suffer a damp cushion under her head.
  Even with the exciting prospect of comfortable sleep motivating her, Magritte's movements were as restrained as she was capable of making them; cautious not to aggravate her sore muscles, tender bruises, or painful stitches. Still, she winced and let out a whine that dissolved into a self-depreciative little chuckle as she failed to navigate her injuries carefully.
  Raf was too tired to oblige the impulse of asking her to slow down. She wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. Magritte was very intent on nestling into bed, wearing only the bandaged dressings that covered the worst of her lacerations. He couldn’t blame her. As he tucked her underneath the thick, heavy duvet in an automatic gesture of habit, his entire body begged him to join her. He removed his sweater jacket and shirt–and intended to leave his jeans on until he considered what the coarse denim would do if it managed to graze any one of the raw, red scrapes on Magritte’s legs. There were still a number of things he needed to take care of around the house before he passed out for the evening, and so he didn’t plan on napping for very long–but regardless of that, the jeans came off before he crawled into bed.
  He sank into the mattress, beneath the large duvet and next to Magritte. Laying with her back to him, she favoured the left side of her body and rested all her weight onto the right side. Raf reached over to caress her damp, clean locks of hair before leaning over to plant a small kiss just above her ear.
  “You can cuddle me, if you’re brave.” Her eyes were already closed, but a coy smile warmed her face. “I know I’m literally being held together by threads, but I promise I won’t fall apart if you hug me.”
  Raf hesitated for a moment as he considered the logistics, and then answered Magritte by gently, carefully snaking an arm around her waist. As he closed the space between them, he gingerly tucked his knees between hers, mindful of the bandaging on her left leg. Suddenly, he was happy to have shed most of his clothes. Magritte’s body temperature was running so hot, it threatened to cook him.
  She provided a little wiggle as she nestled comfortably into his arms. A content little hum escaped her. “Are you in your own head right now?”
  “Not really. Trying not to be,” Raf replied honestly.
  “Okay. You’re just kinda quiet.”
  “Tired.”
  She turned her head towards him, but couldn’t move enough to meet his gaze. “Are you gonna be alright?”
  “Yeah.” He had already determined that much for himself.
  He buried his nose into her coconut-scented curls and lightly squeezed his arms around her in an appreciatively reassuring gesture. She was the one who had spent the past twenty four hours being violently tossed around by the sea, freezing, narrowly avoiding death, and getting stitched back together again–but naturally, she was concerned to know if he was alright. Because he was being quiet.
  “You know…” He recalled something she had said to him one evening.
  It had been after one of the more difficult days the year had doled out to him and it made him especially despondent and not at all pleasant to sit with. He had received an email from his mother. In it, she had outlined her disappointment for the way he handled the matter of his uncle’s body and funeral. Her wording was–as always–carefully crafted to wring as much guilt and anger out of him as humanly possible. Apparently, choosing to honour his uncle’s wishes–by following the clear instructions written in his will–had done a great deal of emotional harm to his father and his grandmother, both who’d have loved the closure of seeing him one last time. It was, in her words, a betrayal of love and trust that she never imagined him capable of. This, despite the fact that he couldn’t have stopped them from attending the funeral if they had actually cared enough to show up for it. That shitty email had coloured his mood for the rest of the week, but the way his misery affected Margie had been especially clear to him that evening. She had remained quiet in his company, and made herself as small as she could–as though she were being punished by him just feeling his own damn feelings. It had bothered him to the point of asking why she wouldn’t go somewhere else for a while. If shit was so difficult for her, why didn’t she just leave?
 She had looked him squarely in the eyes, with an expression of frustrated conviction so intensely uncharacteristic of her–it seared into his brain.
  Raf sighed into her hair. “When you told me that you’d stick with me ‘through hell or high water’, I thought you were being hyperbolic.”
  “Hah-!” Magritte’s weak, but triumphant laugh was accompanied by a little wiggle. “Joke’s on you, nerd. You’re stuck with me. Absolutely poached.” There was a long pause before her hoarse, groggy voice added one last, conclusive, “...Sucker.” 
  “Mmh.” It was yet another little piece of proof he could add to his growing arsenal of defence against the inevitable cycle of paranoid musings. “You know what’s kinda neat?”
  “...Hm?”
  “I love you a whole heck of a lot.” He replied.
  Or, rather–he thought he replied. In truth, he barely managed to mutter the first three words before sleep took him.
  –
  Raf’s eyes snapped open at the sudden sound of…something very near to his ear; some manner of organic clicking. An owl just outside the window? Or–
  A snore rose up from the source of heat between his arms, followed by the sound of lips smacking quietly. 
  Ah.
  Magritte was not usually a loud sleeper. Unless she was sick, her breath usually emerged as little sighs that purred very lightly in her throat; audible, but by no means disruptive. Her illness, however, was apparent in more than just her snores. The heat that radiated off her body had roasted him while he napped. The stubborn euphoria of being able to hold her close after fearing he’d never have the chance to do so again–struggled to compete with the humid discomfort of sweating flesh and damp bed sheets.
  Still, he hesitated to move. Margie, who had the compulsive tendency to fidget, wiggle, and shift restlessly, had apparently remained perfectly still in his arms. She laid with her back flush against him, her knees and elbows exactly where they had been before he had fallen asleep. Raf figured that once she settled into a position that wasn’t painful, she simply refused to comprise it by moving even an inch. 
  Reluctantly, slowly, he withdrew his legs from between hers, uncoiled his arm from around her waist, and sat up. The chilly air outside of the blankets met him as a relief. The sun had fully set, and the cold glow of the moon outside blended with the warm light from the downstairs kitchen window, dimly lighting his bedroom. He turned his gaze to the digital clock on his nightstand.
  7:08pm.
  He rubbed his face, feeling more awake than he ought to after less than two hours of sleep. Remembering the doctor’s instruction, Raf performed the unconscionable task of waking Magritte up. First, he ran fingers through her hair and, when that failed to stir her, he leaned over to kiss the exposed side of her face.
  Finally, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake. “Margie.”
  She inhaled sharply, curling into herself. As the deep breath turned into a yawn, she began unfurling into a stretch. A quiet whimper of pain escaped her as she abruptly halted the gesture, and Raf winced for her. Curling back into her original position, Margie let out a disgruntled hum. She had no intention of pandering to consciousness.
  “Margie.” Raf’s voice took on an apologetic tone. He got to his feet, sliding off his side of the bed, and rounded to her side. Crouching to be at eye level with her, he smoothed back her hair in gentle but deliberately rousing strokes. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?” 
  “...S’fine.” She didn’t open her eyes.
  “Yeah? Can you look at me?”
  Reluctantly, she obliged him, forcing her eyes open. “No concussion stuff happening.”
  Raf rewarded her with a smile. “How about everything else? How’s the naproxen holding up?” 
  “Oh,” Magritte closed her eyes again and swallowed, “yeah–no, I could use more of that.”
  “Alright.” Raf stood up and looked for his pants. “Are you hungry?”
  “No, no…” 
  “Can I make you some tea?”
  “Okay.”
  “Will you drink it?”
  Magritte lifted her head just enough to look at him as he buttoned his jeans. “What kind of tea?”
  Raf provided a sheepish grin that she couldn’t see as he turned to pick his t-shirt up off the floor. “Neocitran.” 
  As he expected, Margie dropped her head back onto her pillow with a dissatisfied groan. “I guess.” 
  “You’re sweating buckets and you haven’t eaten anything all day.”
  “It tastes like stomach acid.”
  “Yeah, well…electrolytes.” He pulled his shirt on, over his head, and smoothed it down. “Try not to crash too hard, I’ll be back in a few.”
 “...Okay.” But sleep had clearly already won her.
  Standing in the open bedroom doorway, Raf hesitated for a moment before deciding not to pester her further. He exited into the hall and quietly closed the door behind him.
  Downstairs, the little black wood stove–who’s chimney pipe ran through the very centre of the cottage–had burned its wood down to embers. Raf’s first order of business was to stoke it back up into a fire that’d last the night. He opened the front of the stove slowly, careful to avoid receiving a face full of smoke. Using a fire poker, he smoothed out the coals before layering blocks of firewood atop them, as far back as he could manage. He let it burn, leaving the stove door slightly ajar while he turned his attention towards preparing Magritte’s tea.
  In the kitchen, Raf filled an electric kettle with water and plugged it in before rummaging the cupboards for a coffee mug and the box of Neocitran. As he emptied a packet of the medicinal tea powder into the cup, he heard Magritte near him.
  “...Raf.”
  Her voice had been hoarse and raspy since he found her, but just then–the way it seemed to waver, tremble, and barely find purchase in her throat–she sounded like hell.
  “Hun,” Raf furrowed his brow in concern as he turned to look at her, “you should be in–”
  He paused, staring across the empty room behind him. “...Bed.”
  Curiously, he doubled back to look into the living room and towards the stairs. Margie wasn’t there.
  Chalking it up to his imagination, Raf took the opportunity to fully close the front of the wood stove before stepping back into the kitchen. It’d be a while before the water in the kettle started boiling.
  “...Raf.” Her voice, again.
  He paused again, trying to discern where it was coming from.
  “...Raf.”
  His gaze followed the sound of Magritte’s voice, to the left and…out the kitchen window.
  “I’m sorry…Raf.”
  Across the small grassy clearing in front of the porch, at the shadowy edge of the treeline, two large pupils reflected moonlight towards him. The eyes could have belonged to a deer, except the silhouette that broke through the boughs of spruce and cedar trees was distinctly un-deerlike in shape. It stared at him, unblinking, one dark, impossibly long and slender arm lifting a bough over its head, the other arm hanging past its knee. Impossibly long and slender; the entire shape of it.
  “...Raf.” It had Margie’s voice.
  Raf watched it for a moment longer, his expression no different than if he were observing some manner of common wildlife. As the sound of boiling water met his ear, he returned his attention to the task at hand with a long sigh.
  This better not be how I discover I’m schizophrenic. He unplugged the kettle and poured hot water into the mug.
  “...it was….supposed to be…” Margie’s awful sounding voice trailed off before returning to its favourite word again, “...Raf.”
  Grabbing a spoon from the drawer, Raf began to stir the contents of the medicinal drink, watching the powder dissolve. Ages ago, a psychiatrist had once cautioned him to the non-zero chance that he could, eventually, find himself experiencing hallucinations; a lovely piece of genetic inheritance from the grandfather on his mother’s side–a man who had thrown himself into traffic decades before Raf was ever born.  
  With half-lidded disinterest, he watched the last of the powder dissolve away before pulling a second mug out of the overhead cabinet. He poured hot water into this one, too, but elected to forgo the Neocitran in favour of a chamomile tea bag. As he added a small splash of milk and a spoon of honey, the ghostly ill sound of Magritte’s voice continued to beckon him from the yard. The flash of moonlight reflecting off the two large, unblinking eyes still glinted at him in the periphery of his vision. 
  He had to admit, if he did carry a genetic predisposition for something like schizophrenia, the environment was exceptionally ripe for it to finally rear its head. He had just lived through the most stressful twenty-four hours of his life–at the tail end of the most stressful year of his life.
  He measured that thought for a second. Was it as stressful as Juilliard? As stressful as the year prior to Juilliard?
  Perhaps not…but as hellish as those years had been, they didn’t carry nearly as much heartache. Juilliard and the three ring circus shit-show his mother had put him through were stresses that he could wish and plan to escape from. The untimely death of his loved ones, on the other hand–the two unconditional beacons of trust, warmth, and guidance he had grown to depend on–wasn’t something he could claw himself away from. The scars of their absence would be a permanent wound he simply had to live though. His uncle was a permanent wound.
  But Magritte–
  “...Raf.”
  Raf groaned, a touch irritated at having his thoughts interrupted by the not-Margie thing goading him from the side yard.
  Having stirred milk and honey into the chamomile tea, he took the mug up in his hands and carried it out the side door, onto the porch. He walked up to the railing, overlooking the small clearing.
  “Well, if you want your tea, you’re gonna have to come out from under the trees.” His voice was as plain as though he were addressing a neighbour. 
  The long, slender silhouette stood unmoving, its moony gaze unblinking. It said nothing in response.
  “Yeah, alright.” He placed the mug of tea down on the lowest porch step leading into the side yard. “Well, I’m not going out there, so… It’s here if you want it. I’d have appreciated…you know…some confirmation that you’re real. But sure, whatever. This is chill too, I guess.”
  Raf turned back into the cottage, closing and locking the door behind him. If this was a hallucination, then he’d deal with it later. It could wait until Margie got better, until he had gotten a proper time away from the city…until he was good and ready to return. Until then, he’d manage it on his own terms, the way that felt right.
 With chamomile, milk, and honey. >>part vii and viii<<
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palominojacoby · 1 year
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Harrenhal
[…] the chief heroes and rulers of both sides met upon the isle in the Gods Eye to form the Pact. [...] the children won from the First Men the promise that they would no longer cut down the weirwoods. All the weirwoods of the isle on which the Pact was forged were then carved with faces so that the gods could witness the Pact […]
TWOIAF, Ancient History: The Coming of First Men
Forty years it had taken, rising like a great shadow on the shore of the lake while Harren's armies plundered his neighbors [...]. Thousands of captives died in his quarries, chained to his sledges, or laboring on his five colossal towers. [...] Weirwoods that had stood three thousand years were cut down for beams and rafters.
ACOK, Catelyn I
From up here, she could see a small wooded island off to the northeast. Thirty yards from shore, three black swans were gliding over the water, so serene . . . no one had told them that war had come, and they cared nothing for burning towns and butchered men.
ACOK, Arya V
She remembered Nan telling how the stone had melted and flowed like candlewax down the steps and in the windows, glowing a sullen searing red as it sought out Harren where he hid. Arya could believe every word; each tower was more grotesque and misshapen than the last [...].
"I don't want to go there," Hot Pie squeaked as Harrenhal opened its gates to them. "There's ghosts in there."
ACOK, Arya VI
Sometimes the stones seemed to drink up noise, shrouding the yards in a blanket of silence. Other times, the echoes had a life of their own, so every footfall became the tread of a ghostly army, and every distant voice a ghostly feast. […]
Quiet as a shadow, she flitted across the middle bailey, around the Tower of Dread, and through the empty mews, where people said the spirits of dead falcons stirred the air with ghostly wings.
ACOK, Arya IX
He saw something half-buried in the sand [...] It proved to be a human jawbone, [...] crawling with maggots. Charming, he thought, wondering whose face he held. The bear was edging closer, so Jaime whipped his arm around and flung bone, meat, and maggots at the beast's head.
[…]
The poor dumb brave brute. When the beast swiped at him, he danced aside [...]. The bear turned to follow his tormentor, and took another two quarrels in the back. He gave one last rumbling growl, settled back onto his haunches, stretched out on the bloodstained sand, and died.
ASOS, Jaime VI
Each night at dusk he slashed the heart tree in the godswood to mark the passing of another day.
Thirteen marks can be seen upon that weirwood still; old wounds, deep and dark, yet the lords who have ruled Harrenhal since Daemon’s day say they bleed afresh every spring.
F&B, The Dying of The Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant
“Don't come again unless you mean to bend your knees, she says. Any man who comes near her walls will die. There's power in them stones, and the widow's woken it.”
F&B, Under the Regents: The Hooded Hand
This edit was inspired by @visenyaism 's Harrenhal uquiz and Anish Kapoor's work.
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mononijikayu · 2 years
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chapter iii.
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chapter iii.
Rating: T
Warning: Language, Mentions of Deaths;
SUMMARY: In which, MELLARA TARGARYEN lamenting her father's loss, discovers her father’s city. But then snooped her cousin prince DAEMON TARGARYEN, like a fish;
[it was at the invitation of the old king jaehaerys that princess mellara targaryen had come to king's landing for. after her beloved father's sudden passing, she had thought it best to pay homage to her grandfather as her father’s heir. without the knowledge of her mother, dowager princess elaena, mellara targaryen had  accepted his invitation and set sail for the capital of the dragon kings. as much of her life spent in relative shelter, she had been fascinated with king aegon's city and had decided to explore it with her own wanting. unfortunately, such wanting also came with fishing the eager attention of a prince who longed for her. one she had not longed or asked for. but the fourteen flames see beyond the whims of human hearts and grant us truly what we need at that moment. life changed from here on end. the gods had spoken to her, loud and clear. she would not find life without daemon targaryen ever again.]
- maester aeron targaryen; adust
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A D U S T   m a s t e r l i s t
< you and i burn together or we shall die trying >
chapter i  / chapter ii / chapter iii / chapter iv / chapter v chapter vi / chapter vii / chapter viii / chapter ix / chapter x   chapter xi / chapter xii / chapter xiii / chapter xiv / chapter xv chapter xvi / chapter xvii / chapter xviii
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Princess Mellara Targaryen had thought she would never belong any place else. Nor go on her own at all to seek adventure in her own endeavours. Her father had always been the one who had indulged her wanting, to seek out a dalliance with destiny beyond the frame of Blackhall’s blackened walls. Yet she knew that she could not rely on him any longer to be her companion to these wanting journeys. From now on, Mellara knew that she would have to do it all alone. Yet a grown woman she was and still had felt lost in the marvels as they sailed through the Blackwater’s rushing drifts. Destiny awaited her, she knew. One that now is tied with this foreign world she had never truly known.
Standing atop the ship’s bow, she peered at the busting life across the shore, distant colors dancing against the morose sunlight dashing with heat. Reaching her hand out at the dragon’s city, she wondered about the life that blossomed so far away. A life that was once shared by her dear beloved father, Aelor. Father had seldom talked about his life growing up in the Red Keep. Mother had always said that it was not something that had delighted father. It was not hard to understand that there had been a rift in the family. One that had been festering for a long time. Each time the old king commanded his family to gather, her father sent no apologies — only that he would not be attending to his family. The queen would send missives from time to time too, to visit her in Dragonstone. Her father considered those missives genuinely, bringing Mellara to see her aging grandmother, relishing in a new generation of dragons.
‘Another female heir!’ Queen Alysanne rejoiced, beaming at her joyfully before embracing her tightly. ‘Oh, my son. You and Aemon do me proud.’
He was one of the elder children in a big brood of dragons. Born the third son, her father had always been destined to find his way into the world. Without a crown to inherit and responsibilities to be had, Aelor Targaryen seem to have been as wild as aunt Alyssa. Mellara had heard that if anyone should be her father’s twin, it would be aunt Alyssa. She, her father and uncle Baelon formed a triad in the court yard, uncle Baelon would say. Father had always indulged aunt Alyssa when she would take his breeches to wear and his daggers lost to her use. Father had always been close to many of his sisters, though uncle Baelon had remarked upon that too sadly. Father had refused anymore talk of it, when she inquired to learn more about their family, he grew to frown at the thought of it. Mellara thought her own father would burst to tears. Yet he always left to tend to Blacknight before he could shed any tears.
Mellare relied on the response she would get from her grandmother and uncle when she could write to them. Though both busy with the affairs of the realm, they had induldged her with the thoughts of family that she would never know from her father. Grandmother recalled that her father prince Aelor had always  been a bright young boy. Though she lamented that he never took things as seriously as a prince should, desiring above all to make everyone laugh. Uncle Baelon said that father’s every word, his every line was accompanied by a jest and a smile, At times, he said that he saw aunt Alyssa in father  — how such vivacious spirits in him keeps their sister alive. Mellara had pondered for a moment that they thought that her father would live to be grey, happy at the company of his family.
Yet when uncle Baelon died so suddenly, prince Aelor Targaryen began to be sullen with worry. It had worried Mellara, at how his reddening eyes were sunken with weariness. His own knight’s body becoming nothing more than a frail man beyond the reach of his true age. At times he did not speak at all, rather paused into a stupor for hours before he would start screaming and be engrossed into tears as he muttered words none could understand. Mother had truly been so worried, much more so when father had announced his intention to come to the Great Council to declare his fealty to Rhaenys, as he had sworn to his elder brother Aemon all those years ago. Yet others had put forth his name, lord Tyrell and lord Tully were eager to see him as prince of Dragonstone. He was after all, the last living son of king Jaehaerys left to inherit.
Mellara was entrusted to rule Blackhall on her father’s absence, but she had heard whispers of what had happened. About how her father had rescinded his claim to the Iron Throne, how he would not even dare look at his own royal sire. Her father had all but been the deciding vote to choose the heir, king Jaehaerys had insisted upon it so. In the silence, his eyes not even open, her silver haired father stood up, a cane supporting him in hand. He could not do anything now, the realm against his choice. Muttering feverishly, father voted to install Viserys as heir to the Iron Throne. It had been a shock, as prideful prince Aelor had never backed even his own brother prince Baelon as heir. 
When father had returned home, he could barely get off Blacknight’s saddle. In the haze of the magma boisterously burning through him, prince Aelor was once more in a stupor and none could get him out of it. Mother had tried her best, even against her piling tears. But father did not get well and the very heat that enthralled his very being, had doomed him in the end. Prince Aelor never woke from his stupor, he had stopped murmuring to himself and most of all, his heart had all but stopped beating. Mother had been most inconsolable. But so was she  — now a young woman without the light of her world, abandoned by the father she had so always needed.
The memories flooded back instantly, like she was dreaming of him again. Mellara had loved her father too dearly, too dearly to even think of forgetting anything about him. His laughter beamed at her poignantly, echoing in her head like a melancholic tune. HIs joyous lilac eyes that matched her own, beaming so vigorously with life. Long silver hair was neatly plaided into a singular braid, easing at the small of his back when he turned. Soft hands squeeze her palm, lovingly embracing her with all the fire in him. She felt her heart clench in her chest harshly, missing him and grieving him all at once. It was as though life was once more being siphoned out of her body. Pursing her lips deeply, she let her hand down. It had only been recently since he had passed away from illness, but she still could not believe his loss.
It had not been easy for her family, especially her mother, who had become a widow over night. Without his boisterous voice ringing through the blackened stone, the halls of Blackhall had never been any sadder, nor any quieter. One could hear the fall of the pin across halls nowadays. Silence was all there was, bitter and grievous. It had all been so sudden, so eagerly beckoned by fate. The gods had commanded him home into their arms, back into the flames. Just as they give, they also do take. Mellara had cursed Aerax, the god of death, so many times as she knelt in front of the altar’s flames. Tears faster than she could register, Mellara Targaryen could only curse Aerax, could only say she shall no longer pray at his behest. 
‘But that would not bring father back,’ She lamented deep inside her, falling to her knees then. The fire only kept burning, as though to observe the grief only humans could truly have. ‘My father is gone. He would never come back again.’
The gods had given her little choice at all; she was still alive. The gods would nto take her, not that easily. No matter how many tears she cried, her father would not come back. Nothing will change that fact anymore, nto even if she plead otherwise. She will have to live on, for his sake. For her mother’s sake. For what he had all left behind, this legacy. She was his legacy now. That is what her grandfather told her when he had met her, her father’s body resting in the rocky hill, where her father’s body laid bare in the colors of his house. 
Mellara had never met her grandfather before. But as she bowed before him, she knew that she could not help notice her father’s eyes in his.Tears stroked king Jaehaerys’s weary eyes, bitter from sorrow and battered with yet another loss. They had just lost grandmother a year before and now both uncle Baelon and father had followed one another to the arms of Aerax. With his weary hands in hers, Jaehaerys had implored her to do, as he held her hand through the flames of Vermithor being the one that had led her father home.
They had wept together all day, after her father had been laid to rest down the crypts of Blackhall. Grandfather had lamented that his effigy was such a good likeness, how it had reminded him of queen Alysanne. He had looked exactly like her, grandfather thinks. That had made him weep even more and soon she had followed too, inconsolable. When the tears had stopped later that night, she and her grandfather had decided to dine alone. Grandfather had quite a lot of stories, fondness and lamenting. There had been many joyous times between father and son. The old king had been most pleased with vivacious prince Aelor when he had been a boy. Yet just like father, it seemed that it hurt her grandfather to talk about their parting. There was endless regret in his purple haze, gleaming with tears. 
‘There would be much I would change, dear girl.’ Her grandfather had admitted to her, his gleaming with lonesomeness under the candlelight. ‘I wished I had been a better man, for all those I had loved. But such thoughts are admitted too little to late. I hope you would not find yourself doing the same.’
‘Then what would you have me do, grandsire?’
He purses his lips at her, before a sorrowful smile hit. ‘That you would live, dear girl. Before it is all too late. And do well with it.’
When her grandfather prepared to leave, he had bid his good-daughter goodbye. Though she had been most distant with the old king, being courteous enough with him. When he bid his granddaughter farewell, the king had asked her to come and visit him at court. She would always have a place there, he swore. He would be most delighted to have his son’s only child at his court, to bring life to it once more. To see where her father had grown into the man he had become. Mellara had been apprehensive at the thought of it. But as her grandfather flew away on his mount, she knew that she could not hesitate any longer. Perhaps it may have been the madness of grief, mayhaps it had been the unsettled madness in her dragon veins. The princess commanded days after, that she would be leaving for King’s Landing quietly into the dawn. Mellara Targaryen had written a note to her lady mother and rushed aboard her father’s flagship, ‘Winter Child’, without a second thought to the world.
When they had landed at the port, Mellara and her retinue had found themselves in the streets of King’s Landing. The sun shone brightly down on them.Mellara sat in the wheelhouse with her servants. The sound of eager merchants endorsing their produce left and right. The young children play small games with wide smiles on their faces. Old men, gazing intently at the wooden board as they play chess on the corner of the street. One was singing by a drunk man on the corner, and the other was laughing at the drunken man's amusing features. Women are whispering around the small benches by the fountain, eagerly sending gazes and laughing at the secret that only exists between the two of them.
Mellara Targaryen had yet to see this in her life.
Weary from the journey, Mellara had decided that she and her retinue would stop at a local inn for the day. It had been hours since her last meal, and as such, she was famished. It was under the instructions of her lady mother that, under no circumstances, should the retinue stop until they reached the Red Keep. Not only was Mellara the only child she had, she was a princess by blood. If any danger should come to her, there would be a price. But Mellara did not seem to care. She was the princess of blood; her word was stronger than her mother, who was but a wife.
Bribing them quietly as they carried her belongings with vigour onto her chambers on the second floor. Mellara really liked the room. Two huge lights were placed on either side of the one long bed, which had linens that were lavender in hue. The two circular tables were gilded with delicate touches of silver. A bottle of ink was sitting inside a glass cylinder on a little desk with two quills laying on top of crisp, white parchment. She dared not open the two large windows that were on each side of the bed. There was a fireplace with brand-new, unlit logs. It also had a reddish rose scent. She neither liked nor hated the scent, but she would have gone without it.
Soon enough, her servants had gathered food for her nourishment. Bringing it to her small table, they removed the items from before and neatly parted them away. Mellara thanked them, giving a gracious smile. A roasted lamb buttered on the spit, salted potatoes burned on the stove, and slices of bread toasted to gold. It was accompanied by sweetened wine, cool to the touch. It pleased her. Mellara ate happily, leaving none to spare. She had never eaten such a thing before. It was not the common thing that lords used to have on their tables. Yet she was sure she would have the servant to ask for more before their departure tomorrow.
Looking out her window, she found that she could see the sea all the way. It was beaming with such a deep sapphire gleam. like what her father had found before when he had been in Tarth. She could not help but laugh at the memory. His family was concerned that his father would travel there, knowing that his late brother, Prince Aemon, had died at the hands of pirates. But he did not particularly care, not even when his mother was growing angry at him. On Blacknight’s back, he flew onto the shores and into one rocky mound, sitting there for hours to fish while Blacknight flew across the sky, acting as her father’s protector.
At that moment, Mellara grinned as she stood up. She called on her maidservant and commanded her to help her dress. Mellara took to her chest, laughing as she revealed her long woolen dress. It was Braavosi wool, turquoise blushing against pink, with long cut sleeves with Myrish lace and flattened trims of Volantine silk. The princess knew that it was better to disguise herself if she were to go out. It was a gift from cousin Rhaenys many moons ago when she visited her in Blackhall.They would not find Mellara Targaryen. Rather, they will find her a Valyrian tradesman's daughter, out for a stroll in such streets.
As soon as the servant finished dressing her, Mellara ran towards her belongings and started to mess up her small gowns, her woolen clothes, her silks, and even her laced petticoats. She did not stop, even if her servant had told her to calm herself, not until she found what she was looking for. She collapsed onto her bed while holding the item. Taking a good look at her kit, she grinned harder. It was her casting rod. She was sure of it. Blackwater was only a few minutes' walk away. If she gets lost, maybe she can ask someone. It would not be hard to do so. If someone approaches her wrongfully, she knows what to do. She was capable of looking after herself.She will be fine. She was her father’s daughter, after all.
The two guards simultaneously said, "My lady," bowing to her in a respectful manner.
Mellara swallowed and gave them a nod.
She welcomed them by saying, "Gentlemen, good morning."
"Has my lady eaten well?"
"Yes, I have. I have rested as well." Mellara replied, trying not to show her impatience. "I have a question for you two."
One of the guards said obediently, "Yes, my lady."
She asks them politely, attempting to put on a grin that was both pleased and compassionate, "How is the weather for you lads? I should anticipate that you would want to drink a few ales given the heat here. "
The second guard replies, "Oh, dear lady, we do not drink when we are on duty."
The other person nodded. "My ladyship, we must maintain our sobriety for your protection."
"But even so, I would like to provide for you." She persisted, swiftly removing several gold dragons from her dressage, "Here, on my treat. I would hate for you both to be suffering. You need to go get some air. I don't want the warriors of my late lord father to be mistreated.”
“Surely, my lady, this would be unwise—"
Mellara shook her head and said, "That is an order, please. If you will not listen to my suggestion, regard it as a demand. Sers, you must obey your mistress or else. Consequences will take place.”
Those eyes were the same as those of the dragons themselves, so furious and frightening. It was almost like a thunderstorm glazed by thunder, a purple thunder with such vicious intent. Soon, their dread became apparent, and the two gentlemen nodded and bowed, swiftly departing, which caused her to feel a sense of loss. At that moment, she cheered and smiled. There would be no one to disturb her now. The others were still bruised by their own weariness from the trip. This was her chance.
Walking down the stairs with care, she hid her face with the kit and felt the very essence of her soul rise out of her nervousness. She feared her hair would become too obvious, so she put the kit atop her head and walked. She moved with boldness and determination, forcing adrenaline into her body, and she managed to leave without incident. She sighed a breath of relief. 
Melara giggled. The shine of the stone cobbled street glazed her sight and soon she was jumping across them. She decided to ask for directions once she saw a pondering wanderer.
"Pardon me." She asks, her thick Valyrian accent placid across her words. "Good sir, I apologize for interrupting your morning, but could you please advise me how to get to the Blackwater?"
The man gave her a quizzical glance, deciphering her words. A few moments later, he nodded and said, "Ah, that way. That way!"
"Ah, thank you!"
The beauty of King's Landing unfolded as she walked through the narrow streets, holding her fishing rod and among the crowd of the half a million people either selling or trading their goods on the sidewalks and in the small makeshift markets that sprung up all around the steps of the paved pathways.
Some just strolled to the Street of Steel while carrying their infants or strolling beside their spouses and wives to enjoy the heat of the brilliant sun. Mellara saw the magnificent structures of the past and present, some of which were old inns that had existed there before her family came from across the coast. There were other bakeries with the nicest bread she had ever eaten, as well as those that were just brand new, like the smith's armory that she passed and which hung a freshly painted sign above its working area. She made purchases there for potential needs. A tiny cup of fresh lemonade, some bread for herself and food for any fish she might catch. When he returned from his trip, her father gladly gave her such a gift.
Once she had finished, she continued to walk. Mellara's waving hello and greeting good morning, despite the reactions from the people she walked past, were filled with such unenthusiastic faces and rather uncomfortable glances. Mellara could not fault some of them for not saying her greetings back to her. She was a foreigner to them, and from what they saw of her, she did look like a foreigner. This much was true. She was a foreigner, even in a dragon’s city.
A grin instantly appeared on Mellara's face as she gazed over the black, tranquil waters that made up the city's most well-known body of water once she finally located the Blackwater Rush much later, after an exhilarating journey of wandering. This was unlike any river or lake Mellara had ever seen before, let alone those in the Riverlands or elsewhere. She has long pondered the origin of the name's true meaning from her father’s stories. But she now knows. She was more excited than ever before to behold it. She could not keep her eyes off it at all.
It was a milder shade of black, with enormous, dark stones and smaller ones that sank into the water, where she could see the little white foam that pops up in the water rather than being too charcoal-dark. Because of the blue sky, the Blackwater's blackness appeared to be daytime and its skies to be nighttime, creating a whole different environment that she had never imagined to be another realm. The gods gave them such a wonder, one that could never truly be expressed in any other words. If her father were here, he would have had many things to say. He would have loved to fish with her here, to laugh. Mellara sighed softly, closing her eyes. No, he is here. He was watching her. Mellara decided then and there that she would catch a fish, one way or another.
The young Targaryen walked towards the edge of one of the high-formed rocks and stood there, surrounded by small shrubs of grass and large forms of other rocks. Her small hands took out a bag of worms from the small rucksack she had placed some essentials in and took one from the small packets with her gloved hand. Despite it moving, she took her fishing rod with her other hand and carefully stuck it to the hook the way her lord father had taught her. And when everything was clear, she used both hands to grip the end of the fishing rod and aimed high to allow it to flow down into the ceaseless water.
She could not help but get distracted by his loud and boisterous laughter in her head. That one time, a long time ago, he fell into the river because the fish had been too big. The water splashed all over her as he rose up, shaking the water away. fish in hand for a moment and then how it disappeared into the sea once again. Such good memories surrounded Mellara Targaryen, even at the most unfortunate of times.
But there was no room for wondering about the past as she felt the tugging at her hands. Mellara’s face contorted as she grabbed the end of the rod and pulled as firmly as she could while trying to act quickly. The silver-haired young woman had the impression that she was engaged in combat or under siege as she pulled and held her ground against the opposition. After a while, the young princess had unintentionally flung it behind her while still holding it. While holding her fishing rod and attempting to free it from some sort of impasse, Mellara overheard the sound of panicked horses.
"You, woman with the fishing rod!" The voice called to her, causing her to turn around and find two men on horses. One was a tall, lean man with dark purple eyes, one like her grandfather’s. His silver hair was more like white gold, dangerously sharp as it fell behind his shoulders. The other was calming his horse. Her fishing rod's edge was stuck in the cloak of the man with silvery hair. 
In the sudden silence, the man laughed loudly.
Mellara’s face turns hot red.
"Brother, this is hardly something you should laugh about."
"My apologies," As he felt the laughter continue to escape him, the man with the sharp dark purple said. "This is quite funny. I like it. I am no longer bored!”
"Indeed, but this is not funny. it's something that I did not expect." the calm one replied. "Maybe we should be more careful with where we go."
She gasped. "Oh, dear gods, please don't move!"
She drops her fishing rod, grabs her pack, pulls out a little pocket knife, and rushes over to the two guys on horses. The dark orbs of the young man prevented Mellara from cutting the cloak even though she felt tall enough to do it. Persisting, she glared at the man as he tried to stop her. The knife was dull, but it was sharp enough to hurt someone. The one who had been laughing stopped. His gaze hardened slightly.
"What is your problem?" She said, frustrated, suddenly in Valyrian. "I am trying to do my best here!"
For a moment, taken aback by hearing such words, the dark-eyed young man pursed his lips. "You watch your tongue, girl. Why did you bring out a knife?"
She raised a brow at him, her eyes boring a glare. “Or what, huh? If it were my will, then I would have shoved you off that horse at this moment. "You pompous bastard!"
The man smirked. Dark eyes glistened against the lilac. He replied in Valyrian, "It was a simple question, little girl. Why? Are your hands too weak to remove the hook, little girl?"
"It is quicker!" She glared at him. "It is a dull knife. What would it do to you men? Are you that scared of a dulled knife, little boy?”
“A knife is still a knife, little girl. You best put it away or there will be consequences."
The kinder-toned man shook his head. "You have no need to do this. It is alright, let her cut it.”
“You heard what he said, now let me through.”
“No.” The sly man grinned at her. 
“I will thrash you.”
“Do you think you can do it, silly girl?”
She glared at him furious. “Do not call me that. I am not a little girl.”
“You look small to me.”
“Why you-”
"Perhaps it is what I needed, brother. Thank you for suggesting this ride." He laughed. Leaning forward the younger woman, he smiled. “Do you have a name, my lady?”
“What makes you think I will give it to you freely?”
His pompous bravado echoed across his tone. "Do you have no idea who I am? Who you are challenging?”
"I do not know and I do not care!" She retorted back at him just as viciously. “Gods, men are annoying!”
He smiled. “And women are intriguing.”
She pursed her lips and soon enough she says, “What do you actually know of women, ser?”
‘That I like them.” He replies, he takes the hand with the dull knife. “But I can show you once you let this go.”
Her face contorted in disgust. “Do not ruin my day for me. Let me go! I want to remove this hook and move on with my life.”
"Put the knife away first and then we can talk about such a thing."
"Can you leave me alone and let me do what I can?"
"Daemon, let her be!" The kinder man commanded the tall man's brutish figure.Mellara watched as he gritted his teeth and backed away. "There is no need. After all, this is a public space. She is free to fish whenever she wants.”
"My, you speak like the prince of Dragonstone you are."
"The Prince of Dragonstone?" Mellara paused, and it hit her at the moment. Everything suddenly made sense. "Daemon?..."
A loud audible gasp was released from her, gazing at the two. It was them. Eyes widened, her fear and horror rushed through her all at once. She could not move. Immediately so, the knife fell to the ground.  At that moment, she could not help but do what she had to. She could have possibly just commited treason against her princely cousins. Mellara felt like her eyes were weakening, almost as though glass was pressed against the lilac gaze. Shaking in fear and red-faced, she did what she could at the time. Quickly releasing her fishing rod, the lady took what was left of her kit and ran as fast as she could. Daemon smirked, turning to his brother with crossed arms. Viserys Targaryen sighed, shaking his head.
"Are you alright?" he inquired as his brother retrieved a knife from his saddle and cut his clothing free from the hook.
"I am fine." He gave his brother a nod. "But I fear she will not be."
Daemon laughed, climbing back atop his horse. "She’s intriguing."
"Must you antagonize her like that, brother?" Viserys shook his head. "How will she face you now, at court? You scared her.”
"With the same fire she had a while ago," Daemon reassures his brother. “My acting will not deter her.”
"You say that so surely."
“She has that will. I like it, brother.” Daemon nodded his head, a smirk upon his lips. "I want her. No, I will have her. Soon enough.”
Viserys let his lips curl into a line. "What do you go on about?"
"Nothing." Daemon laughs, riding ahead.
Viserys wants to ask, but he does not get to.
He clearly heard what he had said.
Daemon Targaryen will get what he wants.
Even if she does not remember him, he does.
Viserys Targaryen prays for all to be well.
May the gods heed his prayers.
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ruknowhere · 2 years
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Twilight Hours
Sadakichi Hartmann - 1867-1944
The colors of the rainbow are fading in the silent
and distant West, and the heartache of
twilight trembles within my aching breast.
For the light of my love has faded like sunbeams
in the West, and the color of twilight will
tremble forever in my breast.
II
I think of thy kindness often, when lonesome I feel
and cold, I have not forgotten our childhood,
nor your loving words of old.
And still my sweetest songs of life are floating
in dreams to thee, like whisperings at eventide,
across a clouded sea.
III
We two are sitting in the bark, and listen to the
wavelets’play, the shore is melting in the
dark, day’s echoes silently decay.
Oh life, with all thy hopes so fair, wilt thou
too float away, like visions rising in the
air that greet the parting day!
IV
She stands amidst the roses, and tears dart from her
eyes that like the fragrant roses her soul
must fade and die.
He stares at the twilight ocean on the shore of a
foreign land, a faded rose is trembling
within his soft white hand.
V
The rushes whisper softly, the sounds of silence wake,
large flowers like sad remembrance float
on the dark green lake.
Were life but like the waters, so bright and calm
and deep, and love like floating flowers
that on the surface meet.
VI
The naked trees of autumn grope shivering through
twilight’s gloom, athwart the whispering branches
its dying embers loom.
I dream of life’s defoliation, as I watch with
silent dread, leaf after leaf departing, like
hopes long withered and dead.
VII
In haunting hours of twilight dreams restless the
turbulent sea, and heaves her white wanton
bosom in endless mystery.
Dream on, dream on, titanic queen, beloved sea, at
thy wanton breast, I would find rest
in endless mystery.
From Drifting Flowers of the Sea and Other Poems (1904) by Sadakichi Hartmann. This poem is in the public domain.
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blindinkpoet · 2 years
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Lay down Your sweet and weary head The night is falling You have come to journey's end Sleep now And dream of the ones who came before They are calling From across the distant shore ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvF31-2bVNE... )
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johnjankovic1 · 6 months
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Ulysses
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Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still. We have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean. We are ready at last to set sail for the stars. Carl Sagan, Cosmos, 1980
In the prologue to the Apollo moonshot the mastery of spacewalks, rendezvous, docking, long-duration flights, reentry and precision landing had to be mastered first by the workhorse of the Gemini Project. The practical application of theoretical physics cultivated by a series of tutorials was the risk mitigation needed to thread the needle of docking in orbit and to walk atop the lunar surface for the Apollo excursion. Over twenty months as each new mission’s complexity became more edifying than the last NASA laid the groundwork for this big exploit. Rendezvous entailed station-keeping and docking between two craft in a zero-G environment. The moonwalk although etched in civilization’s hagiography with the iconic images of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin cavorting about on the Moon would only materialize after Gemini’s 12 hours and 25 minutes of spacewalks (Machell 1967). Multiple redundancies of backups were also exported into Apollo to eschew primary-system failures. In the gospel of engineering such failsafe devices are critical to isolate malfunctions that can cascade into catastrophe. Amidst the Gemini VIII mission a runaway thruster convulsed the vehicle into an uncontrollable spin until the last-minute Hail Mary pass by astronaut Armstrong arrested the rate of rotation. Learned mistakes then bolstered Apollo.
As the apotheosis of the space programme Washington’s industrial policy did not exercise any austerity for the successor to the Mercury and Gemini projects. In its Keynesian stimulus for a dash of Cold War bravado NASA mobilized over 20,000 industrial firms at the cost of $25.4b or $186b in real value (DiLisi et al. 2019). This fiscal demand mimicked the audacity of landing a man on the Moon versus splitting the atom in the Manhattan Project which was monetized at $2b or 34 billion in constant dollars. Nuclear fission at the Los Alamos Laboratory at its zenith saw a headcount of 130,000 personnel in a foil to the moonshot’s 400,000 (Huges 2003). Therefore in Apollo’s anatomy a bevy of august firms were conscripted into service for the three million working parts of the Saturn V rocket whose power could be analogized to the output of eighty-five Hoover Dams (Bilstein 1999). It was this crown jewel of the space programme dwarfing Mercury’s Redstone and Gemini’s Titan II that brought humanity to the Moon and back. Washington’s calculated use of public funds architected an entire industry from the ground up in the space race. Between the creation of the bureaucratic mechanism in the guise of NASA and pecuniary investments in R&D an Industrial Revolution was co-authored by state-driven capitalism and firms.
Apollo embodied the Everest of engineering across the gamut of rocketry, metallurgy, thermodynamics, aerodynamics and astrophysics to cement man’s presence onto the distant orb of the Moon. But success is not at all the default of industrial policy when bureaucracies are prone to beget sinkholes of profligate spending. Where Washington excelled was to marshal a uniformity of purpose for the high stakes of President Kennedy’s promise to plant America’s flag atop the Moon. A delegation of contracts solicited expertise from Boeing, Chrysler, Rocketdyne, North American Aviation’s Space and Information Systems Division (S&ID), Douglas Aircraft, IBM and Grumman. NASA’s Marshal Space Flight Centre in Alabama helmed by the feted von Braun and his retinue coordinated all these discrete nodes of operations. Boeing and Chrysler were tasked with integrating the five F-1 engines abreast of fuel tanks and avionics for the first stage of the Saturn V rocket. Rocketdyne designed those mainstay engines together with its J-2 variant. These smaller units were married to the upper stages whose in-flight restarts parked Apollo into earth’s orbit whereupon a second controlled burn pushed the craft into its Trans-Lunar Injection path. Reawakening an engine in the cold vacuum of space was fraught with complexity.
Within this leg of propelling astronauts beyond earth’s upper atmosphere it was S&ID that fitted the five J-2 powerplants to its second stage vehicle. These furnaces of thrust catapulted Apollo into orbit to await its manoeuvre towards the alien plains of the Moon. Inside the cylindrical hull fabricated from alloyed aluminum were vast reservoirs that cradled the propellants of liquid hydrogen and oxygen. Next to this coup of engineering would be the third stage manufactured by Douglas Aircraft whose import hinged on slingshotting the crew on its final approach to its mission objective. This smaller sibling of the Saturn V rocket innovated the bulkheads separating fuels with a substantial cut in mass for greater efficacy of operations when weight was at a premium. Right above this third stage sat IBM’s magnum opus. Wrapped around the circumference of the Saturn V there stood a three-foot high ring of digital computers and sensors in miniaturized form computing trajectories across the sky and into the sea of stars. Micro-adjustments in milliseconds remedied thrust deficits and directions across the battery of engines should one fail. Directly abutting the foregoing nerve centre of the Saturn V there nestled in the upper stages of the rocket was the Lunar Module under the stewardship of the Grumman Aircraft company.
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This vehicle draped in Kapton foil since the want of an atmosphere fails to mediate extreme temperatures would descend upon the Moon’s regolith with a form factor resembling an arachnid. Outfitting the spacecraft with four spindly legs and an engine with modulated thrust ensured a soft landing on the alien world where the streamlined shapes of aerodynamics had no currency. Once ensconced on the surface courtesy of the vehicle’s throttleable velocity the second stage launched the explorers and their soil samples back out into space to rendezvous with the Command and Service Modules. Whilst each facet of the mission proved precocious the mission was greater than the sum of its parts. The alchemy of coordinating a phalanx of companies towards one end of landing a man on the Moon cannot be extolled enough. In this seminal act of innovation not only did a whole industry manifest from nothing but also America’s production shifted wholesale towards a knowledge economy. President Kennedy’s foresight to align industry and academia in colonizing the Moon became the verve and vim behind the boom in innovation that ushered in the era of postindustrialism. The return on investment would be a boon to technology in the crucible of Apollo as the brainchild of Washington’s industrial policy.
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tragicperformer · 1 year
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portrait du jeune homme en feu
fandom: identity v pairing: joseph desaulniers/aesop carl (joscarl) rating: M art credit: @mystxmomo
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“Aesop gets commissioned to paint Joseph's engagement portrait. Only, the thing is, Joseph's not enthusiastic about his upcoming marriage- so Aesop must do it without him knowing. “​
chapter one | ao3 link word count: 4.2k
This was always Aesop’s least favorite part.
He doesn’t like to pose- it’s why he’d found his place behind the brush, instead. He’s never sure where to place his hands, how to hold his expression- he’s gotten good enough at it with practice, of course, from staring at his own reflection and watching the way his features shift, the way the muscles lie under the skin, and from having seen it on every model he’s come across in his lifetime.
Still.
Aesop holds the position as best as he can, sitting poised upon the stool with his hands folded in his lap, left over right, allowing himself to move only his eyes. They flicker across the room, scanning his students’ faces in concentration.
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“Pay close attention to my outline, and contours,” he reminds them, gentle voice breaking the silence of the studio. “Take your time.”
Their gazes dart up and down, up and down, looking both at him and through him all at once.
“The sketch is essential. It’s your foundation. It doesn’t need to be perfect, as your mistakes can be covered, but this stage will be the building blocks to-“
His voice falters.
The quiet falls over them again, though to Aesop, it’s overpowered by the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears, the way his fingers curl into fists against his will, the way his breaths stagger in struggle until he finally builds the courage to wet his dry tongue and ask-
“Who brought that painting out?”
One by one, they lift their heads, swiveling to follow Aesop’s stare across the room.
It had been scattered amongst all the other paintings, brought out of storage and propped up on easels, he hadn’t noticed it at the beginning of the lesson but now, the color has drained from his face, gone ashy and pallor, almost pained.
“I did,” one of them answers and he’s too far gone in his memories to recall their name. “Should I not have?”
“No.”
“Did you paint it?”
“Yes.” And then. “A long time ago.”
“Does it have a title?”
Moonlit clouds stretch over a vast, sapphire sky, dotted with twinkling silver stars. It gives way to a grassy field, lit dimly by a sole source, standing upright in the center- the distant silhouette of a man, features indistinguishable save for long white hair, flowing over the shoulder, and a flame, igniting the hem of his cloak.
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Aesop swallows.
“Portrait du jeune homme en feu.”
-
A rather harsh wave has another bout of nausea rolling through Aesop’s body, and he might fear losing the contents of his stomach, were there anything inside of it.
Travel by boat is a necessary evil when it comes to his profession, but that doesn’t mean he’s grown at all accustomed to the stinging sea salt spray and assault on his senses. Especially in a rickety row boat like this one, there’s no escape from the way the water rocks them to and fro. Even the rowers’ motions seem haphazard and precarious at best, but there must be some sort of method to it, because the tiny island that had been a speck on the horizon has been growing closer and closer every minute.
Trying to get a better look at the approaching shore, Aesop lifts a hand from his lap, where it had previously been clutched around the edges of a wooden parcel, to brush his bangs away from his face. It turns out this is the worst mistake he could make.
A particularly rough wave jolts the boat underneath of them, and in one sharp turn, the crate nearly flies out of his lap. His fingers curl around the makeshift strap of thick twine in a last ditch attempt, but it’s too little too late, leaving him only with a slight friction burn and wide eyes as the wood hits the water.
The resulting splash sprays droplets across his cheek, and for a short, horrifying movement, nobody moves.
Aesop counts his blessings when the crate doesn’t immediately begin to sink, and knowing what he has to do, he doesn’t waste a second counting on anyone else to handle things for him. Standing, his vision is a blur as he’s hastily shucking off his thick woolen overcoat until the moment his body hits the frigid water. All at once, he’s plunged under, and then he resurfaces with a desperate gasp. Too determined for the sudden shock of cold to leave him frozen, he does the best imitation of a breaststroke that he can muster, knowing how pathetic his attempt must appear to his onlookers and not caring at all, until he catches up with the crate that the tide has steadily been carrying away from him.
He doesn’t remember the jump, doesn’t remember swimming back to the boat or being hauled on board, but all he knows is that he’s in his seat again, now dripping a steadily growing puddle. Every part of him is shivering, even with that woolen cloak draped over his shoulders, a kind of chill that’s bone deep and cuts through him anew with every gust of wind. Teeth chattering, Aesop clenches his jaw and digs his fingernails into the grain of the wood, and prays the adrenaline will flow through him long enough to power him through the rest of the journey.
“Won’t be long now,” someone tries to reassure him and he nods curtly, attempting to ignore the way it makes sodden strands of hair cling to his cheeks, the way he feels like a drowned dog in a storm.
Solid earth- as solid as a coarse, sandy beach can be, anyway- is a godsend beneath his feet, and as soon as he stumbles out of the row boat, he lets out a grateful sigh. As relieving as it is, though, the full effect of gravity is starting to take its toll, combined with the wooziness of being out on the water, it’s practically tripping uphill with limbs wrought of lead. Not at all made easier by the rucksack of personal belongings he’s slung over his shoulder and the wooden crate, that wretched piece of twine trapped between his fingers in a white knuckled vice grip.
His primary guide, a few steps ahead of him- how easy it must be, to carry oneself across the dunes without being waterlogged- shows him to the beginning of a winding path at the base of the shore. It gives way to a rocky outcrop, and the beginnings of grass, the stubborn kind, that can only grow in harsh conditions and thin soil. He takes the opportunity to set his things down in the sand, and wrings out the hem of his coat.
“Where do I go, exactly?” Aesop asks, voice rough, when it becomes apparent that his companion has stopped and intends to take him no further.
“Just up this stretch,” he answers, pointing up the footpath that transcends the hill. “Dirt path’ll take y’ right to the front door.”
“Right.” That’s not very specific. Aesop breathes a long exhale through his nose and heaves his belongings up off the ground again. “Thanks.”
It’s nearing dusk now, with just enough daylight left to illuminate his walk with the last bits of warm, fleeting sunlight. After how far he’s traveled to be here, this last part should be nothing more than a simple stroll, but it’s all starting to catch up to him. Even the bag, sparsely packed with one fresh set of clothes, a book, his paints, and his brushes, meant to last him just a week, is feeling more and more like a boulder by the second.
A steep and rocky incline gives way to flat land, sand, then dirt, shaded by half barren trees and covered in dead leaves that crunch under Aesop’s shoes with every step. But finally, he makes it to the front porch, a large wooden door wrought with age waiting to greet him.
He knocks. Four times. They’re firm and solid and he has to resist the urge to knock again- knows they’ve been expecting him all day, but it is a rather sizable estate. It might take someone any matter of minutes to cross and let him inside.
Thankfully, the door swings open only a few moments later, and Aesop is welcomed by a servant, Emma, she tells him, who ushers him briskly inside to shut the chill of the encroaching night and salty wind out.
Carrying the lone candle that lights their way, Emma leads them up two flights up stairs, the blue glow from the dusk sky bleeding in through the thick glass windows that line the walls. They take a turn down a short hall and, at the end, enter a room with thick, sweeping curtains, and a fireplace, already alight with a flickering ember.
Emma sets the candle on the mantle and reaches for the poker, kneeling on the ground to stoke the fire. Aesop crosses to follow, setting his things down in a dusty corner.
“It was a reception room,” she starts, punctuated by the crackle of the burning logs. “It’s never been used in all the time I’ve been here.”
“How long?”
Emma shrugs, and then stands. The poker goes back into the holder and she folds her hands politely in front of her.
“Three years.”
“Do you like it here?” Aesop asks.
“Yes.”
The answer is curt, soft, but he has no reason to doubt it. Perhaps, properly lit and cleaned, he could imagine this being a pleasant place to stay.
The silence carries on for another beat before Emma nods, dismissing herself with a sudden frazzledness. Aesop has to wonder if he’s the first guest they’ve had.
“I'll let you get dry.”
Her footsteps echo faintly throughout the room as she exits, shutting the door behind her so that it does not thud, likely out of consideration not only for himself but for the home’s other inhabitants as well.
Finally alone, Aesop sheds the layers of his clothes, spreading the thinner ones out on the floor by the fire in hopes that they’ll dry quick enough to be put back on in a few hours. He’s not in any rush, of course, he has a nightgown tucked away somewhere in his bag, but the thicker garments like his woolen overcoat will need at least the whole night, and a bigger fire than this one.
For now, he strings his cloak up on the line nailed from one wall to the other, sectioning off about a third of the room with the sweeping, linen curtains, almost like a makeshift privacy wall. He makes a note to explore behind it later, but is currently more concerned with belongings far more valuable.
By the fire, he selects a thicker metal rod from the stand, and uses it to pry open the wooden crate. Predictably, both of the canvases- he’d brought two, in case of an emergency, but well- are soaked.
He props them up on the hearth, close enough to dry but not close enough for the flame to catch, and hopes that by morning they’ll be good as new, otherwise, he’ll be losing valuable time. Less elegantly, he fumbles through his bag for his pipe, blowing his still damp hair out of his eyes when it gets in the way, and fishes out the tobacco that somehow survived the catastrophe.
Once enough water has evaporated from his skin, leaving a slightly sticky residue on the surface in its wake, Aesop recognizes the pang in his empty stomach and sighs.
Wrapped in his nightgown, Aesop’s bare feet fall against the cool, stone floor, as he exits his temporary room, retracing the path they’d taken to the main foyer. A chandelier hangs heavy in the stairwell, casting faint shadows on the grey brick walls until he wanders into what he assumes is the kitchen.
There’s a fireplace going in here, too, though he turns his back to it, immediately seeking out the pantry and rifling through it, helping himself to the first thing he finds- a loaf of bread and a block of cheese. He barely has the self restraint to set it on the table and seat himself before he tears off a chunk of bread with his hands, shoving it into mouth, using the nearest knife he spots to saw into the cheese with motions equally jagged and desperate.
Emma enters as he’s midway through sinking his teeth into his next bite.
“Sorry,” he swallows to clear his mouth. “I helped myself, I was hungry.”
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look particularly affronted, and hasn’t stopped him yet. He eyes her warily but takes another cautious bite.
“Is there any wine?”
“Yes,” Emma nods, seemingly appreciative of the direction. She presents him with a glass and bottle moments later, pouring a modest amount into his cup, pausing, and pouring a little more.
The thick, burgundy liquid embitters his tongue on the way down, but it’s refreshing enough that he lets out a small gasp of relief, wiping the residue off his lips with the back of his hand. Emma’s still observing him wordlessly, perhaps out of distaste for his manners but he can’t really bring himself to care.
“May I be curious?” Aesop asks, the edges of his hunger have been placated enough for his curiosity to return.
In lieu of answering, Emma sits at the table, eyes wide and expectant to indicate her assent.
“What is your young master like?”
Emma frowns.
“I don’t know him well.”
“But you've been here for three years?” Aesop prods.
“He only arrived a few weeks ago.”
“Where from?”
“Missionary work,” she tells him, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “They brought him home because his brother died.”
“The one due to marry?” Aesop’s interest is piqued. “Did disease take him?”
Emma shakes her head.
She must not be keen on explaining further, because she doesn’t say anything more, and to Aesop, it’s a bit grating. It isn’t his business, he knows, but vague answers have always left him feeling like something is just out of his grasp.
“Will you manage it?” Emma says instead, changing the subject and cutting through the silence all at once.
“Manage what?”
“To paint him.”
Aesop pauses, taking a moment to fill his mouth with more bread and wine before answering.
“Why do you ask?”
“Another painter was here,” she recalls. “They weren't able to.”
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
-
The first night falls, and then passes, and in proper daylight, Aesop gets a good look at the room.
There’s the abundance of drape cloths, some pitched up to divide the room and some thrown over furniture like somebody had tried to hide things. Like the idea of a reception room to entertain guests had been long forgotten and concealed in bland, taupe sheets, left to collect dust.
They’ve even got a harpsichord, Aesop discovers, lifting up the fabric just enough to sneak his hand under it, pressing down on a single note that rings out in defiance of its abandonment. It’s a little pitchy, and startling in the otherwise silent house, so he withdraws his hand and lets the  cloth cover it up again, deciding that if he’s got free time, maybe- maybe he’ll entertain the idea of playing some more.
But that’s about as welcoming as it gets. It’s all white walls, grey trim, cold blue shadows cast in every corner- even the daybed is draped with a white duvet and some creased pillows, like they’d been pulled from a long lost closet as a last thought. It’s as sanitized and impersonal as the man he’s been hired to paint.
For now, he draws back those sweeping curtains, letting more light flood into the room. The windows have a thick glaze on them that obscures a clear picture of the outside. He’s not interested in the scenery, though- what catches his eye is a mirror, leaned up against the wall that had been covered by the drapes.
It reflects the image of a canvas across the room, propped up on an easel. One he hadn’t noticed initially.
He turns his back to the mirror, approaching the easel with mostly curiosity, and a shred of trepidation. The canvas is facing away from him, and really, he’s not sure what he expects to find when he flips it around. But he does, and his eyes widen, last night’s warning of a failed painter flooding back into his mind and now, he understands.
It’s an almost finished portrait. The body is painted but the face is missing.
He reaches out, fingers brushing the gaping void in the canvas’ center. His subject, Joseph, (the name is only ever uttered in a whisper) remains elusive.
-
Emma brings the clothes in.
They’re the attire Joseph is to be painted in, she explains, presenting the items as such. Aesop thumbs at the fabric, getting a feel for its texture in order to better capture its likeness.
The waistcoat is sewn with a sturdy, emerald brocade, intricate but subtle details revealing themselves, glinting like jewels as he shifts the fabric to and fro- but for as nicely as it’s constructed, it’s, well-
Ugly.
He doesn’t say as much, of course, but he’s sure his expression is giving away his internal monologue and he catches himself, forcing his frown to fall back into passiveness as he continues to inspect what he has to work with.
“I’m afraid it’s the only one,” she laments. “He has no other clothes formal enough for the occasion.”
“You said he has blonde hair?” Aesop tries to picture it.
“Yes.”
“And his eyes are-?”
“Blue.”
Aesop’s hand falls, mouth screwing to the side in disapproval.
“It will do.”
-
He meets Joseph’s mother.
“Do you recognize it?”
Aesop nods, gazing up at the painting. It’s hung with pride over the fireplace in the living room, an ornate gold frame encasing the portrait of the woman sitting across from him, only, with less lines and wrinkles brought on by age.
“My father painted it,” he answers simply, but clearly.
“One of his first. It was in Milan, before my marriage,” she smiles fondly, turning away from the painting and gesturing for Aesop to sit, as she does the same. “My son’s suitress is Milanese. We'll go there if she likes the portrait.”
Aesop understands.
“... You'll leave.”
“I have to tell you, he wore out the painter before. In a very simple manner- he refused to pose. They never saw his face.”
“Why does he refuse to pose?”
“He refuses the marriage.”
The admittance weighs heavy in the air between them, and she pauses, allowing Aesop to digest the implications. A parent, forcing a lifepath upon their child against their will. For their best. What parent wouldn’t want their best for their child?
“You must paint him without him knowing. He thinks you're a companion for walks. He’s delighted- since he arrived, I haven’t let him out.”
An opportunity to siphon answers, answers that Emma would not give him, Aesop prods-
“Why not?”
Another pause.
“I wasn't wary enough with his brother.”
Her words are clipped. Final. The grief of a mother losing her son is far heavier than that of a servant to her master, and so, he relents, despite how maddening it is to be kept in the dark like this. So he changes the subject.
“He thinks I’ll watch over him?”
“And you observe him, yes. Is painting that way feasible?”
Aesop falls silent, lips pursed in thought at the task before him. Such frivolities had not been discussed in the commission letter, yet he supposes it was that vagueness that drew his interest in the first place.
“More than being a companion.”
-
Aesop takes it upon himself to modify the room to suit his purposes.
He’s sure they won’t mind, in fact the thought of them minding doesn’t even pass through his brain, if this is what it takes to get the job done. He hasn’t even met Joseph yet and his first impression of the man is that he’s too stubborn for his own good. Still, anything beyond that, anything beyond what others are willing to say about him, eludes Aesop.
There’s a hammer and a handful of old nails that he finds rifling through a drawer, one that he uses to hang some of the spare drapery over the frosted windows for the perfect balance of outside light.
In the middle of the room, across from the modestly sized mirror propped up against the wall, he sets an ottoman. It’s rather large, upholstered with a gorgeous fabric, and comfortable enough to sit on for an extended period of time. This much, he decides by taking a moment to rest his feet, sinking into the plush with a sigh, wiping the sweat off his brow.
But then, he’s up again. Laying out a glass pane on top of some cloth to act as a home for his paint.
He applies a thin layer of underpaint to the canvas- his canvas, that had blessedly dried by sunrise next to the hearth- in a cool toned brown. He hasn't seen Joseph’s complexion yet, doesn’t know what undertones his skin has, what sort of shades will suit him. But they’re only giving him so much to work with like this, so god forbid he doesn’t get this detail right-
There’s a knock at the door.
Aesop startles, then pauses. His eyes dart between the door, canvas, door, and then he spurs into motion, drawing the curtain that acts as a privacy divider in order to block his easel from view.
He crosses the room and cracks open the door, bracing his heart to be met with an unfamiliar face, just in case- he’s been walking, tiptoeing around the final occupant of the household, not yet to meet.
But it’s just Emma.
“He’s waiting to go out,” she prompts expectedly, but Aesop figures he, Joseph, can wait a few more moments. Pulling her into the room, he closes the door once more to prevent their conversation from slipping through the cracks.
“Come in. Tell me what happened to your master. How did he die?”
She pauses, seemingly uncomfortable with the notion but Aesop understands exactly why that is, when she finally yields.
“We were walking by the cliffs. He vanished. I saw his broken body below.”
“Did you see him fall?”
“No… I think he jumped.”
“Why do you think that?” Aesop presses, just below his breath because he feels he’s too close to the truth and doesn’t want to scare it away.
Emma frowns.
“He didn’t cry out.”
-
Aesop finds himself taking the steps two at a time as he wrestles his coat on, the thick wool having dried just in time. As he rounds the corner into the foyer, the air leaves his lungs at the sight of Joseph waiting for him at the door.
He’s facing away, conveniently, with a hood pulled up over his head to protect himself from the elements, and he doesn’t even bother to wait for Aesop to catch up to him, taking the approaching footsteps as a prompt to push the door open and start outside.
His pace is brisk, and Aesop swears quietly, wondering if the jig is already up before it's even begun, if Joseph’s already doing his best to keep his likeness concealed.
Aesop steps out onto the lawn a few paces behind his companion, leaves crunching under the soles of his shoes and the cool midmorning mist hitting him in a rather refreshing way. He pulls in a deep breath, squinting out into the fog at the pattern decorating Joseph’s cloak. It’s a deep, rich blue, swirled into something almost paisley and baroque but not quite, and for a moment, Aesop wonders what it would feel like under his fingertips.
As Joseph’s steps seem to pick up, his hood falls away, no longer able to withstand the movement. It reveals his strikingly pale blonde hair, twisted into waves by the sea salt air and pulled up into a bun, errant strands blown out by the wind.
And then he starts to run.
It’s a jog that picks up into a full on sprint, and Aesop can’t help himself but to follow in a similar hurry, but for an entirely different reason. He pictures a mangled body on the rocks below, limbs splayed out at odd angles as Joseph gets closer and closer to the cliffs edge and suddenly he’s desperate to remember the last time he ran like this, wishes he could run faster, because having his subject throw himself off a cliff on his first day on the job doesn’t exactly sound like something he wants to add to his resume.
Joseph manages to keep a few steps ahead of him, barreling toward the sharp and untimely edge until he comes to a sudden stop, digging his heels into the rocky earth and jolting from the deceleration, forcing Aesop to come to a stop too. His arms are stretched out as though to counter his momentum, his shoulders rising visibly with every heaving inhale he takes.
And then he turns around.
“I have dreamt of that for years,” he admits, his blue eyes piercing Aesop with an unsettling clarity.
“Dying?” Aesop asks, his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.
Joseph smiles.
“Running.”
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tombeane-blog · 2 years
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Federalism Versus Centralism
"Everybody Wants To Rule The World"
Tears For Fears
There were multiple state abortion cases winding their way to the Supreme Court.  Different states put varying time limitations on the right to an abortion - until a heartbeat, 6 weeks, 12 weeks, 20 weeks, 26 weeks, unlimited to the moment of birth. 
Are we really believing that it is the job of 9 people on the Supreme Court to morally or scientifically determine which of these should be the law of the land?
The Supreme Court's Roe V Wade Decision wasn't just about abortion.
The decision was about the Constitution itself.  And maybe now the left and the right will come to an agreement on something after all.
The Framers of the Constitution realized that different states had different priorities.  And that the original states did not necessarily share a common set of principles or values.    
Heck, some states didn't even like each other.
Hence, America became a Federation of States not a Country. The Founders were very clear they wanted a federation of states with a very much constrained federalist authority.  The specific responsibilities of the federal government were clearly defined and then limited to that definition by the 10th Amendment.
The revolution was all about throwing off authoritative control from a centralized and unresponsive government in far away England.  Many colonists even resisted forming a federal union at all because of the fear of recreating the same thing within our shores - thereby ceding control to some distant centralized authority. 
A lot of arguing took place in Philadelphia from May to September, 1787.
For many decades now a lot of law has been made by 9 unelected judges and increasingly more control has been given to one person and to a massive and growing array of Bureaucratic Departments.  In many cases we are now ruled not by legitimate laws passed by Congress but by Executive Orders and rules within the Department of Education, the Bureau of Land Management, the FHA, the EPA, DHS, etc, etc, etc.  
Can anyone deny that this massive federal machine is easily corrupted, generally incompetent and incapable of administering laws and rules across a nation as diverse as the various states that comprise the United States?  Especially when the number one priority of elected federal officials and unelected bureaucrats is getting re-elected or maintaining their bureaucracies?(*)
That's why today every major ideological disagreement has to go to the Supreme Court - where a ruling is made as much on the ideologies or emotions of the judges as it is on it's original intent - i.e., does it adhere to the U.S. Constitution?  
Why?  Because many of these orders and rules weren't passed by elected representatives that could be held to account.  And that is why you hear so many arguments to the Supreme Court about fairness or equity or emotions (people will be harmed!  it's not fair!)  Those are legislative arguments, not Constitutional arguments.
Allowing 9 unelected persons to effectively make law is problematic, ensures disagreement and is dangerous to the future of the United States of America.
Dobbs v. Jackson:  "the authority to regulate abortion is returned to the people and their elected representatives".
Does that sound Authoritarian?  Does that destroy democracy or enshrine it?
The Founders were not interested in one size fits all solutions from a central government.  Just the opposite.  They structured the U.S. Constitution specifically to prevent it.  
5 Supreme Court Judges just agreed with the Founders.
That's the Laboratory of Liberty and Freedom as it was designed in 1787.
People move from state to state for many reasons.  Taxes, laws, climate, culture, jobs, health, etc.  Unlimited access to abortion may well become one of those reasons.
The abortion debate now comes to your state -  to you - and to your elected representatives.  As the Founders intended.
Will abortion over time be rationalized throughout the country as each state learns from the others what works and what it's people want?  Will it eventually become available nationwide with limitations such as pills contraceptives and legal, available, early termination?  If so, neither side may be completely satisfied but most will finally accept it as legitimate law.
The Supreme Court has ruled generally from the left and center-left for decades.  
Now it would appear to some to be right and center-right - although that is misleading.  Deciding based on the Constitution appears far right to some, but isn't it really just making sure the laws are aligned with the only constant definition of America?  
The Constitution is not a set of laws.  It was never intended to be.  It is a guiding document.  The details were purposefully left to the people.
It is the definition of a process whereby the people and their elected representatives within a federation of states govern themselves.  
The Supreme Court was designed to manage the process, not dictate the outcome.
And, maybe a Constitutionalist Supreme Court - limiting centralized government as the framers intended - will now lead the left to understand the wisdom of not relying on 9 unelected serve-for-life persons, centralized Executive Orders and federal Nameless Bureaucracies for rules and laws and dictates - but - on the legislative process and the will of their own elected state representatives and their fellow citizens.  The people closest to you.  And your values.  And your problems.
The 10th Amendment: "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people."
Is it possible we may all finally agree on that?
(*)The Corporation for Public Broadcasting was created in 1967 when people only had access to a few broadcast stations with limited viewing fare.  Is this still a problem?  Well, we still have the CPB.  National Public Radio anyone?  And to this day the federal government pays farmers to not grow crops and even destroys some crops to keep prices artificially high.  (Vote for me Mr. Farmer!)
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neonaltarofthedraoi · 2 years
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Twilight Hours - Sadakichi Hartmann
The colors of the rainbow are fading in the silent       and distant West, and the heartache of       twilight trembles within my aching breast.
   For the light of my love has faded like sunbeams          in the West, and the color of twilight will          tremble forever in my breast.
                                   II
I think of thy kindness often, when lonesome I feel       and cold, I have not forgotten our childhood,       nor your loving words of old.
   And still my sweetest songs of life are floating          in dreams to thee, like whisperings at eventide,          across a clouded sea.
                                   III
We two are sitting in the bark, and listen to the       wavelets’ play, the shore is melting in the       dark, day’s echoes silently decay.
   Oh life, with all thy hopes so fair, wilt thou          too float away, like visions rising in the          air that greet the parting day!
                                   IV
She stands amidst the roses, and tears dart from her       eyes that like the fragrant roses her soul       must fade and die.
   He stares at the twilight ocean on the shore of a          foreign land, a faded rose is trembling          within his soft white hand.
                                   V
The rushes whisper softly, the sounds of silence wake,       large flowers like sad remembrance float       on the dark green lake.
   Were life but like the waters, so bright and calm          and deep, and love like floating flowers          that on the surface meet.
                                   VI
The naked trees of autumn grope shivering through   ��   twilight’s gloom, athwart the whispering branches       its dying embers loom.
   I dream of life’s defoliation, as I watch with          silent dread, leaf after leaf departing, like          hopes long withered and dead.
                                  VII
In haunting hours of twilight dreams restless the       turbulent sea, and heaves her white wanton       bosom in endless mystery.
   Dream on, dream on, titanic queen, beloved sea, at          thy wanton breast, I would find rest          in endless mystery.
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starsallalight · 9 months
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Open to mutuals
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“I can’t give up. I won’t! I have to find my son. He’s all I have left. And I know he’s out there somewhere, waiting for me to find him!”
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seekfirst-community · 2 years
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The following reflection is courtesy of Don Schwager © 2022. Don's website is located at Dailyscripture.net
Meditation: Does the Lord Jesus ever seem distant to you? When John recounted the scene of the apostles being alone at sea in a storm he described the situation as "dark" (John 6:17). It was dark not only physically but spiritually as well. Although they were experienced fishermen, they were fearful for their lives. The Lord's sudden presence - and his supernatural ability to walk towards them on top of the rough waves of the sea - only made them more fearful! John says they were frightened. And Jesus had to calm them with a reassuring command: "Do not be afraid because I am here with you!"
The Lord Jesus is a very present help in trouble
Aren't we like the apostles when we experience moments of darkness, fear, and trials? While the Lord may at times seem absent or very distant to us, he, nonetheless, is always present and close-by. The Scriptures remind us that the Lord is "a very present help in trouble" (Psalm 46:1). Whatever storms may beset us, he promises to "bring us to our desired haven" and place of calm rest and safety (Psalm 107:29-30). The Lord keeps watch over us at all times, and especially in our moments of temptation and difficulty. Do you rely on the Lord for his strength and help?
Jesus assures us that we have no need of fear if we put our trust in him and in his great love and care for us. When calamities or trials threaten to overwhelm you, how do you respond? With faith and hope in God's love, personal care, and presence with you?
"Lord Jesus, may I never doubt your saving help and your watchful presence in my life, especially in times of trouble. Fortify my faith with courage and give me enduring hope that I may never waver in my trust in you."
The following reflection is from One Bread, One Body courtesy of Presentation Ministries © 2022.
time out
“They wanted to take Him into the boat, but suddenly it came aground on the shore they had been approaching.” —John 6:21
Jesus is the Lord of time. He can make time go backward (Is 38:8) or stand still (Jos 10:13). He made it possible for His disciples to go a few miles across the Sea of Galilee literally “in no time” (see Jn 6:21).
Jesus even gives us the power to move up the clock. The Blessed Virgin Mary seems to have moved up the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry (Jn 2:4ff). The Syro-Phoenician woman seems to have “fast forwarded” Jesus’ ministry to the Gentiles (see Mt 15:24, 28). Jesus even lets us hasten the time for His final coming (see 2 Pt 3:12). We are not helpless cogs on the wheel of time, but, as Christians, we share in Jesus’ lordship over time.
The Lord created time by creating the heavenly bodies (Gn 1:14). Satan used time to dominate us when he brought death into the world through our sins. Jesus freed us from the bondage of time and death by His death and Resurrection. He gave us power over time by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. Jesus will finally end time when He comes back on the last day, at the end of time, to take us with Him to the happiness of eternity. Because of Jesus’ Resurrection, time is our servant, not our master. Praise Jesus, the Lord of time!
Prayer:  Jesus, may I give You my time and let You be Lord of it.
Promise:  “The word of God continued to spread, while at the same time the number of the disciples in Jerusalem enormously increased.” —Acts 6:7
Praise:  Pope St. Pius V accomplished much in his six-year pontificate. He implemented the decrees of the Council of Trent and promulgated the resulting catechism in 1566.
Reference:  (For a related teaching on Interpreting the Present Time, listen to, download or order our CD 81-1 or DVD 81 on our website.)
Rescript:  "In accord with the Code of Canon Law, I hereby grant the Nihil Obstat for the publication One Bread, One Body covering the time period from April 1, 2022 through May 31, 2022. Reverend Steve J. Angi, Chancellor, Vicar General, Archdiocese of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio, August 3, 2021"
The Nihil Obstat ("Permission to Publish") is a declaration that a book or pamphlet is considered to be free of doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat agree with the contents, opinions, or statements
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"So... What happens now?"
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xsugarysweetsx · 3 years
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I hope I got this right it's kind of a mess
May I request option 3 with Oikawa please 😅
A bit about me : I'm 4'9 a bit on the chubby side with tan skin and shoulder length black hair
Personality type is ISTP. I'm quiet and awkward but once I get to know u I can't stop talking. I can be a bit lazy/introverted sometimes but if I'm with friends I know how to have fun. I seem kinda cold and distant but that coz I don't really know how to show affection, but I do care v much. I'm a ppl pleaser and tend to follow the rules so I can blend with the crowd. (I seriously need an outgoing person in my life 😐) love quiet places, bookstores, theme/water parks, reading, watching anime and frozen yoghurt. I have a vintage/kawaii? aesthetic
For the scenario : fluff with some spice at the end maybe? 👀
How about Oikawa finally having a break after volleyball season to spend with his family. He just wants to sleep in with u but the kids have other ideas so they end up going to the beach. Oiks is just being a child himself and having fun with his kids making sandcastles and swimming while u r chilling with one of the kids coz u both don't like the sun. Maybe oiks crashes a beach volleyball game just to show the random strangers how it's done 😌
Again congrats on the milestone and Thank you 😗 ily
A/N; don’t worry this is just fine! And thank you♥️
warnings; Spicy near the end~ not too much tho!
Please enjoy~
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"It's so nice to have you home after so long" you sigh cuddling into your husband's side
He had finally gotten a break from volleyball and now he could spend time with you and your kids. After marrying Oikawa things were a bit hard when it came to quality time. It was even harder after you had become pregnant. He wanted to always be with you but at the same time, he had to be at his games.
Luckily he and his team had gotten about 3 months off, the same as summer vacation. It was one of those rare days when he got to sleep in with you. No early morning jogs, or workouts, just cuddling with his favorite person.
"Yeah, it seems like the only time we cuddle is late at night when I get home but," he shuffles to face you completely "now I'm here and we can sleep all we want" he lays a hand on your waist
"mm yeah" you hum snuggling in for some more sleep
"Mama! Let's go to the beach!" your son came marching in followed by his younger sister
"Yeah, papa! Beach!"
*Sigh*, so much for rest. S/N climbs onto your side of the bed while D/N makes grabby hands to be lifted up. Oikawa lifts her with ease and onto his stomach. You lift your son to sit between you both, here was the center of both your worlds. Your son was 7 and your daughter was 4. They were both polar opposites, D/N was basically a mini Oikawa and your son took more of your attitude.
"well so much for rest..." he sighed "how does the beach sound princes?" he asked you. Ah yes and, you were stationed with him in Brazil while he was on their team. It was almost like constant summer there. Although by the time the kids would be older he wanted to go back to Japan. For now, where you were was just perfect.
"sigh...maybe some sea breeze would be nice" both your kids start to jump on the bed with cheers and smiles "Alright, alright everyone, get dressed and then some breakfast and we can head out."
They stopped quickly and ran to their rooms to grab what they wanted.
"I love how you handle them" Oikawa complimented you with a kiss on your cheek "Come on, I wanna see you in a two-piece!" he shouts down the hall going to help the kids get ready. Going into your drawer you dig through your clothes until you come across a two-piece
"Hmmm, maybe not this time--oh! I remember this one!" you said pulling out one piece from the bottom. It was your favorite color with a low cut back and winches waist. Sure bikinis we’re the race right now but this really made everyone turn their heads. Especially a certain captain ;)
Slipping into the swimsuit you ready yourself with your sandals, bag, glasses, and other necessities. Mostly things for the kids like sunblock, towels, some beach toys, hats, and so many other things. To think you used to only take sunblock and maybe a book, thing change when your a parent huh?
"where is my darling wife? We're just about--whoa there! Hy if you look that good I might drop the kids off at my sister's place" he smirked coming over to you and wrapping you in his arms "Mmm you're just too beautiful for other men to see" he whined
"Well, too bad Mr, the kids want to go to the beach, and besides we haven't gone in a while. It'll be fun, come on" you said taking his hand in your and leading him back to the kitchen. kids were fed and ready, with huge grins on their faces. Usually like walking to the beach with them since it was only about a 10-minute walk.
locking up the doors and putting on some sunblock before you left you're on your way to enjoying a nice beach day. Walking along you say hello to neighbors and store owners. Y/D/N was sat atop of your husband's shoulders, while your son held your hand skipped along the sidewalk. You love to have moments like this. Happy simple moments together.
"Look, Papa!" your daughter points to the yellow-white sand of the beach with beautiful Crystal waves crashing onto the shore. A satisfying salty smell was in the air that filled your heart with excitement.
"Come on bud" Oikawa squats down to pick up your son. He had a habit of not letting them walk in the hot sand, his way of being an "awesome dad". But he was right, it was very thoughtful of him, he even did it to you before.
After finding a good spot he put down both your kids and helps me to set up. You open up the umbrella spread out some blankets and put down your small bag where you had carried some snacks and other necessities.
"Come here kids, you need your block" they both line up so that you can spray and lotion them down. Being in Brazil the sun was much closer than in Japan. Which meant sunscreen was a must!
"You too Toru, come here." you motion with your finger. he practically skipped over to you and plopped down on his knees ready for you to lotion him up. now listen, this was a way of kind of establishing your place to other girls who were around you. Some of them would give you looks and you would just smile back as you applied sunscreen to your husband.
"You turn lovely~" grabbing the lotion he turns to you and starts to apply. Starting gently at your face, then to your shoulders, your arm, your thighs (his favorite), and your back
"Alright, who wants to get into the water?" He said excited standing up
“Me, me Papa! Me!” Your little girl was excited as ever and of course a daddy’s girl. Picking her up abs jogs over to the water, leaving giggles behind
“What about you sweetheart? You want to join your father and sister?” You ask your son and he shakes his head coming over to your side
“I’ll just stay here mama” your son was a lot like you in a way. While your husband preferred to be in the spotlight, you and he preferred to cheer him on from the sidelines. Either way, you had company now. Climbing onto your lap he lays against you as you both enjoy the salty breeze.
You always loved the smell of the ocean, the calm saltiness in the air, the subtle sounds of the waves. It was coming, a bit strange but you really enjoyed it. An even better view was watching Toru enjoy himself. He held your daughter in the air and brought her down when a gentle wave would come and hit them both.
It’s then you saw your husband‘s eyes light up like Christmas lights. He then screws over to a volleyball game puts his daughter on the sideline and begins playing with them. He didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him, or maybe both. He eventually had a ball set over to him and he spiked it over the net. Then again you knew he couldn’t help himself whenever this would happen. You can only count the number of dates on the beach where the same scenario would happen.
It ended up with him apologizing for getting sand in your eyes. About half an hour later they came back, a bit sleepy from all the energy they had just used up. Sitting under the umbrella you bring out the snacks and juices. Everyone enjoyed their favorite sandwich, and small side snacks, and favorite drink. Looking over at your phone you had seen the time went by and it was already past three in the afternoon.
After one more return to the ocean all together y’all start to pack your things and head home. Your daughter fell to sleep on Toru’s shoulder on the way back home. Just as you enter your home the cloud started to roll in. This was your favorite part about beach trips when they ended and rainy days, it just made everything so much cozier.
After putting your son and daughter into bed for their naps you make your way to the bathroom to wash off all the sand. Getting in for us to turn on the warm water and close your eyes. The warm liquid cascading down your body relaxes in your muscles, meanwhile, the thunder clapped in the background faintly. You hear the shower curtain move slightly making you look over your shoulder.
"Hey," he said softly coming closer and pulling you towards him by your middle. He loves to do this, taking a calm shower with you close to him. Nothing really sexual about it but more intimate, and heartwarming. He felt closer to you, more content. Although sometimes it did lead to something more. But overall he loves to have a little alone time with you.
His hands squeeze your body slightly as his lips find your shoulder and neck.
"What are you getting at?" you giggle biting back a sigh
"Mm nothing, just admiring my wife's body is all," he answers a few seconds later you feel something poke at you
"Well, I would ask what's in your pocket--but obviously I can't"
"Well, is there asleep, and we have all night long~" his tongue Finds Its way gliding from your neck of your earlobe and taking it between his lips. He gives a small nipple and a chuckle escapes his chest.
"Aren't you tired from the beach?" you ask turning around and wrapping your hands around his neck
"I'll have to remind just how much stamina a volleyball player can have," he growls picking you up with easy and pinning you to the cool wall making gasp "and we have about, uuhh 7 hours until midnight"
Oh boy, you were in for a long night~
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I hope this was okay! ♥️
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chazz-anova · 3 years
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Chapter 4
Fandom: Far Cry 5 Word Count: 16k Pairing: John Seed/OC  Summary: After being kidnapped by John, Veronica is presented with a whole new world of problems. A/N: Guys I don’t know how, but I finally powered through and finished this chapter! It got longer than I intended, but there’s a lot going on lol. Fair warning, there is a relatively steamy scene in this chapter! Not smut, but enough to warrant a heads up.Thank you to everyone on here who inspires me daily to keep chugging and shout out to all my mutuals and followers who reblog my OC content! I love you guys 💛💛🌼 
AO3 Link Here!
Veronica’s head pounded, and she felt dirt beneath her hands. She tried to move an arm and found she couldn’t move at all. Panic started to rise in her as she remembered taking a bullet in the leg at Woodson’s Pig Farm, then she’d blacked out. “This one?” She heard a man’s gruff voice ask. 
“No, this one.” Another voice corrected. Barely opening one eye, Veronica saw she was on the ground next to another woman and two men stood over her. “Don’t seem very worthy…” The first one commented and leaned over, taking a closer look at her. 
Directly above her, the other man responded, “It is not for us to judge. Deliver her unto the waters, the Cleansing begins tonight.” With a shrug, the first man bent down and hoisted her over his shoulder. 
The woman struggled to stay awake, but blackness swarmed at the edge of her vision, creeping in slowly until it overtook her once more. 
The next time she awoke, she was wet. As she tried to take a breath, she realized she was underwater. The deputy coughed and sputtered, choking on air as she was pulled up out of the water. In front of her, she could just make out headlights illuminating the lake, framing at least two others who were being guided out of the water with her. “We must wash away our past, we must expose our sin. We must atone, for only then can we stand in the light of God and walk through the gates of Eden.” Preached a voice that chilled her to the bone. 
Veronica’s vision cleared incrementally, and she finally saw John Seed on the shore of the lake. As the other hostages passed him, he anointed their heads with something. When it was Ronnie’s turn, he stopped and met her eyes. “Take the others and go. I need to cleanse this one personally.” John muttered darkly. The man guiding Veronica released her shoulders, and she stood in front of her enemy. Though her vision was now clear, the world still swam with stars around the edges. Her thoughts felt muddled from the Bliss both in the bullet she’d taken, and in the water.
John handed the book he’d been reading from to the peggie as he went to the trucks behind them, and the deputy caught a glimpse of the tome. It was white with gold trim, and the Eden’s Gate symbol was embossed on the front. 
A moment later, the truck started up behind them and rumbled away into the night. John rolled up his sleeves slowly, anticipation coating his gaze. His blue shirt was only half buttoned, offering a view of his defined chest. V saw the sin of ‘Sloth’ had been carved there, and then crossed out. The scar didn’t yet look too old. 
John’s steely gaze never left hers, and he tilted his head to the side as he observed her. Suddenly, he grabbed her arms and forced her down into the water. Veronica fell backwards as he caught her off guard, and futilely slapped at his arms and chest as she breathed in swathes of lake water, filling her lungs with the fluid.
Just when she thought she was going to pass out again, he brought her up for air. “Sinner…” He sneered at her, as though her very presence offended her. 
“Fuck.. you!” She sputtered out, learning how to breathe once more while spitting up water. 
Rage contorted John’s features at her defiance and he stiffened, about to thrust her down once more. Just before V hit the water again, a voice behind them called out, “Do you mock the cleansing John?” And the man froze. 
Behind them, another truck had pulled up and Joseph Seed stood in front of it. He stared at them, his presence cautioning John. “No, Joseph, I-”
He was cut off by Joseph hushing him before he could finish the thought. “Shh. You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that. Bring her unto me.” 
Hesitation and a hint of resentment passed over the Baptist’s features, and he paused only a moment before obeying his brother. John jerked Veronica out of the water, practically dragging her to where the Father stood. 
V resisted as much as she could, but could still feel Bliss coursing through her system as stars flew in and out of her vision. Joseph got face to face with her, reaching upward to cup her face in his large hands. The deputy tried to shy away from the intimate act, but found that she couldn’t. 
“Despite all that you have done, you are not beyond salvation. You’re not here by accident or by chance, you’re here by the grace of God.” Joseph’s words held weight, and she felt the first flickering of temptation for a simpler life. “You’ve been given a gift… now all that remains is to see if you’ll embrace it or cast it aside.” The Father stared into her eyes, pleading with her. 
Tears welled up in Veronica’s eyes, and she felt them running down her cheeks despite the water that still clung to her. She thought of her friends, and the thought of saving them felt more distant than ever. ‘I could just let all this go. No more favors, no more killing. I could be free. I need to do this.’ V’s Bliss addled mind tried pushing her further, and she frowned. ‘No.. I can’t abandon them.’ She thought, becoming more confused as the drug clouded her brain. 
In front of her, Joseph turned to his brother. “This one shall reach the Atonement… or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you John.” As he said this, the man reached for the other and pressed their foreheads together. Though the action was kind, the warning was still clear. The two looked at each other for a moment more, and Joseph turned to take his leave. 
Veronica observed John watching him go, a kind of sadness in his eyes as his brother got in the truck and left them. His gaze slowly turned back to Veronica, and he regarded her with barely contained anger. “You will confess. Every sin you’ve ever committed, no matter how petty, no matter how small… I will pull them all from you. Then we’ll see if you’re worthy of atonement.” He chuckled derisively, as though she was beneath her.
The deputy boiled with wrath at his dismissive attitude, the familiar feeling wrapping around her like a cozy blanket and giving her strength. John once again grabbed her arm, intending on taking her to his own truck, but didn’t get far. V resisted his pull, and he tried to jerk her up the slope of the shore. Using his own momentum, Veronica pulled the both of them to the ground. 
John released his grip on her, and planted both hands on the ground to try to help himself up. Before he could stand, Ronnie rolled over and pushed him back down. He landed on his back, the air rushing out of him on impact and stunning him. 
Seeing her opportunity, the woman scrambled over and climbed on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Her hands searched frantically along his sides for a knife she desperately hoped he’d be carrying. John thrusted his palms upwards, trying to push her off of him; but Veronica held fast, bearing down with her hips.  
Finally- she felt smooth leather and followed it until she felt cold, solid metal. With a sharp breath, she pulled the blade from its sheath and up in an arc. Underneath her, John’s eyes widened and he grabbed one of her wrists to throw her off balance. 
Veronica could feel his heart hammering as she met his eyes and brought down the blade in a smooth motion. The knife drove hilt deep into the wet silt directly next to the pair, inches away from them. The world seemed to stop and the only sound was their heavy breaths. They held each other’s gaze and neither of them could move. 
The unspoken question hung in the air and John released her wrist. He silently held up his hands in the classic ‘I mean no harm’ position, and Veronica’s brow furrowed. They stayed like that for a moment in shared confusion, considering what this meant; and then the deputy swung a leg over and swiftly got off of him. The moment she stood completely- she started running, leaving John on the lakeshore.
Weighed down by her wet clothes, V struggled through the woods and resisted the urge to look back. ‘What the fuck was that!!’ The woman yelled at herself, not understanding her own actions. She ran until she physically couldn’t, and stopped to catch her breath. Each time she inhaled, her lungs screamed with the exertion. 
Around her, the woods felt as though they were closing in. She thought of the feeling of John’s knife in her hand, she pictured plunging the knife square into his chest and feeling his blood running through her fingers. This train of thought made her sway, almost nauseated. She stood there hunched over for a few moments- willing herself back to reality. 
Once her breathing returned to normal, Ronnie looked around her. She was surrounded by trees, small animals rustled through the fallen leaves on the forest floor and an owl could be heard somewhere among the pines. No other noises reached her, and she took a deep breath. What had happened back there? Why had she spared John? Why had he spared her? None of it made sense, and the woman wanted to crawl into a warm bed rather than think on it any further. Instead; she continued on through the woods, hoping to come across a road. 
It was only five minutes later that Veronica could hear the sound of gunshots coming from the top of the slope she was climbing up. She froze, wondering if the others had discovered her absence. Men and women yelled up ahead, and she knew she had to advance. 
As the deputy finally came out of the woods, she was confronted with a full on battle. The citizens of Hope County that formed the Resistance had taken up arms- and were engaged in an epic clash against John’s men. 
She was faced with a long dirt road leading up a hill, a concrete building serving as a security post stood a little ways ahead. Black Eden’s Gate flags adorned the structure, marking it as their territory; atop the gate, peggies shot down as many members of the Resistance as they could. 
“Out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire it is!” Veronica huffed, exasperated. She took cover behind a rock as bullets flew past, trying to figure out the best course of action. Only a moment later, a green Jeep careened up the hill, screeching to a halt next to the rocks V crouched behind. 
Pastor Jerome hopped out of the vehicle along with a couple Resistance members, and the man grinned upon seeing her. “Deputy! I’m glad we aren’t too late… though I expected to find you almost up the hill to John’s bunker.” 
Relief washed over Ronnie- almost overwhelming her. “Is that where we are?” She yelled over the gunfire, her voice sounding distant and disoriented even to herself. 
“No, this is just the security gate; the bunker is at the top of this hill! There are more folks still trapped though that need saving. Are you in?” Jerome asked while digging through the back of the Jeep.
V took a few deep breaths to steady herself, knowing she didn’t have much of a choice. “Nowhere I’d rather be!” She replied dryly as she dashed over to meet him behind the vehicle. “Tell me you have some extra guns?” The woman inquired, peering into the back.
The pastor pulled out an M60 and loosened the strap for her before handing it over. “Your favorite!” He joked before loading his shotgun. “You ready?” 
Loading her weapon, Veronica felt the effects of the Bliss finally starting to wear off completely when confronted with the adrenaline of battle. “It’s now or never!” She affirmed, loading her own weapon and looking down the sight. 
They nodded at one another before rushing out from behind the Jeep. Jerome instantly took out one cultist with a shotgun blast to the chest. Veronica was close behind, firing a hailstorm of bullets towards the concrete gate, taking out one and wounding another. 
From behind them, a blue truck with a mounted gun pulled up; firing rapidly at the peggies. A couple of them were sent flying- and a cultist threw a grenade into the truck bed with an audible clang. “Grenade!” Ronnie yelled, diving for cover behind another boulder. With an earthshaking crack, the truck exploded into a fiery blaze, consuming two members of the Resistance. “Fuck!” The deputy shouted, letting forth a ferocious yell as she shot down three more peggies. 
Jerome took care of two at the top of the gate and ran forward, followed by another woman Veronica didn’t know. ‘Just how many people have joined this Resistance already?’ She thought, surprised by the response from the people of Hope County. 
The battle raged on, but Veronica pressed forward. Finally coming to a stop behind a concrete barrier in front of the security gate. She pulled her M60 and shot down two more cultists almost mechanically. 
Across from her, behind another barrier, Jerome had stopped and lifted his shotgun. Before he could get off a shot- a bullet whizzed past and caught him in the shoulder. He cried out and dropped back down behind cover. His hand went to his shoulder, coming back scarlet. 
“Jerome!” V yelled, looking for a safe way to run over to him. 
He caught her eye and shook his head, shouting back “I’m okay!” 
She hesitated before giving him a nod, and aiming forward again to shoot down another peggie. The woman who’d followed Jerome peeked up from her cover, taking out the last two cultists with her AR-C. 
An eerie silence settled over the battlefield, this checkpoint officially secured. Veronica scanned the area once more but saw no one, and took the chance to catch her breath. The deputy reloaded quickly, and made her way over to Jerome who now stood in front of the structure. He was surrounded by the five remaining Resistance members; one was next to him dressing his wound. 
“We need to hurry, or we have no chance-” One of them started.
Jerome cut him off quickly, affirming “They will not make it to that bunker!” He turned to Ronnie, saying “I knew it meant trouble when we couldn’t reach you after your last transmission. I’m glad the Lord pointed me in the right direction… how did you escape, Veronica?” 
Her mind flashed back to the lakeshore with John, and how she had squandered an opportunity to put an end to the Valley’s suffering. She recalled his eyes, how surprised he looked. He had looked at her as though he was seeing her in a new light, almost. The thought sent a shiver down Veronica’s spine, and her wet clothes suddenly felt as though they were clinging too tight to her skin, almost suffocating her. The deputy didn’t even know where to begin to explain this to Jerome, she certainly couldn’t tell him the truth of it. “Oh, I- they left me alone with just a couple guards… I took them out and got away.” She stuttered, covering poorly. 
The pastor quirked an eyebrow- he knew she was hiding something. Rather than dwell on it though, he got to the task at hand. “Listen, the cult’s moving the rest of the prisoners up the road. They’ve got one of our guys, Merle, too. Time’s wasting- grab what you can and go save them. I’ll call in some more of our people… we’re gonna need them to pull this off.” 
“We have more people?” V questioned.
“Like I told you Veronica, you’ve caused quite a stir… you’re inspiring people.” Jerome replied, as though it were obvious.
The woman frowned, not thinking of herself as particularly inspiring. “I’d better get going.” She said suddenly, turning to hike up the road. 
Further up the trail, corpses were strewn along the hill; both Resistance and peggies alike. Veronica stepped over one, hearing more gunfire and even explosions ahead. Rounding a corner, she was met with two women who appeared to be Resistance members. They were crouched behind a truck. “Hold up!” One of them yelled as V approached. 
She crouched beside them, holding her weapon close. “What’s up?” Veronica shouted over the sound of several consecutive detonations. 
“Those fuckers have a mortar! You’re gonna have to be real careful crossing that bridge!” She responded, cupping her hand around her mouth to make her words louder. 
Ronnie’s head rolled back to look at the sky in vexation as she said to herself “Oh you have got to be fucking shitting me.”
Four men from the Resistance ran up behind them, one of them shouting “We gotta get him, we can’t leave Merle behind!” 
The deputy sighed deeply, the sound of mortar shells going off in the background only adding to her growing migraine. She stood up, saying “Well let’s go!” and following the trail to the bridge that was facing the mortar assault. 
The crew stood behind a small shack at the end of the trail, watching the unrelenting blasts. “How do we get past this, deputy?” One of them asked her. 
Veronica shook her head, not seeing any good options. She turned around to see the group, all looking to her for an answer. The woman took a deep breath and looked back at the bridge, yelling to them “I think the only option… is to run like hell!” On the last word, V took off in a sprint and ran as fast as she could underneath the bridge. 
Her back slammed against the concrete under the overpass, and she could hear whistling as they fired off the mortar once more. ‘Guess we’ll see how this works!’ Ronnie thought to herself and braced for impact. 
The mortar shells battered the bridge with echoing explosions, making it impossible to hear anything but the roar and ringing in your ears. Fiery blasts welling up and flaming out in seconds, sending shrapnel flying. 
The woman clamped her hands over her ears, screaming her stress into the explosion. The last round of detonation came and went, and all seemed well. V peered out from underneath the bridge and saw a metal storm drain ahead. Seizing her opportunity, she ran through the runoff under the bridge to the metal pipe, ducking inside just as another mortar was shot off. 
The next blow came far too close, knocking her back against the wall of the drain pipe. Veronica cried out suddenly, her attention immediately coming to her left arm. From her shoulder protruded an ashen piece of shrapnel, blood welling out of the wound from the sides. “Oh fuck..” Ronnie’s words came out strained, and she touched the wound tenderly. Pain flamed through her whole arm, making her wonder how deep it was embedded. ‘I have to keep going, there’s no other options.’ She gritted her teeth, realising she didn’t have her backpack or first aid kit. She’d almost forgotten about her ordeal earlier and losing half her equipment. A trip to the general store was most definitely on the list after she got through this. 
Another blast came and went, and through the smoke she could see another bridge offering her some much needed cover. In a few seconds, she ran from the storm drain to her next shelter.
From beneath the second bridge, she braved another two blasts from the mortar. Her arm protested every movement, but V knew she was almost to her target. About a hundred feet ahead of her, a long wooden bridge loomed over a small waterfall. To the side of it was a metal pole fitted with a zipline. 
The sight of the latter brought Veronica a much needed smile as she thought ‘Good thing it isn’t my dominant arm that’s fucked up!’. The deputy ran full tilt, her right hand grasping the handle of the zipline and sending her careening to the other side of the river. The adrenaline was almost enough to take her mind off the pain ripping through her other limb.
Landing safely with an undignified roll meant to preserve her left arm, the deputy laughed joyously. “That right there makes it all worth it!” She said to herself, turning around to run up the hill to where Merle lay ahead. 
Veronica came out of the bushes at the top of the hill to see a man tied up next to two corpses. Beyond him- a peggie was manning the mortar that had given her so much trouble. She shot him with no hesitation before springing forward to free Merle. 
“Goddamn, thanks deputy! I thought I was a goner!” He shouted, getting up off the ground and running a hand through his hair. His brunet strands were styled in an unironic mullet, and matched his grease-stained hot rod flames shirt. 
“No problem, you must be Merle?” Veronica assumed, eyeing him up and down.
“That I am ma’am! Oh shit, someone just sent up a flare! More peggies are comin’!” The man asserted, bending down to grab a discarded gun from one of the corpses. 
A red light flew through the sky, announcing their location to every cultist in the area. Before either of them could say anything else, Merle’s radio beeped and Jerome’s voice came over it, “We’re sending a bird now, it’ll be there in two minutes... stay strong!” 
Veronica took a deep breath, readying her weapon as peggies started running across the wooden bridge towards them. She shot them down once they were close enough, sweeping her aim over the gorge beneath them where more raced up the hillside. Their numbers seemed truly endless as Ronnie took out soul after soul, dropping them like flies. The seconds dragged on like minutes as they were overwhelmed with the force of John’s men. 
“Merle, go man the mortar!” Veronica shouted to her companion as she took down three more cultists. 
Following her instruction, the man ran to it and lifted the device, throwing in round after round and savaging the men on the other side of the bridge. 
More peggies rushed across the bridge and up the hill, cornering them. Veronica shot them down one by one, yelling into the night as she fired. Suddenly, dust sprang up in a tornado and took everyone’s sight away. 
The blades of a helicopter could be heard above, and Veronica continued shooting aimlessly into the cloud of dust as it lowered to them. 
Merle abandoned the mortar and ran to the chopper, climbing in the back. Veronica put down one last peggie before following suit and jumping in the other side as bullets flew by. 
“Man, my heart’s beating a million times a minute! Goddamn, deputy, you swung in there and saved our asses.” Merle praised, panting with exertion. 
As the helicopter flew into the night, Veronica watched the pile of corpses she’d left in her wake grow further away. More peggies ran across the bridge to where they once were, shouting after them. Soon they were passing over the lake where Veronica had been held captive not even an hour earlier. “Hell of a night…” She said distantly. 
At the top of the hills the deputy could clearly see John’s ‘YES’ sign lording over the valley. Her face grew flushed with anger at this reminder of her enemy, of the man who made her feel so many things. Veronica looked down and watched the forest give way to farmland, and soon she saw the steeple of Jerome’s church in the distance. 
She cradled her left arm close, the pain ebbing in more and more as the adrenaline left her. As the deputy looked down, drying blood coated her arm in a red glove; she was relieved to see the wound didn’t appear to actively be bleeding anymore though.
Minutes later, the helicopter let the deputy off at the Spread Eagle, she thanked the pilot and Merle before heading under the awning. The chopper took off once more and left her alone in the moonlight. V let out a long breath, trying to digest all that had happened to her just today. “I hope every day isn’t like this, otherwise shit’s gonna be hard to top when this is all done.” She joked to herself dryly, sighing. 
“At least you still have your humor.” An unexpected voice said behind her.
Veronica startled and turned to see Mary May standing in the doorway of her bar with a smile. “Man, you scared me half to death!” Ronnie chuckled. 
The barkeep moved out onto the porch to join her, resting a hand on her right shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alive, deputy. Jerome got real worried after you radioed him, and convinced folks to head to John’s bunker to help you and the others. It was pretty moving.” She nodded, recalling Jerome’s words.
“He seems to have a way of doing that.” Veronica agreed, looking out into the night sky. “The stars never stop taking my breath away out here.” She murmured, wonder in her eyes.
“You doing okay? After everything, I mean.” Mary May questioned, concern clear on her features. 
Veronica considered everything she’d been through in mere days. After a relatively simple life, it all seemed like too much; yet the state of shock V was proving to be in after tonight’s battle had left her feeling rather numb. “I’d probably feel better with a drink.” She murmured, hoping to keep herself from thinking of her interaction with John earlier. “Also, can you get me some gauze? I think I’ll need some help with this…” Ronnie turned, showing her friend the wound she’d sustained earlier.
Mary May nodded- her eyes widening “Oh shit, let me grab my first aid kit, cmon in!” She insisted, beckoning the deputy inside. 
Hesitating a moment, her gaze lingering on the stars. As she turned to go inside, she caught another glimpse of the YES sign and couldn’t help but feel frazzled. “I can’t wait to destroy that dumbass sign.” Veronica grumbled angrily. She took her spot at the bar and sighed, her arm throbbing.
The barkeep returned with a first aid kit and pulled out a cotton ball to dab in alcohol. She set it on the bar and sighed, warning, “This is gonna hurt like a bitch. You want something to bite on?” 
Ronnie thought it over, but decided against it. “Go ahead, I’ll be okay.” She asserted, taking deep breaths. 
Mary May took a deep breath of her own and grabbed a pair of metal hemostats. Gently as possible, she gripped the blackened piece of shrapnel. Just upon touching it, Veronica whimpered quietly. The blonde took another breath, and with one sharp tug wrenched the jagged obstruction from Veronica’s arm. 
V couldn’t help but cry out and pound her fist on the bar, causing bottles to shake in her wake. The piece of shrapnel was tossed in a bowl on the bar, and Mary May padded the wound with alcohol. Veronica winced, exclaiming “Motherfucker!!”
Her friend grabbed a pressure wrap from the first aid kit, applying it quickly to stifle the bleeding. “There, all better.” Mary May patted Veronica’s back reassuringly.
“Holy fuck where’s my drink!” The woman slumped against the counter, her arm sore. 
The barkeep set a glass of whiskey next to Ronnie before grabbing her own, saying “There’s more where that came from!” 
Veronica sat up to take a sip, professing “Thank god for bartenders!” 
Two hours later, Veronica was too drunk to speak let alone feel. “Mary May, I dunno if I’m cut out for alla this.” She slurred, gesturing widely with her hands. The woman laid on the floor of the Spread Eagle, the world spinning above her. 
Her friend popped her head over the bar and looked confused. “Whatdya mean?” Mary May asked- her words just as slurred as Ronnie’s. 
“This. All this. John, Joseph… Jingleheimer-Schmidt.” V snorted as she thought of the silly rhyme, and she sang the rest loudly, “His name is my name too!” The woman sat up from the floor, swaying as though she may go right back down. After a moment Veronica continued, her tone changing drastically, “I did something… not good today.” 
“Did something?” Mary May looked at her suspiciously. 
“I beefed it man. I like. Made the worst choice in the history of choices. What the fuck is wrong with me!” Her head fell in her hands and V groaned loudly.
“Well are you gonna tell me whatcha did?” The barkeep asked as she stood up and walked to the end of the bar. 
“...No.”
“Tell me!” 
“I literally don’t think I can.” 
Mary May stood above Veronica now, her hands on her hips. “If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna havta cut you off!” She threatened with a small smile. 
Ronnie’s head fell to one side as she regarded her friend, and after a moment she gave her a lazy smile. “I’ll tell you… if you help me up.” She said in a sing-songy voice, reaching her arms up and making grabby hands. 
“You’re the one who got on the floor dummy.” The blonde sighed as she planted her feet and helped Veronica stand. 
With a groan, the deputy swayed a moment before steadying herself. She hiccupped as she mumbled, “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” 
The barkeep looked at her expectantly with a quirked eyebrow- though her serious demeanor was diluted by a barely contained drunken smile. 
After a moment- V held up a finger and chuckled, “You almost had me there Mary May! I, for one, think it’s time for bed.” No matter how much she imbibed, she knew telling another soul of her encounter at the lake was not an option. 
Her companion regarded her skeptically before breaking out in a grin and clapping her on the shoulder. “Hey, I’ll let you slide this time… but only because of your help with the Widowmaker today!” Mary May shook a finger at her as she settled back onto a barstool. 
“You’re damn right!” Ronnie joked, turning to make her way upstairs. She exchanged her goodnights and took to the steps, not quite trusting her footwork. A sense of relief washed over her as she weaseled out of telling her newest secret. ‘Gonna have to be more careful than that..’ She thought, annoyed with herself. 
Much stumbling later- Ronnie was able to change and collapse into bed in what had become her home away from home. The comfy sheets enveloped her and coaxed her into sleep; quiet snores sounded from under the covers in seconds. 
As soon as V’s eyes closed, she was dropped into a restless slumber. She opened her eyes in a dream, and was piqued at the sight before her. 
Once more, the deputy was on the lakeshore with none other than John Seed. It was all as before- the pair of them wrestling in the silt under a half moon. Ronnie straddled the Baptist, hoping to gain the upper hand in her Bliss addled state. Her hands found the knife again and it was raised above her. As it drove down, the scene changed significantly. 
Veronica no longer gripped the blade, and instead her hand cupped John’s cheek as she met his lips. The Baptist stiffened for only a moment before returning her kiss. One arm wrapped around her and his hand travelled up to tangle in her tresses. 
John broke their embrace and pulled her hair, tilting her head up and exposing her neck. As he pulled her blonde locks, V let out an approving whimper. The man kissed along her exposed collarbone, stopping at the base of her neck. He traced his tongue along her jugular and could practically feel the life running through her artery. Almost unable to help himself, John bit her once; eliciting a squeak from Veronica. He quickly kissed over the spot as if in apology. Pulling back, their lips clashed once more and he savored her taste. 
The blonde ground her hips against him as the heat rose between them. A quiet moan escaped John, and she could feel him growing hard against her. Taking her revenge, Ronnie bit his lower lip swiftly. When his lips parted she brushed her tongue over his bottom one and felt his meet her. 
John sat up, cupping a hand under her buttocks and lifting her with him. With him sitting up, Ronnie adjusted accordingly; wrapping her legs around him. The two of them pulled back, both of them panting. There was heat in his words when the Baptist leaned forward and murmured, “I want you to blow me.” 
At his words, Veronica felt things low in her body tighten and she nodded wordlessly. John wore a wolf’s grin as he settled back once more, giving her full access to him. V scooted back a bit and trailed a finger down his semi-exposed chest; her finger coming to hook on his belt. She grabbed the tail of it and pulled, unclasping the buckle and tugging the accessory from the belt loops it had been secured in. 
In the front of his jeans, John was hard and ready. Ronnie rubbed a hand along his length over the fabric with a small smile. When she touched him, the man tilted his head back and let out an appreciative sigh. She liked the effect she had on him. 
Her hand went for the button on his jeans, and then the zipper. He helped her tug them down, leaving his plain black briefs as the last layer. Seizing the opportunity to tease- V lowered her head and kissed him through his briefs; making a show of it. “Fuck..” John moaned and made eye contact with her. Veronica smiled mischievously at him and bit the elastic of his undergarments, pulling it up and releasing with a snap. 
The woman grasped the band of the briefs, about to free his member when a crash sounded from outside the dream; snapping Ronnie out of her fantasy.
Waking up in the black room, Veronica sat up and looked around wildly for the source of the noise. When her eyes landed on Boomer standing next to her bed, and her toppled over M60 laying on the floor with a box of now scattered bullets; her heart rate started to slow and relief washed over her.  
The cattle dog looked up at her guiltily, as if apologising for knocking her gun over. The woman sighed and shook her head with a smile, “Boomer- you just saved me from something… potentially disturbing.” She commented while patting the bed for him. The heat of the dream still clung to her skin and she knew her face was a hearty red.
The alarm clock read 3:36am, only a couple hours since she’d gone to bed though it felt like minutes. Boomer hopped up with her and settled against her legs. V settled back down and her thoughts strayed to John’s face as she’d teased him. She bit her lip and took a deep breath, wondering ‘Why does my brain hate me? I cannot be dreaming about him, like some middle-schooler with a crush.’
Ronnie tucked her unbandaged arm under the pillow and rolled over, hoping not to fall back into the same dream when her eyes closed once more. What vexed her most was knowing a deep, dark part of her hoped for the exact opposite. 
Hours later, the deputy woke from a blessedly dreamless slumber. Boomer cuddled up against her side, still asleep. Sunlight filtered in through the curtained windows, dappling the mahogany flooring with specks of gold. Veronica laid there, taking in the silence; after the last few days she knew it was something to treasure.
She had only a brief reprieve before thoughts of her dream surfaced once more. John’s quiet moans, the feeling of their lips meeting, how he had held her as though she was his only salvation. A thrill ran through her and she shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts away. Ronnie buried her head in the covers with a quiet groan and attempted to focus on something else. 
Her mind wandered to Joseph’s sudden appearance, and his exchange with John. Veronica recalled how John had sounded almost fearful when his brother questioned him, asking if he ‘mocked the cleansing’. ‘Then him saying ‘You have to love them’... what the hell..’ She wondered, brow furrowing. V shuddered as she thought of Joseph’s words to her, ‘You’re not here by accident… you’ve been given a gift…’. The feeling of his hands cupping her face was as real as it had been last night and she felt dirty. ‘What fucking gift. All I see are fucking burdens.’ The woman brooded bitterly. 
The burden of rescuing her friends and building the Resistance grew every day, but there was no way she could abandon the allies she’d made and join Eden’s Gate. At the end of the day, she was secure in her decision to be an icon for the Resistance; though they demanded much of her- Veronica could never give up her free will and become one of Joseph’s pawns.
Almost randomly, Ronnie thought of Nancy, someone who had been a family friend for years. The woman her mom had worked with at the Sheriff’s Department, who she herself had worked with. They’d even had her over for dinner and a couple barbeques, it wasn’t much but there had been trust there. When Joseph had taken the helicopter’s headset after it crashed and he’d spoken to the seemingly worried sheriff’s dispatcher, the woman had called him ‘Father’. Veronica bit the inside of her cheek as she worried, ‘That can’t have been all he meant when he said this wasn’t by accident.’ 
A knock on the door startled both Veronica and Boomer, and the pair sat up quickly. “It’s open!” The deputy called, pulling up the sheets around her despite the black tank she wore. The door opened and Pastor Jerome came through, closing it behind him. He smiled gently, murmuring “Sorry if I woke you.”
The blonde shook her head- pulling her legs up to her to sit criss-cross on the bed. “You’re fine, I was already awake. Just thinking.” 
Nodding, Jerome replied “After the week you’ve had, I’m sure.” He stood there silently a moment before continuing, “Listen, Veronica, I have something I need to ask of you.” 
V pursed her lips before saying, “Okay. Shoot.”
“John has put out more air support the last few days, and I think we need some of our own. Nick Rye owns Rye & Sons Aviation, and I know he would be a good addition to our cause; I heard over the radio he could use some help against the cult. What do you think?” The pastor regarded her expectantly. 
Veronica ran a hand over her arm as though she was cold, and displeasure was clear on her face. She sighed before responding, “Honestly, I was hoping to take a day. Or even half a day. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet.” It was all she could do to not groan in exasperation. Inwardly she cringed at how whiny she felt she was being- but wasn’t she owed some time after yesterday?
The man looked almost disappointed in her as he commented, “There isn’t really time to take a day off, Veronica.” Before she could get too annoyed, he went on. “You’ve seen what we’re up against. They’re taking us against our will. I know you’re tired and I know you want to look for your friend, but Fall’s End was just a piece of the whole community that needs our help. Once we’re strong enough- we’ll free every last one of the cult’s prisoners, then we can all rest. You have my word.” 
The familiar beginnings of anger ran hot under her skin as he brought up her lost friends, and Ronnie asked, “So I’m supposed to just forget my friends are out there and overextend myself?” Her brow furrowed as she looked at Jerome, annoyance creasing her features. It wasn’t as if she was the only member of this fledgling Resistance who could pull their weight.
He crossed his arms, answering “Of course not, but we have to focus on what’s reasonable right now-”
The deputy scoffed and cut him off, remarking “Now rescuing my friends isn’t ‘reasonable’? You know, I don’t think much would even be getting done if I wasn’t busting my ass for you guys.” 
The pastor frowned and looked irked at her observation. “Don’t forget who saved your life yesterday, deputy.” His words were measured and carefully contained. 
Veronica stood up from the bed, her hands on her hips. “Don’t forget who saved your life the day before yesterday, pastor.” Her tone was irate, and she tried to take a couple deep breaths to calm down. With everything that had happened in the last day, she was fried and at the end of her rope. Irritation came naturally with that perfect cocktail.
Jerome stared at her for a moment, his annoyance seemingly melting away as he suddenly said, “I hope you’ll think about what I said, Veronica. We couldn’t do this without you. Get some rest, if you truly need it.” Before she could respond, he opened the door and was gone. 
The deputy found it was hard to bristle and stay mad at someone who had started acting rather reasonably, and her vexation faded into a mild annoyance as she turned to look at Boomer. “What a good way to start the day!” She said to him sarcastically. 
The pup laid his head on his paws, letting out a short doggy sigh. Ronnie attempted a smile as she ruffled his floppy ears- but she felt she was falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. “I guess I know what we’re doing today then. At the very least, I’m getting a goddamn shower.” She asserted and walked over to the dresser to lay out an outfit. 
As she pulled open the drawer, V thanked her drunk self for having enough sense to change into pajamas and throw the clothes from yesterday’s battle into the corner. The woman quickly found jeans and rummaged through the loosely folded tee shirts. Lifting out a plain white crop top, Ronnie smirked at the text on it, ‘Trouble Maker’. “This feels appropriate.” She chuckled and tossed it next to the jeans. 
With her outfit set- Veronica made her way to the shower. While she got it to the correct temperature, she unwrapped her bandage on her arm. The deep wound looked somewhat better, a scab had closed over the pink tissue inside the gash and no new blood welled from it as she tenderly touched the area. 
Finally, she stepped into the steamy sauna. The warm water ran down her skin and she envisioned the last few days falling away with the droplets. “I can handle whatever life throws my way, I’m making the right decisions… everything is going to be okay.” She murmured into the stream, hoping it would prove true. 
Twenty minutes later, V felt she’d sufficiently scrubbed herself of last night’s ‘Cleansing’ and turned off the water. She found a towel and stepped out, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror; she winced at the dark circles under her eyes. Before exiting, Veronica leaned over the tub and grabbed her hair, twisting it to wring the water out. She knew it was going to be unbelievably frizzy by the time it dried hours later. Veronica toweled off as much as possible and pulled her clothes on, her wet hair hanging limp and soaking through her shirt. 
As she came out of the bathroom, she saw Boomer waiting for her on the bed; his tail wagging when he glimpsed her. “Hi buddy!” Ronnie said in a baby voice and pinched his cheeks. He got off the bed and followed her as she grabbed socks from the dresser and sat down next to her boots. Once V sat on the floor, Boomer swooped in and licked her face before she could raise an arm and fend him off. “Back, beast!” She laughed, pushing him away. 
Veronica pulled on her black combat boots as her dog circled expectantly. When she stood, he barked at her once before waiting by the door. “Okay okay here we go!” She placated him while grabbing her backpack and gun. The M60 hung heavy and deadly around her shoulders, and V thought as she hoisted it with a grunt, ‘I am never gonna have to do arm day again!’. 
The pair walked downstairs and found the bar wasn’t incredibly busy, just enough patrons to keep Mary and Casey busy. Ronnie was almost to the door when Mary May called out to her, “Hey V!”
Veronica cursed silently, she’d been hoping to avoid the barkeep because of her slip up last night. She put on a happy smile and turned to face her ally. “Hey May! What’s up?” 
The other woman filled a glass from the tap as she replied, “Just checking in… Jerome left in quite a hurry after talking to you.” As she set down the glass and picked up another- she met Ronnie’s eyes. 
The deputy looked away and nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. Everything’s fine, I just snapped at him. I’ll stop by with an apology later, don’t worry.” She relented easily. 
Mary May placed the second glass next to the first and nodded to her. “I know things are tough right now Veronica, but we care about you and this cause. We just want the best for both.” The bartender replied almost cryptically before gripping the two steins to take to her patrons. 
Watching her go, Ronnie felt a twinge of guilt. ‘Well now I really can’t fuck up saving this Nick guy.’ She thought before sighing and turning to leave. She only hoped she was up to the mission at hand.
V pulled out her map she’d acquired from Dutch, looking for Rye & Sons. She was relieved to see that Nick Rye was one of the names highlighted on the map, and that his home was just down the road from Fall’s End. “I’m in the mood for a nice walk, how ‘bout you?” Veronica looked down at Boomer whose tail wagged rapidly, slapping against her leg repeatedly. “Sounds like a yes if I’ve ever heard one.” Ronnie chuckled and bent down to pet him a moment before they departed. 
Standing a moment later, she nodded, “Let’s get shit done.” 
The pair walked through the forest, going to their destination in a straight shot while avoiding detection from the road. While taking in the sprawling plains and farmland that lay just outside the woodland- V thought about the task ahead. 
She knew she’d heard of Rye & Sons before, in fact she was almost sure her mother had taken her flight test there. Veronica envied her mother’s drive to do any and everything, the woman had decided on a whim that she wanted her pilot's license and purchased a seaplane. Ronnie’s mom had tried to teach her how to fly a few times when she was younger, but to no avail. The deputy remembered the basics but not much else. She’d have to remember to ask Nick if he’d ever trained her mother. 
Thinking of her mom, the woman sighed and hoped she wasn’t worrying. ‘At least I know Olive is safe!’ Veronica thought of her feline friend, trying to find the silver lining. She hoped without hope to see her mother, and her pet just once more.
 After trekking for no more than thirty minutes, Veronica spotted a hangar preceding a long dirt runway through the trees. As she approached, she noted how many Eden’s Gate helicopters she’d seen circling overhead on her walk; just as Jerome said. 
In front of the hangar- three peggies sat behind their individual covers. One of them shouted something, then opened fire on the building. The blonde sprinted from the treeline, moving to crouch behind a sign that read ‘ACTIVE AIRPORT, NO TRESPASSING’. 
Veronica lifted her gun that had hung loosely in front of her, and took out the cultist nearest to her before dashing closer. The deputy came to rest near a sign that pronounced this as the area for flight training.
The other two peggies shouted and ran closer to their fallen companion, but V took them both out swiftly. As she put a bullet into the second one, two Eden’s Gate trucks rumbled up the flight strip with eight more adversaries. 
Springing over the fence around the hangar, Veronica ran into the structure and almost bumped straight into who she assumed must be her charge. The man wore well-worn jeans and a sleeveless flannel over a Rye & Sons tee. His medium length brown hair was shaggy around his ears, but mainly covered by a worn baseball cap. Though sunglasses covered his eyes, V could tell she’d spooked him. 
Before the man could raise his AR-C to her, Ronnie raised her hands up and said “Hey hey, the name’s Veronica. I’m with save-your-ass inc., hold up with the bullets!” 
Nick paused before giving her a nod, “I’m Nick Rye, good to make your acquaintance! Let’s finish these bastards off!” He reloaded his weapon and charged from behind his cover. The peggies in front of him were faced with a quick spray of bullets, knocking down one and startling the others as they ran for cover. 
The deputy was quick to follow him, shooting down two more with her LMG. Boomer ran from behind her into the fray, latching onto one man’s arm and wrenching him to the ground before executing him with a swift bite to the neck. The cattle dog ran to the next nearest peggie, attempting to do the same; the man grabbed his scruff and threw him to the ground with a grunt. Boomer let out a high pitched yelp and was stunned for a moment. The cultist turned his gun on the pup, and was about to fire before a hail of bullets whizzed by, more than one penetrating his skull and spraying bits of his brain and gore upon the runway. Veronica stood a few feet behind him, and when he fell she ran to her companion and put a hand on his side. 
Boomer got up and steadied himself, barking at her and letting her know he was okay. “Don’t scare me like that!” She yelled at him, worry clear on her face before she turned back to the battle. 
Ronnie took cover with Nick, both of them demolishing their enemy. They took out two at a time until there were none, and the dust finally began to settle. The two of them peeked up over the sturdy wooden crates they were behind, making sure no cultists lingered. Nothing moved on the runway and they both stood, taking in one another. “You’re not too shabby with that rifle.” Veronica nodded to him with a smile. 
The man returned her victory grin, commending her as well, “Right back ‘atcha, big guns! You sure are some cavalry.” 
“Comes with the job I guess.” The deputy chuckled. 
Nick wandered back into the hangar, remarking “I appreciate the backup and all, but I’ve got a huge problem.” In the back of the hangar there was a small corner bar, the aviator made his way to it and quickly poured himself a glass of something strong. 
As he did, Veronica followed him; she raised her hand with two fingers and quirked an eyebrow at him. Nick nodded and rummaged in the askew cabinet for a second glass and poured her a drink next to his. “Well you’re in luck, because I am a problem fixer. What’s up?” Ronnie inquired as she lifted the glass to her lips. Her eyebrows raised at the strength of her drink and she savored it a moment, deciding it was some sort of bourbon. 
In front of her, Nick took several swigs as he muttered, “Fuckin’ cult… now we’re trapped. Trapped! I swear I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch John Seed!” He finished off his drink in one final chug and started to pour himself another as he continued, “Did you see them take off with my plane?” 
The woman shook her head, drinking a bit more.
“Well that was our ticket out of here, and I need it back! I’d go myself, but my wife’s due any second…” Nick looked at Ronnie, pleading “Without that plane, we’re fucked. My family needs your help.” 
Veronica finished off her own drink and nodded, replying “I can get your plane back, but the problem may be… getting it back. I don’t really know how to fly one.” At the last part, she looked away. It was somewhat embarrassing admitting to the owner of an aviation business that she didn’t know much of aviation. 
The pilot clapped her on the shoulder with a smile, saying “Oh don’t worry about that, I’ve been doin’ this my whole life. I can teach you on the fly… get it?” 
While Nick chuckled at his joke, worry crossed Veronica’s features as she considered the ramifications of not being able to learn ‘on the fly’. She also worried about Nick’s remark about leaving, since she hoped to recruit him for Jerome. At the end of the day, she knew it wasn’t her right to sway him one way or another; he had to do what he felt was right for his family. Especially if it was on the verge of expanding.
Acting as bartender, the pilot poured her another generous dose of bourbon and commented “If I know the cult, they’ve taken my Carmina to John’s Ranch. It’s got the only other landingstrip big enough to land the thing!” Setting the bottle on the bar, Nick met her eyes once more and sighed as though expecting her to decline, “I know it’s a lot to ask but… I’m desperate, partner.” 
At hearing the location of the plane a devious smirk replaced any worry on Ronnie’s face. Taking her whole drink in one shot, she conceded, “If I’m gonna be breaking into John’s ranch, I’m gonna need at least one more drink”  And pushed the glass to him. 
Nick broke out in a grin, pouring her one last drink before she set off. The deputy lifted her glass in a mock toast and took the drink as a shot once more before asking, “What’s the fastest way there?” While pulling out her map. 
The man traced a finger down the blue line of the Henbane river, answering “Some of those peggies we just took care of came from here. If you go down to the dock behind the hangar, I’m sure you can commandeer a jet ski no problem, courtesy of Eden’s Gate.” 
V nodded and adjusted her M60 against her chest, saying “Sounds like a plan! I’ll get your plane back. Let’s just hope it’s in one piece.” She murmured the last part, still doubting her piloting skills. 
As the deputy was exiting the hangar, Nick called out “I really appreciate this, Veronica! I’ll talk to you soon!” 
Turning around, Ronnie gave him a smile and a small nod, hoping to hold up her end of the bargain. 
Outside, the morning sun was still shining brightly. Not a single white cloud marred the baby blue of the horizon. Veronica wandered down a small dirt path, kicking up dust with her black boots. Birds sang overhead in the trees, and the quiet rush of the river could be heard in moments. 
Coming out of the treeline- Ronnie was met with a plain dock with a small shack at the end of it. In the water beside the dock floated two off-white jet skis. “How much did these guys pay in paint jobs alone?” Chuckled the blonde as she clambered aboard the nearest one. 
She revved the engine once before treading water- the front of the craft coming out of the river with the speed. Waves flew high behind her as she followed the curve of the river, and the deputy smiled at seeing Boomer running along after her on the shore. 
Only a few minutes later, the pair had reached the boathouse behind the ranch. It was a long red building that was desperately in need of a paint job. The boathouse was open, and no one patrolled the long dock coming off the structure. V pulled up alongside the dock and turned off the engine, stepping onto the dock and miraculously not falling into the water as she exited the jet ski.
Her footsteps sounded hollow as she crossed the dock to the dirt path. With a sharp inhale, Veronica started up the slope with Boomer at her tail. 
At the head of the trail minutes later- Ronnie stumbled into what appeared to be John’s backyard. The green grass was manicured, but looked as though it could use more water. Two short sets of steps let up a stone wall to a lifted seating area with two lounge chairs. Passing them, Veronica saw the ranch ahead. 
A flagstone path led up to the side of the house, surrounded on all sides by patches of delicate yellow flowers. The ranch itself was bright cherry wood with a natural finish. The structure was two stories, and a hangar and guard tower were attached to the property. V ducked into one of the flower beds as a guard strolled past the side entrance. 
The man was whistling to himself and held his gun loosely. It seemed they didn’t get  much trouble up here. As the woman peeked above the blossoms, she pulled out her binoculars and took count of how many guards there were. “At least two snipers… six guards that I can see... probably more. This place is huge.” Ronnie grumbled as she put the binoculars in her backpack once more. 
The guard from before made his round in front of her once more, and this time Veronica followed behind him. Surging forward, the deputy placed a hand on the top of his head and another on the side of his face and wrenched his neck upwards with a sickening crack. He instantly became limp in her arms, head lolling from his broken neck. Veronica dragged him back into the sea of flowers she’d emerged from. 
V dispatched three more guards this way as they patrolled around the campus of the ranch. On the third, she needed to find a different flower bed. With a huff; she dragged him out of the way and squated there for a moment- brushing away the beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. 
As she took a rest among the petals- the music that she’d been tuning out reached her ears. “... Come meet the man who reaps the land of which we walk upon! The time has come for judgement, but we ain’t done nothin’ wrong! Join us all we all can sing along… oh John! Bold and brave!” A cheery choir sounded their praises of the youngest Seed brother. 
Massaging her temples, Ronnie couldn’t help a dry laugh, “Wow, someone needs an ego check.” 
She attempted to block out the song once more, and got back to work. Her plan was to take out the rest of the guards on the outside of the ranch and then tackle the inside. No more peggies had wandered to the side of the structure in some time, and she knew it was time to expand her hunting grounds. 
Coming around the front of the ranch while still hunkered in the garden, Veronica saw a man directly in front of the porch with a long iron pole embedded in his chest. His blood had dried crimson around the base and it looked almost melded to his body. Beyond him, a cluster of guards gossiped in hushed tones. V struggled to hear them, catching only passing phrases. “The Father isn’t happy with…  Something to do with that girl… Say’s he’s compromised…” Was all she could hear. 
As she craned her neck listening, another louder voice rose above them all. “Get back to work! John expects you to guard, not cluck like hens.” He said disdainfully. The new voice came from a rather imposing cultist with the Eden’s Gate symbol tattooed on his forehead. 
Taking her eyes off the group she saw the first of the snipers on the balcony of the hangar. The second perched at the top of the guard tower- both of them scanning the grounds. As the group of three disbanded, V moved away and went around the side of the ranch that she’d already cleared. 
She walked up a short staircase embedded into the natural rock and past a simple fire pit next to a utility shed behind the house. Coming to the end of the fence surrounding the home, the airfield lay in front of her. Veronica stared down the vast runway, taking in the sight of the mountains in the distance. It was a scene that never failed to amaze her. 
Dead grass crunched underfoot as Veronica strode to the long ladder on the side of the hangar. “All this money and you can’t afford a gardener?” She mocked John pettily with a childish expression. 
Finally, her boots met the rungs of the blue ladder and she pulled herself up to the shortest roof. Comprising of multiple levels, Ronnie had to pull herself up the side of the main roof of the hangar and then scramble up the railing of the guard tower. She did this as quietly as possible, avoiding making the many unladylike noises she was tempted to as she hurtled the rooftops. 
Her hands grasped the hot metal of the railing, and she noticed the ironwork. Every other section had a scale wrought into the metal. She couldn’t help but be curious as to why. 
Hauling herself over the rails at the back of the tower, Veronica leaned against the building a moment as she caught her breath. In a moment, she was ready and pulled her black hunting knife from its sheath. The second sniper stood ahead, watching the road beyond the ranch. V lunged forward and executed him quickly, plunging her blade hilt deep through his soft tissue as he spasmed to the ground. 
Veronica pulled his body around the structure out of sight, and looked down at the guards. On the level below her lay the last sniper, and below that the final peggies patrolled. The intimidating man with the Eden’s Gate tattoo seemed to have gone inside. 
Having taken out the highest lookout, Ronnie was free to pursue the second sniper. She dropped down to the roof, sneaking over to just above where the sniper was and staying as low as possible. She lurked above the man, waiting for the perfect moment. When all the other guards were turned away she leapt on the sniper, grabbing his long greasy locks and slamming his head into the concrete balcony hard and fast. The man barely made a sound before going limp, allowing her to pull him into the loft of the hangar and stash the corpse in a dark corner. 
As Veronica rounded the corner to the stairs, she caught sight of Nick’s plane. The yellow seaplane looked a little worn, but had much character. The deputy smiled as she thought of the pilot teaching her mother to fly in this chartreuse beast. 
Caught up with the image in her mind, V didn’t notice one of the remaining peggies wandering into the hangar. The man spotted her and startled with a shout. “Hey! The sinner is here!” He yelled to his crew outside, causing Ronnie to scramble. 
She grasped her LMG and shot off quickly, missing the man at first. He shot off a few rounds in response- narrowing missing her. The blonde ducked behind the railing of the loft, looking over it and taking aim; she riddled her opponent with bullets as his companions arrived. They all took up arms and ammo flew through the air wildly. It was only luck that Veronica was not struck. 
After letting loose a few sprays and only killing one of her enemies, V found herself needing to reload; the rapid fire from across the room didn’t afford her the time. Swiftly, she pulled her .44 Magnum from its holster, hammering off a few shots and catching the second to last peggie in the chest. He staggered backwards and fell to the ground with a thud as his ally came to avenge him. The final lackey sprung out and took aim. Before he could let off a shot Veronica put a single round through his skull and that was that. 
Reluctantly creeping down the stairs- she brushed past the bleeding corpses and out of the hangar. There was one last guard on the premises, and she intended to take the ranch for the Resistance. The woman wandered to the front of the house, stepping around the body of the man in front.
The wide double doors stood open, and Veronica peered inside. The room was bathed in a warm glow from two candled chandeliers and dim overhead fixtures. Two of the shuttered skylights were open, letting the sunlight leak in to lazily cast its glow in two fixed squares. Shadows cast in every corner made her nervous as she crept along, looking for the final cultist. As V cleared the front doors and stepped up the ledge into the living room, she heard a creak. Just as she’d heard it, someone came crashing into her and she was knocked to the ground. The back of her head sprung off the hardwood with a thump and she collapsed on her back. 
Standing tall and formidable above the deputy was the man from before, he looked down at her with an evil smile and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, girly.” 
Ronnie was too stunned to reply, and her vision swam for a moment as her head throbbed. 
The peggie bent down and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, lifting her up as he bent down to meet her. Veronica was half lying down as the man hovered over her, his rancid breath reaching her as he spoke, “You know, you don’t look like much. Don’t know why everyone’s so interested in you. Maybe I should have a taste and find out?” As his last words, the man licked his lips and his gaze travelled down her body. 
Skin crawling, Veronica finally gathered some strength to struggle but was held fast in his grasp. She  pushed at him and found her opponent to be an unmoving mass. 
With a laugh, the cultist stood up a bit straighter, backhanding the blonde and releasing his grip at the same time. “Seems like you don’t like that idea!” He mocked, standing up and stepping away from her. 
Ronnie spun back to the floor, falling on her side with blood trailing from her mouth as stars swarmed her vision. She took deep breaths and tried to regain her senses as she heard the man say “I s’pose I’ll let them know you’re here then. You’re all John’s been talkin’ about.” Her sight came back slowly and she saw him reaching for his phone. He stood next to her feet, his left side facing her. Veronica took one last deep breath and mustered all her strength, kicking out high and at an angle with all she had. 
She struck home, dislocating his knee at the joint with a meaty pop. The peggie screamed high and loud, like music to Ronnie’s ears. He fell to the ground and clutched his leg, gasping from the pain as he looked at her with pure rage. “You bitch!” He howled, his voice still thin with agony. 
Starting to get her footing once more, V reached for her Magnum with a grunt of exertion from her head still spinning. Not quite off the floor- she aimed it at him and sneered, “Life’s a bitch, I just work here!” She squeezed the trigger as he tried lunging for her, and his face took the brunt of the round. 
The man fell to the floor, now unrecognizable. Veronica stared at his body- her breaths going from long and ragged to measured and even. As she took in his lifeless form, she felt no remorse. The adrenaline pumped its way through her system, leaving her an aching shell. Her jaw was sore where he’d beat her, and her head pounded from the collision with the hardwood flooring.
With a groan, Veronica holstered her weapon and looked around the room, finally having time to take it in. To her right was a long glass case with some Eden’s Gate memorabilia, as well as fine china and copies of the Word of Joseph. In front of her stood an extraordinary stonework fireplace that rose to the ceiling; it was preceded by a tasteful bear’s skin over a muted rug. A leather couch with red throw pillows sat on the rug before a cherry wood coffee table, and this is where the woman wandered to. 
Ronnie plopped down on the sofa, sinking into the soft cushions. On the cushion next to her, a large leather book sat open. Trying to distract herself from the pain, she flipped it over- holding a finger in place of where the reader had been. The cover read “Fahrenheit 451”, causing the woman to quirk an eyebrow in surprise. She didn’t expect this to be John’s light reading. Veronica recalled reading the dystopian novel in high school, she’d always thought of herself as someone who would fight the good cause. 
Setting down the novel, another article caught her eye. V reached for a note written on plain paper on the other side of the couch. She marvelled at the handwriting which she knew had to be John’s; perfect script comprised of neat loops and impressive cursive decorated the page. 
“Dearest Brother Joseph, 
As promised, the town of Fall’s End is now occupied. I went after the three biggest pillars of this community in Mary May, Pastor Jerome, and Nick Rye. And After marking them with their sins, a seed of doubt was planted among the residents. 
I forced every one of them to question what they really believed in. Question what side they should be fighting on.
There was bloodshed, but if not for those I converted, it would have been much worse. 
The ones we saved have been brought into your flock.
The ones who fought are dead. And then sinners who fled- I’ll catch them.
That’s another promise.
Your brother, 
John”
Veronica set the letter where it’d been, unsure how she felt. Though she wasn’t surprised at her disgust for his forceful converting, she was almost startled at the feelings of sadness for John. It was clear how desperately he wanted his brother’s approval; and if the display at the lake was any connotation, he certainly didn’t have it. Especially after losing Fall’s End. The blonde scoffed at the thought, ‘Why the hell am I feeling bad for that nutjob? He made his bed, now he has to lay in it.’ She scolded herself silently. 
Before she could go further down that train of thought, she caught sight of something she desperately needed on the coffee table. “No way.” V chuckled, leaning forward and ignoring the ache in her body. 
At the end of the coffee table sat a sizable plastic bag filled more than halfway with what she was willing to bet was kush straight from Oregon. Delighted laugher bubbled out of Ronnie as she cracked open the bag and sniffed the fresh, green scent. Removing one bud from the ziplock, she twisted it in half and admired all the little crystals hanging on the leaves like dewdrops. Orange hairs grew and curled like ivy over the nug and Veronica couldn’t be happier. “Literally everything was worth it!” She exclaimed, dropping the nug back into the bag and standing suddenly despite the pain. 
“Where there’s weed, there’s papers.” V asserted, setting down the bag and peeking in the end table next to the couch. No luck there, she checked the one on the other side with baited breath. Upon opening the drawer she saw an orange packet of waxy papers and snatched them up. 
Tossing the papers on the table, Veronica resolved to look for a rolling tray. “Surely Nick won’t mind me taking a smoke break.” She murmured as she walked around the fireplace into the dining room. At the end of the table was a silver tray with several instruments on it. Ronnie grimaced and moved the hooks, pliers, and scissors to the table while saying, “I don’t wanna know..” 
Tray in hand- the deputy made her way to the living room. Halfway there, she was stopped by a sharp ringing cutting through the air. The phone on the dining room table sounded off, ringing a few times. She set the tray down and went to stand by the simple landline. Though there was no caller ID, V could only assume this wasn’t for her. It rang only twice more before cutting off with a beep, and the caller’s voice could be heard leaving a message. 
Joseph spoke from the beige phone, his voice eerily calm, “After all the atonements, all the confessions. And all that you have done for me and Eden’s Gate, it’s not enough. Is it John?” His accusation came loud and clear. In only a moment he continued, “Cast away your past. You need to open up your heart, you need to see that there is more love all around you. All the pain and suffering you spread will not help us in the long run.” The man pleaded. 
Veronica thought about this, wondering what in John’s past he must do away with. Who are we without our pasts? Though she agreed with Joseph that the pain and suffering was not necessary, she found it rather paradoxical that he could be the one to ask this of his sibling. 
The Father’s voice cut through her thoughts, speaking once more. “These actions will only feed the sin inside you. It will grow stronger, it will convince you to do wicked things. Things I cannot forgive you for. Those you want to scar with your intentions, they will heal. They will become carriers of your sin. They will spread that sin to others… is that what you want, brother?” Joseph almost sounded angry, as though he already knew the answer. Ronnie felt like she was missing an important piece of the puzzle.
After another intent pause, he murmured callously, “I’ve seen your death in a vision. You’re destined to be slayed by one who shares your sin, if you don’t succumb to your own sins first. It’s only a matter of when. I’ve seen you die young. I’ve seen you die old. The difference between those two outcomes is how much love you let into your heart, and whose love.” Taking a shaky sigh, he said his goodbyes, “I hope for your sake that you heed this warning. I love you, brother. I love you.” 
When the phone clicked and the line went silent, Veronica released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Practically none of that made sense to her, but the weight of his words seemed to ring true. All she knew is that Joseph couldn’t be trusted, not even by his own brother. She could only assume John’s position in the cult was clearly in jeopardy if Joseph could tell his brother he foresaw his death in such a cold manner. 
Finally making her way back to the couch, Veronica broke down some buds by hand and quickly rolled a joint. The woman was relieved to find a lighter in the bottom of her backpack, and made use of it right away. 
Inhaling the sweet smoke took away all Ronnie’s worries, if only for a moment. She relaxed more with each exhale and revelled in such a lucky find. “Looks like John only smokes the good shit.” She said to herself as she neared the end of her toke, the aches and pains she’d felt no longer bothering her to such a degree. 
The blonde stubbed the joint out on the rolling tray and shoved the ziplock bag into her backpack with a relaxed grin. As she packed up and stepped out of the house, the now afternoon light blinded her for a moment. Through the blinding light she saw a form advancing on her, and quickly distinguished Boomer who now ran to meet her. The pup jumped up on her, licking her hands as she greeted him with a high-pitched “Hi baby boy!” and ruffled the fur on his head. When Boomer was done getting pet, V bent down and said, “Hey, I don’t think there’s room for you in the plane. You stay here, and I’ll be back, okay?” Hoping she conveyed her point. The cattle dog cocked his head to the side before strutting into the ranch, already walking like he owned the place. 
With that settled, Veronica followed the flagstone path down to the hangar, stepping into the air conditioned hush of the building. The bright yellow plane stood there the same as before, and thankfully she didn’t feel so nervous about flying it. Whether this was misplaced confidence, she couldn’t tell. Ronnie hit a glowing button on the wall, opening the garage and spilling in daylight. 
Climbing into the cockpit, the deputy pulled out her radio and called to Nick, “Hey wingman, I’m ready. I think I can get her started up okay…” As she spoke she  flipped a few switches then pulled a handle in the middle and shifted gears on the left. The engine sputtered to life and V eased her foot onto the accelerator. “Let’s see if I remember my Microsoft flight simulator…” She chuckled to herself and the plane rolled out of the garage.
Her heart started beating faster as she turned down the runway and started picking up speed. Veronica could feel the bird lifting off the dirt and into the air as she tilted upwards. Suddenly, she was quite grateful at all the times her mother had forced her to practice in her own plane. “Oorah, deputy! Now you need some distance, just go north for a bit. How ya doin’?” Nick called over the open line. 
“Going great, not on the ground!” Ronnie called and tried to keep her voice from trembling. All her nerves returned as she thought about how she did not want to go down in a fiery wreck. 
Veronica kept her breath even as she gained some elevation, flying over trees and plains alike. “You’re doin’ great! Now, I need to make sure they didn’t mess with it. Let’s run some tests! Hang a sharp left at the crop circle and fly low along the river!” Nick called out. 
Obeying him and taking a glance out the windows to see where the crop circle was, V answered, “I tell you I don’t know how to fly and you tell me to fly into the water?” She was only half joking.
Brushing her concerns aside, he said “You’ll be fine! It sounds like you’re a natural! Go ahead and dip that left wing. That’s the one that worries me, it’s always acting up a bit.” 
As the plane dipped to the left, turning smoothly, Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief when she evened out. 
“Yep, you’d have gone into a full on barrel roll if something was wrong. I guess the cult’s got some competent pilots.” Nick commented begrudgingly. It sounded as though he were eating chips on the other end of the line. 
Heart almost stopping, the blonde said “Nick, can you please not say things like that.” 
He chuckled, “My bad! Stay low at the river.” 
V lowered the level and dipped the nose of the plane slowly, the river coming closer with every second. She started to pull up and even out, gliding smoothly a few feet above the current. She followed the curve of the river and found it easier by the second.
“And goddamn! Breaking into John’s ranch of all places and making it out in one piece! Way to show those fuckers!” Nick suddenly cheered over the line, making Ronnie smile. 
“It’s my pleasure, trust me!” She assured him. 
Not done with his tangent, he continued “That’s all they do around here anyways! Show  up at your door and take everything you own, just like they did to me! Good thing we didn’t lose that plane, we’d have been fucked.” He muttered, going from bitter to thankful in no time flat. 
Concentrating on staying level with the water, V said absentmindedly “Glad I could help.” She felt a certain sense of pride as she maneuvered the aircraft, her luck serving her well on this venture. 
“You should be coming to a big fork in the river, hang right!” Were the next instructions called out. 
The wing of the plane dipped right as Ronnie listened, following the river back. The trees flew past as she flew along the waves, elk could be seen running through the marshes to her left. 
Nick came across the line again, sounding hesitant, “You know, I don’t know if you have any little monsters at home but... the thought of leaving mine fatherless terrifies me! And mine ain’t even born yet!” He confided in her.
“I don’t have any yet, but I understand. You want to be there, and can’t risk not being there.” The deputy called back, unsure where he was going with this.
After a moment he replied, “ If running means saving my family at the cost of losing my home, so be it! ...That’s the right move ain’t it?” 
Mulling it over, V said “At the end of the day, you gotta do whatever is gonna get you to sleep at night, Rye!” 
He was silent for almost a minute before saying, “Makes my goddamn blood boil that I gotta uproot from the place that my family worked so hard to put together! They worked every inch of this land with blood and sweat, and now I gotta lose it all to some man-bunned little twerp and his posse of inbreds?” 
Veronica stifled a laugh at that comment as he continued, “No, fuck it, you’re right deputy! You don’t mess with the Ryes without getting a scar! You should be flying over a field right now, if you see any peggies or Bliss tankers blow them sky high!” 
As she looked down at the field she spotted several of both and figured it must be a Bliss depot. Moving her hand to pull the trigger mechanism next to the middle handle, the machine gun whirred as it powered up and shot a hail of bullets at the red silo below, causing it to go up in a fiery blaze. The deputy circled the field, taking out two more silos, three Bliss tankers, and a dozen peggies with ease. 
“That’s the stuff!” He hollered excitedly. When no more were in sight, he called, “If you take a smooth left that should put you on course for my airfield. See you soon, Veronica!” 
After a relatively rough landing, Veronica was safely parked in front of the hangar she’d been at a couple hours ago. Nick came out of the hangar with a grin, saying “You son of a bitch… you did it, thank you!” He immediately went to the side of the craft, inspecting it. “Kim! The plane’s back!” He called to his wife.
“Yeah, I heard!” Came her reply. She didn’t sound too interested. 
Nick went to the other side and held the bottom, pushing against it and getting the wheels turning. “Help me turn it will ya?” He asked, gesturing to the side closest to her. 
V obliged, gripping the steel and maneuvering with him. As they steered the vehicle, Nick said “Ya know, for the first time in a long time, I finally feel like things are going my way! Those damn peggies… Kim c’mon!” He called her again. 
“I hope to god they didn’t fuck with her…” He commented, sounding frazzled as he stopped turning and walked around it once more. “You know, this plane has been in my family for three generations. Can you believe that? My grandpa first got it when he got back from World War II, it was his pride and joy.”
As Veronica listened, she heard Kim behind them yell, “Nick!” 
The pilot was digging in the cockpit as he rambled on, “I made some modifications over the years but-” 
“Nick!!” His wife called once more, sounding urgent. Exasperated, Nick yelled back “Kim, will you just hurry up?”
Annoyed, Kim shouted “Nick the peggies are on their way!” 
Pulling his head out of the plane, the man looked almost surprised. “What? Damn, those fuckers won’t give up!” 
With a humorless laugh, Ronnie said, “I guess not!” 
A sleek white plane flew from overhead and dropped a bomb further away from them as gunfire erupted from Nick’s house. 
“Fuck!” Veronica exclaimed and held her gun at the ready, scanning the horizon for more of them. 
Nick climbed into the plane and said to her, “Look, I’m better in the air but you’re a beast on the ground! I’ll hit ‘em high and you hit ‘em low, what do you say partner?” 
Ronnie nodded, holding out her fist for a fistbump. “Let’s do this!” 
Returning the fistbump, Nick said “Oorah! Kim’s in the house, I’m trusting you to keep her safe!” and started up the plane. “Kim, you stay inside till I get back!” He called over his shoulder and took off. 
More gunfire rang through the airfield and V ran towards the house where several white trucks had pulled up. Several peggies were already running towards the home as she made her way there, and she raised her gun to shoot one. He took a few bullets and stumbled, falling to the ground. She jumped over the railing of the porch, landing securely on the deck and immediately taking up arms once more. 
Veronica quickly executed two more cultists who ran towards the house, watching for the reinforcements that would surely be coming. One of them jumped the opposite railing and ran towards her. V used the butt of her gun to slam into his face and send him falling to the ground before taking care of him. 
Nick flew overhead expertly, firing the machine gun rapidly and sending a few peggies flying as he strafed them. The shining yellow of the aircraft looked almost cheerful as it evened the playing field. “Veronica, they’re attacking my airfield, I need you on the ground over here!” Nick called over the radio.
“I sure am getting my steps in!” She called back jokingly as she did a quick glance to make sure no more peggies threatened the house. Ronnie ran down the porch steps and back up the road to the hangar, ducking in the side door. Through the open garage, at least four cultists hid behind cover. 
Reloading quickly, the deputy squatted behind a large crate and looked over it, sending ammo flying as she saw a man switching cover. She shot him down, and then his friend whose head was lifted too high. The final two converged on her, but she took care of them in no time.
Two more off-white trucks pulled up the strip, both with a mounted gun. “Don’t get too close, I’m gonna drop a bomb on these guys!” Nick shouted to her, the radio crackling. The seaplane flew overhead, releasing deadly cargo upon the vehicles as they both fired rapidly towards the hangar. The bomb whistled through the air and fell with a thundering crack, both trucks lost in a molten blaze. 
When no more cultists converged on them, Nick radioed once more, “Alright! I think we’re in the clear then! I’m comin’ down… do you think maybe  you could help us with our luggage?” 
“Only if you’re sure you’re leaving!” V begrudged, knowing the aviator didn’t truly want to leave. 
The plane rolled down the airstrip, coming to a stop in front of the hangar once more. Nick hopped out and gave the woman a winning smile. “We make a pretty good team!” He applauded. 
Ronnie returned his grin, walking by his side back to the house. “That’s for damn sure, peggies beware.” She chuckled, the heat of battle slowly ebbing away from her. 
Minutes later- Nick was grabbing suitcases and setting them outside as Veronica lingered in the doorway. “Let’s go!” He said to his wife while setting down another small bag. 
“No!” Kim exclaimed, her back against the wall of the living room as she watched him work. 
Walking back into the house- Nick reached for another round of luggage while sighing, “Kim, you don’t understand…” 
Kim threw her hands up, exasperated, “Don’t understand what? That they’re stealing our land, kidnapping our friends, and doing god knows what else?” She followed her husband as he handed Veronica a large yellow suitcase, and immediately took it from the deputy’s hands. 
The blonde regarded her with some worry, as the black-haired beauty looked as though she was about to pop out of the plain white v neck she wore. Her swollen belly indicted that baby Rye would be along very shortly. 
Nick only sighed as Kim set the briefcase down and she went to him. “Nick, your grandfather built this place. You really wanna turn your back on that?” Once again, he didn’t reply and went to grab another bag. The woman stepped in front of him, her hands held up to stop him. She looked pleadingly into his eyes, “And what about all the times you talked about handing off the business to our daughter?”  She asked. 
Looking away, he murmured “Well I’ve talked about handing the business off to our son..” 
“You’ve seen the ultrasound, you know it’s a girl.” Kim sounded like she was reiterating something she’d said many times.
With a shrug Nick nervously said, “That’s a fuzzy black and white TV screen, I mean those things aren’t reliable!” Looking for some support, he nodded to Veronica, who wished she was anywhere else as the couple bickered. 
“Nick.” The one word was cautionary, and Kim stared at the man as he shifted uncomfortably. A moment later, he put a hand on her arm and she chuckled quietly.
He sighed, saying “I love you.” and pulling her closer. 
A beaming smile plain on her features, Kim said, “Me too.” 
The couple held one another for a moment with an air of content, before Nick turned towards Veronica. “Well V, looks like the Rye family is digging in.” As he spoke he walked out the open front door to retrieve the luggage he’d already set outside. “And hey, if you ever need any air support, just give me a holler. You and me, we’ll be like Butch and Sundance.” He asserted while setting the luggage back in the house.
A grateful smile was returned as V replied, “I think that’s a little before my time, but I catch your drift.”
There was a pause and Kim said, “Nick.. they both died at the end.” Which he rebuked. Shaking her head, the woman turned to Ronnie with a spark of worry in her eyes as she asked, “Please take care of him.”
Veronica smiled and nodded, saying “I’ll keep him outta trouble.”
Setting down the last bag, Nick chimed in- “Or into it!” 
Striding back towards the door, V laughed, “That remains to be seen! Hey, could I trouble you for a ride back to the Seed Ranch? I think I’m gonna crash there tonight, I told Boomer I’d be back.” 
Nick glanced at Kim for approval, and she nodded with a smile. “I think I can do that deputy!” He gave her a thumbs up before kissing Kim on the forehead and walking to the door. 
The pair made their way back to the airfield and into the plane, Veronica squeezing into the back. “Man, these things are not made for comfort.” She complained and adjusted a few times, unable to relax into the stiff seat. 
Shuddering to life, the plan rolled down the strip and quickly gained speed. Nick expertly guided the craft into the air and they were away. Trees and fields blurred beneath them as they picked up speed. 
“Kim seems nice!” Veronica shouted to him over the sound of the engine. 
Turning back an increment, Nick nodded “Yeah she’s a sweetheart, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her.” It brought a smile to V’s face to see the love these two shared, and she hoped to one day find something like it. Though, she never thought too deeply on it; part of her believed it wasn’t a possibility. 
The long stretch of grass that led to the ranch was soon in sight, and Nick lined the plane up with the cones along the stretch. He landed the plane smoothly, and Ronnie could barely feel them come to a stop. “You’re a real pro! My landing was not nearly as easy.” The woman chuckled recalling the extremely bumpy touchdown she’d made today. 
Nick jumped out of the plane, allowing V some room to struggle out of the back. “I’d better be decent, I’ve been doin’ it long enough!” He held out his hand to her and they shook hands firmly. “Thank you, Veronica. For everything.” The pilot gave her a small, sincere smile before climbing back into the craft. 
“No problem, I’ll be seeing you soon! I’m gonna need those aerial skills of yours!” The blonde waved him off as the plane turned around and ascended once more. 
Once Nick was out of sight Ronnie crossed the runway and passed the hangar, making her way to the ranch. In front, two Resistance members stood together with their guns hanging around them. They chatted casually, but hushed and straightened up as the deputy approached. “You boys got here quick!” She called to them, trying to set a casual tone. 
The men nodded to her and one responded, “Yes ma’am, Jerome got word from Nick and set us on down. You’re doing a great job, deputy.” As he spoke, his friend nodded in agreeance. 
At their straight stance and decorum, V felt the urge to tell them ‘At ease’, but resisted. “Well, I’m gonna crash here tonight. I’ll be upstairs, you guys can just hang.” She insisted. 
They nodded bashfully and stepped around her, walking down to the front of the property as Veronica stepped inside. 
For the second time that day, the blonde made her way through the ranch. She smiled at seeing Boomer curled up on the black couch, sleeping soundly. Deciding against petting and waking him, she wandered upstairs. 
‘Now where’s the bedroom…’ Veronica wondered and stepped through a door on the stair landing. The door led to a balcony which granted access to two more rooms. The first appeared to be a study as she peered through the windows, and she moved onto the second room. 
Stepping through the double doors, V closed and then leaned against them with a deep sigh, closing her eyes and feeling all the tension of the day leave her. “Finally alone…” She murmured, reveling in the silence. 
“Not quite.” A voice startled her and she jumped, turning to the other end of the room and the source of the voice. The large bedroom was home to a stately king-sized bed sitting in the corner, and sitting on the end of the bed was John Seed. 
Ronnie’s blood ran cold and her breath quicked at the sight of the last person she wanted to see. “Wh- what are you-?”
Before she could finish her question, he cut her off and met her eyes, deep emotion filling them, “Did you really think I couldn’t get back into my own ranch? That I would just take this lying down?”  As he spoke he stood from the bed and stepped closer to her. 
Though she wanted to run back out the door, Veronica couldn’t move and her mouth had run as dry as the Sonoran desert. Thoughts raced through her head, and she didn’t know what to do. 
When she said nothing, John came closer. “Well?” He probed, a thin line of anger in that one word. 
She moved away from the door, not taking her eyes off him. “I don’t know.” She replied lamely. 
The brunet stared at her a moment, the anger in his eyes replaced by another emotion V couldn’t identify. It felt like hours before he asked what he truly came here to learn, “Why didn’t you kill me, deputy?” 
Veronica looked at him, her brow furrowed and unease clear in her eyes as she recalled their struggle. Pursing her lips, she could think of no answer to satisfy him. She barely knew for herself why she couldn’t go through with it. 
When she said nothing, he continued. “I’ve taken your friends captive, I’ve stolen from those you swear to help, I’m the enemy. Why am I still standing here now?” 
The blonde could no longer meet his eyes and she looked away with a sigh, preferring to stay mute. 
Without warning, the Baptist charged forward and grasped her shoulders, shaking her once and holding her in place. Surprise was clear on her features as he shouted angrily, “I asked you why, dammit!” 
Answering before thinking- Veronica shouted back “I felt your fucking heart!” John looked almost stunned, all the rage draining from his face. “I felt your heart beating in your chest and I looked into your eyes and I couldn’t fucking do it. Is that what you wanted to hear you fucking creep? Are you happy now?” Her wrath boiled under her skin as she relived the moment of weakness.
Silence fell as the pair regarded one another, tension hanging heavily in the air. John’s large tattooed hands still held Ronnie’s shoulders, keeping her in place. She glared up at him with anger clear in her eyes, unsure what to do. 
Closing the gap in only a second, John pulled her close and their lips met as he stole a kiss. It lasted only a second, and Veronica pulled away from him abruptly. The rage in her eyes was diminishing and uncertainty flickered there. John released her shoulders and simply looked at her, his expression unreadable. 
Fully embracing her innermost desires, V threw her arms around the man’s neck and their lips clashed feverishly. John’s arms wrapped around her and the pair were a frenzy of lips and tongues. 
The pair walked backwards step by step, and John’s hands wandered to the hem of her shirt. He lifted it slowly and Veronica broke their embrace to raise her arms so he could strip her. They met again with the same passion and the deputy frantically started undoing the buttons on his shift before pulling it off and discarding it carelessly. 
As they kissed her hands ran over his now bare chest, wanting to feel every inch of him. John bit her lip, causing her to gasp. Veronica put her arms around his neck once more and pulled herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist. His hands assisted, lifting and gripping her roughly. 
Several moments later the pair had made their way to the bed, falling into the silken sheets. Their quiet moans melded as they embraced, and V put a hand on his chest before sitting up, her legs straddling him. Halfway breathless, she asked “Is this a good idea..?” And worry crept into her gaze. 
“Not at all.” John replied before capturing her lips once more. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as he rolled them over. Now on top of Veronica, he reached down and pulled off his belt as she fiddled with the button on her jeans.
As they threw all caution to the wind, their fates were sealed.
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suoirallesalta · 3 years
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A Masterlist of all @suoirallesalta edits!
Every edit is tagged under #suoiredits. edits are sorted acc to their books! enjoy
click here for my art masterlist!
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Making Sabina in the Character without using Character’s assets style (edit challenge
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Kepler, in only the harness. 
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f!Adam
Jen in her dress including the lingerie
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Simon Montjoy in Ava’s dress
younger Mitzi Montjoy
AVSP MC as on the cover
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💫 Nia Ellarious
the perfect pair? (Nia x MC in an AME crossover)
Goddess of the Sea (Nia x Sunkissed edit)
Nia and Imtura with... moustaches
Nia with TE Alma’s hair and MTFL Ava’s outfit (#suoirandom edit)
Nia as Neisha (new avatar)
Starry Nia (#BladesAW)
Empress of The Shadow (#BladesAW)
Nia as BloodBound women: Kamilah (#BladesAW)
Nia as BloodBound women: Rheya (#BladesAW) 
the pretty young girl next door (#BladesAW)
Quartermaster Nia Ellarious (#BladesAW)
Nia Ellarious as TE MC (#BladesAW)
Nia Ellarious as Shreya (#BladesAW) 
Nia Ellarious in her dress including her lingerie
nia ellarious hot goth girlfriend
The Priestess (GIF edit) (Nia in RC outfit)
Tyril Starfury
cold and broody™ vampire elf (#BladesAW)
cold and broody™ bodyguard (#BladesAW)
cold and broody™ elementalist (#BladesAW)
cold and broody™ orc (#BladesAW)
cold and broody™ designer; feat. f!Tyril (#BladesAW)
f!Tyril (#BladesAW)
Tyril with f!Blaine’s hair (#BladesAW)
rogue-ish Tyril Starfury (with a beard)
The Mage (GIF edit) (in RC outfit)
Scream(o)s from the inside (Kade album cover edit)
Bald-ur (#BladesAW)
Damn those elves and their magicks (Mal - Aerin hairswap)
Modern Rogue-ish Mal Volari (with a beard)
StarCorp
Blades of Lust and Sensuality
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Jax Tora and Robin Matsuo (face swap)
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Duke Richards in the banana mascot outfit from Platinum.
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Charlie Smith
A relaxing day at the waterfall! (edit inspired by Charlie Premium Scene!)
Quartermaster of the Dreadlord (DSAW)
Quartermaster of the Flotillan Pirates (DSAW)
Siren of The Light (DSAW)
Charlie as Atlas, Eli and Shreya from TE (DSAW)
Maggie
Maggie! M-Maggie? (MM and DS Maggie Crossover)
Maggie with HC Hazel’s hair and QB Poppy’s outfit. (#suoirandom request)
Oliver Cochrane
Oliver Cochrane as Luke Hemmings
oliver cock rain (DSAW)
f!Oliver (DSAW)
Distant Sores (Charlie x Edward face swap)
DS MC using BaBu2 sprite (DSAW)
Distant Couture // Hot Shores (DS x HC crossover, DSAW)
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Ayna Seth
student!Ayna and professor!Ayna
Ayna as Imogen from ILB
buff ayna
Ayna as Jackie in the Open Heart 3 CG
vampire!Ayna
Ayna Seth
Ayna Seth as a Lovelink Match
Ayna Seth as Robin Tora
aynia ellarious
TA meets TA (Ayna - Aiyana Midthunder crossover)
Blaine Hayes
m!Blaine in f!Blaine’s dress
f!Blaine as m!Blaine
Blaine with PT Raleigh’s Hair and MOTY MC’s outfit (#suoirandom edit)
Blaine Hayes edit inspired by @aestheteasteria’s icon
Tatum Mendoza
John Somerset x Tatum Mendoza crossover
Tatum in Ayna’s dress / Tatum as Ayna
MC
politics reporter and student (FA mc x WT mc)
MC with ATV Pax’s hair and TNA Robin’s outfit (#suoirandom edit)
Ayna x MC
girlfriends
partners
Bodyguard Murphy (lmao)
Murphy Icons <3
I think I got the address to the wrong Murphy
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Skye Crandall x Gerard Way
Dark Mage Ajay (choicedits challenge)
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Power Duo (Luz x MC)
Bridgette Gardner with TRH Cedric Vescovi’s hair and PM Hayden’s Outfit (#suoirandom edit)
Luz Estrada in her dress including the lingerie
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Noah Marshall in the banana outfit (edit request)
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Sadie McGraw
Sadie McGraw (in the TNA MC’s Golden Dress)
A bit younger Sadie McGraw
Sadie McGraw (in casual(?) outfit)
Aislinn Tanaka
Aislinn Tanaka in QB Poppy’s outfit and diff black hair
aislinn tanaka hot goth girlfriend
aislinn tanaka hot goth girlfriend 2
aislinn tanaka girlfriend
aislinn tanaka’s v short hair
Gabe and MC as Mal and Nia
Babe Ricci with long hair
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The Boys
Ava as Britney from ILITW
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IGHT (NB face swap)
MC with TE MC’s hair and BB MC’s outfit (#suoirandom edit)
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bryce.. lahela .. and,, uh.. bryce sterling..
Rookie Ramsey
Rookie Varma
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Raleigh Carrera
Raleigh Carrera with AME Mackenzie’s hair and VOS Naomi’s outfit (#suoirandom edit)
An exclusive sneak-peek at Raleigh Carrera’s fuck-the-stereotype Vinyls look that has got the fandom in meltdown!
Raleigh Carrera with BOLAS MC’s hair and THM Eris’s outfit. (#suoirandom edit)
A Very Wilshere Christmas! (Album Cover)
The Hottest Couple of the Industry (Avery x MC)
Poppy is just angry Avery
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Zoey Wade
“Besties!” (mc and Zoey as Mc and Ava from MTFL)
priestess zoey wade
zoey in floral
zoey in floral (beach-wear edition)
TA Zoey Wade
Zoey Wade as Atlas Ernhardt
Zoey Wade in TE MC’s gala outfit
zoey in the dress she gave to mc in the first chapter
Ina/Ian Kingsley
Ina Kingsley with TF Becca's hair and BB Kamilah's outfit. (edit request)
Ina Kingsley with TNA Sam’s hair and WT MC’s outfit. (#suoirandom edit)
Veronica with TNA Sofia’s hair and ACOR Sabina’s outfit. (#suoirandom edit)
MC with BP Courtney’s hair and QB Poppy’s outfit.
how (ridiculous) mc would look if she actually wore that ligerie under that dress
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📰 Robin Tora
Asian Robin as Ava Lawrence from MTFL
Asian Robin as Ava Lawrence from MTFL (#2)
Asian Robin as Ava Lawrence from MTFL (#3)
Robin as Mikasa Ackerman from Attack on Titan
Jax Tora and Robin Matsuo (face swap)
Robin in an oversized baggy shirt
wait, wrong Robin- shit (Sofia TNA edit)
Robin Tora as Robin Tora and Robin Tora as Robin Tora
Robin as Cassian in Witness
Robins at the beach
robin hood
asian f!robin tora as blaine hayes
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Flame the Crow & Me : One Boob (TC&TF face swap)
Annia Adairious (TCTF AW)
orc!Val (TCTF AW)
Kenna Rys with NB Katherine’s hair and HSS Principal Rivera’s outfit (#suoirandom edit)
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🌙 Atlas Ernhardt
Atlas Ellarious
Atlas, the adventurous elf
Queen of Vampires, Atlas, of Clan Ernhardt
Vampire Queen Atlas (edit #2)
Atlas, the Snow Princess
Atlas, the Moon Princess
Atlas in genderfluid flag colors!
m!Atlas in f!Atlas’s Gala dress
f and m!Atlas swapped
☀️ Eli Solaris Russell (my mc)
Eli’s first (accidental) spell cast!
Eli’s momentous first day at Penderghast
⚙️ Beckett Harrington
“Small dapper Beckett… confirmed.”
Beckett as Connor from Detroit: Become Human
Shreya Mistry
Shreya “Wonder Woman” Mistry
❣️ Pend Pals
“All dressed in black.”
Pend Gals on a night out in matching black outfits (#1)
Pend Gals on a night out in matching black outfits (#2)
Magick Docs (OH crossover)
Pend Pals in Belvoire attire
Pend Gals on a night out after the Amorelia Day Gala (faceapp faceswap edit)
The Elementalists - Across the Dimension (2D art crossover)
💞 Shreya x Atlas
“your eyes, they shine so bright”
“Hey Shreya.. Marry Me”
“Wedding Day!”
💞 Beckett x Eli/MC
Beckett and Eli in a western setting
Eli x Beckett face swap
Eli x Beckett in Robin x Sofia art (lmao)
🌟 Double Trouble (Eli/MC + Atlas)
Hydrobreath (Eli + Atlas)
“my younger twin sister” (double trouble x mtfl edit)
Misc
Blood of the Sun (a spinoff movie poster)
Coolness of metal and water-atts (meme)
Alma with FA Dionne’s hair and D&D MC’s outfit (#suoirandom edit)
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Sam Dalton
Sam Dalton as Sam Dalton and Sam Dalton as Sam Dalton
Sam Dalton with BB Serafine’s hair and TCTF Val’s outfit. (#suoirandom edit)
Sofia as Lady Dimitrescu from Resident Evil
the cake on sofia’s skirt works as floral print
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John Somerset x Tatum Mendoza crossover
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Vampire Harlenay
Flynn o’Malley in fem VOS characters’ hair 
Flynn o’Malley in fem outfits
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Anna Koishi
Anna Koishi, at the club, with short pink hair
Anna Koishi with TE Atlas’s hair and PT Avery’s outfit. (#suoirandom edit)
Anna Koishi as Atlas Ernhardt
politics reporter and student (FA mc x WT mc)
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Asian f!Dakota with Hispanic f!Dakota’s hair
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Daenerys, the mother of dragons (using TRR mc)
TRR mc as Daenerys (edit #2)
the greatest witch of our time (BB mc as Hermione Granger)
me before you (poster edit with TRR Mc and AME Adam)
Aquaman (ft Cassian and Ava)
Wolf Bride wolf in Poppy’s outfit
Imogen Dragons
rip fallen books
The Crew (DSAW)
Wizards of Waverley Place (THOBM edit)
omg a hit tweet (pb meme)
Choicedits Challenges
ACOR Sabina without using her assets
OpH Jackie without using her assets
Harry Potter and Hermione Granger using Choices assets
Priestesses of the Light
Coldplay’s Higher Power album cover using only Choices assets
Asian Wolf Bride MC as TE MC
Lovelink Edits
Nicholas Adley in Pirate Outfit
Jamie Grant in multiple outfits from HERO
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