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squish--squash · 1 year

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oh yeah idk if I ever told y'all this but I have a funny story that happened back in september involving evangelical protesters, a lesbian flag, a rainbow umbrella, and an impromptu pride party

(it may be a bit long, so story is under cut!)

Okay so, let's preface with the context:

I attend a public university. This means that people, if they want, can reserve spaces around campus for events. This is usually used for tailgating during sports seasons.

But it also means other people can reserve places of high foot traffic, such as evangelical protesters with anti-abortion signs with the signature "repent or hell" bullshit signs.

Anyways apparently these fuckos have been doing this shit for years so upperclassmen and some of the LGBT and activism groups had already been warning as many underclassmen and transfer students as they can, so for the most part a good bit of the student body knew to avoid the water fountain in the middle of campus or else.

However, since I had an 8am the morning they arrived and am prone to not checking my phone, I had no clue about this at first. I actually cross the fountain on my way to and from my class, so I saw some people standing around and wondered what they were doing. And I got my answer as I was walking back from that class and saw the signs and was like "oh my fucking god there are religious nuts on campus"

I sat down in a building near the fountain to check my phone, where I learned from my friends what was going on. Now, since I didn't have a class until 2:30 (which ended up being cancelled after all), and also didn't have anything that needed to be done that day, I decided I wanted to be a peaceful shit and go bother the protesters because I knew they were already making and were going to make even more a lot of people uncomfortable and feel unsafe (and if their attention was on me, they weren't going to harass others).

However, none of my friends were available to come with me, and I was considering just going back to my dorm.

Until an acquaintance arrived. I knew her because she was friends with someone from my hometown I talked to occasionally, and since she's kinda important to this story later let's call her "A".

Anyways A asked me if I'd seen the protesters, and when I said yeah and that I was planning to go bother them, she said she was about to ask me if I wanted to go and bother them too since she was on her way to the fountain.

And so we both went to the fountain.

At the fountain were like, 3-5 or so men who looked like they hadn't showered in 5 months and came from the woods, a woman who looked tired, and her two young sons (who I later found out were homeschooled, which is so, so heartbreaking). All of them protesters. There's one man that's the focal center, who is yelling just complete bullshit (I can't even remember half of what he said bc I just tuned it out like a bad radio or smth), while the rest of them were holding abysmal anti-abortion signs full of misinformation and graphic images and trying (and failing) to pass out flyers/brochures.

When we get there A goes up to the main yeller and starts having a civil discussion with him because she told me she likes to debate. I sat down by the fountain wall next to someone with a frog hat on (I'll dub them "Frog Hat"), who was blasting music as loud as they could on the small speaker they had. The music? I'm not sure what bands or genres, but it was definitely music that those protesters thought was satanic.

Me and Frog Hat have a nice chat while watching the flyer guy continue to fail at passing out stuff. Highlights of his failures include many people shaking their heads and putting their hands up and away, multiple sneers of disgust, and this absolute queen who had an umbrella and used it as a shield as she walked by (I will call her "Queen" because she will return to this story later and own up to that title).

Now during the watching of flyer guy fail, another girl joins me at the fountain. We start chatting (let's dub her "L"), and it's going well, but then she pulls out a large lesbian flag from her backpack, and we spread the flag over our laps in lesbian solidarity. She also pulls out a rainbow umbrella and hands it to me to keep us shaded since the sun had come out from behind clouds. I think it's crucial to note that the flag and umbrella are going to become very prominent features of this story.

And so there's four of us. The three of us at the fountain doing miniscule counter protesting, and A who's still debating with the main yeller.

But that's when some more people show up.

At first it's some members of the campus's activism group, who ask us if we're doing alright and have a little tote with them (spoiler alert, it's pronoun and lgbt pins), along with a couple signs. Some of the members have stuff to do so they leave, but some others stick around the fountain and start quietly counter protesting with us. (During this time there's this REALLY pretty woman me and L spot walking past the fountain area a couple of times, we dubbed her "the goddess"; a little while later she returns with her own sign, and joins us. An absolute win.)

as more people arrive to watch and (later on) be a menace, Frog Hat has to sadly leave for classes, and so we're without music.

Until I suggest to the few people around me I've been talking to for us to play circus music on our phones as "fitting background music" for the protesters.

It takes a couple minutes of slow data speeds and finding the same video, but eventually there's 5 people playing circus music in sync. It was fantastic, but sadly didn't last long because someone in the growing crowd got irked by a protester and started yelling.

Now, to avoid anything happening, I get an idea and ask L if we can use her flag and umbrella as some sort of shield to put between the students and protesters. This spawns, what I mischievously called, the "gay censorship plan". Since it would be hard to walk protective circles around a group of moving students, we decide it would be easier to just block the main guy who's yelling bs (he also has a sign, which we try to block as well).

So gay censorship springs into action and me, L, and other people that switch out occasionally held up the lesbian flag in front of the yeller, blocking him from looking at the student body; I see it as a win of multiple fronts, because the guy looked crusty as fuck. Since I was also the tallest of the flag-holders, I also held up the umbrella as an extra shield, making sure to block the guy's face if the flag dropped too low or to try and block his sign (at some point the guy manages to extend the pole of the sign raising it higher, which I found funny but also makes you think this probably wasn't too uncommon if he was that prepared...). There were also times I detached from the flag to go over and cover the more graphic signs they set up with the rainbow umbrella because really, nobody wanted to see that on a tuesday morning.

The guy was constantly moving too, but so were we. Every time the guy moved, we got in front of him.

More people are arriving at this point, donning pride flags and booty shorts. There was even someone there in a cat maid costume. Queen returned to deliver absolute scathing remarks every time the yeller said smth, and someone showed up with a big speaker to play some zesty lgbt-friendly music on it.

During this escapade A gets a sign from someone and joins the gay censorship gang. We start chatting again, and while watching people having fun counter-protesting I remember that one video of two guys kissing at an anti-lgbt protest. I mention it to A, jokingly say "even tho I haven't had my first yet, I would so kiss a girl rn to make the protesters mad."

Well. Next thing I know, A and I are standing like 10 feet off to the side of the yeller, umbrella and sign off to the side, A shouts "People! Can I have everyone's attention for just only one moment!" (even the yeller stopped talking for a second), and I have my first kiss

Shit y'all not, the students who saw it cheered. I (very awkwardly, voice crack included) yelled "First kiss, baby!", which got even more cheers, but also the attention of the yeller, who then screamed that lesbians were going to hell.

It's a pride party at that point. People are dancing to music and screaming "YEAH!" every time the yeller says smth stupid. We continue to cover him up until he decides to stop in front of the fountain, where people with pride flags hop on top of the fountain wall and essentially cover the guy with flags. literally. The only thing you could've seen was his sign, which got half-covered by a handmade sign a very tall guy was holding.

There were some people who tried to argue with the guy, but since you can't argue with stupid it was a bit of a lost cause, but for the most part people just treated it like a party with some annoying thing in the far background. It was like the lgbt community at my college just individually got up and decided to schedule a pride event at the same place as the protesters.

Eventually the protesters packed up and left at around 1, but it was a wonderful couple of hours (I mean sure I was slurred at and insulted but I literally couldn't take any of it serious enough to be offended or frightened)

I know that what we all did didn't help our case (and in the protesters' minds "proved" their conceptions about us) but we all knew they'd never change their views anyways, so why not have a little fun?

Anyways this October the activism group released an opportunity for anyone who felt unsafe by the presence of the protesters or harassed by them to write a letter for the group to eventually send to the higher ups at our university to see if they can get the protesters banned on account of making their student body feel uncomfortable on their own campus.

The yeller also uploaded his body cam footage of him being an idiot to youtube bc ofc they have a yt channel, so not only am I a pretty common sighting in that video but the audio of my first kiss is on there too, which I think is hilarious.

That's the end of my story now, hope it was as funny as I think it was.

#idk what to tag this #if anyone needs any content warning tags I'll be happy to put some too

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leonbloder · 2 years

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A Better Story of A Bigger God

A church member recently gave me a copy of a terrible letter she received in 1982 from the elders of the church she attended as a young person.

The letter, which was typed on a piece of paper, and signed by all of the elders (all men, of course), was apparently prompted by her lack of church attendance (which was due to a health issue, by the way), but it took an incredibly nasty tone.

The elders of her church quoted all kinds of Scripture, all entirely out of context and awfully misused, and then said this:

We are concerned about your soul's welfare, and fear that you cannot go to heaven in your present condition.

So to make sure that she knew they meant business about her repenting of the sin of not coming to church on the regular, these charming fellows offered the following solution:

"...we are withdrawing fellowship from you. Members of this congregation will have no social contact with you. We take this action in love..."

Yeah, you have to dig that last part, right? I'm sure she felt the love. As I read that letter, I was saddened but not that surprised. I've heard more than my fair share of those stories, and I've seen firsthand the effects of that kind of ostracization.

When I worked at Walt Disney World many years ago, I learned that several of my employees belonged to the same church. They ate lunch, hung out after work, and were always together in a tight-knit community.

Then one of them got kicked out of the church for moving in with her boyfriend (they weren't married). Their church leaders told the rest of the group that they had to ostracize her, so they did.

I will never forget watching her eat her lunch alone and how the people who had been her fast friends studiously avoided speaking to her. Eventually, she transferred to another department.

At that time, I did not identify as a Christian, though I had spent most of my life in the Church up to that point. I chalked that moment up to scores of others I'd seen like it---all reasons I wanted nothing to do with the Church or Christianity.

But years later, I discovered that there were other ways to be Christian that were grace-filled, loving, and focused on Jesus.

I have also realized that people need to know this, especially those who have experienced the trauma of rejection because of people like these dudes in the letter sent to my church member.

Nicole Serrano is a former megachurch worship leader who wrote songs for huge Christian music artists like Chris Tomlin. When she came out as a lesbian, she lost everything--her job, a record deal, gigs, you name it.

She didn't lose her faith, though. Somehow she held on to her faith in a God who was bigger, more accepting, and unconditionally loving than she had been taught in her youth.

She recently wrote a song entitled "Time for Everything," which I love because it speaks directly to the need for a better story of a bigger God. Here's a bit of the lyrics:

I know the truth is worth fighting for But something isn't lining up anymore 'Cause a god who'd rather die Than not have us right by his side Is more about love than we'll ever know They're more about love than we'll ever know...

Come on! How powerful is that? Powerful enough to change the world, I'm thinking. God knows we need some change---in the Church, for sure, but also in our hearts and minds.

And if you have ever felt rejected by the Church, you don't have to carry that around with you any longer. Many loving, caring, open, and accepting communities of faith believe in a bigger God. I'm proud to be a pastor in one of them.

You can let those feelings of rejection go---they are not from God, not by a long shot. You can live in hope and joy of a God big enough to love without conditions.

May it be so. And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.

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karkatraejepsen · 3 years

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thinking abt the fluidity of identity in black sails -

the way eleanor had to mold herself into someone hard and aggressive to gain the respect of the pirates of nassau, and then put on the persona of a respectable lady to gain the respect of woodes rogers. the way neither of those personas were ever completely authentic. the way she's both softer and harder than she had to act. the way vane was symbolic of her pirate identity and rogers was symbolic of her english identity. the way she could only fully be herself around max. the way max was the only one who ever saw her as she truly was, and the way she gave it all away because she was too scared of who she might be if not The Trade Boss Of Nassau. that maybe there was nothing left behind the mask. the way she completely gave herself over to her new persona as Woodes Rogers' Wife out of the same fear. The way she died without ever getting the chance to figure out who she really was without the weight of the future of nassau on her shoulders.

the way flint's sense of identity is almost a mirror of eleanor's, in reverse. the way he had to put on the face of a gentleman to fit into thomas' life, and the way he threw it all out when he lost him. the way captain flint was just as much of a mask as lieutenant mcgraw, the way he had to push down all his sorrow and grief and become someone else. the way he turned it into anger because he was left with no other choice. the way he constructed the persona of captain flint after he lost thomas and the way he buried himself in it after he lost miranda because there was no one left to dig him out. the way silver was the first person to fully understand flint in all his complexities because he was the only one with the same masks. the way flint was only able to truly figure out his identity after thomas was returned to him, free from the scrutiny of society, free from his all consuming anger and despair. the way he no longer had to be Lieutenant Mcgraw or Captain Flint and could simply be James.

the way silver built his multitude of masks and identities and personas out of nothing, crafted to hide from a past he could never dare to so much as look back upon. the way he learned to never trust anyone, never open up, never let himself be vulnerable. the way he joined the walrus crew out of a sense of self preservation, the way every decision he made, every action and every word, was calculated in order to benefit himself. the way everything about him was constantly shifting, the way he learned to insinuate himself into any possible situation. the way he slowly realized he needed the crew as much as they needed him. the way they forced him to let them take care of him, when in his whole life he had never had anyone take care of him. the way he was terrified to allow himself to be seen as weak. the way he came to trust them. the way he tried to gain flint's trust to benefit himself, but ended up trusting him just as much. the way he never meant to fall in love. the way the persona of Long John Silver was forced onto him, a story not of his making, the way he had to become someone else just when he was finally figuring out how to become himself. the way he could never open up about his past, not even to madi or flint, because he couldn't bear to think that it could define him. because he spent his whole life running from it. because his past isn't something that can be dissected, piece by piece, to build a picture of his identity. because he's crafted his identity with his own hands, every day of his life, and it is his.

the way max's identity has been constantly shifting her whole life, like sand, from slave to prostitute to brothel madame to proprietor. the way she can never fully leave behind everyone she was before, the way she can feel the identities she's built slipping through her fingers. the way she shaped her identity from nothing, the same way she built nassau from nothing. the way "none of it is real" but it's all she has. the way anne is the only real thing in her life. the way her lesbianism is the only solid part of her identity. the way all she wants is peace and stability because everything has been in flux her whole life. the way she's so convinced everyone will leave her eventually because she's never had any sense of stability. because she loved eleanor, and eleanor left. because she was so scared anne wod leave too that she had to cut the string first. the way she never stopped loving anne. the way anne never stopped loving her. the way anne gave her a sense of identity outside of nassau, and the way she gave anne a sense of identity outside of jack. the way her identity is a shifting thing, and anne is her harbor, her stability, just as she is anne's.

the way anne's identity has been inextricably tied to jack since she was 13. the way they were two halves of the same whole and two sides of the same coin. the way she latched onto him, formed herself around him like vines growing up the side of a house. the way being a Pirate and Jack Rackham's Partner gave her her sense of identity. the way she became strong and gruff and angry to avoid ever having to face what happened to her. the way she cut herself off from her past and her emotions because she couldn't allow herself to be weak. the way she never had the chance to realize she was a lesbian because she was surrounded by men and because of course she was in love with jack, how could she not be after what he saved her from? she owed him that much. the way she was terrified of her feelings for max, how they upended everything she thought she knew about herself. the way she couldn't help falling in love with max, the way her feelings and her identity existed "beyond choice". how the more time she spent with max, the more open she became, and how that openness was reflected physically. the way her hat no longer shadowed her eyes constantly. the way she held max's hand, something she never did with jack. the way she sat next to max while max bathed. the way she allowed herself to be tender. the way max represented safety and comfort, and the way anne learned to rely on her, just like silver learned to rely on his crew. the way max helped her realize that she didn't owe it to jack to be in love with him, that she would always love him but she could never be his wife. that she could create her own identity outside of him. that she had value and worth as an individual and not just as part of a matched set.

the way jack came from nothing and built his identity from nothing. the way his name matters more than anything else because that's the only thing he'll leave behind. the way he needs to make his mark so his existence is justified. the way he knows his family will be forgotten, but goddamn it if he will allow himself to come to the same fate. the way he clawed himself out of poverty, and the way the only option for someone like him to make a name for himself is piracy. the way the system was working against him from the second he was born. the way woodes rogers, who could simply write a book and earn his renown, could never understand his struggle. the way he didn't fit in even in nassau. the way other pirates, *real* pirates, were strong and masculine while he was weak and feminine. the way he latched onto vane because he was the strongest. the way he earned his place and vane's respect through his smarts and creativity, the way all he had was his mind and that was enough. the way anne was his strength. the way he and anne complemented each other. the way they were both outcasts: a masculine woman and a feminine man. the way they built their identities in concert, tangled them inextricably, because there was no one else. the way he let anne go because he truly wanted the best for her. the way he hit rock bottom over and over again and always came up swinging. the way all his work paid off in the end. the way his legacy and his identity were secured. the way "jack rackham and anne bonny" are names that have lived on for centuries.

the way black sails is all about how identity is constructed, how it shifts, how it's formed. identity is like sand, black sails argues. it forms itself around the tides. it can be built from nothing. it changes over time. it can be beaten down, smoothed over, or transformed into something completely new. but it cannot be destroyed.

#black sails #black sails meta #james flint #john silver #eleanor guthrie #anne bonny #jack rackham #max #my writing #meta #analysis

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not-using-this1 · 3 years

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Sleepless Night ~N.Romanoff~

So this oneshot has kinda been sitting in my drafts on wattpad and on here for quite a while. I thought why not upload it after I rewrite it to make it better than it was, I’d say I haven’t touched this one since last October (oops) but here is this oneshot rewritten, pretty proud of this one (Again this is based off the gamerverse Nat hehe but I couldn’t find a gif for her just chilling so..)

Natasha Romanoff x Inhuman!reader :)

Natasha catches you in the HARM room at one in the morning. Concerned about how you barely sleep, she confronts you about it. (Reader has the ability to create/manipulate fire) You tell her the reason as to why you’ve been struggling, she’s there for you in a heartbeat.

Just Natasha being a huge softie :)

Warnings: mention of sex only briefly for like a sentence, 18+, the rest of this is just fluff

Word count: Around 1500

Natasha' POV

Like usual, I could barely get some sleep. It has been like that for a long time. But tonight was different. Currently it was one a.m. I highly doubted that most of the others were asleep right now but the atmosphere around the chimera felt peaceful, for once instead of hectic.

Walking out of my room, I decided to just take my usual late night walk (or early morning walk, whatever anyone wants to call it). Heading to the back of the Chimera I couldn't help but here the sounds of someone practising in the HARM room.

It's not very often that someone is doing this, especially at this time. Walking through the door that led to the room, a simulation was of course going on.

That's when I saw Y/n, beating the shit out of aim forces with her power to control fire. The poor woman had barely been getting any sleep it seemed, she looked exhausted and I knew how it felt to be that way.

Sighing I walk into the room "Jarvis, stop the simulation" I speak up. He complies and shuts it down. Y/n let out a frustrated sigh and turned towards me, my arms folded holding my ground. "Why'd you do that, Tasha. I was on a roll." Y/n complained as she walks towards me, unimpressed.

I sighed "For starters, it's one in the morning and you need to sleep. I have noticed you haven't slept in three days." I reply. I'm genuinely concerned for her health, she really needs to get some sleep.

"You’re telling me to sleep? You haven't slept in a while either." Yes, that was true but we weren't here to talk about me "besides I'm fine. I can still go on missions and be energetic, so why'd you care?" Wow that was harsh, the why'd you care part but Natasha totally gets it, she checks up on everyone from time to time of course but they just don't know it for some reason and she is quite direct.

"I check up on everyone but you guys just don't know it." I add with a light chuckle. I go back to being all serious, I need her to know that sleeping is important but I want to know why she hasn't been sleeping in the first place. "Come with me." I casually add as gesture for her to follow me, Y/n shruggs her shoulders and follows behind me.

I go straight into my room on the Chimera, she doesn't question me (at least not yet) I gesture her to sit down beside me on my bed. "So, are you gonna tell me what we're doing in your room, Romanoff?" There's the question but I sensed a little flirtation from her as she said my last name, I gave her a small smile. "What's been keeping you awake?" I asked her, Y/n looked at me she seemed worried about the question as if she didn't want to answer it because I might judge her but I never could.

"It's stupid, there's no need." Y/n replies looking away from me for a few seconds and then looking down at her knees. She was nervous but what for exactly?

"Whatever it is, it's not stupid. You know I won't judge you." I tried to speak a bit softer, suddenly grabbing one of her hands in mine which shocked up both, she gave me a small smile, her hand squeezed mine slightly.

"Something has been on my mind lately and I've been struggling to sleep because of it. I just can't get it out of my mind and every time I try it just doesn't work, thanks to a certain woman on the chimera. I get these conflicting feelings and it gets me so confused and unfocused but I just couldn't tell anyone because I thought that they would yell at me."

I listened carefully to what Y/n had to say, come to think of it she had seemed rather off these last three days, especially on missions. It made me miss her ridiculous jokes, puns and silly flirtation, I want that Y/n back and I would do anything to get her back to her normal self. "What do you think could make us all hate you? We love you."

Y/n looked at me, didn't break any eye contact, it looked as if she was on the verge of breaking down, my thumb started brushing her hand as I held it, silently telling her that it would be okay. None of us could ever hate her no matter what.

"I like girls, like love them and I also like this woman in particular- I shouldn't have said-"

"No, it's okay. If it makes you feel any better, Tony' bisexual, Cap is just as confused about himself but lets be honest he likes Tony even if they argue. Yelena is an asexual lesbian. The list goes on." I paused. I was thinking about what I wanted to say about myself. I like men but I also like women although I have never had a relationship with a woman I know I like them because I have had sex with a few before my time as an Avenger. "And me, well I like women to."

Y/n gave me another smile, she seemed a lot happier when I mentioned what I just did about everyone including me. "Wow, I never knew these things. I'm feeling somewhat better but there' something else. This woman I like."

I nodded my head and let go of her hand, I was silent and waiting for her to mention who it was or at least give me a describtion sometimes it helps talking about who you love but sometimes it can hurt, in this case I'm hoping it won't hurt Y/n.

"Well she's very badass, can kick ass very well, looks good while doing it, actually she looks good while doing anything. She's around 5'5, looks very intimidating but is an actual amazing person although she won't admit it. She's drop dead gorgeous, pale blue eyes, I love her personality, her body is just so perfect. May or may not have walked in on her naked once and has red hair and-

I listened to every detail she gave me, only to realise at the 'walked in on her naked' part was actually me. I didn't know how to react until I decided to shut her up by pushing her down on my bed and straddling her waist "Oh, and did I mention she has fast movement?" Y/n lets out a gasp as I pushed her down on the bed but she then chuckles and smirks at me. "You think all of this about me?" I whisper to the young woman under me "Duh, now-

"Shut up" I interrupted her, she raised an eyebrow at me in question but I ignored it and pulled her in for a kiss. The kiss was quite sloppy at first because it was something that the both of us seemed to need after a long time of avoiding these feelings (because I also like her). Pulling away she had the biggest smile on her face.

"So I take it, the feelings mutual?”

"Yes dorogoy, lets just get some sleep. Okay?" Just as I was about to get off her and lay next to her, Y/n pulled me back in for another kiss "I'd much rather stay up." She cheekily smirks as she pulls away, wrapping her arms around my neck and clutching onto me.

"Y/n" I rolled my eyes at her, her grip on me loosend enough for me to get off her. I press a kiss to her cheek and we both get under my covers, she backs up slightly more to me and I put my arm around her stomach to keep her close to me "This isn't some dream is it?" She whispered.

~~~

It had been a good thirty minutes and we had just layed there in silence, just as I was about to finally get to sleep with the woman I loved in my arms, finally. She had broken the silence.

Y/n' POV

I really couldn't sleep, I had forgot to mention to Nat that had atleast two coffee' before I decided to stay up in the HARM room as well as stressing about the fact that I was confused over my sexuality and the fact I like her, I was so happy she liked me back and now here we are, laying in her bed, her arms wrapped around me.

"Nat, I can't sleep. I had two coffee' and I still have a lot of energy." I heard her sigh, I didn't even bother turning around to face her "Y/n, please just try. I was about to fall asleep."

I sighed and shut my eyes trying again but it just wouldn't work "You can sleep ya know. I'll go back to my room and-

I felt Nat' lips on my neck, pressing a few light kisses to my skin "No, you're here now and I don't want to let you go."

Wow that was cheesy even for Natasha "Okay, I don't want to either."

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #Black Widow #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #marvel #OneShots #this is gay #bisexual natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff being soft #inhuman!reader #my writing #natalia alianovna romanova

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desbianherstory · 4 years

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In 2003, the relationship between Sree Nandu and Sheela, a lesbian couple in Kerala, attracted national media controversy after a tabloid published an article on them. In 2004, Sree and Sheela told their story in their own words:

Sree Nandu: At a wedding function, I met the girl whose face I had seen in many of my dreams. A fair girl with a chiseled face, good body structure and melancholic eyes. I saw her looking at me. This girl was Sheela, who had, in fact, mistaken me for a boy, thanks to my way of dressing and hairstyle. We spoke to each other, and soon became good friends. I gave her the name ‘Anjali’, which I had desired for my lover in my dreams. I quite often call her Achu, short for Anjali. We realized that we were destined to be friends, for our problems and worries were similar.

Sheela is the eldest of three daughters of Vijayanandan and Omana, who are Christians. Her father is an auto rickshaw driver. They belong to the lower middle class section of society. But more than poverty, it was the cruel nature of her drunkard father that tormented her. [...] When she was pursuing her predegree, one day, one of her friends came to her house. Vijayanandan scolded her for some reason, also scolded her friend and beat Sheela in her friend’s presence. The friend narrated the episode to all her other friends in college, which made Sheela go in a cocoon even in college, which was her place of freedom from home. However, she somehow completed her BA in Economics. She fell in love with Aneesh, son of her father’s cousin. At that time, she thought it was love, but now in retrospect, she doubts whether she had at any time really loved him. For her, talking to him was a welcome relief from the shackled life at home. Her parents, however, did not object to her mingling with Aneesh, who made her pregnant and ditched her. She kept this to herself for a while, but one day, decided to confess everything to the priest of her church. But it so happened that when she started to confess, the priest told her that he was very busy and that she had to finish her confession in a minute or two. Sheela felt totally let down.

That was the time she met me at a marriage function. She mistook me for a boy, and fell in love with me. But even later, when she realized that I am a girl, her love for me did not fade. She told me it was not the gender that mattered, but real friendship that she was looking for, and that she found it in me. That was when we both realized that we were deeply in love with each other. Sheela told the story of her life to me. I consoled her, and told her we would together face all storms boldly.

One day, we spent hours at Neyyar Dam sight, near her college. She told me that she had lost interest in going to college. She revealed that it was to avoid being at home that she chose to study. She also told me that in me, she found the friend she had been looking for all these years. I am the first and the only person in her life who gave her a patient listening. This feeling is mutual. What more do you need in life once you get a person, man or woman, who can understand your feelings, share your thoughts and console you as a friend? The best lovers are the best friends. For me, Sheela encompasses different shades of love that I have longed to experience in life. She is my lover, mother, father, brother and sister. And Sheela has told me that she has the same feelings towards me. So, we made perfect lovers.

Meanwhile, for a few weeks, I could not contact Sheela because my mother had fallen ill in Cochi, where she was staying with a few relatives, and I had to be with her day and night. Sheela somehow came to know that I had gone to Cochi where my mother was living with relatives.She went to Cochi in search of me. Not knowing where to find me, she then went to Sultan Battery in Wyanadu, where she had a cousin, as she could not have remained home without seeing me. However, her parents brought her back from there and tortured her so much that she fell unconscious. Her father threatened to kill her with a knife, because he was ashamed that she was carrying a child out of wedlock. He beat her with a chair and asked her to leave home the very same night. Even her mother and two sisters echoed her father’s sentiments. She ran to her neighbour for help, but in vain. She then spent a few weeks at different orphanages.

When I came to know of all this later, I went to the orphanage where Sheela was living. I lived with her when she delivered her child. Sheela had developed some problem with her legs and she could not walk properly. I nursed her and ‘our’ child. Later, when she recovered, we left the orphanage. But we left the child there, as we ourselves didn’t have any place to live. We went our separate ways. Sheela’s aunt then took her to ‘Snehashramam’, an institution run by nuns to rehabilitate women prisoners after they had served their term of punishment. That was sometime in June 2003. I came to know that Sheela was in ‘Snehashramam’ some three months after she was made an inmate there. I immediately went there and became an inmate myself.

‘Snehashramam’ was a weird place. Actually, there were no women convicts there. It was all, only on paper. There were 14 inmates, and the ashramam was getting aid from various agencies. During her stay there, Sheela was once made to draft a letter to a foreign agency, which read that the ashramam was in the process of rehabilitating 14 girls salvaged from the red light areas. Which meant that Sheela was also presented as a prostitute. When she questioned the nuns about this, they beat her up. Life in the ashram were the most horrible days of our life. We were forced to do hard, physical labour. But were given only light and low quality food while the nuns ate protein enriched food. They often caned the inmates. Sheela requested me that I should take her away from there.

One night, we left the ashramam and reached my home. My parents allowed us to live in my home. They were very good to us, and did not ask us any uncomfortable questions. But that calm atmosphere did not last long. One day Sheela’s father and the nuns of ‘Snehashramam’ came home, threatened us, took Sheela’s academic certificates by force and left. A few days later, Sheela’s father came again and created an unpleasant scene. Finally, he took her away by force. I complained to the police that my friend had been taken away without her consent. When we reached Sheela’s home with the police, Sheela’s father came running with a knife to kill me. The police, however, stopped him.

We then planned a mock suicide attempt at Sheela’s home. Sheela was alone at home, and I went over to discuss our plans. We pretended that we had mixed poison in our halwa and consumed it. Her parents took us to Medical College Hospital to be treated for poisoning, in Thiruvananthapuram, where we told the nurses our real story. We told them that we only pretended to have consumed poison. The nurses allowed us to escape from the hospital. We then took a bus to Waynadu, where we lived as paying guests. We made the people, in whose house we stayed, believe that we were husband and wife who had come to Waynadu in search of jobs.

Since I always wore trousers and sported a boy cut, it was easy for people to think of me as a man. For some time, I worked as an auto driver. Then I worked as a night guard in rice fields. We were living happily in disguise, when in the first week of December, ‘Fire’, a weekly, carried a perverse story on us. The story was a distorted version of what Sheela had confessed to the nuns at ‘Snehashramam’. We were baffled to know that the nuns had leaked Sheela’s confession to the press. I borrowed ₹1,000 from a friend of mine and we fled Waynadu that night itself. We realized that we had reached the end of the tunnel and there was still no light. We decided to end our lives, but not before telling the whole world about our struggle to live a peaceful life.

We decided to give an interview to Asianet Television. That was in the first week of December. The Asianet people told us that there was still hope. They asked us to meet Maitreya and Jayasree, who gave us shelter in their home. We started helping them in their AIDS prevention project at the Foundation for Integrated Research in Mental Health (FIRM). Meanwhile, we launched a complaint with the Circle Inspector requesting him to help us retrieve Sheela’s certificates, which her father and the nuns of Snehashramam had taken by force. On the previous day, while we were going to FIRM, Sheela’s father saw us. He chased us, and reached the FIRM office with the police. On his request, the police bundled us into the jeep and took us to the Women’s Cell.

At the station, the police pushed us around, closed Sheela’s mouth, didn’t allow her to speak and used abusive language. They told us that Sheela would have to go with her father. When she objected, the police told us that they would book us under IPC 377 for being involved in unnatural sex. There are a number of men living together in lodges or rented homes. Nobody has booked them under this section. Nobody labels them as homosexuals and parades them before the public. No journalist chases them. No photographer takes their photos. What then makes our living together a bigger issue than any other? Is it because we are women? Whether we are lesbians or not is our very personal and private affair. We did not invite anybody to peep into our private life. We are not public figures. The police, press and society can play havoc with women’s lives, and push them towards committing suicide.

But we were not ready to take things lying down. We have decided to fight out this gender discrimination. We made it clear to the police that we are majors, and the Constitution of India has given us freedom to live life the way we want. Sheela put the same in writing. That left the police with no option other than to leave us. The drama ended there. [...] The next day, the media flashed reports saying that we are lesbians and that we have pained our parents. But nobody asked us before printing these stories why we found our homes hell. Nobody asked us whether our parents loved us. Nobody asked us whether we were loved by anybody. Nobody asked us why we had to live in an orphanage for months together. Nobody asked us how we lived in Waynadu doing physical labour to eke out an existence. Nobody bothered to ask us why we love each other so intimately. Instead, they gave a onesided, and that too distorted, version in their stories, and they call it journalism. They claim that they are the watchdogs of democracy. We confronted the media, and we decided to take the bull by its horns. We convened a press conference on December 23 at the Thiruvananthapuram Press Club. [...] There were contrasting press reports the next day. We had broken the stigma. We have become visible in our own way. Tomorrow, no journalist will chase two girls living together. No police will nab them. Considering the pretentious moral orthodoxy of the Kerala society, I think, we two girls have done a remarkable job.

It is a wrong notion that women need the company of men to live. I think, women are compelled to do so. Given a chance which sensible woman would live with a man? What more does a man have than a woman, other than his muscles? And who needs muscle power? What humans need is love. Not power. There is hierarchy in a man-woman relationship. Which sensible woman wants to be under a man? A woman-to-woman relationship is built on love. There is no hierarchy here. There is only sharing. Since this love breaks all norms of society, it is that much more powerful. We are happy that we met, we loved each other, and we still love and live together. We will face the world together. I believe we have given an opportunity to hundreds of similar friends in Kerala to make their decision public.

All this said, we now need space to live together. We are right now with Sangama, an NGO based in Bangalore, working for the cause of lesbians, gays, transgenders and intersexuals. We need a job. Sheela’s certificates are yet to be returned. We are two women out of our homes. We need support. Though Kerala gave us so much pain, we want to return there, because that was where we first met. We want to live together, till our death. We want to adopt a child. We don’t know how to reach the child that Sheela gave up for adoption, but would like to give any child a home and build a family quite different from our families. You don’t need to have your own children. And what is the guarantee that all parents would love their children? We know that from our own lives. Sheela and I want to give shape to a family where love and love alone would be supreme.

Sheela: I love Nandu more than anybody else in this world. She is the first person in my life who was ready to listen to me, understand me, console me and give me moral support. Once you get a lover who loves you the way you want to be loved, your life becomes meaningful. The man whom I trusted, ditched me. I was pregnant. When I told that to Nandu, she consoled me. She nursed me and my child like a mother. I hate my father and the nuns of ‘Snehashramam’. Today if we suffer, it is because of them. There is no sneham (love) in ‘Snehashramam’. It is a cruel world where the nuns beat you, make you do hard labour, deny you proper food and, more importantly, reveal confessional statements to others. All these years I have been searching for someone who really loves me. I found the lover of my dreams in Nandu. The gender doesn’t matter when you love a person. It is the care and love you get that makes you love a person. From Nandu, I am getting different shades of love.

The two split after a four year relationship. In 2008, a documentary, XXWhy, was released on Sree Nandu who now identifies as a trans man.

#indian lesbians #indian trans men #sree nandu #people #sangama

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tangent101 · 3 years

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Safe Places and Men

Edit: It just came to my attention that I’m mixing up two characters in here! Sorry about that! It seems Cherry’s use of a changing room was never shown. Instead it was a different character who was in fact disguising their gender to hide who they were (and had permission to do this from the head of the fantasy dojo where the story takes place). And that character ends up having to use a different changing room once their actual gender was revealed.

This story came out in the webcomic Footloose, which the Cherry comic is a spin-off (and takes place concurrently with) of. We don’t learn in-story where Cherry changes their clothes. That said, if I remember correctly Cherry did still share the oversized hot tub with his other teammates.

As I don’t want to Spoiler Footloose for those who’ve not read it, I’m not going to change the rest of this article to reflect on the second character that I was misremembering with Cherry. ^^;;

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A recent update by @hurtnouveau and her co-creator for the webcomic Footloose (or more specifically the spinoff comic “Cherry”) has me thinking about something, and that’s the concept of safe places... and on whether men and women can cohabitate such a space.

To go slightly spoilerish, the comic follows Cherry (aka Steve), a straight guy who enjoys cross-dressing (but whose family is not tolerant of his doing this) who ends up getting a wand to become a Magical “Girl” (only without the sex-change as he opted out of that part). He’s training with other magical girls who due to the influence of their team leader are... not very nice people. And as such, Cherry is often blackmailed by that leader (Sparkle) into unethical actions while also pretending to be gay so the rest of the team won’t be weirded out by his being a part of their group.

This includes sharing a changing/locker room, and I think even communal hot tubs. And this is where the question of safe places comes into play. Because Steve just admitted to the girls that he’s straight. He was avoiding telling the others that he’s straight because he doesn’t want to be kicked out of the girl’s locker room. And that can be considered creepy.

Seriously, lesbians and transwomen get enough grief about sharing locker rooms with cishet women because of this fear about “predatory” people who would enter into a locker or changing room and that this makes these places no longer a “safe” place for women (well, cishet women). Add in a guy being there? Thus Cherry just pretended to be gay not to worry about it. But he’s not. And thus he shouldn’t be there.

But there’s an added level to this, because the changing room is also a safe room for Cherry. Let’s think about that for a moment. Steve/Cherry comes from an unsafe environment. He is harassed (and worse if memory serves me right) by his father for wearing dresses and other clothing his father considered “women’s clothing.” He has no reason not to consider other cishet men to be a potential threat.

Being around women (even if he’s not a woman) and being able to dress around them and even get advice on clothes and the like? That has to be... a refreshing change for him. Yeah, thanks to the girls’ team leader, it’s also a somewhat toxic environment (though even that changes over time), but he got to relax and be true to himself, relax in clothes he loves. He’s not hitting on the girls in there. This has turned into a safe place for him as well.

Truth be told, much of the problem in society and the reason for women needing a space for themselves they feel safe in, is thanks to toxic masculinity and the growing stranglehold it has on men in Western (predominantly American) society. If men were raised not to fixate on nudity or near-nudity and the view of women as objects to be dominated and having sex frequently as a mark of pride for men (and shame for women) then we’d not have frequent discussions on safe gendered places. More, crossdressers could enjoy themselves in peace, as could women in general.

If I remember correctly, Cherry ends up having to use the men’s locker after outing himself as straight (which sounds weird when I type it). Fortunately, the society where they’re at is not a Western one (even as Cherry is (being British)) and thus he finds the men’s changing room to be accepting of him. But it is still something to consider... because gendered safe places can end up leaving out marginalized people who don’t fit specific social norms.

And sometimes (frequently in fact), stories have relevance in the world around us.

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dragynkeep · 4 years

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If you were to incorporate/show Blake's bisexuality into the show, when and how would you go about it?

it’s a hard road to take, especially when trying to avoid stereotypes & take into account blake’s reticent, avoidant personality when she’s struggling to open up. but there are a few ways to put in hints at the beginning that she is bisexual, without falling into the “she has to date a girl to be counted as bi”, because plenty of bi women have dated only men, have a majority male lean & shouldn’t be considered “lesser” bisexuals for this.

have some of the books seen in the dorm room be wlw romances. not all women who read wlw romances are sapphic but i would argue a majority are.

hints here & there about potential crushes on girls, maybe some in her past? she doesn’t have to of dated any of them but this goes a way in establishing that she is bisexual.

hell, just have blake outright say it. it doesn’t have to use the label, though that’s always appreciated, but it could easily be as simple as i like boys & girls. i like people. i don’t want to choose. all her life she’s felt like she’s had to choose between her morals & wants, the white fang or peace, & in her relationships blake doesn’t have to choose. as far as we know, lgbtphobia isn’t a thing in remnant, there should be no weird stigma around blake just mentioning this when she gets more comfortable with her team mates.

if they truly struggle to confirm blake in the show without falling into the biphobic trap of it only counts if she dates a woman? go the vivziepop route, or their own established route with some characters. have the writers, the people who’s words are actually canon, confirm her sexuality. hell, just have them give a thumbs up to arryn if needs be. this is an exceptionally lazy route but one they’ve trodden before with little uproar from the fndm.

one thing i dislike about blake’s current shipping route & the way rt & arryn have chosen to handle blake’s bisexuality [beyond arryn calling blake a lesbian in the early volumes which is yikes if she always wanted her to be bi], is that it seems to hinge on blake dating a woman, specifically yang. that unless blake gets with a woman, she’s not bisexual & therefore they’ve been queerbaited. that arryn baiting this potential bisexuality over & over & over throughout the years, to the point it’s still not confirmed [because that “confirmation” in the livestream was recinded when barbara & lindsey reiterated it was arryn’s headcanon, not word of god or actual written canon] is harmful & hurtful to blake’s bisexual fans.

we want to see ourselves represented in rwby, we’ve been waiting now for 8 years. we potentially have the cotta arcs but they’re unconfirmed wlw [unknown whether lesbian, bi, pan, etc] & therefore not specific representation. it’s unfair to string along your bisexual audience for years, let your vas run amok with promises, & then only validate it while reinforcing the harmful notion that bisexual women only matter when we date women. blake, if they truly always wanted her to be bisexual, should’ve been confirmed from the very beginning. hell, could’ve even been confirmed when she was being romantically linked with sun !

bisexual women, a majority of us, tend to date men. we fall in love with men, we settle down with men & this attraction to men often gets us demonised by two communities that want us to fit a strict mold & follow the script. biphobic straight people want us to settle down with men & biphobic lgbt people want us to settle with women & rid ourselves of our “straight passing privilege.” it hurts from straight people but even more from people who are supposed to be our community.

i went on a bit of a tangent there but yeah. it would’ve been so easy to confirm blake as bisexual long ago & for some reason, possibly biphobic ones with even arryn herself having internalized biphobia with her reasonings, they just haven’t. & that sucks. because i know a lot of bisexual people want to feel represented in blake & just canonically ... aren’t.

#rwby #blake belladonna #bisexual representation #owl.txt #answered #yeah i have a lot of thoughts on this lmao #Anonymous

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boredcurlycat · 3 years

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What’s happening in El Salvador? (full context)

I know international media has maybe covered this a little, but I know I can access to people from other countries through this platform, for you to know what’s going on in my country and if you can reblog I would be thankful.

I know I dedicate my blog to other things and I apologize to my followers for this momentary change of tone but I’m shaken by today’s events, and I feel the need to let people know the full context before today’s event of political violence.

TW for violence, mentions of assault and state violence

Nayib Bukele was elected in 2019 using an image and campain against the traditional parties of the country, due to cases of corruption and using popular discontent with them in past presidential periods. He sold himself like the solution, as any other demagogue and populist does. He even praised and supported Donald Trump in more than one time even.

But the harder part started when president Nayib Bukele invaded the congress using military force on February 9th, 2020. He called for the congress members to assist on a extraordinary meeting because he wanted to pressure them for the aproval of a security budget for his “Plan for Territorial Control”. But they were received with the military entering the place and sharpshooters posted in the surrounding areas. He also gave a speech to a group of his simpatizers in front of the building that day.

In the course of 2020 and during the COVID-19 pandemic many events occurred, to avoid making this post too long some of the most remarkable were:

A constant discourse of fear and shock to the population, hate speech against opposition (journalists, academics, congress members, state institutions that shelter the functioning of democracy, and others)

Mocked and framed feminist collectives and activists as “liars” in denial of the increments of physical, psychological and sexual violence against women in their own home during lockdown, stating that “women were 61% safer now” when the numbers collected by activists and institutes for the protection of women and vulnerable groups said the opposite

Created during complete lockdown a military control of the population, only one person per family could go out with a letter that autorized them, otherwise military or police officers would take them to “contention centers” where people were told they were going to stay for only 15 days, but some stayed there for 40 to 50 days even, and some got the virus during their stay in these places.

The night he said on national television that he allowed the army to “break wrists” to keep people in place an LGBT+ collective in the country reported a lesbian woman had been sexually assaulted by military men.

The use of funds during the pandemic isn’t clarified until this day, it’s considered that his gabinet has stole a considerate amount of money and debt has grown.

He promised the biggest hospital on the region, to this day is still not finished, after months of promises.

Local goverments (mayors), have reported as twice of deaths by COVID-19 than the goverment official numbers, as they’re the ones that take the task of burying them.

The “Plan for Territorial Control” was a lie, as criminal groups started to dissapear many people, on the first days of november there were up to 73 young women missing, and many young men, some delivery workers.

An this is just a few things.

Now in January of 2021, not only we are on a second wave of COVID-19 and without news of a vaccine, but also we are on electoral year, to elect the members of the congress, the PARLACEN members and mayors. During this time he and his party “Nuevas Ideas” have prompted hate speech towards opposition and the wish to give more power to the president with “congress members that work with him”. In december, sympathizers of this party, even attempted to kidnap a group of workers of the TSE (the state organ responsible for the logistic for the elections) because according to them “inscriptions weren’t being received and they wanted to sabotage the party” Police didn’t even arrived to the place, as military forces and police are shielded by the current goverment.

On January 16th of this year he tried, without sucess as most people still celebrated and remembered historic memory that day, to go against the rememberance of the Peace Agreements, as he also has tried to rewrite history and discredit the imperfect but necessary democracy process that ended the Salvadoran Civil War (1980-1992) that took and marked many lives, and had a complicated but important to undestand context.

But this day, Sunday 31st of January, 2021, a scene straight out of the civil war appeared when after a party meeting tonight, one of the opposition parties recieved an armed attack, by the moment I’m writting this two of these people have deceased and three are injured. The president showing no sympathy said this was a “trick from a dying party”, everything is about elections in his mind, his hate speech has scalated to the point where people who oppose his party are in danger.

Also vice president Felix Ulloa (who also is trying to change the constitution, to make military recruitment obligatory, legislate against women’s reproductive rights and give the military a bigger role in state affairs) called this elections during a massive meeting “a war we are winning” (more hate speech)

I want to ask of you to reblog this if you can, you can also go to twitter and report Bukele’s account, as he is using it to enssue hate speech, it’s his principal megaphone (just like Trump did before). I want people outside and inside to know what’s going on, as his propaganda machine tries to say the opposite on everything I’m stating right now.

Note: I do not have any political assosiation as I’m just a concerned citizen.

#el salvador #politics #what's happening #fascism

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odoes · 3 years

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ive been thinking about my ocs lately and since i saw someone else post about theirs its time for me to infodump, baby.....

captain silja kallas: human, she’s estonian and the youngest of five children, three older sisters and a twin brother that’s 10 hours older than her. extremely charismatic, optimistic, and makes friends with anyone. she clawed her way to the top by doing some not so savoury things, she can be extremely manipulative to get what she wants. but overall, she’s a really nice person. she can play violin like her brother, and she always wears her hair up in a bun tied with a green ribbon. she has a sexual appetite for ferengi men... some say she even dated quark (she says it, because it’s true)

lt. cmdr sulev kallas: chief of security. being the only boy out of five, he grew up with more effeminate interests and practically never left his twin sister’s side. he’s quiet and a bit shy but always looking out for her. gay but doesn’t share silja’s questionable taste in men. he spoke/understood federation standard before the academy but never really spoke it (when he felt like saying something), so he speaks with a bit of an accent. his hair is the same length as his sister’s (very long) but he doesn’t tie it back

commander zarel lejan: first officer, trill diplomat, joined and is the fourth host to the fairly young lejan symbiont. all three of his past lives were female and he was murdered by men in all of them so he has a bit of an issue being around other men, mainly while he’s alone with men he doesn’t know. he was sent to join starfleet and this is his first posting as commander, and he doesn’t really trust the captain initially. however, he is extremely protective of the women he cares about even though he's super uptight and almost unapproachable. he fell in love with his wife at first sight while on his first diplomatic mission to earth.

lt. cmdr qadira lejan: chief engineer, human, an extremely hard working pakistani woman - she’s very strict with keeping her engineering staff in line but off-duty she’s incredibly approachable, witty, and thoughtful. she is very detail-oriented and will remember little things about pretty much anyone. (she knew sulev loves to sew so she gave him tons of pretty fabric she had hoarded) she loves her husband but finds the “diplomat’s wife” aspect of it a bit boring and has been found at many diplomatic functions sitting around and reading tech manuals.

lieutenant venik: chief medical officer, ferengi, and silja’s ex boyfriend. from his youth he was always an outcast on ferenginar, he’s very selfless and his only interests are in healing and helping others, not making any sort of profit. he heard about nog joining starfleet and was inspired to join soon after, proving to be a quite brilliant doctor. he is the only doctor in starfleet with knowledge of how to properly clone vorta. he’s a bit misogynistic and dense but means well.

ensign miros: vorta, during the dominion, he was known as “sadistic miros” and treated his jem’hadar and vorta he outranked quite cruelly. his current clone deviated from his cruel demeanor and realized what he was doing was wrong, he basically had this whole breakdown and defected from the dominion and hid out in the alpha quadrant for a few months. joined starfleet immediately after the dominion war and was ostracized at the academy, only finding a friend in venik, who always stood up for him. they have a friends with benefits deal but caught feelings and won’t admit it to each other! he’s incredibly gentle and patient with others.

lt. cmdr feya amarel: bajoran, ship’s counselor who is very calm and empathic, but a bit scatterbrained and clumsy. she suffers from narcolepsy as a side effect of ptsd from the bajoran occupation. she’s a lesbian and has a thing for cardassian women. cast aside her spirituality years ago and no longer wears the earring, however, she has a great deal of respect for people who can still hold onto their faith.

lieutenant prella jacett: cardassian security officer. very erratic and materialistic, but confident and thorough in her work. she lost her entire family at the end of the dominion war and is extremely wary of vorta, jem’hadar, and changelings. she joined starfleet seeking to make peace with herself and also hopefully help others avoid going through what she did. also she had an older sister that feya had slept with. small world!

provisional ensign solaris: vorta, an incredibly efficient mechanic whose ship got damaged in one of the last dominion war battles and fell off the radar, unable to signal for help or transport off the ship. she kept her ship adrift for 6 years running basic life support and food replication, once in a while landing on a stray moon to stretch her legs and collect provisions, but afraid to make contact with any other life forms. she’s distrustful and snobby, and quite a kleptomaniac, but in turn extremely resourceful. the crew tractored in her ship to let her make repairs in a stable environment, but were so impressed with her abilities they asked her to stay. she had to share a room with prella who initially hates her/is afraid of her but they go from enemies to lesbians pretty quickly

#my ocs

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heartofsnark · 4 years

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This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

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

Word Count: 8671

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

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

For the previous chapter; click here

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

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

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

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

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

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

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

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

“Papa!”

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

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

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

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

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

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

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

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

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

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

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

“You have a bed, right?”

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

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

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

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

“I was just-”

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

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

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

“Fuck no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

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

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

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

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

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

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

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

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

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

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

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

“And I was hunting him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow, that’s not comforting.”

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

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

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

“You got somewhere to be?”

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

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

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

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

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

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

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

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

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

“Standing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You the conservationists?”

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

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

“Friendly advice?”

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

“Pffft.”

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

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

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

“How much you wanna bet?”

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

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

“Right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

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

“Mmm, hundred.”

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

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

“Nope.”

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

“You’re welcome.”

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

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

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

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

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

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

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

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

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

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

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

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

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

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

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

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

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

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

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

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

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

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

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

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

“He ca-”

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

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

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

“I need some fresh air.”

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

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

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

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

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

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

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

“Has that happened before?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

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

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

“I…I don’t know…I…”

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

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

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