red wine supernova 🍉

a diagram with arrows pointing between characters from the starving saints by caitlin starling. in the middle is ser voyne, and then clockwise from the top left corner is the loving saint, the constant lady, phosyne, and treila. the arrows are as follows, with the relationships afterwards:

loving saint → constant lady: employee/drone

loving saint ↔︎ treila: lust/wants to control

constant lady → loving saint: boss/queen

constant lady ↔︎ treila: loathes

constant lady → ser voyne: lust/ownership/possession/literally prevents her from being able to see treila by magic blurring wherever treila stands or obscuring her speech

constant lady → phosyne: wants to indoctrinate and own

phosyne → constant lady: former worshiper

phosyne → loving saint: former worshiper

phosyne → ser voyne: madwoman/captive goddess

phosyne ↔︎ treila: pities but psychosexually joined by love/lust/ownership by ser voyne

treila → ser voyne: long burning (blood)lust; wants to/successfully kill(s) her when she mistakes her for the loving saint (but brings her back)

ser voyne → treila: killed her father making her homeless, in love/lust with her; mistakes her for the constant lady

ser voyne → constant lady: worships, gets brainwashed by

The Walker manor perches at the apex of the vineyard, presiding over the sprawling fields and trails of Bloodvine. Muted cheers and the scent of bonfires fill the air at the base of the hill, wafting up on the late spring winds to the sensitive nose of one Logan Walker. The village celebrates his accomplishment, after all; coming of age is a big deal. Especially here, where it means Logan can take on larger community roles. Maybe he'll be able to lead some art classes for the little ones, like he'd been planning for the past few years. Or maybe he'd be able to go to Seaport, and finally see the sea – something he's only heard of, and seen in grainy clips on the television inside the house.

Sweat drips down the back of his neck; the citronella candles take their job seriously here, though the heat is getting to him a little bit. He swipes at the droplets on his forehead, bringing the beer bottle up to his lips. Adulthood comes with other perks, as well. It's not good, but it makes him feel cool, so he drinks it.

He sits on the porch, ankles crossed before him, not quite ready for the night to end. There's a hollowness in his chest, an ache he'd felt since last September when Hesh had shipped out. Freshly 18, he'd not waited longer than was mandatory; he needed to prove himself, according to their father. So out he went, leaving Logan in his wake. The celebratory nature of his birthday takes on a lonely edge, a twist that cuts deep inside. He misses his brother so much it makes his throat clench, but Hesh is doing what all men must.

The door opens, bathing Logan in light for a moment before darkness prevails. Heavy, steady footsteps make their approach, the comforting creak of the hunting knife's leather case marking his father's appearance.

Logan tilts his head back, taking in his dad.

Elias gazes at him with something heavy and unnameable, before shifting to a soft, paternal pride. One hand gently settles on Logan's shoulder as he sits down on the bench beside him, the wood creaking with the additional weight.

"Not ready for bed yet?" His voice, gruff and low, wraps around Logan like a hug.

He shakes his head, fingers fiddling with the beer bottle. It's just the two of them, and he feels more comfortable than he has in a while. So he speaks, instead of signing.

"Too wired." He gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Missing Hesh."

Elias leans back, his spine touching the picnic table edge. "He's proud of you too. And he'll be home before you know it."

Logan chews his lower lip. That's what Elias and Hesh both said when Hesh got in the car to go to the bus station, two hours away. Logan watched until he couldn't see the car anymore, then cried into his needlepoint on the couch.

"I hope so." It's all he can say without his throat tightening, so he hopes Elias changes the subject.

Luckily, he does.

"Your mom would be proud, too. You've done real well, finding yourself here. The kids love you, the teachers love you, and you do your part for this place, these people; I couldn't be more proud of the adult you've become."

There's a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders now. He'd taken his binder off when he'd retreated home from the party, leaving him in a t-shirt and jeans from earlier. Anything to catch a breather, though it does make something warm slip down his spine to feel another's touch over the sensitive marks on his shoulders. He leans further against Elias, chasing the feeling.

"Thanks, Dad. I'm glad I make you proud."

"You always have, Lo," Elias murmurs. "And I know you will, with the changes."

That gets Logan's attention. Dark brown eyes turn to Elias, curiosity hanging from every lash. Elias meets his gaze, one hand moving up to touch his cheek briefly.

"You're an adult now, Lo. That means you have additional responsibilities. Homemaking, teaching, cooking, cleaning; you'll do it well, I know you will."

A bashful smile and he bows his head to his fathers words. "Right, yeah. Mending clothes and selling the lotions and stuff?"

Elias nods. "That's right. You'll need to fit in with the other women in the village."

Logan considers this for but a moment, but accepts it as truth soon after. There are no others like him in this village; no others whose body does not match their soul. Logan never minded being a woman, and his name is unisex, which also helps. But his "condition," as Elias refers to it, was kept strictly on a need-to-know basis.

(That Elias had taken Logan to get something in his arm to keep him from falling with child was also on a need-to-know basis, because it meant he'd gone to a doctor outside the village. In both cases, no one in Bloodvine needed to know.)

Sometimes Logan dressed more masculine, especially if he was unaccompanied. But if he was with the children, or his father, or the women, he wore his linen dresses, light tops and skirts, his hair down and long. So of course now, being an adult, he would need to fit in with the other women in the village.

He is not a man, after all. A woman and a son; a woman and a brother. That is what he could be, and he adored it, for who needed to know his truth beyond his family?

"The other women in the village have households of their own. Which is to be mine?"

The hand on his shoulder seemingly grows hotter, like a brand, as Elias lightly squeezes down. "The Walker manor could do with a woman, don't you think, Lo?"

"Yes, of course," the agreement comes easy, "but you could have your pick of any in the village. With Hesh gone and me of marrying age…would you pick someone?"

He looks over at his father then, and finds that same unnameable, heavy look from earlier has slunk back to his gaze. Elias looks him over, and Logan dutifully holds still, letting him drink his fill.

He sees the way his father looks over his face, gaze hungriest at his lips, before dipping down, stopping at the hollow of his throat and the sweat collected there, then sliding down to the swell of his chest. Elias rubs his thumb over Logan's shoulder, and he sits up a little bit more, trying to get more of the gentle touch.

"I would." Elias' words don't break the tension; if anything, they add a tangible weight to it. Logan can practically taste it with every breath.

(Is this what beer does to a person? No wonder it's rationed, he thinks.)

"But she'd have to prove that she's right for me and my priorities. She'd have to know the house, including you and Hesh, better than anyone else. She'd be happiest within Bloodvine, and trust in my leadership. I'd never have to over explain. She'd be a perfect match."

Logan looks up, pupils blown wide. "That sounds…pretty specific."

"I won't settle for less," he murmurs, and Logan can practically feel his head swimming from the proximity. When did they get so close?

Elias studies him once again, and Logan feels like a rose before the wasp; his petals open, welcoming his father inside. He feels Elias' gaze dance across his exposed flesh, the little crawling sensation making him shiver ever so slightly. His father leans in, lips parting – and ducks his head to the side, blowing out the candles.

"Time to get inside, Little Lo," he murmurs. "It's past your new curfew."

Indeed, the sounds of the party from earlier had completely faded away, and the scent of the bonfires grew thinner. The bugs begin to swarm, and father and son stand, moving inside the house.

…

Logan awakens in his father's bed, nightgown twisted about his hips and his skin dewy with sweat. Though the ceiling fan is on, he hardly felt it. Elias puts out so much heat that just sharing a bed with him is too much sometimes. Yet Logan has no desire to change such a thing.

Being only freshly an adult, he had very few reasons to feel shame about sharing a bed with his father. Logan and Hesh each had their own rooms, but many times in their childhoods had shared a bed, either together or with their father. It was how things were in their house. While Bloodvine was the culmination of their father's vision, at the end of the day, all they had was each other. Elias taught that to them from a young age.

So Logan spent his first night as an adult in bed with his father, and didn't think much of it. His heart still ached with grief over his brother missing this milestone birthday, but the heat, socialization, and alcohol had sent him to a restful sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He lays on his back, adjusting his nightgown and separating the fabric from the sheets. He tries to focus on what today holds: newfound responsibilities, and familiar ones too, with his morning debut as a woman of the village. But in his current position, warm and still clinging to the fading wisps of dreams, he recalls what he felt last night in his dream.

Pleasure.

Not the kind derived from creating a beautiful artwork or eating a perfectly ripe orange, but the carnal, wet pleasure his body instinctively recognizes. His dream comes to him in starlit patches, smudged with the morning light. He recalls heat on his neck and touches at his breasts, his hips, his thighs, and that delicious, heady, final contact between his legs that makes him clench his thighs at the memory. The pressure makes him whimper softly, and the noise startles him free from his reverie.

Prickles of shame erupt along his shoulders, chest, and cheeks as he swallows back any possible other noises. What happened must have been something from the alcohol. It was just a dream, encouraged by new adulthood and the privileges that come with it. There's nothing wrong with having these thoughts.

Even if the guilt rises, hot and heady, telling him that there is if they're about the wrong person. He thinks of his father and his brother; he can't do this without them. They would guide him to make the right choice. He must remain untouched until he has a household of his own.

With a sigh, Logan sits up and gets out of bed. He firmly shoves the confusing thoughts aside as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He will not let himself be distracted by such dreams.

He will make Elias proud.

…

Despite dreams continuing, Logan excels with his daily chores and community tasks. He's thrilled that he's able to add an art lesson to the schooling. He cannot wait to guide young hands in the creation of beauty and joy, both functional and fantastical. Regular meetings with Lily and Vera bring his plans to life, and soon class preparation takes up a decent chunk of his day.

Between lesson planning and house preparation, Logan also gets to put his name into the Registry. It's the one public document Bloodvine has that keeps track of the villagers. Only adults are added into the Registry; now, Logan counts. His father accompanies him for the trip, Logan in a sundress and leather sandals in contrast to Elias' muscle tee, jeans, and boots.

When Logan asks to join the pool of those waiting to be vetted for Seaport trips, the clerk looks from her paperwork to Elias. Though Logan is an adult, Elias would be the one to decide his eligibility, even without their relation. Whatever she finds there, the clerk turns the page without marking his entry as interested in Seaport. Disappointment wells in Logan's heart, but before he can say anything, Elias clears his throat and puts his hand on Logan's shoulder, and says they'll discuss it back home. But between small home maintenance and repairs, mending, village trading, cleaning, and cooking for Logan and all the tasks Elias has - both public and secret - they don't find the time.

Logan vows to himself to bring up Seaport in the morning, when they're both breaking their fasts after Elias' morning patrol and Logan's meal preparation, but his dreams keep him heavy in bed. Especially when he shares it with his father.

Each night, they get more and more real feeling; he's even woken himself up with his moans before. The insistent subconscious demand for pleasure is something Logan's never dealt with before. He wishes Hesh were here; he could tell him about it, and surely he'd have an answer. But Hesh isn't here, and thinking about him makes his body hot in ways that have nothing to do with the weather.

Kind of like how Elias makes him feel.

Over the past few weeks they've settled into morning and evening routines.

In the morning, Elias goes on patrol around Bloodvine. While he's gone, Logan cleans out the house from any bugs and plant matter, opens the windows for fresh air, and begins on breakfast. He has it ready for his father by the time he returns from patrol, and they dine together, discussing plans for the day. If Logan must go into the village main, Elias will clear part of his schedule the following day to take him; otherwise, Logan remains at the Walker manor, gardening and sketching crochet projects and preparing items for trade.

In the evening, Elias returns from his tasks, only some of which Logan knows about. He prepares supper with what was in the garden and whatever meat he can find - in the freezer, salted in the barrels below, or fresh caught and prepped by the hunting party, if his father partook. They dine together, and Logan shares what he's learned or how classes went or what his projects are, and then they retire to the living room. They open the windows and leave the screens in, turn the ceiling fan on, and Elias reads while Logan works on his personal fiber arts, the things that can stay with him instead of for trade or selling for Seaport cash. Despite the heat, they sit beside each other, Elias' hand on Logan's thigh like a brand, lifting only to turn pages. They remain like this until Elias finishes his section of his book or Logan's fingers grow numb, and then they retire to bed; often the same one.

All of it makes Logan feel settled, at home, balanced. It's the best he's felt since Hesh left, and he's sure Elias can see that too. But it also makes him wonder how another woman could possibly fit into such a dynamic. Elias, Hesh, and Logan are the triad of Bloodvine; if they were to falter, what would become of their home? Logan wants his father happy, but as late spring stretches luxuriously into early summer, he cannot help but wonder if anyone could make him happy in the ways he needs.

He wants Elias happy. He wants to be everything he can be for his father.

His secret dreams, though, lounge as a sensual barrier between them. He has yet to tell him of what happens, yet Elias doesn't seem to notice anything is amiss; not even when Logan wakes with his thighs wet and pulse racing, nightgown rucked up to his chest, bare before the night air and mere inches from his father's sleeping form. In those moments, Logan almost wishes Elias would wake up and see what's becoming of his son. He wishes he would take him into his arms and teach him all he needed to know to make the frustration stop.

He cannot be everything Elias needs if he cannot be honest with him.

There's only one thing to do.

…

"Dad?" Logan whispers in the pool of moonlight at his father's doorway.

There's the shifting of sheets and Elias pushes up on his elbow, giving Logan his attention. Now that he has it, he's unsure what to do, so he simply goes closer, a haunting vision in white in the glow of the full moon.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" His father's voice is rough, thick with sleep.

Logan swallows, his pulse quickening. "I'm alright. I just, had a question for you."

Elias nods and sits up properly now, one leg moving out of the bed to rest on the floor, the other tucked under him. "Must be important if it couldn't wait until morning," he lightly teases. "What is it?"

A smile whisks across Logan's face, but then his father asks the obvious question, and the anxiety wells. His voice is stolen from him, but it's dark in this room, and he can't help but feel unprepared for this conversation. There's a hush-click, and then a lighter pressing flame to wick on the bedside candles. The warm glow spreads enough light, with the moonlight, that Logan's signing would be visible.

As always, Elias knows what he needs.

It happens at night, he begins, signing. I have these dreams…they feel good but I, they've never felt so real before. I wake up feeling like it actually happened. But my body wants more.

Logan can't see too much of his father's face, only a sliver in the candlelight. His father is in shadow, while he himself glows. He can only hope he hasn't made his father upset by this revelation.

"How often do you have these dreams, sweetheart?"

No upset so far. Logan eagerly offers the truth, once again.

Once or twice a week; sometimes more, never less.

A low hum in the darkness. His father thinks, ruminating over the information presented.

"You said they feel good…how, Lo? Show me."

Heat zips down his spine, pooling at the muscles and tendons that cradle his hips. My body, he says, gesturing down to his chest, his hips, and his thighs. He's come this far, he can't falter now. Not when he's so close to an answer.

I don't know where they come from, he whispers, fingers returning to their cramped grip in the hem of his nightgown. One strap falls off his shoulder, giving his sunburnt skin a break from the friction. Only that they leave me warm and hungry.

A warm hand slips over Logan's right, gently working loose his grip from the linen.

"You're an adult now, sweetheart. These things are bound to happen." A pause, and then, "Do you ever touch yourself, to get rid of the feeling?"

Logan blushes so warm he may just melt, and he shakes his head, ashamed of his lack of action.

"Really?"

The surprise in his father's tone makes the shame all the heavier. Was he supposed to? How would he know to do it? He's heard a few things from the rare times he's been around other teens, but they hardly had those conversations with him. He had assorted information and nowhere to put it.

I don't know how? His brows furrow, turning the statement into a question. Perhaps it is one. A question only his father could answer.

Elias shifts in the bed, and pats the middle of the mattress. Obediently, Logan crawls to the singled out spot, kneeling on the mattress. It takes him from the candlelight, but closer to his father, so maybe his signing could be seen better.

"Do you ever dream of anyone in particular?" Elias asks.

Logan swallows, but shakes his head. It's not entirely true; when he wakes, he's often thinking of Elias and Hesh, wondering if they, too, feel similar urges. He wonders if any woman is making Hesh feel that way, wherever in the country he is now. He wonders if any woman has caught Elias' eye, and will be taking the household responsibilities from Logan as soon as she proves herself. He wonders and his stomach ties itself in knots and so he doesn't stay in the pleasure and instead gets to work, wanting to prove himself good enough to his father. That he needn't settle for less than perfect, because Logan will be here to make all the pieces fit together.

Logan lifts his head, when he realizes it's been silent for a while.

Elias regards him with careful scrutiny, before he reaches forward and cups Logan's shoulder - the one without a strap. Slowly, he slides his hand down, touching over the heated skin in the moonlight. Logan's breath hitches, but he remains supple beneath his father's touch.

"It's alright if you do. It's natural." As he speaks, he rubs his thumb along Logan's bare skin, gooseflesh erupting with each pass of searing heat.

It's natural, his father says. He trusts his father.

I can't see who it is, but I know it's a man.

Elias nods in approval. "Of course it is. You're newly of age, you would be thinking of things like this." His touch remains at Logan's shoulder, but Logan wishes to feel it in other places.

Really? he asks, trying to distract himself.

"Yes, Little Lo." A warm smile, indulgent and soft, that makes Logan's head swim and his thighs clench. "Here; let me help. I'll show you how to feel better."

Pink lips part as Logan nods, breathless with relief.

His father's grip shifts, now guiding Logan closer to him, laying him down in the middle of the bed. Elias moves over him, his leather necklace with the silver charm dangling down from his bare chest as he does. Logan lifts the hem of his nightgown up to his hips, as if to take it off, but his father slides his hand up his thigh, savoring and slow, and Logan freezes. Elias hushes him, parting Logan's thighs to kneel between them. Logan feels his heartbeat between his legs, looking up at the shadowed figure of his father.

This is what his dreams are made of, he realizes. Biting his lower lip, he reaches up to untie the central closure of his nightgown's top, letting the fabric fall to the side. He bares his chest to his father, nipples hard and rosy in the summer heat. He's barely breathing with anticipation.

Logan wraps his arms over his father's shoulders, not knowing what he intends to do but needing him close regardless. Elias leans down, his chest brushing against Logan's as he does so, making him feel warm all over. Their faces are a few centimeters apart, their hips pressed flush against each other. Logan squirms, just a bit, feeling the swells of his chest brush against his father's pecs and the soft, wet space between his thighs meeting his father's hardness.

Oh.

This, he's heard of before.

"Do you dream of me too, Dad?" Logan whispers, gathering his scraps of courage to voice his question. His lips almost brush Elias' as he speaks.

When Elias nods, their lips do brush. It's Logan's first kiss.

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask if he should have been serving his father like this for longer, if his father's dreams left him, too, unsatisfied in the morning. But Elias takes his mouth for his own, in a gentle, yet all encompassing kiss, and Logan melts.

Elias pulls back after a few moments. Logan squeezes his arms around him, not wanting him to leave, holding on for all he can.

"Easy, baby." One hand soothingly rubs along the outside of Logan's bare thigh as he speaks. "I'm going to go slow tonight. Teach you how to make yourself feel good."

"What about you?" The thought of not learning how to satisfy Elias makes Logan's heart race, and not in a good way.

Elias chuckles softly, and takes Logan's mouth in another soothing kiss. "We'll get to that. Tonight's about you, Little Lo. Let Daddy help."

Pacified and aching, Logan nods, his father's words a heady refrain in his mind.

Let Daddy help.

He parts his thighs, baring his cunt to his father. Elias touches him over the soaked cotton, and Logan arches his back in bliss.