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tendertenebrosity · 8 months

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Masterpost for the Hollow is here. We're jumping back a bit to before the last posted scene. This one is refreshingly body-horror-free! Only emotional pain!

I was in the settlement down by the river mouth, Newtown. It seemed to get bigger and more crowded every time I came. That was a bit more of a burden on my shoulders - that many more people taking their lives into their hands if they went upriver into the forest, that many more people in the firing line if the forest got angry enough to do what it threatened.

But I didn’t mind it. In the smaller towns some people recognised me on sight now, and I was getting sick of people calling me crazy or muttering to each other about the ‘forest cult’ before I even had the chance to open my mouth.

In this crowd, nobody would look twice at me unless I wanted them to. Nobody would recognise me unless I got really unlucky. So I wasn’t on edge as I made my way through the crowded square on market day, weaving a circuitous route through the crowd. Just anybody else picking up supplies and trying to keep my elbows to myself.

I heard somebody call out behind me. “Hey!”

Was that directed at me? Something about it made me feel like it was. I paused for a second, looking around. Oh, great, had I managed to do something to offend somebody?

“Hey, wait! Just wait up!”

The accent said home, I realised, and turned to look behind me just as the person who’d been following me got around the chatty group of women he’d been behind and came face-to face with me.

I stood in the street feeling like I’d just been doused in ice-water.

It was my uncle Bren.

“Ciaran! Love of God!” he exclaimed, his face alight. “It’s really you! I can’t believe it!”

He approached in a few quick steps, his arms out as if he was going to clap me on the shoulders and hold me at arms length to look at me.

“No,” I said, my mind overtaken with panic.

I ducked out from under his arm - almost falling over my own feet and accidentally shoving somebody aside. Their indignant yell followed me as I scrambled upright, darted between the next few people, and made for the nearest corner, feet flying. I didn’t try to hit anybody, but I wasn’t able to try not to, either.

I thought I heard Bren’s voice in the cacophony of protests and yelling behind me. I didn’t stop until all the voices had faded into the bustle of the city behind me. All I could think was: no.

Once rational thought returned, I ducked into the alleyway behind a building and pressed myself up against a wall, heart hammering.

Unfortunately rational thought didn’t have much better to offer me. This was just as bad as my instincts said, probably worse.

Uncle Bren, here. In Newtown. And he'd seen me.

I slid down the wall, covering my face with my hands. I wished passionately, violently, that I had been the one to see Bren before he saw me. It would have upset me almost as much but at least I would have been able to hide.

How many of them were here? Were my parents here? The plan had been for everybody else to follow us a year later, but I’d assumed that plan was off! Half of the crew got dragged into the swamp by living vines, they barely escaped with their lives, and my stupid fucking family decided great, bring the wives and kids over?!

My life had just gotten incomprehensibly more difficult.

I checked the address that had been on the note Isidora had given me. Maybe I was stupid to have actually come here; maybe I was going to get another knife in my back.

Then again, Isidora had seemed to feel bad enough about the last time that I really couldn’t see her doing that to me. ‘Somebody I should meet’. Would it have killed her to include a hint?

I had wanted to put up some of my posters in this quarter of the town anyway, so once the time rolled around I made my way to the address on the note, my remaining posters tucked under my arm.

Kind of too respectable an area for a stabbing, if that was what was going to happen. The address turned out to be a store that sold clothing and boots, down a lane broad enough to let carts trundle down it slowly. I leaned against the wall, scanning the thin crowd that meandered by, and wondered how long I would give this mystery person of Isidora’s to show up.

Naturally, I was looking in the wrong direction when my uncle Bren stepped out from the crowd.

“Ciaran, please don’t run!” he said quickly. “Please, just talk to me. Please?”

Oh, the next time I saw Isidora, I was going to throw her and her stick and her fancy fucking dress into the harbour!

I pushed myself away from the wall and genuinely considered making a run for it again. Distantly - so very distantly, this far away - I could feel my heart speed up.

But, boxing me in to my left was a rickety set of stairs leading up to the next level of the building, and a cart happened to be rumbling past to my right. And the last thing I needed was to end up under the wheels of that, and there were people here watching, and Bren was standing there with his hands up as if to show me they were empty, or as if I was a drunk he was trying to talk down from being aggressive.

I sighed, shoulders slumping. My voice came out small and wobbly. “Hey, Uncle Bren.”

He looked relieved, and let his hands fall. “Thank God.”

People changed their course to walk around Bren where he stood in the middle of the path, casting us annoyed glances. I shuffled my feet and wished I had spent more time thinking about things to say for this meeting, which had been inevitable, but I had wanted to deal with the warehouse first, and…

Bren cleared his throat. “Ciaran, we - we’re all so happy to find you,” he started, seeming almost as awkward as I was. “We never thought we would, otherwise we’d have been back sooner. Cob would never have left.”

We. Of course. “How many - who’s here?” I asked, a little despairing. “Did you all come back?”

He looked puzzled. “Well, in Newtown… just me and Cob and Lin and the twins right now…”

Well, it could be worse.

“We’ve got lodgings over near the shipyards,” he said. “You can come back with me now - we’re all dying to talk to you. It’ll be a little cramped, but you could stay with us there too, I’ll talk to the landlady about it. Where have you been living? How long have you been…”

I could feel my shoulders tense and my fingers gripped the posters too hard. “No, Uncle,” I said. “I - I don’t need somewhere to stay. I can’t even really - look, I…”

I trailed away.

I could not possibly live with my uncles and cousins. Even only temporarily, until I could convince them to leave for home again. It just wasn’t even worth considering for a second. But there wasn’t really an explanation for not going that I could give him that he would accept, or that wouldn’t lead to more questions. If I said I had a job, he’d want to know where and what.

“No,” I said eventually, trying to lean on the word hard enough to get it through his head. “I can’t. Sorry.”

He was giving me a not-very-subtle looking over, eyes wandering over my clothes, my boots, the bundle of posters in my hand. He was frowning. “Listen - listen, Ciaran, if you’re caught up in something bad, you know we’ll help you, right? Doesn’t matter what it is.”

I pressed the posters against my chest so he couldn’t see what was on them. “Something bad?” I said. Uncle Bren, you have no idea. “Like what?”

“Well. I don’t know.” Bren looked awkward. “Kiddo, you… you bolted.”

I looked at my feet. Why did I still seem to have enough blood to feel my face going red? That wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s okay,” he said, again with the reassuring hand movements. “We’re just happy you’re alive. And, if something’s happened… even if you’ve done something, and you’re scared that we might… ” He cleared his throat. “Look, your dad won’t care, I don’t care, Cob doesn’t care. All that matters is that you’re alive. And if you’re in trouble, we can fix it. There’s nothing so bad we won’t be able to help you fix it.”

If I’ve done something? I stood baffled for a few seconds before I realised. Of course. Why else would I run? As far as he knew, I’d been stranded alone in a foreign port with no money for close to two years, and now I barely wanted to meet his eyes. I’d acted like I had something to be ashamed of - he probably thought I was a prostitute or a cutpurse or something worse.

Well, he’d have to go on thinking that. Once I’d processed the rest of what he’d said, I found myself unable to speak. If you’re in trouble, we can fix it. Like I was fifteen and getting into fights on the walk home again, or sixteen and accused of theft and terrified... “Uncle,” I said, and had to stop to fight with the lump in my throat. “I don’t… you can’t…”

He waited patiently for me to finish what I was saying, but I was done. I couldn’t finish the sentence. Why do you have to be here? I can’t deal with you right now. I can’t have you here. Please go home, God, please just go home!

My uncle cleared his throat. “Can I… Ciaran, can I…” He stepped closer and held his arm out towards me. I realised that he was trying to hug me.

I was suddenly terrified; he would be able to tell. He’d be able to feel that there was something wrong with me. He’d put his arms around me and I would be cold and I wouldn’t have a heartbeat and he would be able to tell.

I retreated, my heel hitting the wall behind me with a painful thump. “No! Sorry - no hugs, Uncle, please -”

My voice had risen, higher and louder than I’d thought; enough to make people turn and stare.

He stopped immediately. “Okay! Okay, easy, kiddo.”

I tried to calm my breathing, the posters getting crumpled where they were pressed against me like a shield.

Bren pushed a hand through his hair, looking lost. I guess this conversation wasn’t going how he’d hoped it would.

“Look, I need to go,” I said, sounding strangled even to myself. “Uncle Bren, I love you, it’s - it’s real great to see you..." It's not. It's really, really not. "But I… I have… things to do. Work. You know.”

He brightened. “The papers? What are they for?”

I hoped desperately that he wouldn’t be able to find any of the others I’d already put up. “It’s just work. We can - talk later - maybe? We can arrange a time?”

He looked reluctant. “Ciaran, we only just… are you sure you won’t come home? Is there anything I could…” Perhaps seeing the tension in my shoulders, he shook his head decisively and waved his words away with one hand. “Sorry. Okay, you don't have to... We can arrange a time, I’d like that. Where do you live now?”

“I - oh, I move a lot,” I said. “Let’s just… maybe here, again? Next week? Same day?” Maybe I would have thought of what to say to them by then.

His face fell a little, but he didn’t push. “All right,” he said, soothingly. “Just - I’ll give you our address, so you can find us if you need to. The shipyards are - ”

“I know where the shipyards are!” I smiled to take the sting out of my words. I’ve spent more time sneaking in and out of the shipyards the last few months than you would believe. “You’ve been in town two damn seconds, Uncle…”

“Right, right! I expect you’re a real local by now!” he said heartily. “Of course you know where they are. Well, it’s the boarding house with the yellow flower on the sign, two streets up from the main entrance. Can’t miss it.” He patted his pockets, as if abruptly remembering something. “Are you - do you need money?” he asked. “We can help with that, if you need something to tide you over, I can - ”

“I’m good for money, Uncle,” I interrupted.

I watched his brows come together in the heaviest frown I’d seen yet. He said nothing, though. Oh, great, no steady job or address I’m willing to tell him but I’ve got money? He definitely thinks I’m a criminal now. He probably thinks I’m a highway murderer.

“Well, if you’re… hey, look, why don’t you just take…”

“I need to go,” I said. “Keep the money, you’ll need it more than I do. Don’t worry about me.” I did my best to smile. “I know it’s… look, don’t worry. I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m doing okay.” I am not murdering people, at least not people who don’t try to murder me first. I am literally incapable of dying, so really when you think about it I’m the safest I’ve ever been. I coughed. “We have a lot to talk about but you don’t need to worry about me. Give everybody my love, and I’ll - I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I edged away from the wall, and my uncle held his hand out for me to clasp.

The irrational terror seized me again. I was being stupid, if it was obvious enough that he could feel it from my hand, I wouldn’t be able to wander around Newtown with nobody the wiser like I did. But…

I forced myself to take his hand, and he felt like he always had; rough fingers, not as crushing a grip as my uncle Cob but strong. He squeezed and let go.

“Be careful, Ciaran,” he said, soberly. “You - you just think on what I said, okay? Whatever it is. We can handle it.”

I hoisted a grin on my face. “Sure, Uncle. There’s nothing to handle, but sure. I’ll - I’ll see you next week.”

I kept my shoulders straight and didn’t run; I turned down a street at random and leaned my arm against the closest wall.

There’s nothing so bad we can’t fix it.

I pressed my face against my arm and let the tears come, stinging my eyes. I wish you were right, Uncle. I really, really wish you were right.

#First of the Hollow #Ciaran #emotional whump #fantasy writing #My ocs #loving family

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thefirstknife · 2 years

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In your tags you ask what's the issue and what isn't the issue with ceo-of-sloppy-men honestly that blog is just a mess from the url to the bio to the content to the takes just godawful. Clogs up the main tag with nsfw imagine commissions too. Like have your fun but maybe don't spread biased misinformation about lore?

Anon going for the jugular! But yeah, that's the general concensus I've seen around. Literally continuously posting misinformation while admitting they don't know enough to make those comments, refusing to admit it unless you coddle them and talk to them "politely" and then claiming stuff like this:

It's not weird that it happened twice because it's not weird that a person who doesn't read the lore doesn't know the lore.

Also in order to criticise the media you enjoy you first have to understand and actually engage with that media. You can't criticise something without knowing the facts. Nobody is mad about criticising Destiny, we're mad that we have to once again debunk misinformation about how the most important LGBT+ rep in video games between two gay men is not actually unhealthy, toxic, abusive or whatever the fuck people want to slap onto it. Ever since O14 has been made widely known, people have been super homophobic about it. Either it's just the cishet dudebro gamers or it's the weirdos in fandoms who only engage with fanon. But it's always homophobia (sometimes, if we're unlucky, with racism sprinkled in).

And of course, relationships aren't always perfect and without problems. Especially relationships between literal immortal people who have lived thousands of years of accumulated time with incomprehensible amount of interactions that we're not aware of. That doesn't mean they're unhealthy. So yeah, making a frankly embarrassing attempt at a breakdown of "unhealthy relationships" without fully understanding the relationships in question is at best annoying and at worst actively homophobic.

And istg if I see one more "lore is subjective" take, I am going to mcfucking lose it. SOME lore is unreliable, but a vast majority of the lore is, in fact, objective. It's telling a story. We were able to fully guess Savathun!Osiris in every detail just by reading lore. You can't do that if lore is subjective.

#destiny 2 #osiris #saint-14 #o14 #ask #genuinely i just can't with this. we've been doing this for over a year #if you don't know shit about the lore stop having takes about lore #unironically i believe that we should gatekeep lore #if you need help and you want to learn and understand lore better PLEASE feel free to ask #there are so many people here who will be able to quote lore tabs from memory to help #it's not a shame to not know #however it is absolutely shame to be aware of not knowing and confidently posting about it anyway

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