#she's a vision of rage and vengeance and fear and guilt and everything a little child who's gone through things no child should feels

[sincerely-sofie]

I was going to write this idea as a story, but my mind keeps flatlining every time I try to coherently make it. I still wanted to share the idea, so here’s a snippet that pretty much summarizes it:

TW: child abuse, neglect

•••

“Mother, is Boulders Quarry dangerous?”

“Pokémon can handle it if they’re prepared and experienced enough,” Twig hums, stirring the stir fry on the stove, “but those are with Pokémon who are trained, and it can still be dangerous even for them. It’s not a dungeon that me or your dad would let you go to for a very long time — not until you’re adult or close to it.”

She hears shattering behind her, and Twig quickly turns around. Opal’s plate, once holding in apple slices and strawberries, is in pieces. The ceramic remains decorate the floor, some stained by bruised fruits and the juices left behind. Twig’s mouth opens, ready to ask if Opal’s okay and warn her about stepping on the sharp pieces, but the words that mean to come out die as she looks at her daughter. Opal’s eyes are wide and slowly become teary. Her body trembles, evidently the cause of the broken plate rather than her potentially tripping. Her stare never leaves Twig, her mouth quivering as words try to come out but never do.

“Opal?” As soon as her name leaves Twig’s mouth, the Marshadow begins to cry. Fat tears roll down her cheeks, only getting heavier when Twig rushes to her side and brings her into an embrace. “Opal, what’s-?”

“I have a friend-” Opal chokes on her words, trying to push through an invisible blockade in her throat. “She- she says that her big sister and brother try to leave her in dungeons by herself to ‘toughen up’ and that they were going to take her to Boulders Quarry today. She doesn’t like fighting — she usually hides when they try, and I can always find her, I haven’t been able to find her- she- I don’t- I wanted to say- she said they’ll run away and take her if anyone knew, and she didn’t want to go away — but now she’s not here, but her big brother and sister are- and- and-!”

Between her blood running cold and her burning organs, Twig manages soft words that she thinks are comforting by the way Opal’s cries calm down, but the Charmeleon can’t hear them. Ark comes into the room, concerned words leaving, but Twig doesn’t hear them. She gently puts Opal into his arms and she thinks that she mentions an emergency, but it all blurs after that. Now she walks out of Boulders Quarry, a quivering, shaking child curled up in her arms. She is careful not to aggravate old wounds that couldn’t have come from the recent the recent dungeon. The familiar excuses are desperately made by the kid, but Twig knows.

“I just got lost.”

“I got this because I fell — I fall a lot.”

“I’m okay, I’m fine. Don’t tell auntie my big brother and sister. I can go by myself.”

Twig knows and, internally, she seethes.

•••

It’s not my best and everyone is probably ooc, but I hope it’s still somewhat enjoyable. Sorry if it isn’t tho!

"Not my best," they say. "I hope it's still somewhat enjoyable," they say. Meanwhile I am holding this fic in my teeth like a rabid dog and shaking it (appreciative) and biting it (adoring) and eating it (complimentary).

I don't have many words to share because I've just been reeling at how good this is ever since it was sent in, but I can't wait to see any more of your work, especially of this concept!

#Twig seeing straight through the excuses #looking at this kid and saying #“I know you're lying.” #the kid starts to panic and tries to make better excuses but Twig stops them and says it's okay and asks if a sleepover w/ Opal sounds fun #flash forward however long it takes for Twig to track down the siblings and when she does #she's a vision of rage and vengeance and fear and guilt and everything a little child who's gone through things no child should feels #those siblings are going to jail #i'm not even sure if their area has a local prison or a judicial system but they're going to ask to be locked up for their own safety #that lizard is going to kill them if they don't have some concrete walls between them and her in the next ten minutes #sorry to hijack the fic you sent in it just got me like (head in my hands head in my hands head in my hands) #the present is a gift fanart #the present is a gift au #shadow baby au #pokémon mystery dungeon #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd explorers #pmd sky #pmd eos #pmd2 #pmd #sofie answers asks

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Here's what I would have liked to see. We got a long shot of Lena driving through town-- we see the exterior of the quaint shops and business, and then we roll up to the inn, and the innkeeper is all smilely right up until the moment she gets a good look at Lena's face, at which point the innkeeper freezes, with maybe a little fear in her eyes. When Lena checks on her, the innkeeper recovers with a flustered smile and says, "Oh, never mind dear, I thought you were someone else!"

She's friendly right up until Lena's about to get her room key, which is when Lena reveals she's come to investigate her mother, Elizabeth Walsh. The gates go down, walls go up, do not pass go for $200. Lena's left in the lurch. She decides to explore the town then, and the chill of the autumn air eventually sends her into a pub, where she meets Peggy. Having learned from the innkeeper, she doesn't immediately reveal her purpose in town. She simply explains there was a mix up at the inn and now she's out of luck.

"Well, we have a couple rooms above the bar," Peggy says, friendly now that Lena's chatted with her over a couple drinks. It's clear they could be fast friends. "You're welcome to one of them, while you're in town."

Lena takes her up on it, and so Lena stays, and they chat every morning. Lena knows better than to ask directly about her mother, so she asks where she might find old newspapers and birth records. Peggy directs her to the library and old town hall, but despite the hours and hours she spends, she can't find any information about her mother. It's like she's been purged from all the town's records.

In a fit of frustration, she takes to walking the town. This is where she notices the large raven that seems to follow her as she makes her way through the town's streets. She eventually stumbles upon an old cottage, and though there's no name on the mailbox, there's faded scars on the wooden gate where a name used to sit in woodblock letters. Walsh.

She picks her way over the gate that's rusted shut and through the vines covering the path to the front door. Inside she finds moss and mold and detritus. But then a door in the kitchen slowly swings open, as though beckoning her down the stairs within. In the basement, she finds books of healing herbs and tomes of words left illegible by years of damp and mildew. But there's one she can't resist hugging to her chest-- one with the symbol of Acrata on its cover. Inside she finds her mother's handwriting, detailing her life in the town. Meeting the coven, exploring her power... it's all there.

When she returns to the bar, she's elated, and maybe, after a couple of drinks, she lets slip that she's going to try to track down her mother's friends. She mentions the first name, and Peggy, now off shift and drinking too, darkly mutters "good luck with that."

"What do you mean?"

"My mother's dead."

Lena blinks, and realizes she's speaking to a true counterpart, someone in the same boat as her, but with more answers. "Really?? My mother was--"

"Elizabeth Walsh, aye, I knew that the moment you walked in," Peggy replies. "You're the spitting image."

Lena's brow furrows in confusion. "But, if you knew, then why--"

"She killed my mother."

And her father, Lena soon learns, but it's her mother's passing that hurts Peggy more. Hatred burns under the surface, but surprisingly, none of it is directed at Lena.

"I'm not in the habit of blaming the child for the sins of the mother."

When Lena describes what she found in the cottage, Peggy brushes it off. "You don't really believe in that pish, do you?"

But one thing is for certain-- Peggy is glad they've met. She promises to share more of the town with Lena, and share what she remembers of her own mother.

The next day, Lena begins a quiet search for Florence. The raven appears again, and when she gets close to the hovel where Florence is hiding, it croaks at her then flies off. Lena follows it, and finds the cave. There she finds Florence, and learns the truth about her mother. Instead of Florence being her mouthpiece, Elizabeth manifests in front of Lena, and in that moment they're on the sunny hill again, and Elizabeth wraps her arms around her in a fierce hug.

"I am so proud of you, Lena. And I love you so much."

Before they can truly spend time together, however, a raven's call cuts through the air, and Elizabeth stiffens in alarm.

"Something is wrong. You must go--"

"No, I want to stay with you--"

"Go!"

Elizabeth thrusts her hand towards Lena, banishing her daughter from the vision and returning her to the cave, where she finds Florence in a stand off with Peggy-- whose aura is swirling with dark magical energy.

"Peggy? What are you doing?"

"What we should have done years ago," Peggy growls. Her eyes glow with power, yet her gaze is malicious and hungry for blood. "I knew you would lead me to the witch, Lena. Thank you."

"Whatever you think happened that day isn't true," Lena says, only for Peggy to send a warning shot of energy towards her.

"Don't spread her lies--"

"I saw it!" Lena snaps. "Your mother was as guilty as mine."

"Shut up!"

"She died of guilt, not grief!"

"Enough!"

Peggy unleashes a wave of energy, only for Lena to instintively throw up a shield of her own when she lifts her hands to protect herself. A warm hand settles on her shoulder, and when Lena looks over, a shade of her mother is there, nodding in solidarity. She will protect Lena, through Lena's own gift, as best she can.

"I know what it feels like to lose everything," Lena says, appealing to Peggy's better half. "Trust me when I say killing Florence won't bring back what you've lost, and it won't make you feel better."

"You don't know what it's like-- you don't!"

"I do. Trust me, Peggy, I know."

"I'm alone because of her! My whole life ended when my mother died, and it's her fault!!"

"You're not alone," Lena says. "Look around you. We are the only two people in the world who know what you've been through. I lost my mother too, and Florence... she lost them both."

Peggy's rage eases, clearly losing strength, but not quite subsiding completely. Lena pushes further.

"I know what it's like to lose everything you love most in the world. Sometimes, it feels impossible to recover. And vengeance... it feels sweet for a time, but it won't fill the hole inside you. Trust me on that."

"Then what will?" Peggy asks weakly. This time, when Lena reaches for Peggy's hand, their palms meet in a collision of sparks, but then seal together in a bloom of warmth.

"Love," Lena says simply.

Peggy blinks, and her eyes fill with tears. She sags into Lena, who embraces her fully.

"I miss her so much," Peggy whispers into her shoulder.

Lena nods. "I know." She looks at the fading apparition of her mother, her gaze drinking in the faint smile. "So do I."

#and then they all become a coven #sg spoilers #lenas witch arc-- the way it should have been #make it layered #give lena a chance to do the supergirl thing #she and peggy are basically twins #so yeah-- this should happen

[c-atm]

Setting the record Straight

White Diamond waited patiently for him to arrive, eyes closed sitting in her crossed legged position, the perfect symbol of tranquility. Hiding the fact that she was completely and utterly nervous for this conversation as well as cracked with guilt over taking so long to have it, but the time has come. If they were to continue helping shape a brighter future for gems both on Homeworld and abroad, shed had to start at home.

The sounds of her door sliding open alerted the tyrant turned pacifist, her eyes opened and she felt a bit more pressure on her gem. She gave a smile despite the pressure in her cut.

"Starlight, thank you for coming and Twilight, what a welcomed surprise." She looked at them eye to eye, fighting that small wrinkle of pride, seeing their surprised faces at her newer human height. She had Yellow change her for this meeting, She didn't  want to feel as if she was condescending at all to him..Them now, during this talk. 

She didn't expect to be slightly looking up at them both, not physically anyway. 

"White." Twilight...Connie said evenly. Indifferent lips in a line, a deep stare in her black eyes, right hand in her lab coat pocket, left interlocked with Steven's, as always.

White knew better to think this woman feared her, now or ever. She wouldn't be surprised if the human woman already had a plan to crack her, if things ever went sour and the only thing that's keeping her from initiating it is in her left hand. She bit back a sigh, she did deserve her ire.

"Hey, White." Steven, her starlight, spoke in his gentle way. A presence of kindness and love,  even after everything he's been through. Though he now held a weight of strength and command as well, with zero fear towards White.

White would never stop adoring him and how he always seems to change more and more each time, same with Connie as well. Even if she knew they didn't feel the same about her. That's not her choice.

.

"Yellow said you wanted to speak with me?" 

"Yes.. Please?" White offered them a pillow for them to sit on in front of her. 

"I'll leave you to it." Connie started as she released his hand.

"Wait Connie.I would like you to stay, I...I owe you this conversation as well."

Connie looked towards the matriarch for a moment, before nodding asking a seat besides Steven.

White felt the nerves she didn't possess rattle like little jumping beans. In front of her was the victim and witness of her most haunting act...The removal of Steven's gem. She could dissipate  at any moment from the anxiety alone. The concerned looks on her two guests didn't  help either. 

"White...Is everything ok?" 

She gave Steven a reassuring grin at the worrying tone..She didn't deserve such attention not from these two.

"Y-yes." She stuttered as she looked downward toward her white knuckles and trimmed nails. Her face glowing pink in embarrassment. "No...It's not." She shook her head. "Steven...Connie…"  she inhaled deeply into her non-existent lungs, turning to them with pleading eyes. " I'm sorry for what I've done to you two."

Steven's face held a bit of confusion at what she was talking about. His mind going over recent visits and meetings with White and not finding anything out of the ordinary haughty annoyance. 

"Sorry?" 

Steven looked over at his Heartberry, the cold voice from her lips could make a room of Sapphires feel like a sauna.

"Six...Years." Connie growled as she ball her fist to the side. "It took six years for you to apologize," her voice rose little by little, " and while that might mean nothing to a multi-eon being like yourself, that six years of holding these feeling of rage and sadness." Her eyes were moist as her voice reached a roar. Of recurring nightmares! Each playing a what if scenario of him dying BY YOUR HAND only to wake up and play nice with You! The one who got closet of taking him away from me!"

"Connie!" Steven called looking up at her and grabbing her hand. She was poised to attack, with her dead cold glare and waist level hands held like blades. He knew the R&D member enough to know that she would attack with precision and brutality and possibly regret it after it was done.

"Mister.." She looked at him receiving a shake of his head as a response. She breathed deeply and rested back to her seat, her back facing White. "I'm not apologizing. I don't regret what I was planning to do."

"Con-"

"I don't expect you to." White sincerity was evident. "Your hate is founded, Connie. I will take it...If it allows me to have some communication with you."  All she got was a slight glance and sneer from the woman.

The man shook his head as he looked towards White. "This is quite the heavy subject, White." He sighed.

"I apologize...but It needs to be addressed."  White offered. " It ...has plagued me. Vision of my past actions..Most predominantly that event. Usually when I fall into stasis."

"You've been sleeping and having nightmares." Steven surmised.

"I supposed...Though the weight of my sin against you two is always present, regardless." White peered at the young adult, who gave her an even smirk. "Why aren't you mad at me, still?" 

Steven brows rose at the question. " Hmph…Maybe because my hands aren't exactly free of shards themselves."

"None of our hands are clean." Connie added in a low tone, getting a surprised look from White.

"Peace is relative and progress is the result of  trial and error." Steven offered to Connie, before turning to White.  "That being said.." Steven sighed "I don't have the mindset to be mad anymore… Not after I've tried to crush your gem after you gave me free control of your body" He turned away shame on his face "I took advantage of your good will and wield it as a weapon... and that was after I shattered and realigned Jasper." 

"Jasper was a mistake." Connie and White spoke in tandem.

"One that I still live with." Steven retorted. "The same with my actions against you, White." Steven admitted. 

"Starlight. That...That was a result of what I did to you."  

"Compounded with all you were going through." 

"Still doesn't excuse what I did…." Steven argued with the two, before turning to White. "What we did to each other. " He exhaled given her and apologetic glance. "I never apologized to you."

"I don't deserve it." 

"You'd try to help me when I was corrupted."

"Everyone did." White smiled glancing at Connie. "Some are immensely more effective than others."  

Connie gave a slight nod at her praise-filled voice.

Steven gave Connie’s hand a quick squeeze of appreciation. Before turning back to White.

"I didn't enter this conversation, looking for forgiveness. Just to tell 'clear the air'..I believe that's the term...Between us." White started seriously. 

Steven nodded. "Fair enough. Please." Steven  proposed. 

White lips pressed hard together as she gathered her thoughts. "I can't truly apologize enough for what I've done. Taking your gem from you, even in an attempt to bring back Pink, as pathetic of an excuse that is, was a horrendous wrongdoing." Her voice started breaking. "I nearly lost a chance to have a connection with you, Something I truly  treasure even as strained as it is."  She trembled as the density of her guilt hit her. " I am so sorry for hurting you two in such a way."

"I can't forget what you done." Connie breathed out. "Ever...I don't forgive you either." She continued coldly. "I was held against my will unable to do anything, while you plucked his life force out of him, literally; all because you didn't believe that he was who he always was." She turned forward glaring at the smaller diamond. "You nearly killed the most important person in my life, in front of me..While making me feel useless and powerless...You broke me,White and I truly hate you.." 

"Connie." Steven looked shocked

She breathed out her hand up.."Or at least I did…" She folded her arms looking indifferent  " You have changed from the gem you used to be. It's hard and unfair not to acknowledge that." Connie's eyes relaxed the slightest of measures. "I don't yet forgive, nor am I a fan of yours, but I don't hate you,White..I can't hate someone who's actually trying to change themselves and In the future,  who knows."

"That's more than I deserve from you, Twilight." White voiced in true gratitude.

Connie nodded as she turned to Steven. Who looked towards the ceiling 

"I don't know what to say actually." Steven's honest voice caught them both off guard. " I've held so much rage, fear, vengeance against you, but I know I've never hated you, not truly." Steven looked down at White. "I'm never gonna forget what was done to me, but also can't forget what I attempted to do to you. The things I've done...The only thing I can do is. Start to forgive you."

White was surprised at his statement. Her palm covering her mouth. "Steven…?"

"Listen. It's like Connie said. You aren't the same gem. " Steven pointed at the matriarch. "You've given yourself fully to gems allowing them to talk about their own problem..Turning to their avatar so they can workout their problems. You give your support to Little Homeworld R&D, from essence, to tools, to text and more." Steven rubbed the back of his head a feeling of modesty. "You're  essential to era 3, especially on the whole ambassador front...White, you have changed from before and  still a long way from what you can be. You're leagues better from what you were.." Steven laid a hand on her shoulder. "You earned a chance at forgiveness. Just keep doing what you doing." 

White couldn't speak, too afraid to destroy the gifts these two gave her. The simple fact that they didn't cut her out was more than what she thought, but to also be given a chance to earn their forgiveness. White could only nod as tears of relief and appreciation ran freely from her eyes.

#fanfiction #steven universe fanfiction #steven universe #Steven universe au #steven universe fandom #fighting flirty #connverse #connie mahaswaren #Mister and heart berry #white diamond #ANGST AND FEELS #Angst with a hopeful ending #they talk about CYM #White feels remorseful

[fallout4treasures]

What’s Worth Fighting For - Ch 1

“Then why are you going?” Ellie asked, standing and following me as I headed towards the door.

“I need his help. And he’s not doing anyone any good gone.”

“You must be pretty desperate. It’s not often Nick can’t save himself.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

Wayfaring Stranger - Johnny Cash

You’re looking for a man. He can help you. But he ain’t gonna be the man you expect. I’m ashamed to say my fear and rage was leading me back then. Giving an old lady chems seemed so small compared to what I was looking for. Her visions were all I had to go on, and nothing was more important than finding Shaun. I’ve tried to make myself regret it, to let the guilt weigh on me, but I can’t. It led me to the truth. More importantly, it led me to Nick.

I always thought this story started in the Vault. With the death of my old self, and everything I knew. Watching my world, along with the people in it, disappear in a blink of an eye had sparked enough vengeance in me to fuel a war. It should have been enough to be the main plot. Not that it was small, but I guess I’m a sucker for a nice guy with a broken soul. Either way, it turns out this story actually starts at the ballpark. But you should know before you start, in case you hadn't picked up on it already, this was never supposed to be a love story.

The crash of glass filled my ears, pulling me from my deep sleep and sending me sitting straight up. I grabbed my gun from the nightstand and had it readied on the door, taking short and shallow breaths as my brain caught up to my actions. My heart thumped in my ears, with sweat already building at my brow. The shatter was followed by boisterous yelling coated in accents too thick and angry for me to decipher through the wall, but from what I could tell it was only the innkeeper brothers quarrelling.

The air I was holding in my lungs released as did the tension in myself. I let the firearm lay in my lap as I held my face in my hands, counting the seconds as my breathing brought my pulse back down to a regular rate.

I was still grateful the shock woke me. The images from my nightmares were quickly blurring together to the point that they were unrecognizable. If I had to experience them while I slept, at least I couldn’t remember them when I woke up.

My shoulders refused to relax as I rolled out of bed. In fact, my whole body ached from my journey the night before. I should have taken the nearly day’s walk from Sanctuary to Boston more seriously. But it wasn’t the first time I did something stupidly impulsive for the sake of the mission. Certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Ready to leave the musty smell of my rented room behind me, I hoisted my leather armor over my shoulders and fumbled with the buckles as my sweaty fingers continued to tremble. It must have taken me five full minutes to get everything strapped on. And once it was I started to sweat even more, the leather feeling as if it was constricting around me.

Everything about this world, and the anxieties it stirred in me, felt so foreign. It had only been a handful of days since I had unfroze, yet it felt like I had lived weeks in this wasteland already. Time had its own mind here, with every moment full of either danger or needed rest. There was no telling how it would move next.

My days used to start so slow and sweet. Usually with Nate’s warm voice telling me that Shaun was crying. He’d bring him in from the nursery and we’d snuggle around him in bed. Just staring as our son babbled and cooed at us. Listening to the radio, sipping at the coffee on the nightstand. The sun would start to rise and we’d get up with it.

I wish I had wanted it more then. I wish we had begged the sun to stay low just a bit longer. To keep the moment stretched on, and our son beside us. Even if just for a little while. Safe, warm, perfect.

The bittersweet memories stung my chest, causing tears to well up. I quickly pushed them out of my head, but was still left a tired, jittery mess. Unfortunately, this was my morning routine. Battling the visions mixed from the past, present, and my nightmares. At this point, it seemed only one thing could calm my nerves.

“Ah, Viv! Our newest patron. You finally woke up.” The bartender bellowed out with a laugh the moment he saw me dragging myself from the hall of rooms to the bar.

“Good morning, Vadim.” I offered him half a smile as my arms fell to the counter.

“I am sorry about the fighting. My brother and I don’t always see eye to eye… Eh, are you okay? You're as white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine.” I waved him off before pressing my eyes into my palms. “Just looking for something strong.”

“No problem, what’s your drink?”

“Bourbon.” With a stiff nod he grabbed the shot glass from underneath the bar and the liquor with it. The quiet splash of brown liquid made crave the drink even more. I snatched it from its surface and threw it back without bothering to taste it. My face twisted as it burned the whole way down, but the warmth quickly took over and calmed my nerves. “Thanks.” I pulled out the small bunch of caps I had in my front pocket and counted out the payment, plus a couple extra for him.

“Will you be back tonight?” Vadim asked, pocketing the caps.

“Depends on how my day goes.” I gave him a short wave before leaving the grimey, makeshift inn.

The Diamond City I was walking through that morning was much different than the night before. It reminded me of the last ball game we went to. It was right before Shaun was born and Nate surprised me with tickets right behind home plate. Not too far from where I was standing actually, just two hundred years earlier. Who knew a baseball field was big enough for a whole city? If you could call it a city. Smashing a few dozen or so metal shacks inside a ballpark wouldn’t have fit my qualifications before we went under. But so far this was the closest thing I had seen that felt like home. The houses and businesses formed a bull’s eye around the stadium with the Power Noodles bar dotting the center. The Dugout Inn where I was staying was tucked away in an alley towards the city gates and to start exploring I ventured back toward where I had started last night.

“Read all about it! Institute replaces people with machines! Are you next?” A young girl with short, wriley, dark hair announced from her podium. “Hey lady!" Her short arms wildly waved me over, her long skirt flouncing a bit around her pants as she bounced. "You're new, right? All newcomers get their first issue free." She extended the flyer out to me.

"How could you tell?"

"My sister told me to look out for a doe eyed misfit.”

“I am not doe eyed.” I huffed, taking the flyer. I made a face at the girl as she smirked at me. “I’m guessing you’re Piper’s little sister?”

“Most people call me Nat.”

"Most people call me Viv…” I let my eyes fall to the paper, wandering the article aimlessly. It started to catch my attention when a name stuck out to me. “What's the Institute?” I asked her.

“You don’t know about the Institute? Oh, man... ” She rolled her eyes at me. I narrowed mine in return at her. “They snatch people up and replace you with robots." She sighed.

“Do people disappear a lot?”

“How would I know? They look just like us.” She retorted with an eyeroll. I let out a breath, trying to keep my patience.

“You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you know someone who does know.” She pondered this for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.

“I guess, you’d have to ask the detective, Mr. Valentine. He’s the only one to go to if someone’s gone missing."

“Oh yeah? Where’s he at?”

“Probably his office. It’s down that alley. There’s a sign at the end that shows the way.”

“Hey, thanks kid.”

“Remember what I said about the Institute! You can’t trust anyone.” She called after me as I walked. I waved goodbye and heard Nat muttering under her breath as I walked away. “Give her ten days… max.” I couldn’t help but laugh at this. She gave me three more days than I had given myself.

I followed her directions to the agency, quickly finding the glowing detective sign pointing me to the covered alleyway. Even in the daylight the pink neon ‘Valentine Detective Agency’ sign seemed like it was the only thing lighting the way. A heart shot by an arrow glowed behind the lettering with another arrow pointing towards the dark and narrow corridor leading towards the entrance. Passing the light, I couldn’t help but hear the fortune teller’s words in my mind.

You find that heart that's gonna lead you to your boy. Oh, it's... it's bright. So bright against the dark alleys it walks.  Maybe feeding that crazy old lady drugs was worth it after all. I should have written everything she said down, I thought to myself.

The metal door creaked open, and I was sure I would have alerted anyone inside. It was a simple box-y metal and concrete office, but was filled completely with files, papers, and other miscellaneous items that I could only guess were clues to cases. Off to the right, behind me, was a short hall that led to what I assumed were living quarters. Despite the cold look it gave, the agency felt warm and inviting. Across the room young lady in a flowy dress and dark jacket was rifling through files, completely oblivious to me intruding.

“The bills… Oh, forget the bills.” She sighed, mournfully muttering to herself. I decided to make my presence known, and finished walking inside, closing the door with a light slam. I figured I would have startled her but she kept her back towards me, continuing away with her work.

“Hello?” I finally spoke up.

“We're closed.” She told me over her shoulder. My eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

"I don't want to be rude but is Mr. Valentine here? It’s important."

"I’m sorry, the detective's gone." My heart felt like it missed a beat. I couldn’t have gone all this way to be led to a dead end.

"Gone? Gone where?" I asked. She turned to face me, her dress flouncing around her legs. "He was working a case. Skinny Malone's gang kidnapped a young woman and he tracked them down to an old subway station. I told him that it didn't feel right. But he just smiled and walked out like he always does… always did.” As sad as she sounded I couldn’t help but let out a silent sigh of relief. As long as he was alive he could help me find Shaun. It was just a matter of getting to him.

“Couldn’t he still come back?”

“He’s gotten himself into trouble before, but he’s never been gone this long. I never thought the day would actually come where he didn’t come back.”

“No one’s tried to get him?” I asked.

“Who do you send to find the man who finds everyone else?” She walked over to the desk in front of me and sat down in the armchair. Her face was fallen with defeat. I let out a long sigh, realizing I was about to make another stupid, and possibly fatal, decision.

“What’s your name?” I asked her, pulling the bag off my back. I dug around, counting my ammo boxes. After a quick stop at the gun stand in the market I would be set.

“Ellie.” She dried her tears, quickly composing herself.

“Where did you say he went, Ellie?”

“Park Street Station, it’s an old pre-war ruin. Skinny and his gang took it over.”

“Okay, great. I actually remember where that is.” I flung the bag back on my shoulder.

“You’re not actually going after him.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No, you just... you don’t strike me as the fighting type.”

“I’m not really.”

“Then why are you going?” Ellie asked, standing and following me as I headed towards the door.

“I need his help. And he’s not doing anyone any good gone.”

“You must be pretty desperate. It’s not often Nick can’t save himself.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

--

My legs were on fire by the time I had reached the Boston common. I had been able to get away with only running across some ghouls and a few rogue raiders before reaching this point, but I was still high on my guard.

Plywood signs along the metal fencing warned me not to wander inside the common’s park. Lucky for me, the hub was just on the edge and no where near the center. The buzz of anxiety kept me on my toes as I made one last mad dash for the station’s doors. The pops and cracks of battle echoed in the distance before they were muted by the heavy metal door shutting behind me. I would usually find this comforting, but there was plenty of danger waiting for me deeper underground.

The temperature fell as I descended down the broken escalator. I could hear talking coming from the next room. I hid behind the doorway, listening in and trying to get an idea of what I was dealing with.

“He’s weak, I’m tellin’ ya. That detective comes snooping around, and what does he do? Just keeps him locked up. He don’t even got the balls to ice some nobody.”

“Keep that shit to yourself. His new girl hears ya and she’ll start swinging that bat of hers until we don’t have no face left.” I could hear them walking and talking through the nearly empty lobby. A few more were lingering around. I didn’t think I would be able to shoot it out. I figured  it was time to improvise.

I pulled my pack around to rifle through the junk I had collected until I found a ragged stuffed bunny that I had found in Concord. It was hardly big enough, but it would work. I pulled the seam that ran down its back apart and tossed the stuffing onto the aged tile until it’s torso was hollow. The empty cavity ended up being the perfect bed for a grenade. There was barely enough room to cover the explosive with some of the fluff to seal it in with only the pin being visible. I gave myself a nod of satisfaction. It would do.

I grabbed a couple of caps from my pocket and took a short peak around the corner to get a look. Most of the men were dressed in sharp suits, and some even completed the ensemble with a worn fedora. Most of them carried guns longer than my arm, and probably a lot more experience than I did.  

The first cap was grasped in my hand, ready to fly. The metal clanged against the tile. I patiently listened as footsteps approached it. Another toss and the other cap rattle nearby the other.

“H-hey, check this out! Caps keep falling from the ceiling.” One of them called to the others. I was relieved to hear the other footsteps lumber over to the commotion.

“What the hell are you talking about?” My heart raced as they babbled on. My fingers sweated over the circle pin, waiting for the right moment to pull.

“They keep dropping down! Two of them! Look!”

“You’re hitting the chems too hard, bud.” A different voice chimed in.

“I haven’t even had that much! I’m serious!” The grenade clicked after losing its pin. One last good toss and I heard the soft thud of the toy. I covered my ears and braced myself behind the wall.

“What the-” BOOM!

It felt like minutes before I moved. I waited and waited for some sort of response or movement but nothing came. Slowly I stood and entered the now destroyed terminal. The air was heavy with the smell of blood and explosives. Like some sort of crude firework. There wasn’t much that could be recognized, other than the occasional burned cap. I figured it would still spend as I went around collecting them. I came upon the blue scrap of the bunny’s ear, left charred and frayed as I finished up.

“Thanks for your sacrifice, little buddy.” I gave it a small solute before moving deeper into the station.

I wasn’t nearly as lucky down by the tracks. I had to carefully sidestep a few mines as I made my way down. I stopped once the open area became visible. There were around a dozen or so triggermen. I had to be fast, precise, and alert. All things I did not feel confident in. My desperation had led me this far, though. Who’s to say it would fail me now?

I pulled out my pistol, checking the ammo before aiming directly at the back of their head. My finger trembled over the trigger, unable to let go of the fact that this would be the first gunfight that was initiated by me. I gave myself a moment to focus, taking slow breaths to balance my hand. Finally, I pulled the trigger. The first man flopped to the floor with the bang of my gun. Before someone had time to react I quickly aimed at the next one. My arm cuff was grazed as the other mobsters started to react. I ducked my head down as a swarm of bullets flew towards me. A break in the assault let me grab another glimpse of the tracks, and another head shot. It went on like that for awhile until the room finally fell quiet. The air held an unsettling feeling, keeping me frozen in my spot. I shut my eyes and waited for a noise. After several seconds there was a soft shuffle and footsteps. Just one set, but I could hear him closing in on me. He was creeping closer to the wall that protected me. I counted to three, held my breath, and popped up from behind the barrier. Before he could lift up his own gun my bullet flew through his chest.

I tried not to count the bodies as I passed them. I wasn’t close to ready to start processing the amount of damage I had caused. I followed the tracks, and was pleasantly surprised with the lack of security. I was able to stroll through the tunnels, their echoing silence bringing me some peace. Until I reached the last stop anyhow. I could see the tunnels had collapsed on the other side of the room. I slowed my pace and peaked around the tunnel opening. The coast seemed clear enough so I decided to continue on. I thought I was moving silently as I tried to sneak onto the platform.

“Hey! There’s someone here!” I heard a man call out from behind a pillar.

“Shit.” I muttered to myself.

“She’s here for the detective! Don’t let her-” With the pop of my gun I silenced the first goon, and the other dropped shortly after as he stumbled after him.

After a couple more skirmishes I found myself in an unfinished part of the station. Dirt and rock made up the floors, walls, and ceilings. The room was cluttered with boxes and construction equipment. As I ventured in a vault entrance came into view, sitting high on the wall with metal stairs leading up to it.

“A vault. Of course, he ended up in a vault.” Grumbling to myself I hooked my pip boy up to the panel, and pushed the button to open the door. The yellow lights circled as the vault hissed and groaned. The large gear shaped door sunk deeper into the earth before rolling off to the side. The metal bridge stretched out to meet the platform I was on. The familiar hollow step of my boot against the steel echoed as made my first steps in. It opened up to a small room, filled with storage containers. Off to the left was a small hallway, leading deeper inside the vault.

“Who the hell keeps opening the damn vault? Can’t hear myself think.” Someone called from the hall. “Skinny? Darla? S’that you?” The moment he came into view I fired. He cried out and with a limp arm he still attempted to aim his gun at me. Another shot and he was on the ground.

“Are you all this stupid?” I asked his body as I stepped over it.

The further I went into the vault the more the rooms started to blur together. I lost track of how many levels I had gone down, and of how many triggerman I had to put down. I was already desperate to get out of that stupid maze.

The last door opened to the second floor of the atrium. Below tables were sprawled out like a cafeteria. On the other side of the room, on the third level, a balcony overlooked the hall with a large circle window showing the office behind it. Yet another gangster stood in front of it, looking and talking to someone through the glass.

“How ya doin’, Valentine? Ya hungry, wanna snack?” He teased his prisoner. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I found him. At least I could say I got this far. I could hardly hear the murmur behind the glass, but the words became more clear as I lurked closer to the stairs leading to the upper floor.

“...gives Malone more time to figure out how he’s going to bump you off.” The detective’s voice finally became clear as I reached the stairs, taking each step slowly enough to keep my boots from rattling against the metal.

“Don’t give me that crap. You don’t know nothing.”

“Oh really? I saw him write your name in that black book of his. Mumbling something about a ‘no-good, lousy, card shark’. Then he struck it off three times.”

“Three times? That’s not funny.” The guard itched around where he stood, obviously troubled by what the other man was saying. Once on the higher platform I hid before the doorway leading to the balcony.

“Gotta guilty conscious, Dino?”

“Shit… I gotta fix this, fast!” Dino was in such a rush that he blew right passed me squatting in the corner without noticing me. Another shot rang out through the atrium, as did the thud of his body.

“What was that? Who’s there?” The detective called out once the echo finished. I followed the voice to the window, only seeing a shadowy figure inside the office. “It’s not going to take long for them to realize he’s not coming back. Get that door open.” He gestured towards the terminal at the end of the balcony. It all seemed to happen so fast then, so meaningless. Even with Mama Murphy’s visions I had no idea I would be walking into a moment that had been written into fate a long time before then.

The door opened and I strolled inside the dark office, ready to grab him and bolt. The glow of his yellow eyes pierced through my thoughts, leaving all of my previous thoughts behind.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario.” He commented. With a flick of his metal wrist he fired up a match to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. The flame that was brought to his face gave the first glimpse of the exposed framing beneath his cheek. “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?” His voice struck a chord in me, somewhere that I thought was dead.

“Would you rather stay here?” I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me. Taking a drag of his cigarette he stepped forward into the light, giving me a better look at him. His synthetic grey skin had definitely been through plenty through his years in the Commonwealth. Despite his experience even his subtle smile felt warm to me.  

“No, but you’ll have to forgive me if I’m wary of walking into another trap.” He retorted. I conceited with a nod.

“I need your help. But, I’m a lot better at explaining when I’m not in an old vault surrounded by blood-lusted mobsters.”

“Fair enough.” He pulled his pistol from his holster and readied it. “Well, what’s your name?”

“Viv.”

“Just Viv?”

“Vivian-...” I hesitated, suddenly unsure if surnames were even used anymore. Judging by his inquisitive stare he was waiting to hear mine. “Becker.”

“Great, I’m Nick… Valentine.” His lips curled into a cheeky smile behind his cigarette. “I’m actually able to say I’m pleased to meet you. Although, I probably would have been pleased with anyone who rescued me from this place.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be. Not many people would have been able to get to me. I’ve been stuck

down here for weeks. Turns out the kidnapped girl I was trying to rescue wasn’t kidnapped at all. She’s Skinny’s new flame, and she’s got a mean streak.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

I let him lead us back out into the atrium. He seemed to know his way, and I was done figuring this maze out. I was happy to mindlessly follow after days of strategically planned movements.

I never imagined how much easier getting through a small army of mobsters would be with a partner. We blew through rooms as if we had trained together before. I could almost let my guard down. Even so, the vault went on for ages. We would think we were close, only to find another staircase leading up closer to the surface. Finally, after what felt like dozens of goons and staircases we finally made it to the final locked door.

“Do you think he’s in there?” I asked him as he went to work the terminal that held the door shut. “He could have run off.”

“No, he’s there. I can hear his fat footsteps from here” Nick murmured as he typed away. I was fascinated with the way his fingers moved, specifically the exposed metal ones, moved. Fluidly, and with intention, despite the fact that they were controlled by a computer themselves. “I’m not really sure where Skinny’s temper is these days. Stay alert in there.” He broke me from my thoughts. My heart thunked in my chest so loud I could feel the ripple in my entire body, the beat hammering in my ears. It was moments like these that I completely forgot why I was there. I wasn’t a soldier, that was my husband’s job.

“Ready?” He asked, cocking his gun.

“Ready.” I lied.

The door opened with a hiss. The next room’s light only illuminated Nick’s captors and what was left of their crew.

“Nicky, what do you think you’re doing?” A portly man in a sharp, black tuxedo called from inside the room.“You just come in to my home and start killing my guys? How could you do this to me?” Next to him a tiny porcelain doll of a woman with a shimmering, cool colored, dress wielded a baseball bat. They both watched with a smirk as the remaining triggerman aimed their weapons at us when we approached.

“You should tell that dame of yours to write home more often. I wouldn’t be here if her parents weren’t looking for her.” Nick said. I could see the detective nervously eyeing the room after he spoke. We were surrounded, and I was suddenly very aware of the large amount of sweat I was producing.

“What’s the matter, Valentine? Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? That why you needed your lady friend to come save you?” The woman cackled, her bright red lips stretching across her face. Her nearly flawless features should have stunned me, but I couldn’t get over the crazed look in her eyes. Even when she wasn’t looking at me I could feel her stare. “I told you, we should have just killed him! Now he’s sent this one to rub us all out.” She hissed. “Darla, I’m handling this!” Skinny scolded. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, tucking the bat into the crook of her elbow.

“Sure, you’re handling it. Look how that turned out. You got all sentimental. All that stupid crap about the ‘old times’.”

“Darla, please!”

There’s… an echo. I found Mama Murphy’s words rolling around in my head again. I tried to push them away, staying on alert, but they forced their way in. Something in the past that can help you. When you meet the fat man and the angry woman… It finally clicked with me. I couldn’t believe that drug addicted, old, broad really wasn’t crazy.

“W-wait!” I was only half-expecting anyone to hear me, but as I spoke everyone’s eyes turned to me at once. My heart kicked into a new level of overdrive that I didn’t even think was possible. “Skinny… remember- remember the Quarry, a-and Lilly June on the rocks.” I couldn’t even hear myself speak. Everyone, including Nick, just stared in silence. Did I screw it up? Did I even say anything? Was I already dead?

“What?” The mob boss finally spoke, dumbfounded as his arms, and his weapon, dropped to his side.

“Um… remember the-”

“Shut up, I heard you.” He stopped me with a wave of his fat hand. His brow furrowed in thought, scratching at his face as the two brain cells he had bickered back and forth inside his head. Nick shot a look at me, silently asking what the hell I was thinking. I gave him a short shrug, not letting my eyes leave Skinny’s hands. The second they even twitch towards his gun and I would be ready. “Alright. Alright, fine. I’m going to give you ‘til the count of ten. After that then the old days are dead, and I see your faces again then you will be too.”

“Skinny, what are you doing? Kill them!” Darla shrilled, stomping her feet around like a spoiled child.

“No, Darla. Skinny Malone is putting his foot down. They get one chance to leave.” Darla’s face twisted with disgust. Her wooden bat clamored on the tile as she tossed it aside.

“My mother was right. You mobsters are all talk.” Without missing a beat, she turned on her heel and started walking into the shadows behind them.

“Babe, where you goin’?”

“Home. I don’t need you and your fat ass weighing me down anymore.” She called behind her shoulder as she sauntered out the back. The boss watched with his jaw left open, his head following her until she disappeared. He whipped around to face us, his eyes wide with pain and frustration.

“ONE.” Skinny growled through clenched teeth. His sausage fingers gripping his gun as he aimed it at us.

“Time to go.” Nick grabbed my hand and pulled me passed the small crowd to the back.

“TWO.” Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see how the far side of the room was cluttered with totes and boxes. It led to a wide hallway that led us further away from the scene but you could still hear the mobster’s voice booming behind us.

“THREE… FOUR… FIVE.” I could tell the boss was getting impatient as he sped up the countdown. “SIX.”

“This way, there’s a tunnel. It’s how I got in.” Sure enough, almost tucked away in the corner, was a ladder heading straight for the surface.

“SEVEN.” The stomps of boots started to approach as we clamored up the metal rods. At the top was a stone sewer cap. I struggled to push it open, hooking my leg around the ladder for balance as I used my whole upper body to shove the thing open.

“EIGHT.” Fresh air cascaded from above as the cap moved aside. I crawled out from the sewer hole and simply rolled aside so the detective could follow.

‘NINE.” I heard the last of Skinny Malone’s voice as Nick sealed the cap once again.

“Jeez, you’d think an old-school mobster who just got his heart stomped on would be more forgiving.” I chortled, staring up at the night’s sky. Nick gave a surprised chuckle. I could feel his eyes on me but it was easy to tune it out this time. Laying on the asphalt I let the crisp breeze relieve my body of its sticky sweat. I focused on my breathing, the rise and fall of my stomach. I was actually alive. “That was quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Saving me?” I nodded, and he laughed again. “You mind telling me why you did? Or who you are?”

“I told you who I am.”

“Oh, c’mon.” I couldn’t help but giggle again at his frustration. I finally sat up, leaning back onto the palms of my hands.

“I went to your agency and your secretary said you were missing. You weren’t around to save yourself so I told her I would.”

“Okay, but why?” I curled my legs in to sit criss-cross, struggling to find the right words.

“I need your help… I’m looking for someone.” I picked at the skin around my finger nails, but kept eye contact with him as I spoke. He extended his metal hand out to help me up.

“Well, I’d say you’ve earned the right to tell your story.” Once I was back on my feet I brushed some of the dirt of pebbles off of my hands and jeans. “Let’s head back to my office. You can get a chance to unload your mind.” He said it like it was a good thing. The idea of voluntarily remembering what happened sent a spike of anxiety through my whole body. We had a decent walk back though. Plenty of time to think of ways to put it off.

It turns out Nick was an excellent travelling companion. Usually I enjoyed the still silence but listening to his stories of ‘the old days’ was both intriguing and hilarious. He talked about the cat and mouse chase that ensued between him and his old friend, Skinny Malone. There was something familiar about listening to him. Somehow it felt like a little window to before the blast. Even though he was recalling memories that had only happened some years before then, it felt like he was talking about the streets of Boston as it was two-hundred years ago.

The strangest mixture of dread and relief washed over me once we made it back to Diamond City. I almost got myself killed trying to get to this point, and yet part of me wished it had killed me. It sounded better than reliving what happened.

The town was silent under the midnight stars, so different from how I had left it. The occasional guard popping out from the shadows to patrol the market. Walking through, we would grab their attention but I noticed once they saw Nick they weren’t bothered with us anymore.

Back at the agency, the detective stepped in tentatively, I’m sure not to startle his secretary who was most likely sleeping.

“El, you here?”

“Nick?” I watched him smile as there was a sudden shuffle of footsteps from the private quarters. He silently invited me in, shutting the door behind us. Ellie came running in from the hall, her eyes obviously sleepless. “Oh my god, you’re alive. You’re actually here.”

“Try not to be too disappointed.” Nick said with a smirk. She ran over and embraced him, and he accepted it warmly. He gave her head a fond pat after breaking their hug. I noticed the tiny tears that had formed in her eyes. She wiped them away before they had the chance to fall. Suddenly her face turned into a scowl as she crossly set her hands on her hips.

“I told you it was a trap. You could have died.”

“A trap would mean they knew I was coming. They just got a lucky shot.” They bickered like that for awhile. In the meantime I let my bag fall off my back and onto the ground. I plopped onto a nearby chair, that had definitely seen better days. It was still a relief for the throbbing soles of my feet.

At first I tried to follow their conversation, but my brain would start to phase the sound away and replace it with emptiness. A quiet nothing feeling embraced me, where the only thing that was being processed was the sight of the robot moving from one paper stack to the next.

At some point Ellie stopped and pulled me from my trance to thank me and I believe I responded politely. She disappeared to bed some time after that, but I didn’t notice. I was back in my disassociation, my eyes only tracking the little movement in the room.

The flow of Nick’s patched trench coat. A scratch on the back of his neck. I wasn’t sure if I was even awake anymore. It was oddly satisfying, like meditating specifically on the moment.

“You’re staring.” The detective’s voice rang in my head before I realized he was actually speaking to me. He had sat down at the desk in front of me, and pulled a screwdriver from one of the drawers. “Have you ever met a synth before?” He asked as he started fiddling with some of the screws in his exposed hand.

"Oh, uh… no, but that’s not- uh…” I attempted to rub the sand out of my eyes but it was useless. I dropped my hands into my lap and sighed as I looked back at him. “Sorry. I'm just tired. I should head over to the Dugout and let you settle in. We can meet up in the morning." When I rose from the chair it felt as if I had spent all day there. Every joint in my body ached, begging for a proper rest.

"You could. Or you could use my bed tonight if you want." His statement actually woke me a bit from my state.

"You want me to sleep in your bed?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You don't have to. I don’t sleep so it’s not like I use it. I figured it would save you a few caps, and I thought I'd offer since you saved my life and all." I gave a soft laugh. The idea of walking just a few steps to a bed, as opposed to across the diamond, did sound appealing to me.

"You don't even know me. I could be some sort of con artist."

"I'll have to keep a close eye on you then, won't I?"

His bed, bedroom area, was up on a loft above Ellie’s. I climbed up the ladder quietly as she slept. My leather armor was shed to the floor, along with my blue flannel overshirt and heavy brown boots. I crawled onto the mattress and curled up happily under the light blanket. I don’t even remember closing my eyes. My mind just drifted back into the peaceful blackness.

#fallout 4 #fanfiction #fanfic #fallout #fallout4 #falloutfic #falloutfiction #fo4 #fo #fo4fiction #fo4fic #nick valentine #nickvalentine #oc #original character #sole #solesurvivor #WWFF

[fundeadasylum]

Fiery the Vengeance, Hate Will Drain Me

Hey kids, it’s time to feel fuckbad.

Micoverse belongs to @mushroomminded

Title from “The Cage” by Sonata Arctica. 

Content warnings: mentions of physical and verbal abuse, implied drug and alcohol abuse, purple prose bullshit, vague inhuman concepts, lotsa headcanons

xxxxxxxxxxx

He’s no stranger to bruises and breaks, scrapes and scratches. He has an unfortunate familiarity with broken bones, concussions, and floating ribs. He knows very well how cruel the world can be, how heartless people are, how selfish and ignorant and nasty they really are under their polish and their smiles. It’s a knowledge that once drove him nearly mad with anger, the injustice of it boiling him from the inside out, spewing curses into song lyrics and screaming at the world to listen, damn it, listen to me! Everyone’s sick! This world is sick and people are awful! Look at what they’ve done! There’s nothing good in this life, can’t you see that!? Why won’t you listen to me!?

            Don’t you ignore me, brat! I know what you do every night! Filth!

Jake Pierly knows intimately how a few minutes of trauma can congeal into an ugly, sticky film of loathing and despair.

It’s something you never really shake off.

So when Milo comes home and tries to sneak past the kitchen where Jake is unpacking things to make dinner, he knows something is wrong. He can sense old fear and tastes cold iron in the back of his mouth and he’s in the hall before he can stop himself.

“Milo.”

It’s not a question and something in his voice makes the teenager freeze. Jake feels a gut-wrenching sensation and for a moment his vision is smeared and he sees himself standing there, a tired and broken teenager with dark hair and clumsily hidden bruises. Then he blinks and Milo’s staring at the floor, hunched into his hoodie. He’s desaturated, drained. Someone’s been feeding off him and Jake feels that barest spark of that old rage deep in his belly.

He’s crosses the short distance between them and puts his hand lightly on Milo’s shoulder. It still elicits a flinch and Jake was to swallow down the agitated puff of smoke clawing up his throat from that old flame. Instead, he steers Milo down the hall and up the stairs, ushering the boy into a shark-filled room and letting him settle onto his bed before Jake perches beside him. Milo’s still not looking at him, curled around his sharks and sea creatures, hiding among the things he loves and trying to find solace, trying to find stability, in the things that have never and will never hurt him. He’s pushed his face into the belly of a whale shark, exposing the back of his neck. And the blue-purple marks of worried flesh that are revealed as his hair falls away.

Jake wants to snarl but he bites his lip hard until he can stamp down the embers trying to burn themselves to life again.

“Milo, who’s hurting you?”

Wide eyes look up at him sharply, fear and anguish and hate and the beginnings of that awful, sticky anger staring back at Jake.

“You...thought we didn’t notice,” Jake says and Milo looks away, guilt writing hard edges into his posture, “If you told anyone, it’d get worse, right?” A stiff nod into the belly of the shark. Jake feels like cold fire and his next words taste like ash as they spill over his tongue,

“They make you feel like it’s your fault, don’t they?”

Milo starts crying.

Milo starts crying and Jake feels something nearly forgotten in him crack and flake away, like a scar being picked at until it bleeds again. He gathers the boy into his arms, holds him gently, allows him room to get away if he needs to. But Milo just leans into him and cries and Jake hopes that those tears can wash away the hate and rage before Milo’s coated in it too much to escape. He doesn’t want Milo to be

             drowning in the sour taste of alcohol and stale pretzels, bass beat ripping at his ears and thudding against his ribs so hard he thinks they might break, doing anything and everything to white out his brain and just forget

    tangled in the stench of cigarette smoke and the burn of hard drugs scraping the back of his throat, muscles begging at him to get off his feet, breath rasping in tired lungs that have been screaming, screaming, howling at senseless crowds all night

like him.

------

He cries.

Quietly, alone in his room, Jake lets himself cry.

At first it’s for Milo. Poor Milo who deserves so much better than this. Poor Milo who’s been cursed and doesn’t even know it. Poor Milo who he loves dearly but also hates because he sees his old friend there and just wants things to go back to the way they were. Poor Milo who is suffering for no fucking reason.

So at first, he’s crying for the

                     man trapped and forgotten in a boy’s body

boy carrying the burden of bruises and abuse that someone his age shouldn’t even know about.

But those thoughts tear open wounds he thought had long healed and the tears of grief turn into tears of anger. He shoves his face into his pillow, biting back a scream and settling for a whimpering growl, fingers clenched so tightly that his arms ache. The anger is hot in his chest, lances of barbed wire that burn white-hot and scald his insides, digging into dusty memories, prying open scars that he’d ignored, reminding him of things that fill his mouth with a sour taste of bile and a stinging bite of metal.

           Jacob Pierly you get back here this instant!

                       You’re just like your good for nothing father. Worthless.

                                 Take your shirt off and hold still, brat. I’m going to teach you a lesson in respect!

His back stings and he breathes hot air out between clenched teeth.

This can’t go on.

This won’t go on.

He’ll make sure of it. He’s not going to let anyone hurt Milo.

--------

Her name is Birdie.

It’s a disgustingly sweet name and Jake’s lip curls, stomach churning with raw dislike when he hears it.

Birdie.

She acts like a bird of prey but Jake can see her for what she really is; a rotten, hollow carcass, festering with disease and ruining everything she touches. Still, if she wants to play with the big boys, Jake will indulge her.

She started it.

She kicked the hornet’s nest.

She attacked the cub and now the lion is angry.

-------

Jake’s nothing, if not patient.

So he waits.

He waits and he counts each and every bruise and mark and scratch Milo comes home with. He lets it fuel his anger, adding coals to the slowly building fire inside. He feels it blistering against his ribcage, licking at the bones, hungry to escape. But he restrains himself. Saves it. He’ll need it.

He consoles Milo when he can. If he can. It’s getting harder and harder to wipe away the tears and the slimy film of hate slowly coating the boy. Jake wants to tell him to breathe, wants to tell him to ignore the hatred. Don’t be like me, he wants to beg, don’t be afraid of everyone. Don’t let that fear stem from a deeply rooted hatred that was planted by someone you thought you could trust. Please, Milo, please, be stronger than me. You deserve better than me, so please, keep holding on for just a little longer.

It’s almost over, Milo, it’s almost over.

--------

Jake watches Milo stumble away from the girl who’s watching him with a hungry, triumphant, sickening smile.

He wants to go to the boy and hug him and tell him how loved he is, how important he is, how much people care about him. But he can’t right now. So he lets Milo limp home with a bruised shin, knowing Dan will be waiting for him, and he waits.

He doesn’t wait long.

Birdie cuts through the overgrown trail in the back of the park every so often and that evening is no different. Jake stands directly in her path, arms crossed and head tilted slightly to one side, his expression carefully blank. There’s a storm in his eyes, though, and they burn brightly.

She stops, eyes him with the look of a hunter, dismisses him as an already broken toy, “Can I help you?”

It’s all Jake can do to keep from yelling at her, jaw clenched as he grinds the words out between hatred and anger, “Stay away from Milo.”

The cool smile she’d been wearing falters for a half a second before it’s back, coy and smooth and full of arrogance, “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean. We’re just friends. I help him.”

“You hurt him.” Jake growls and his breath is hot, simmering in the air. Something smells like smoke and hot pavement.

Her smile turns sour and dangerous and this is what Milo must see before she lays hands on him. A viper behind a smile, poison masked by honey and sugar, sweet touches that bite hard and chew and tear until there’s nothing left except ruin and a rot that’s as foul as she really is on the inside.

Jake hates her.

Birdie dismisses him with a cock of her hip, tilting her head so her ponytail swings behind her, “You have to know how this looks, right? A grown man cornering a teenager in the woods? Suspicious.Imagine how much it would hurt Milo to find out one of his dads is stalking his friend.”

Jake grinds his teeth, heart pounding, fists clenched and shaking at his sides. He wants to wring her neck, dig his fingers into her throat until the bones grind and snap, wants to inflict upon her every hurt she put upon Milo. His anger burns so harshly he could taste it, feel it cooking him from the inside out, boiling his blood in his veins. But he sucks in a tight breath and holds back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

Her time would come.

“Go ahead and tell him,” Jake breathed out, the words hot but his voice cold and steady, “But let’s be honest, Birdie,” He spits her name like a curse and relishes silently in the way it makes her eyes narrow, “I’m a tired, 40 something with a heart condition and Milo knows it. I can’t exert myself without risking my life. So who would really come out looking like the victim here?”

The silence that follows is dangerous. The world holds its breath as the two stare each other down.

Birdie breaks eye contact first. She turns away with a shake of her head and a roll of her eye, brushing off the hidden threats as if Jake is no more consequence that a twig in her path. She stalks past him, nose in the air, choosing to ignore his presence completely. As she brushes by him, Jake turns to watch her walk away.

“Oh, and Miss Birdie…”

She actually deigns to send him a bored looking scowl over her shoulder. He just smiles, showing his teeth, and

       If you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll make you regret being born!

               Freak! Just like your rotten father!

                             Disgusting.

                                                         Awful.

                                                                              Filth.

“I meant it when I said to stay away from my son. Just think about it.”

He leaves before she can get the last word in. But the stink of her follows him home and he stands for too long in the shower, trying to wash off the rot and hatred and pain. All it seems to do is make his open sores bleed more.

-------

She doesn’t heed him. Not the he expected her to. After all, what threat could he pose aside from a stern lecture? There was no proof about what she was doing and Milo, well, Milo would never talk. He knew where that would get him. Jake knew where that would get him.

So he would protect Milo. It was a parent’s duty to look after their child, even if that child was an old friend whose life they’d ruined.

Old habits are swimming to the surface with Jake’s bubbling temper. His fingers twitch for a lighter, lungs aching for that old burn of cigarette smoke, his lips chewed raw by a fix he can’t have. The liquor store is looking awful friendly these days. His gaze snags on the bottles of cheap vodka and even cheaper mixers, making his tongue curl with the memories of

                straight shots one after another, acid burn and sweet fruity flavor tangling down his throat, sticky fingers on a half empty bottle, laughing into the dark alleys of the night, wandering down street they own because no one else will

                                      chasing cigarette smoke with rum and lukewarm pepsi, kicking vending machines until they spit out old chips, screaming half remembered lyrics from rooftops and hurling glass bottles into the dark, listening for the shatter, laughing because what you really want to do is cry but fuck that, fuck them, fuck this entire sick and stupid world, you’re all out of tears so you break and you destroy and

fuzzy headaches and strained hangovers, the taste of sick still clinging dry and crusted to his mouth.

He keeps walking.

Dan knows something is bothering him. Tries to ask but Jake just murmurs something about stress and difficult clients and makes vague gestures in the air. Dan’s kind enough to realize it’s a subject not to be prodded and leaves well enough alone. But he hovers, trailing after Jake and trying to coax smiles from him. He dotes on Milo and manages to drag them both to the aquarium and it’s nice because for a day they can forget about all the bad and sour things in the world, all the rot clinging to their heels and the dirt under their nails from trying to keep their heads above the ground so they aren’t buried alive by all the shit piling on top of them.

Milo comes home from school the next day bandages on his arms and a raw red scratch on his cheek. He says he fell on the cement outside the school. But when Jake helps him clean up and change the bandages before bed, he knows it’s a lie.

Falling on the cement would not leave precise and vicious lines across his pale skin like that.

They get a phone call from the school, they’re worried about Milo’s mental health and his situation at home. Jake has to hand the phone off to Dan because he’s holding it so tightly it creaks against his palm and the anger inside him wants to spill out like an erupting volcano. He settles for sitting next to Dan on the couch and furiously bouncing his leg, chewing his fingertips raw as he glares at the carpet and listens to Dan explain that they’ve got everything covered, Milo’s just dealing with a lot right now, asking a lot of questions about his missing dad, and they’re doing their best, thank you for your concern, and no, no we don’t need a psychologist recommendation, thank you, no, goodbye.

Jake’s done. Enough is enough. And this has been too much.

He feels bad about it but he gets the number from Milo’s phone. He makes a call. Then he makes a different one.

He asks Kathy for a favor. She says it will cost him. He says he knows, asks her how much, is told she will collect later and he probably won’t like it. He growls; he’d do anything for Milo. The silence that answers him asks why he hasn’t tried to turn him back.

Jake hangs up and swallows his tears with coffee so hot it scalds his mouth. He almost wishes for the burn to be alcohol instead.

-------

When Birdie walks into the room, she stops because there’s only Jake inside. Only Jake sitting at a small, round topped cafe table with a cup of steeping tea and a teapot as white as the rest of the room. It would be almost peaceful if not for the strange, white blankness of this oddly large room in the back of the magic store no one can find unless they need to.

Kathy shuts the door and Jake catches her eye before it closes all the way. She looks troubled. She looks almost disappointed. She looks like she’s giving him permission. Jake returns his attention to Birdie as she sits down across from him, distrust in her eyes but a small smile on her face.

“Weird place for a chat,” She says, folding her hands on the tabletop, ignoring the teacup in front of her.

Jake blows on the surface of his drink and sips it carefully. Peppermint and spice fill his mouth and soothe his throat. He sets the cup down and meets Birdie’s gaze with an unimpressed look, “I’m going to ask you one more time: please leave Milo alone.”

She cocks an amused eyebrow at him, two steps down from mocking, salt and soured things dripping from her words, “Oh, I get a please this time, huh? I see where Milo gets his rudeness from.”

               You rude little shit! Don’t you dare speak to your mother that way!

“Last chance, little bird,” Jake’s voice is the rumble of distant war drums, the tremble of a bass guitar tuning its strings, “Swear to stay away from Milo and you can walk out of here, no hard feelings.”

Birdie doesn’t so much as frown as let some of her true rotten nature slip through her mask, “Are you actually threatening me now? Wow, no wonder Milo thinks he’s hot shit, his scrawny dad does too. You said it yourself, you’re nothing but a wheezing heart condition on legs. I’m not afraid of you.” She leans back, tilts her chin up, authority she doesn’t truly have heavy in her voice as she sneers at him, daring him to just try, just try it Jacob Pierly, and it will be the last thing you ever do as a free man.

Jake sighs and pushes his tea away, “What do you know about magic, Miss Birdie?”

She scoffs, “Are you serious?”

He keeps going because if she’s not going to play along, let alone play nicely, he’ll just try and make her understand the hard way, “I’m not talking Harry Potter, wave a wand, say a magic word kind of magic. It doesn’t work like that anymore. Times change, magic changes. Kathy could explain it better. But words have power,” He glares at her and there’s something creeping across her face now, something that might be understanding though she’s fighting to keep her mask up,

“Words have power and every foul word you’ve said to Milo has hurt him just as much as every bruise or cut or hit.” She opens her mouth to protest the accusations but Jake doesn’t give her the chance, “You’ve been feeding off my son, draining him, like a fucking leech, like the rotten, hollowed out bitch you are. And I’m not going to put up with it anymore. I warned you. I told you to lay off. But like a parasite, you wouldn’t let him go.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Concern laces her voice, the first trickles of what might grow into fear, “All I ever did was help him see how damaged he really is. He’s broken and he knows it. His own father didn’t even want him. I’m the only one who does.”

Jake seethes, lets the anger he’s been restraining lash free, feels it flare to life in his chest, a meteor crashing into his self control. He stands up from the table, fury spitting smoke from between his teeth and digging his fingers into the tabletop,

“You’re just like the rest of them,” Jake doesn’t sound quite human anymore. His voice is a grinding snarl, the screech of guitar strings and the crash of a bass drum, that thrum in the chest from the amps that pump out bass sounds until you feel it rattling your organs, “Just as greedy, just as nasty, just as unwilling to change. Selfish and destructive. You take and you take and you take until there’s nothing left. And I hate all of you.”

Birdie trips over her feet, backing away from the table as Jake allows the festering pool of destructive rage inside him to boil over. He feels skin stretch and tear, muscles pop, and bones snap. It should hurt, logically he knows it should hurt. But the pure anger that pumps hot iron through him burns more than anything else, drowning out all other sensations.

It’s been well over twenty years since Jake has given in and let the music and rage control him. There’s a reason he hung up his guitar and hasn’t picked it up since.

“You hurt so many people,” The screech of feedback through a microphone, the chitter of drumsticks, the rumble of a bass guitar, “And you don’t care because you think it’s fun. You make me sick. I hate you all.“

Steel and black lacquered wood warp the thing that used to be Jacob Pierly. Spikes of metal, strings of shimmering silver, the image of something bestial and full of teeth and rage and the screaming music of the trampled and downtrodden fills the room. This is no mere monster, this is a god, a deity of song and fury and it has its sights set entirely on Birdie. And for once in her life, she cowers before something and feels weak and helpless.

“You make this planet hell,” The thing that is Jake says and its voice is a harmony of a thousand choruses and the riffs of a million guitars, “You’re the reason the devils are here. You stuff your ears with cotton and you bathe in all our tears.” It could almost be a song, the breath of the great beast the crash of cymbals and its movements the rolling mosh pit in front of the stage. Its eyes are the flickering stage lights, its melody almost lost in the scream of its own voice, “You’re the reason why we suffer, you selfish, ugly thing. You’re the reason children cry. And the reason why we scream.”

It leans its head down, down, down until it’s inches away from the cowering human girl who is just now realizing that she’s in way over her head. She reeks of fear and rotten things and the beast snorts, a gust of wind and the faint cheers of a crowd following the hot breath.

“It would be so easy to crush you,” Says a voice that almost sounds like Jake, the words trailed by haunting sing-song notes like lost souls, “The way you have crushed so many others. But music is not about destroying. It is about making you see what you wish to ignore.” Those razor sharp teeth of glinting steel draw nearer and Birdie whimpers through her tears, pressing herself back against the wall, shaking from head to toe at the expanse of the creature before her,

“And you have ignored so much. All the agony you have inflicted upon others will be reflected onto you. Maybe you will understand once your are suffering too.”

And then there is screaming, very human and very afraid, and the roar of an angry band, shouting lyrics into a rowdy night crowd, the last show, the last song, the end of hate and rage and suffering.

And then there is silence.

-------

“I thought you were going to kill her,” Kathy says later. They’re alone in the shop and Jake is nibbling on a bar of chocolate, letting the warmth and sugar rejuvenate him. He looks more exhausted than ever before.

“Wanted to,” He says to the floor between his bare feet. He’d remembered to bring spare clothes but had forgotten shoes. He knows better than to ask Kathy. The drive back to the house doesn’t require footwear anyway. He pushes himself up on wobbly feet, swaying slightly before he stabilizes,

“But no matter how angry the music is, I don’t...I’m not…”

“I know,” Kathy says, “Now get out of here. I’ll call in your debt later.”

Jake feels a twinge of fear at the words but makes his way shakily for the front door of the magic shop. As he steps into the darkening evening, Kathy calls after him,

“You shouldn’t bottle up your feelings so much, Jacob Pierly. One of these days you might not be able to keep them inside.”

“I know,” Jake tells the balmy dusk of the parking lot, “I know…”

-------

Dan asks him why he came back without shoes and Jake

               tries to cover up the smoke stench with candle and cologne, only drinks hard and heavy when he knows he won’t be going home, washes the smell of vomit and old sweat and other nightly escapades off with a hose in his friend’s backyard

tells him they were chewed up by a dog or something. While they were still on his feet. And, no, Dan, I’m fine, I’m just really tired, it was a long day, can we do this later?

But when he’s laying in his bed, Jake stares at the palms of his hands, tracing long healed calluses and the faded white scars from guitar strings with his eyes and he can imagine

                massive claws like guitar picks, steel and shiny and flawlessly dangerous, muscled body of abyss black and rippling silver strings

blood on them.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

Rage and music are a powerful beast and they makes their homes in the hearts of those who are hurt the most and cannot fight back. Music has a power to it, words have power, and fueled by emotion they are all the more dangerous.

Milo has already been cursed once. Jake will not see him cursed again. Jake will not see Milo carrying the same burdens he has.

There’s already enough scars between them to last a lifetime.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Basically vent fic where I live vicariously through Jake.

Also I was totally think of Orgamgoden from Brutal Legend while I was writing monster Jake. But I left his exact description purposefully vague. Concepts are beyond the human ability to quantify into words.

#micoverse #long post sorry mobile users

[wilhelmjfink]

“was” pt. 12

this one’s kind of dark sooo........ sorry i guess

Y/N had been tossing and turning in bed, blinds shutting out the rays sunlight, covers burying her in the dark and shielding her from real life when a commotion outside forced her to at least check it out.

 The Saviors had returned.

 She didn’t want to see them — she didn’t even want to think about them. She wanted to crawl back into the big, empty bed and wallow in self-pity and cry until her eyes couldn’t produce anymore tears. Maybe, she thought, if she closed her eyes tight enough she could block them all out and they would just disappear.

But Negan’s powerful voice was accentuated by a megaphone, and there was no chance of her ignoring his speech. Especially when he spoke her name: “Y/N, doll, I know you’re in here somewhere!!” He taunted her, driving more cries from deep inside of her soul as she grabbed her head in her hands with fistfuls of her hair as a distraction, hoping to cry loud enough that she could tune him out. “I brought you a little ‘welcome back to the shithole that is Alexandria’ gift!”

She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she screamed anyway. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

But that was something Negan simply could not do. 

“If you don’t come out, I’ll have to send somebody in to each house and tear it apart until we find you,” he threatened, though she could hear the sinister smile in his voice. Another sob racked her body at the thought of being the ultimate reason for Alexandria’s downfall; the responsibility of lives and belongings lost because of her inability to cope with reality. He already took the one thing she cared about most in this world. What else did he want?

One of his men had shot her — on purpose; tried to kill her. What was left for him to take?

The last five days had been plagued with a suffocating agony unlike any big she had ever felt before. The first time Negan took Daryl, she thought she couldn’t be anymore distraught. But the second time around, after he’d escaped the first time.... she wasn’t sure she’d be able to wait to find out what they were doing to him. 

Every time she shut her eyes she’s reminded of the things Daryl described to her from before; of the torment he’d gone through, how she was the only thing that kept him going... what would they do to him this time?

The Daryl she knew was strong enough — her Daryl was strong enough to withstand anything that was the thrown his way. But from the things she’d heard from her friends about how he’d been acting lately, she wasn’t so sure she knew him that well.

In fact, she wasn’t so sure she knew herself that well, either. 

She’d never been a coward or one to half-ass things, taking the easy way out of difficult tasks. But with all of the things that had happened to her in just a couple of weeks, she felt like she was an entire different person, just a vacant shell of her former self that hovered outside the realm of real life and stood idly by, just watching these events play out like some sort of fucked up thriller movie. And lately, she’d been contemplating if any of it was even worth it anymore. 

“Don’t make me start counting down, Y/N...”

Her eyes were clamped shut so hard her temples were being to throb painfully with each beat of her heart, relentlessly trying to ignore him, though it seemed like every word he spoke got louder and louder and physically hurt her.

Just keep trying, she thought to herself. Maybe if he thinks you’re sleeping, he’ll ignore you. Maybe if he just believes your dead or gone, he’ll leave. Or maybe, if you were really dead, he would actually give up on you and leave you the fuck alone. 

Under Y/N’s bed laid the bag that she’d shoved there the day before after talking with Carl about breaking into the Sanctuary. She was going to leave that night... if she could ever get past Rick. And now that Negan was here, the whole plan just seemed hopeless and bleak. 

And then he started. “Ten...”

She reached under the bed, fumbling blindly until her fingers grazed one of the straps and she yanked it out from underneath her. The largest zipper pouch on top held her 9mm Ruger and its suppressor. Nobody would even hear it. 

“Nine...”

She tore the gun from its place and several other items fell with it, clambering on the floor around it. She ignored them, figuring they wouldn’t mean anything to her soon anyway. 

“Eight...”

Her hands were trembling as she gripped the cool metal, observing the gun in front of her, checking to see if it was still in he state she’d always intended to keep it in. It was — one in the chamber, a full magazine with the safety clicked on. Two clicks, and Negan would finally leave her alone. The guilt, the emptiness, the bottomless fear she harbored, the not knowing, it would all be gone with one flinch of her finger.

 “Seven...”

She’d thought about doing this when the world first ended. How scared she was, how alone she’d been, starving and tired and withering away, it had all driven her mad at first. But then Daryl had shown up, finding her hiding out in that old barn, and literally swept her off her feet and in no time somehow managed to weasel his way to her life. It seemed like decades ago.

“Six...”

The sensation was vague but familiar — the steel clinking dully against her teeth, the metallic taste reminding her of her own blood. 

“Five...”

Was she really going to do this? 

“Four...”

Her eyes were trained in the wooden floor, subconsciously glancing over the materials that were scattered around her feet. Some stray shots. Hair ties. Bandaids. 

“Three...”

A Swiss Army knife. A whet stone. That stupid Polaroid of her and Daryl she’d forced him to take back at the prison. Her heart hurt. 

“Two...”

She clicked the safety off. The longest few seconds of her life were spent waiting for Negan’s booming voice to hit his final countdown, signaling to her to pull the trigger. To fucking end this agony she couldn’t shake. 

She was tired. 

And ‘one’ never came.

In its place was heavy silence. And she didn’t have the guts to do it — at least not without her cue, she told herself. Instead of the number echoing through Alexandria and ringing out in her head, she heard a ruckus outside, and tried desperately to ignore it while her finger hovered over the trigger, ghosting it ever so lightly, trying, fucking trying, to just do it. Come on. Just fucking do it. You’re a fucking coward! Just do it!

“Y/N!” 

She was caught off guard when something hit at her, knocking her backwards off of the bed and sending her gun soaring out of her hands and it landed harshly on the hardwood where it slid several inches before laying still.

Something heavy was on top of her and she fought it, swinging her arms and kicking her legs and cursing, confused and dazed and absolutely furious. Whatever held her down was far too strong for her, much heavier and much taller and she stood no chance against its strength. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until she was forced to open her eyes and try to distinguish the figure through blurry, tear-stricken vision. 

��What the hell are you doing?!” A familiar voice that usually brought her comfort and reassurance this time sent a chill down her spine, sounding more like nails in a chalk board than home. Rick quickly leaned over to pick up the gun that was discarded at her side, not trusting it to be within her reaching distance, still holding her down as she thrashed under him to break free. 

“You think this is the answer?! You think... Y/N, this isn’t...”

“What in the god damn is going on?” Negan’s voice cut off Rick’s lecturing, silencing him immediately and filling Y/N back up with the dread and the crippling fear that seemed to replace the anger she’d felt against Rick for trying to stop her from ending it all. But then, with a newly found vengeance, that rage came flooding back -- at literally everything. 

All she could do was yell, an infuriated growl that was supposed to help release some pent up rage, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate it. She began flailing again, struggling to break free from Rick’s hold. He held the gun behind him, eyes wide, confused, afraid — he refused to release his grip on Y/N, positive now that she needed his help more than she wanted to admit it. “I hate you!” She screamed. “Why won’t you leave me alone? Just leave me alone!”

Rick tried to relax her, to shush her and calm her down while she thrashed about underneath him, but she wouldn’t stop. “Let go of me! Let go!”

“Well, shit, if this isn’t the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Even if Negan did mean it, his voice told them otherwise. At least until he noticed the gun Rick was grasping behind him at arms length, maneuvering it away from Y/N’s grasp as she tried to retrieve it -- only then did it seem to truly catch up to him. “Ah, shit...”

“I fucking hate you!” She screamed again, her voice wavering. “I...”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first dozen times, doll.” Negan left out a hefty sigh and rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin thoughtfully and Rick thought that maybe for once he would actually fucking leave them alone, at least for the rest of the night. 

But of course, Negan couldn’t have that. “You know, at the Sanctuary we have a doctor — used to be a psychiatrist or somethin’.” Rock turned toward him, daggers in his eyes as Y/N continued to writhe beneath him, sobbing and pleading, whimpering unintelligibly. Negan stepped back, holding his hands up defensively. “Shit, sorry, Prick, just trying to help.”

“Help?” Rick barked over his shoulder at the man towering over him. “This is your fault!” 

“Alright, well, I respectfully disagree, but I’m not here to discuss all of the who did what’s. So, anyway, I’ll let you guys have your little LifeTime movie moment here.” He turned to saunter out the door and stopped in the frame. “But if she isn’t down there with me in five minutes, I’m going to come back up here and shoot her my damn self.”

:-(

one more part..... 

@crossbowking @jodiereedus22 @apossiblegentleman @mtngirlforever @sourwolf-sterek32 @winchester-angel @qrangr @cole-winchester @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @twdeadfanfic @crazyaboutnorman @deliciousassafrasssandwich @bunnymother93 @96ssi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ima-mther-fckn-starboy @thatsoragan @lonewolf471

#the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x reader #reader insert #twd #twd daryl #twd fanfic #twd fan fiction #twd imagine #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl dixon #so many redundant hashtags

[valasania-the-pale]

Shatter - A RWBY Drabble

Prompt: Neo takes her revenge.

Was this right?

The girl knelt on the ground, weeping, one hand palm-flat on the ground for stability, the other clutching her face. The blood was red, like ink. It leaked from between her fingers, vivid against her pale skin and the snow. It dripped from her blade too, drawn from the depths of her parasol to deal that final, desperate blow.

Neopolitan knew there would be consequences for her actions. The girl had friends – powerful friends – who would come after her with all the wrath of the gods. They would hunt her like a rabid beast and make her suffer.

She stared at the girl. She couldn’t find it within herself to care. She would flee, and they would never find her should she wish to avoid being caught. She could shatter away from any ambush, and her skill and subterfuge were second to none, now.

Roman was gone, his criminal empire in tatters. She could probably pick up the pieces and weld them into something stronger, now. She’d never have the charisma Roman did, but she could turn it into a profit. Go through the rest of her life in style, end it on some Vacuoan beach or a villa in the Mistral highlands…

Or she could keep fighting. Fight for the thrill of it like she had for so long. Seek out skilled enemies, beat them. Flee from those so obviously superior to her. Little Red wasn’t half bad this time – if she weren’t hampered by guilt and fear and that unwieldy scythe, she might have even beaten Neo at her own game. She was a huntress made for fighting Grimm, not people like Neo. She’d taken ruthless advantage of that.

And now her vengeance was complete. Roman’s fury at Red’s interference in his plans, and her role in his death, were avenged. She would never pose a threat to his memory again, might not even continue to be a huntress at this point. Whatever the case, Neo could wash her hands of the girl and move on with her life.

So why wasn’t she leaving?

Like an echo beneath the howling wind Neo heard the shouts. She wiped the scarlet off of her blade and sheathed it. Her vendetta was complete, she’d run soon enough. She just wanted to watch. That was it.

They came as a group. Sunshine leading the way, her mane of blonde hair flyaway in the winds as she skidded to a halt before the girl. Red tried to calm the brawler, but her bloody tears gave lie to her condition. Sunshine trembled and knelt in front of her sister, weak and impotent. Was she feeling anger? Horror? Defeat? Neo wondered.

Ice Queen cupped Red’s cheeks, gently prying away her hand to reveal those eyes. No longer silver. Red. To fit her name. Destroyed. Her own icy clue went wide with disbelief, denying the reality. She was mirrored by the faunus girl.

Oh, that was ironic. They were speechless. Perhaps she’d teach them a few lessons on how to deal with that.

Mm… No. That was impulsive. Neo scolded herself for feeling tempted for just a few seconds – to see their expressions as she stepped out of the shadows to claim responsibility…

‘Bad Neo, you know better than that.’

Her earlier question returned with a vengeance as Sunshine pulled the girl close, clutching her to her chest like she was trying to protect her from the world itself. Was this right? Ice Queen pressed her cheek to Red’s, her arms joining Sunshine and Kitty Cat’s in the embrace, desperate to comfort their crippled friend.

She’d avenged Roman. She knew Red hadn’t struck the killing blow that night, but the girl had thrown her from the battle. She couldn’t defend Roman. She’d known the instant her parasol carried her away he’d not survive the encounter – even if he won, the Grimm would never allow the ship to land, nor any escape vessels.

Red had killed him as surely as the Grimm. Neo never found his corpse. Never had the chance to say goodbye.

The girls reared back slightly. Red was saying something.

Heads craned, eyes whipping across the clearing, searching. Something in Neo shuddered at the sheer fury she saw in their eyes. Kitty Cat’s ears pinned back, teeth bared. Ice Queen’s deadly calm mixed with furious tears. Sunshine’s bloody scarlet irises. And then they saw her. Kitty Cat’s superior vision pulling through, piercing the shadows. She hissed.

As one their heads turned to look directly at her.

She should have felt afraid, but Neo pulled her lips up in an arrogant smirk. She had her vengeance. She’d killed the two responsible for his death.

She felt hollow, just like she had since the Fall, but she’d done what she set out for. Matchstick too lay bleeding out in the cold snow where Neo’d left her, even her precious maiden powers insufficient to save her from severed arteries.

So arrogant she’d never expected the dagger slipping between her ribs. Pathetic.

The clearing grew hot with the force of Sunshine’s rage. Glyphs sprang into being around Ice Queen. Kitty Cat pulled her lips back, eyes slitted. She stood guard over Little Red, furious but not about to let Neo take advantage of the girl’s vulnerability.

The others would join them soon. Neo could probably fight these three until then. They were angry and not thinking clearly. Emotional in a way she could easily exploit. The other three novices would make it a challenge if she didn’t cripple or outright kill someone. Branwen would kill her, though, regardless.

Neo held her parasol in a loose grip. The cool ivory hilt felt distant. Like she held it with someone else’s numb, leaden hand. Everything felt distant, really.

The glares levelled her way were fearsome, but Neo’s gaze was drawn to the girl once more. To the snow steaming away around the dripping blood. To her shoulders, slumped and trembling with pain and defeat.

Vindication never felt so hollow.

Sunshine flew at her, hair alight with fury. Neo spun away by simple instinct, lazily avoiding each and every strike, even as her eyes lingered on the girl.

Was this right?

Sunshine was more skilled than when last Neo’d fought her. Her style melded with Ice Queen’s beautifully. The rapier darted in and out of Neo’s guard, just barely missing her flesh each time Neo ducked or twisted away. She batted away haymakers and jabs and each and every punch thrown at her. She punished mistakes and overextensions, exploited flaws in Sunshine’s guard and redirected her attacks so they’d fly wide or at her ally. All with the same, empty smirk.

There was no thrill to it.

For years Neo had found satisfaction in defeating powerful opponents. Showcasing her skill, taunting them into a frothing rage and then putting them in the ground. She slipped behind guards and robbed the secure. She challenged the strong and left them dead or humiliated. She was untouchable, and she loved that feeling.

Now she felt hollow. She couldn’t stop looking back to the girl. To Ruby.

She had fought well, but it wasn’t enough. Neo’s blade found those silver eyes, just like Matchstick had often fantasized over in lurid detail. Those eyes had shone with guilt and resolve, had pleaded with Neo to understand.

She did understand. Ruby hadn’t killed Roman. Probably never intended to kill Roman. She was too naïve, too noble to stoop to Neo’s level. And she’d hunted the girl anyways, because there was nothing else for her to live for, any more.

The thrill had vanished with Roman. He’d been the one to take her in and hone her to a fine edge – she’d grown beyond even her mentor within years of him taking her on. But with his demise, nothing was right. Everything was wrong. She felt… nothing.

Right now, she felt nothing. It was another person’s hands who slammed the heavy shaft of her parasol into Sunshine’s temple, dazing the brawler. It was another duelist’s arm who unsheathed her blade and dashed over to engage Ice Queen. It was someone else entirely who drew that thin line of red across the heiress’s cheek, having long since destroyed their aura.

Sunshine leapt on her, but she was already away, shattering to the other side of the clearing.

Neo stared at Ruby. Her smirk had long since faded, replaced by nothing. She was empty. Her face was blank. There were no words to express how she felt, even if she could have done so anyways…

Was this right?

Neo didn’t know. She felt drained. Tired.

They rushed her, and suddenly Neo realized she didn’t want to fight. There was no thrill to it, no satisfaction to be derived from victory, and without that she had no real reason to stay. They would hunt her after this. To the ends of the earth.

She shattered. The smirk she projected onto the illusion was as false as the illusion itself, but Neo was far away, and they would never know.

They would hunt her… maybe evading their fury would bring her some echo of feeling again… Silver eyes stared at her remorsefully in her memory.

They told her she would not.

#RWBY #RWBY Drabble #Ruby Rose #Neopolitan #Roman Torchwick #Yang Xiao Long #Weiss Schnee #Blake Belladonna #valasania the pale #RWBY Drabbles #Valasanias Drabbles

[royal-writer]

Lord of Nothing

I took my own spin on things and now have maniacal laughter and me rubbing my grubby little goblin hands in your face. Little play on a different life for dear Lord Amon since Ess’ likes to think ‘how different life would be if only this and that and this didn’t happen’. Or as I put it- joke’s on u bitch >J This has been in my notes since July??? God I’m slower than a sloth.

“All I ever wanted to do, was impress you!”

His howls fell on deafening ears. The stern complexion of a cold man stared out vacantly into the nothing. His jaw shifted, clearly grinding his teeth in a vision of rage. Fists balled at his side, he was breathing with the harshness of wild beast.

Their dark eyes fell upon him, and his blood ran cold.

“You are not my son,” they had said with dripping ice in their voice. “Leave this house immediately, and do not return.”

Like a blinding snowstorm, the wind picked up and streaks of black and white sliced through his sights. He reached for the older man, who had turned away from him. Squinting against a swollen cheek, his heart racing with anxiety.

“I didn’t mean it, father, you have to understand!”

The figure did not stall, nor turn towards him. The swish of their cloak flowed against the cobblestone, and their boots clipped to wood as they stepped into the house.

A woman standing just inside the household cast him a look of disgust and pure hatred. She turned on her heel, following behind her husband and taking a young dark-haired girl by the hand to drag along. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she reached for him, crying out his name. The sharpness of the older woman’s tone shushed her, but she was still shaking with her sobs as she disappeared into the manor.

Helpless. He was helpless. Looking to the only one who could possibly offer him forgiveness. His forehead touched the pavement, face streaked with tears. Shame and guilt burrowed into his chest. It stole him of air that he didn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry, Fontane. Can you ever forgive me?”

The older boy’s smirk grew more twisted. He waited patiently, his gangling little arms crossed before his chest until the other young man had dared to look up from his groveling.

“Farewell, Master Amon, Lord of Nothing,” the lad purred with eager pleasure. He spat in his direction, turning to enter the household and slam the door behind him.

Steadily, the former heir lowered his head to look upon the ground. All his bruised body ached. All his soul was shattered upon the pavement. His hopes and dreams, dashed.

Placing his face low to the ground, he wept. A final mourning of self-pity.

The last of his pride, and who he was, was now gone, forever.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jerking himself awake, the disowned Illiad gave a heavy grunt as he tossed an arm over his face aged face. The freshness of that day ever-lingered in his thoughts, and the nightmares for it came with a heavy vengeance. It arouse from the blank ink of his self-loathing from time to time, but it seemed to have grown more aggressive the past few months. Doubt and humiliation. Fear and distrust.

Amon turned over in the bed, spotting the blonde hair of the woman bunched up in the blankets on the other side. A grateful smile fell over his features, and he reached out for her. Wrapping an arm around her full bust, his mouth pressed to her throat as she gave a tired moan.

“It’s too early for that, mister Clermont,” she barely mumbled.

The mortifying shame reared its ugly demonic head once more. Apologetically, he leaned further back from the resting beauty as gave a sleepy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Gwyneira, go back to sleep.”

A longing deeper made of the deepest, wider crevice reached for her. Sumptuous curves and sweet lips. He could bathe in such illustrious magnificence. She was the picture of a man’s deepest want, and was kind and thoughtful. Even when the rest of the town whispered of him, the speculation always swirling of what sort of man he must be to be thrown out by his own family, she still let him in her bed.

As he rested on his side; contemplating the ceiling above him and his place in the world after such a dreadful dream, Gwenny flipped over to face him. Her dark chocolate colored eyes stared upon him with a groggy regard, until she thrust an arm around him and nuzzled into his side.

“I love you, Amon, you know I didn’t mean to snap, right?”

“Of course, dear.”

With a little wriggle, his lover rested her body completely against his. He stroked her plump frame beneath the duvet, placing a kiss upon her brow.

“I love you too, Gwenny.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon didn’t raise his eyes up to the sight of the Briarton Lord. Dripping with wealth, Fontane was wearing the finest garments of gold and red that money could buy. His sharp smile and five o’clock smile was making all the lady’s go wild as he passed them with a kiss on the hand. Unwedded after the passing of his first wife a few years ago, women still flocked at his doorstep desperately hoping to be the next Lady of the Estate.

Though he bore no honorable heir, there were rumors of an illegitimate child swirling throughout town. Those too stupid to realize his place in the family tried to ask Amon what he knew of this rumor, and he scoffed and shouldered them off. He knew very little; what secret messages and quiet meetings he had with his sister that he felt he barely knew anymore. Years passed without seeing her, and months would go by before he would see her again knowing that even if she wanted a connection, it was a burden to her family to have one now.

He hauled up the clipped wool from the sheep, and gave her bald rump a pat to send her back into the pen. Picking up the pace, he latched the gate before hurrying to get inside the small cottage before his once half-brother spotted him and tried to grind him further into the dirt then he already was.

Gwyneira looked up with some surprise as Amon shut the door roughly behind him. He dropped the wool into the basket left out near the front door with a huff, adjusting his patchy coat around his shoulders.

“Baarbara behave for you today?” the woman asked with concern, knitting her eyebrows together.

“Not a fuss,” he commented, moving over to join her by the sink.

With a half-smile, Gwen’ pulled her hand out from the soapy sink she had been washing dishes in. Her hand patted his unkept beard, leaving bubbles sticking to the side of his face.

“You look unhappy,” she murmured. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Amon offered a crooked smile. His face expressed his exhaustion, and he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. She gave a sigh, melting into him.

A resounding cheering began to raise from just outside their window, and Amon wrapped his arm tightly around the woman.

“Amon-” she growled, pushing him back. After a moment of glimpsing to his closed expression, her eyes moved to look out the window into the street. The familiar figure of a nobleman strolled the streets, cooing and laughing with his following entourage.

“Oh. Pumpkin, you know he’s bound to come around sometimes… Don’t let it get to you.”

Flexing his jaw, Amon muttered beneath his breath and kept a firm hand wrapped around his lover’s body. His dark eyes clouded as he stared out the window with a bitterness in his heart. As much as he disliked himself, he still loathed Fontane just as much. Unable to forget the times the man teased him when they were young; how he’d push him around and taunt him.

Even as the parade passed, his posture could not relax.

And Gwenny watched him, a flicker of unease in the corner of her eyes as she silently cleaned the dishes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Silently, Amon held out the small pack filled with coins to the nobleman.

He had not seen hide nor hair of Fontane in months, thank Pelor. Up until today, when he showed up out of the blue at his house to personally see to gathering the month’s taxes from him.

“Thank you, mister Clermont,” the lad stated with zeal as he accepted the purse. “I appreciate your services. And congratulations on your engagement with the fine miss Subliril. She is a very attractive woman.”

Curtly, he nodded his head. Both of his arms dropped to his sides, where they remained anchored like a statue. His hands formed and deformed the signs of claws or a fist, wanting to throttle the smug grin off the lowly asshole’s face.

“Well thank you, Lord Fontane,” his fiance giggled, allowing him to take her hand and press a kiss to it.

Little did they know, it would be their undoing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Amon, stop this nonsense! You don’t need to protect me from anyone. I can take care of myself.”

“Gwen’-”

The door slammed in his face. He stared, mouth hanging ajar after her. After a moment, he walked over to sink into the sofa, placing his face in his hands and sighing.

It only grew worse from there. Any chance he caught sight of Fontane, or heard his suave voice, he couldn’t help himself. He looped an arm around Gwyneria and held her close. He tried to tell her, but held his tongue from the truth. Every time she demanded answers to why he was so fixated, his guilt came rushing back.

The one woman who never questioned what he’d done to be removed from the household no longer could stop herself. As he clung to her with desperation, she moved further and further away. The more she asked, the less he spoke.

Fontane hovered in the side of his thoughts. Any time he passed the house, no matter how swiftly on horseback or slowly on foot, he held a lingering sense of sickening joy. He watched them burn and unravel with a twisted smile. His hand he offered out to his lady, and he would kiss it and praise her with poetry and wonderful words and spout of his gleaming intelligence from well-read books. In the very same breathe, he would question Amon’s own, and thrust his stupidity and lack of being a ‘man with an honest past’ upon his fiance’s questioning thoughts.

“What is it you’ve done?” she would ask. “You can trust me with anything.”

But he could not formulate the words. Her love became pity, and then her pity became annoyance.

She slipped more and more from his grasp each and every day.

The only thing that held his sanity was a dove longing to spread her wings of his possessive grasp, and yet he could not learn how to hold to her with honest care, try as he might.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Barnabus pushed another ale in front of him.

It had been a bit over a year since Gwyneira had left him. Their engagement was called off, and she moved out not only to escape him, but leave Briarton behind her too.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” she had said.

And he wasn’t. He had turned. No longer Master Amon, no longer mister Clermont. He had went to a sniveling wet dog into a clinging jealous monster. Afraid to see her leave him, scared of what the truth would do.

When her bags were packed and her love gone, Amon was left alone to rot. The seams of his mouth had been sewn shut from the ugly truths he could not speak. He held to her too tightly, and she had broke free of his curses and vices. To his only relief, she did not run to Fontane even as the sultry maniac tried to tease her into his home with open invitation. Anything to rub salt into the wounds he helped to pierce into his flesh.

“Looks like you’re going to need a room tonight, Amon?” the barkeep stated with a worried smile. “How’s about you take one of the smaller rooms to the left? Free of charge.”

Stirred from his thoughts, the man gave a slow shake of his head.

“I can’t do that to ya again…”

“Ya pay me back goin’ out huntin up another stag like you did last winter, and we can give you permanent residence to any of ‘em.”

They shared a quiet chuckle. It never felt real, though. Straining on his ears; aching in his throat.

Nursing his drink, Amon heard the door open to a roar of stuffy laughter. He cringed, glancing over his shoulders to see Fontane and a few of his ‘friends’ enter in the bar with broad grins. They ignored Barnabus’ welcome entirely, and huddled themselves over to a far table with their boisterous laughter.

Amon raised his shoulders and turned away, hoping to remain inconspicuous.

Pelor he missed going home when it actually mattered. Staring into the empty house now, it felt a burden. It was tiny true; not even an upstart family would enjoy the cramped quarters, but there was no longer warmth inside of it. The halls were dull, the small livestock he owned even seemed to sense his heartache and offered less quality. Less eggs, more unruly wool that was paid less and less for.

The door to the tavern opened again. He didn’t bother looking up as he tipped his glass. The sound of boots clamored, but they were nothing compared to the rowdy laughter of the gentlemen in the corner.

A few seats down the bar, a silent figure slid into an empty stood. A green hood was pulled up to hide their face, but there was no mistaking the long legs and feminine thinness to her design.

Her fingers tapped the bartop lightly, getting Barnabus’ attention as he readied a set of ale for the lads.

“Aye, what can I do for ya- Oh, beggin my pardon miss, I didn’t see ya.”

“Quite alright,” the figure replied softly. “Could you fetch up another of those ales, when you have the chance?”

“Aye.”

Curious, Amon watched the stranger out of the corner of his eye. People tended to pass through Hearthstrom; coming and going which way they pleased, but some carried interesting stories and interesting lives. Very rarely were they lone people, and even less so were they lone women.

The lady murmured a ‘thank you’ as she slid some copper across the wood and took her offered beverage. Her body moved with unease in her seat as she took a drink, glancing around the room.

Her face turned towards his. Amon stared like a moron even when he was caught doing so. A strange array of scales ran over the side of her face and across part of her nose. Her cheeks aflamed under his gaze; though he quickly realized with hostile aggravation rather than embarrassment as she puffed up like an angry bird. Her eyes narrowed; caramel nouggets against her warm skin.

“What’re you sssstaring at?” the woman hissed, reaching up to bring her cape closer around her delicate frame.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbled, glancing away. “I was hoping you were someone I knew.”

Whether or not his lie was convincing, the woman seemed to sober and deflate. Her gaze darted over him curiously.

“Do you need help looking for someone?” she offered. “You know, if you’re looking to hire a bountyhunter-”

A short, raspy laugh escaped him. With a shake of his head, he tossed the young lady a sideways glance.

“No, the person I’m looking for is long gone, and never coming back.”

“Oh…” she breathed, her face suddenly falling to a look of deeply pained sorrow. “Oh… I’m- I’m so sorry…”

What did she make of that, he wondered. Did he look like a man of supreme loss?

Picking up her mug, the woman shuffled down a few chairs, and dropped down beside him. A wavering sense of unease washed over him. He leaned further away, but glanced up in fascination to her face. Dragonborn heritage, but such strangely exotic eyes. What would bring a traveler all the way out here, to the middle of nowhere?

Especially someone who appeared to hold a noble code of some substance. Offering to find a loved one out of the blue like that…

“You mind a little company, or were you hoping to drink alone?”

With a weary smile and eyes upon the dark liquid of his ale, he grumbled, “It doesn’t matter, really.” I’m always alone, he barely managed to hold back.

Offering a quiet hum, the beautiful stranger sipped from her ale thoughtfully. A hand reached out to him; flecked with scales on the back just like her face, and gingerly touched his own. He didn’t retract his hands, but kept his eyes upon his drink. Her hands were warm, and surprisingly soft for a traveler. A gentle palm and dainty little fingers.

“Do you live around these parts, sir…?”

“Amon,” he grunted, hating the taste of his own foul name.

“Sir Amon, then,” she recited with utmost cheer. Clearly a lady who had not yet heard the swirling gossip of his name in this area.

“I do.”

“What kind of local attractions does this area have, Sir Amon?”

“Nothing of the likes one would find of interest. That is why this is a passing junction for most.”

The young lady made a noise of amusement, light and airy, that she tried to stifle. His eyes moved up with a quirked eyebrow, not understanding what could possibly be so humorous.

Her eyes loomed like a cat’s. Shades of candlelight brewing in their depths as she held a mischievous smile. The curve of her teeth looked almost lethal in the lighting.

“The company doesn’t seem too bad,” she offered; a playful tease in her voice.

Oh yes. Definitely had not heard of him, if the flirty lass was having a go at him like he thought.

“What brings a fine lady traveling through these parts anyway, miss…?”

Hesitation. She held her breath, and leaned back a few inches. He could read the uncertainty in her eyes. The sense of fear. Perhaps not an innocent hero on the move, he thought with confusion. But such a disarming face; such soft eyes… it was easy to fall prey to such lies.

“Essätha,” the maiden offered with a tender light in her eyes but strained smile.

“Well, m’lady Essätha, I’m afraid you have found yourself in the middle of nowhere of importance,” he grunted, raising a glass with a thin smile of his own.

“I had no plans on where to land,” she countered, reaching out to place a hand over his mug and draw it from his face. “Nowhere sounds just as good as any place.”

By the gods, it was like electricity arced off her fingertips into his skin. There was something familiar about her eyes. Or perhaps it was the haze from a few too many drinks. Her full lips curled into a genuine smile as she leaned into his bubble. Wondrous scents of rainwater and flora danced off her skin.

Heavy footsteps came clamoring from across the bar. Before Amon could register it, a flash of swirling red fabric was entering his sights. He tensed instinctively to Fontane’s presence, sitting back as the fine woman looked bewildered between him, and then to the man who was suddenly standing beside them.

Fontane jerked away a bit with surprise, noticing the delicate creature’s finely sculpted face.

Then Amon realized that he, in fact, had his eyes glued on the scales on the woman’s features. It came to a bizarre realization to him that that would be the first thing someone would notice, and not how her eyes were like autumn spices and her skin smooth and rich in pale coffee.

“G’evening, miss,” Fontane stated, offering out a hand to her as he bowed. “Might I help you away from this- scoundrel?”

“Excuse me?” Essätha replied, not placing her hand within his as was customary.

“I’m afraid mister Clermont has a bad reputation around these parts, my lady,” Fontane soothed, his fingers curling to her in a beckoning motion. “I would hate for you to be mistakenly associated with-”

Her hand came out, and suddenly stuck the nobleman’s away.

Amon cleared his throat roughly, watching the exchange. By Pelor’s Light, no one struck struck at Fontane in such a way. Not even those who curled their lips when he was out of sight and muttered their disdain for his nature, or how he ran the estate.

“I’m very capable of judging character myself, thank you very much,” she responded with dripping venom in her tone.

Tightening his lips into a white line, Fontane thrust an arm between the two of them. Amon grunted, nearly tumbling out of his seat as his ale sloshed onto the floor. He could make out the shock in the woman’s face over his half-brother’s shoulder as she glanced from him, to the Lord of the territory.

“Listen, I’m doing you a favor,” Fontane pressed in a grating voice of vexation. “This man is bad news.”

“Oh really? What has he done so wrongly that I should fear him?”

“Well he tried to kill me, for starters.”

Amon sucked in a sharp breath. It was words he had not heard aloud in what felt like eons. He gripped tighter to his drink, torn. A hasty retreat, or to throw his drink in the man’s face and call him a liar were burning on his tongue.

Snorting, Essätha looked the Emerald Expanse’s Lord up and down as she answered: “You look perfectly fine to me.”

Fontane straightened himself. Adjusting his posture, he held to the edges of his cloak as he looked around. A few distant eyes in further tables were glancing over, watching with interest. Amon himself, who had partially slunk out of his chair, was now watching with fascination and awe. The stubborn set in the woman’s expression, her harsh eyes burning into the man and curls of blank hanging over her face.

“Lady, you do not know what you’re dealing with. This man is a monster. His family disowned him. He a fallen nobleman, with nothing to his name or title.”

“Well he’s clearly not hung nor jailed for the crime, so whatever it was must not have been so bad. You’re still standing here being a jackass, anyway.”

Red-faced, Fontane jutted out a finger to her face.

“Do not say I didn’t warn you.”

Baring her fangs, the woman leaned close as she warned, “Remove your finger from my presence, or I will remove it from your person.”

The nobleman’s cape swished out towards them as he turned to march over to his group of friends. Amon could make out someone slurring some questions on why the ‘pretty young thing’ was not following with him. He could only imagine their discomfort, that she wasn’t hanging off of him, listening to his every word.

While she huffed, turning her eyes back to him, Amon offered her a false smile. As striking as that display had been, he knew better than to lay here with his tail between his legs submissively.

“He’s right, you know. You’d have better luck around town if you plan to stay for any length of time, if you did not associate with me.”

To his surprise, Essätha took a drink from her ale, and sat it down. Her nose still wrinkled with disgust as she gazed over to the throng of men staring their way, before she turned back to him and placed a hand upon his knee.

“I like my odds just fine, thank you for your concern, Sir Amon,” she purred softly, her pupils moving over his weathered features as she added on, “You know, I kinda thought you had a regal, heroic face when I first caught you staring.”

Gruffly chuckling, he placed a hand atop hers, and squeezed.

“I was staring for curiosities sake.”

“Mmmmhm,” the dark beauty drawled, smiling gently as she murmured, “Well, I hope your curiosity has been satisfied.”

“Hardly,” he breathed, fascinated by the dancing light captivating in her eyes.

She giggled, almost musically, and he took a long drink of his ale.

Pelor have mercy, he dared to hope he might not be sleeping alone tonight.

#eci artz #amon illiad #Essie rw #essamon ship #aus upon aus upon aus upon-

[artlessictoan]

Day 5 - Family

you’d think that just rehashing the exact same format that I used for the family theme of temari week last year would’ve meant I got this out on time, but no. well… at least it’s p long?

I guess this is just a thing now.. if kank week rolls around and ‘family’ isn’t a theme I’m kinda screwed

hope you enjoy!

AO3 version

---

Age three and he first knows that he is different, though he’s not sure how.

Adults talk above him, quiet and distant and utterly incomprehensible, but their stares weigh heavy on him, pulled down by the indistinct whispers that always lingered just behind him, no matter how far he turned. He tugs on his keeper’s apron, holds himself up against stiff legs, but will not lift his head to look at him, nor will the man look down.

Family is just a word; he’s told it’s what Yashamaru and father are, though he doesn’t understand why other adults are not, or why it’s so important he remember it.

---

Age five and the feeling is growing worse every day.

He knows why everyone stares, knows why they whisper behind cupped hands, knows why they run. Father tells him that it is because he is valuable, he will become the salvation of the village, he does not need to interact with anyone but him and his uncle, stop causing trouble, just stay inside and behave. Yashamaru tries to hide himself from the truth, ignores him when he insists that Shukaku is being mean to him again, just pats the air just above his head – always the air, never his thick and unruly locks – and asks if he wouldn’t rather play with his toys.

Family is expectation and purpose, it is the long lectures on the state of the world and what he will do to change it; it is the siblings he’s heard about, but rarely sees, little more than ghosts at the edges of his mind; it is not-quite-meeting eyes and unfathomable sighs hidden beneath tight smiles.

---

Age six and blood runs thickly into his eye.

The truth has finally released him; he is not loved and he never had been, nothing will change it… but he no longer wants to.

Family is hate and fear and pain, it is the assassin in the night and the rage of a mother carrying out her final, terrible vengeance.

If no one else would love him, then he will just do it himself.

---

Age eight and he hardly notices anything anymore.

A knife cuts the air with barely a hiss, but the woman’s scream sings in the night. Sand crawls across his spoon before it can even reach his mouth, the way the poison splits the skin of its practitioner fascinates him for hours. Through his shield, he can feel the heat of the fire jutsu, it isn’t hot enough. Shadows move too quickly in the periphery of his vision, he drags the assailant out of them and watches the light die in his eyes. The girl had no weapon on her corpse, nor poison or scrolls, the blood spattered on his face dries quickly in the blazing sun.

Family is the rush of his heart as another body falls around him, it is the warmth and love that flows through him like blood flows from a split stomach, it is sand that wraps just slightly too-tight tendrils around his ankles when his demon needs to remind him what it wants.

---

Age twelve and his siblings immediately tense when he enters the room.

Baki’s explanation doesn’t interest him, nor does the prospect of doing anything that would benefit the village whose existence he only tolerates because its fear is on occasion mildly amusing. But the opportunity to leave this dead and empty place, go further into the world than he ever had before and tear away its foundations, announce his existence to it before the whole thing crumbled at his feet… that prospect is all-too enticing, even after father drags him aside one night and tells him that this mission will decide his fate, that if he doesn’t play along like a good child, then he will not be returning.

Family is more trouble than it’s worth. He agrees to the terms, not because of the threat – father doesn’t have the guts, doesn’t have the strength; why else would he leave the insulting attempts on his life to others? – but because of Mother’s whispers of all the games they could play in Konoha, he’d take her there wouldn’t he? Such a good boy.

---

Age thirteen and he is trying so very hard to be human.

His words and actions are clumsy, mimicking what he sees in others, without understanding any of it. Kankuro can’t relax near him, Temari’s words are carefully considered and placed, he watches them through his third eye one night, nursing warm drinks as they speak of a book Temari is reading, of Kankuro’s latest project, pushing and shoving and falling to the floor in breathless laughter and he wonders; is that what it means to a sibling? To be human?

Family is spying and learning and feeling a tight, burning sensation in his dry eyes as Kankuro’s hand brushes his shoulder, even as he brushes it away before the gentle touch can break him. It is the confusion when Temari offers him a novel, her tight-lipped smile as she says she thinks that he would enjoy it.

---

Age fifteen and the stiffness still lingers in his fingers and toes.

He has not been left alone for over a month now – not truly alone, even if they keep their presences hidden, he is aware of the eyes always nearby – shinobi wander into his office without an appointment almost eight times a day, Baki insists upon walking with him to and from council meetings and Matsuri has taken to leaving snacks and fresh cups of tea in his most-frequented rooms, with short notes written in bright ink reminding him of the medics’ advice to stay nourished, He doesn’t want to resent the attention, he’d spent half his life begging to experience it, but the acts fuel his old, comfortable paranoias and the effort to restrain his worst impulses at every friendly greeting exhausts him more than even death had.

Family is the respect and devotion of a community and realising that protection goes both ways. He still asks his siblings to help stem the tide; they agree, but with every delicate chiding by his sister, every sincere inquiry into his health by his brother, the guilt remains.

---

Age twenty and he finally has time to stop and think.

The war had long been over and peace returned, there is still much work to be done, many bridges to be built, many agreements to be made. Even so, he also finds himself for the first time with friendships both intense and casual, and he actually has the free time to pursue them, he talks with Naruto every chance they get, Sakura sends him letters updating him on Konoha’s progress, Shikamaru regularly challenges him to games of shogi, Matsuri gushes to him about her new girlfriend, old lady Ohno makes him promise to keep her funeral small and humble, Baki cries whenever he reaches a new milestone in his career.

Family is learning that grand displays and solemn promises aren’t all that’s needed in a strong relationship, it’s also small gestures and simple understanding.

---

Age twenty-six and, for the first time since his turn, impulse takes him.

The three children look around his home with suspicious eyes, they move with the same care and uncertainty that he once had, as though terrified that a single step out of place will have them thrown back onto the streets. He doesn’t know how to reassure them, but he remembers what his siblings did for him when they first started living together – a pantry always stocked with favoured meals, a space entirely yours to retreat to when the paranoia proved too much, unspoken invitations to join in family activities only when ready – he’s not sure that he is doing it right, but when Araya first calls him ‘dad’ he smiles for what feels like hours.

Family is terror and panic and constant uncertainty, but it is also pride and caring and joy and an indescribable love filling the soul until it was lighter than air.

---

Age fifty-two and Baki’s death destabilises him more than he could have ever imagined.

He and his siblings trudge through the funeral preparations on memory alone, none of them quite present in the room, even as they perform the expected motions and speak of all that their sensei had done for them. Once his children retreat to their old bedroom – still with red eyes for the man they’d called ‘grandpa’ even now that they were all adults, already off starting families of their own – he, Kankuro and Temari huddle together under a blanket, under the stars. They talk of memories, of fathers, both unofficial and blood, of mothers and uncles and the pain of losing each and every one.

Family is looking back and looking forwards at the same time, sharing the loss of loved ones to make the pain just a little more bearable and hoping that when you go, those who live on won’t ever feel such grief for one so undeserving.

---

Age Seventy-nine and there is still so much left to learn.

Life continues, the world running around him, even after he has decided that he no longer has a place in driving it.

Family is something he’s sought his entire life, knowingly or not, but he’s sure he’s found it now; in the friendship of those who found a way to believe in a boy’s humanity when he himself could not, in the respect of a community that had willingly taken him into its arms, despite every hurt he’d brought it, in the smiles and adoration of three children he’d saved from mistakes of the past, in the sensei who had filled a void he’d not even known was there, in the siblings who had pulled him into a bond stronger than any force of nature, in the faint memories of sandy hair and the bitter taste of iron, in the embrace of sand that had never once left him, not even in his darkest moments.

Despite everything, it was more than worth it.

---

#ictoan writes #gaarabday #gaara #temari #kankuro #sand siblings #naruto #also mentions of several other characters #sorry it's late but hopefully it's worth it! #oh uh.. #violence tw #i mean it's baby gaara so of course but just in case

[dragonagecompanions]

DA2 companions (romanced if able?) reacting to Hawke taking a fatal hit for them? Not just an injury, but a sword through the chest, or something of that caliber? Sorry to bother you! I'm just in the mood for angst...

Varric: It’s not real. 

It forms into a mantra in his head, repeating with every step, every frantic shout, every stuttering heartbeat that inevitably carries his friends away. There is no power that can be bought or stolen to fix this, nothing that even Varric -with his almost infinite resources- can do to stop this. The blow which was meant for him has instead taken his greatest friend, and the rogue can only weep and cradle this precious person who had once meant so much.

Isabela: She grieves. Anyone who says otherwise, who even hints at the idea that she does not feel the heavy press of sorrow for the Champion who had stepped between her and Fate will suffer a similar blow. But it sits side by side with the sour bile of guilt and the anger that comes with loss, and such things have always made her stumble. She does not stay in Kirkwall long- cannot linger at the epicenter of her emotional turmoil- but will never forget the brave person for whom she owes every breathe. Romanced: She is angry. There has never been a moment, not in all her life, when Isabela has been so breathlessly angry. What right did they have to leave her like this, to love her and then abandon her with so much? The rage seems all consuming, but beneath it is a well spring of sorrow so deep that even a seasoned captain might drown in it. She loved Hawke, and now they are gone. Gone to keep her alive, and it is a burden  and a blessing she will never feel worthy of.

Aveline: She is prepared for the blow. All her life she has been a soldier, a fighter, and Aveline knows the swing and angle of the blade will not be forgiving even against a guard’s cuirass. She has aceepted that, accepted her duty and the sacrifice of same. And in some ways that makes the loss even worse, when Hawke steps in front of the blow. Because she was willing to accept her own loss, but to watch a friend die in her place is crushing. Like Isabela the guilt is both immediate and crushing, but she pushes past it to make the best of the sacrifice her friend had made for her. Romanced:There is no sound. Shouting, screaming, cries of denial from their companions, nothing can break through the terrible roar in her ears as she watches the second man she has ever loved fall. She wants to move, to reach out and hold him, to do anything but stand still and shocked as the world crumbles beneath her feet. Later she will vaguely remember avenging them, of the terrible violence that was inflicted by Kirkwall’s guard captain.But in the moment her vision swims, darkening and growing over bright by turns, and all she can do is beg Andraste to take her instead, please merciful Maker don’t let this be the end.

Fenris: Death is no stranger to the Lyrium Ghost. Too many had fallen to him for it to be any more than a spectre walking at his side. He has always known it would catch him eventually- had been amazed he still seemed to be ahead-  but had no fear of the Void or the Maker or whatever awaited him when that blade finally fell. But he had never grown accostumed to watching others fall to it. And Hawke’s loss -given for him, so that he might life- is agonizing. Hawke was a friend, a comrade, and their death weighs heavy on him. He avenges them, of course, and later when the inevitable haze of alcohol and pain have finally passed swears to live as they might have wanted for him. Romanced: The laying of the brands in his skin- so awful that the agony had wiped clean every memory of his life before- seem but pin pricks compared to the pain that swamps him in that moment. The vengeance he reaps is bloody and short, but even if he spilled enough blood to drown Thedas it would not bring back what he has lost. Hawke was a part of his, the other half of every heart beat and the completion of everything he’d ever wanted but could not ask for. They waited for him, loved him, gave him everything he’d ever imagined– and then the one thing he would never has asked for. It takes a long time for him to climb out of the anger and the despair, and the Tevinter slave traders will never forget the terror hat comes North to stalk them– for it no longer has anything to lose.

Anders: He almost burns himself out trying to save Hawke, but even with all his magic there is nothing that can be done. His friend is gone, taken as Karl and so many other were taken, and he mourns them deeply. His work after that keeps the idea of Hawke- champion and friend to all- at heart, andhe tries to live his life as their legacy. Romanced: There is a moment, as he kneels over the body of his lover, as he wills mana into a heart already grown still and silent- that Anders almost loses himself. The world dances in blue and white, shimmering before his eyes like the auroras that some sailors spoke of. Justice battles for control even as Anders tries to comprehend a world without the person that he loves. Its worse somehow than Karl, worse than the suffering in the circle or the agony of the Blight, because he could have stopped it. Could have taken the blow and died- would have died a thousand deaths- to save Hawke. In the coming days there will be less and less of Anders left, and Justice turned Vengeance consumes a mage destroyed by grief.

Sebastian: It is a true loss, and a heavy burden to bear. He mourns Hawke, mourns the loss of a friend and carries the guilt that they died so that he might live. But he is grateful every day for it, for their friendship and their sacrifice, and swears to the Maker that it will not be in vain. Romanced: Surely his grief must shake the heavens, so painful is it as he cradles the woman who was to be his wife and friend and queen. She was everything to him- a rock when even the foundation of his faith had been shaken-  and now she is gone. The guilt is almost enough to choke him, and the agner that follows fuels it. The Chantry offers little comfort, though he seeks it constantly, and he returns to Starkhaven not long after to try and rebuild his shattered world.

Bethany: There is a moment, when she must watch a second sibling fall and die before her, that the mage can feel Despair claw at her soul. Father and mother, twin and now this? How can one endure and not fall to the almost welcome release of posession? But she knows it would break their heart, and so she battles it back even as she fights to avenge this last bit of her family. And after, when they are laid to rest and she returns to either the Circle or the Wardens, Bethany throws herself into her tasks and promises to do good by their family name– that she alone carries now.

Carver: This isn’t what he wanted. By the Maker he wanted out of his siblings shadow, but never like…never like this. Of all the companions it takes the longest to drag him away from the limp form of his oldest sibling, and it is hours before the pain abates enough that he feels like he can breathe. The grief that follows threatens to swallow him up, and  for a long time those around him fear that he might tread the same path. But slowly he recovers, and swears to live every moment not in the shadow of their sacrifice but in the light of their legacy.

– Mod Fereldone

#varric #isabela #aveline #fenris #anders #sebastian #betahny #Carver Hawke #character death

[crustaceans-and-fankids]

Kekara Ancestors (2 of 3)

KEKARA ANCESTORS (PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)

These are the remaining ancestors aside from Zhavala, who has her own post because of the story length.

This is Cecil and Freiyah—two people who influenced Zhavala the most and are both very important and also not important, much like Simon. They shape Zhavala and have a lot to do with her and yet they seem somehow like background characters in many repsects after their role has been played. For example, Simon was literally a background character yet somehow very important because he lived through Zhavala’s influence and wrote a memoir that was the sole suriving public piece of information about Zhavala’s reign detailing the events of his life that also include what it was like to be under her possession, because he was still sentient even in her clutches.

I’ll update the art with better versions if I ever get to make them.

Cecil

Cecil had no connections to any of the other ancestral figures for a while, aside from Zhavala. For the most part, he grew up in the temple and enjoyed his life there. He idolized Sagehood and yearned to become a Sage himself, although in his childhood this was moreso because he idolized their abilities to alter nature through so much as their fingertips if they wanted—their powers were not unnatural in Kekarian society, but many children found it entertaining. 

In Cecil’s “teenage” years, he understood the role of Sages better, taking it more seriously. He spent much of his time in prayer and in hopes that he could achieve his goal of becoming one, although he was told it would likely take him much longer than he wanted it to. Cecil was well-versed in Temple practices, and he would occasionally visit children under supervision and teach them what Temple life was like (although they tended to be very direct as children are and ask him why he wasn’t a Sage himself and why he didn’t have any abilities of his own, much to his embarrassment).  

Cecil was very open-minded and sympathetic towards Mutants whom he saw mistreated out in the open. Often times he would invite them to stay at the temple until they were okay enough to be out on their own, and other times Mutants would pour into the temple for safety and he’d help to take care of them. He met with Zhavala this way, who had appeared to him in a devastated mental state. Cecil Found her to be beautiful, although refrained from attaching himself to her too much. 

Cecil allowed Zhavala to stay at the temple if she so chose and offered to guide her in their practices. Zhavala accepted this, preferring a devotion to a sanctuary over a life outside its walls any longer after the things she experienced. She disclosed only basic information to Cecil at first, but they became close enough over time for her to indulge in deeper conversations of her experiences. The boy was very understanding of Zhavala. She found herself happy with Cecil in turn, and the two ended up doing a lot of activities together. Eventually Cecil asked Zhavala’s permission to become more involved with her, hoping that she had taken enough time from her previous relationship and that she was ready to move on. She accepted, and the two became a couple.

As they grew more into adulthood, Cecil offered to help Zhavala achieve her spiritual quest, hoping it would free her from her past grievances. She accepted this, although some other Sages could see that she had lingering darkness in her heart, regardless of how she seemed to change in the temple. Cecil wanted to agree in his respect fo the Sages, although he truly believed the freedom of a higher spiritual achievement would greatly aid her, and for a long time, Zhavala hoped it would as well. Cecil loved her enough to at least try to keep her at bay and help her through everything that hurt her.

Zhavala was eventually at the cusp of starting her vision quest, but things went awry in her mind and her vision was tainted severely. As Cecil was watching over her, she suddenly began to panic and cry out in pain, clutching her eyes. He didn’t understand what was happening or why, but he attempted to console her. Zhavala had been able to suppress and get through her pain, but found she could no longer see—at least not with her own eyes. Cecil did not know what this meant.

As he attempted to deal with her panic, he noticed people around him acting strangely and aggressively in comparison to how they typically were. It was at this point Zhavala seemed to suddenly change as she came to a realization that her powers had come through, and Cecil could do nothing but watch as she let the power get to her head and unlock all of her bitterness toward Royal and commoner treatment of her people. She became severely aggravated by her vision and by the life she was forced to lead because of who she was, and took it upon herself to change things her own way.

Although Zhavala caused chaos in the palace with a coup against the Royals and the murder of the Queen, Cecil was able to act beyond his fear and confusion and stop her from killing any others. While he understood he could not stop her vengeance, he could control what she did because he knew she still respected and loved him. He opted to work with her if she would spare the lives of everyone else, which she then agreed to. Cecil believed he could keep her rage at bay if only he stayed with her, and this mostly worked. However, her actions greatly guilted and shamed him, as he was the one who pressed her journey into Sagehood in hopes it would help her, knowing how other Sages warned him of the darkness lurking in her heart. He constantly held himself at fault for fostering the woman’s evil and letting it go beyond his control.

Eventually, the pair had a child, whom they named Faridah, as Zhavala believed it would help kickstart a reign where Mutants could live well where Royals once did. Their child was not Mutant, although Zhavala loved her all the same. She didn’t boast her to the Kekarian people knowing that if anyone decided to go against her, the girl would be in danger first and foremost. Instead, she kept the girl between her and Cecil, aiming to reveal her daughter to everyone when she was older and capable of defending herself. Cecil cherished Faridah, clinging to raising her to make himself even a little bit happy in spite of everything that was happening. However, he wanted nothing more than to please Zhavala if only it meant nobody else had to die, and this made him suffer. Although Cecil still cared for her and believed Zhavala could be fixed, he felt trapped.

He continued this way until a hero emerged to take Zhavala down. Kabir had come after escaping and rallying forces of those who had not been influenced by her power, preparing to take the throne back for the Royals. When Zhavala sensed what was happening, she had Cecil take their child away to be hidden, fearing the worst for her. Cecil was devastated to have to leave the woman behind, although in the back of his mind he understood this was what was necessary to repair the damage she had caused. He promised to take Faridah somewhere safe, but when he thought of having to raise her alone, her face there to remind him of everything he had gone through, he could not do so. Despite knowing it was a selfish gesture, Cecil instead left his daughter with a stranger, who renamed the girl Helena. He then fled to hide until Zhavala had been presumed dead and the throne was reclaimed by the Queen’s widower husband. Once everything was over, Cecil returned to the temple.

 After Zhavala:

The other Sages and other temple dwellers did not appreciate that Cecil had gone along with Zhavala as he did, although they did not shun him for it. While they despised his participation, they also praised his determination to keep people alive and convincing Zhavala to stop killing and be more merciful, imprisoning opposers instead of executing them. He was permitted to return to the temple and remain there under sanctuary, but he was not well-received among other non-temple Kekara who often gossiped of his actions and sneered when they saw him. This infamy caused Cecil to become highly reclusive and nearly drove him to suicide until a Royal woman took pity on him and took care to visit him. These visits eventually cumulated into a romantic relationship, although one of dependency and less so of deep romance. Cecil wanted to remain of spiritual nature and refrain from engaging in another bond with another partner, although the ordeal with Zhavala and the exposure to so much despair broke him over time, and he felt he needed to fill his heart with something even if he had little romantic attachment to his partner.

Note: The following is mostly conceptual

He did not formally marry the Royal girl, but had a sexual relationship with the woman hoping that would distract him from his hurt. But it was discovered they were together, and there was an outrage against her from other Kekarian people, and one against Cecil from the temple residents who looked down at the idea of multiple partners at the time. Cecil then fled into the slums, no longer welcome in any royal place. He started donning a cloak to conceal his multiple arms and tattoos, and hoped the humbleness of Lower Commoner life would ease his mind. He continued to pray and meditate, and the disconnect from everyone’s constant hatred of him in his reclusive state helped ease his him just slightly. 

The royal woman Cecil had engaged a sexual relationship with ended up having their child, named Natla. After Cecil had fled, gossip spread about the woman having a daughter with such a controversial person and the family’s reputation was slightly tarnished, but not wholly obliterated. Cecil learned of his second daughter through word-of-mouth gossip and started attempting to see her on occasion by sneaking into the palace to see the woman he had her with. Despite the negativity she faced from others, the woman still did love Cecil and appreciated his visits. Cecil felt disappointed about how he had handled his first daughter, but felt if he could be a better person by trying to see his second, he could redeem himself. He soon had to stop his visits after being spotted on occasion, although the two adults exchanged letters, since the Royal woman had a personal assistant who would deliver these.

Cecil could only experience his daughter’s life through text, but at some point the letters stopped. Over time, when the hate for him had subsided, or at the very least been forgotten, Cecil attempted to visit Natla, who unfortunately had become a snide, awful person. Her mother had died regretting how she raised her child, in grief. She left the girl to be raised by strict Royals who abided highly by old methods and mindsets, and were severely harsh on the girl because of who her father was. Natla, now grown, chastised Cecil for his absence and pitiful history. At this point in time, she had already had children of her own, and thus Cecil was able to meet his grandchildren only once in his life before his daughter disconnected herself from him entirely. She was bitter at Aeden being traitless, and it was because of Cecil’s suggestion to have him placed in the Temple that he grew up there.  

Note: In Aeden’s description I ‘d said she decided to have him sent there because she was worried about her reputation being damaged as a Royal by having a traitless child, but it may also have been in part because of Cecil’s persuasion/suggestion.

Cecil watched his grandchildren grow from a distance, occasionally sneaking into the temple to leave gifts marked for them that Aeden would find. After some time he backed off and continued to hide in secrecy, realizing that  some of the mutants crawling into the city from above were under Zhavala’s control. He disconnected himself from everything and remained isolate until the planet’s demise, where he died along with it.

Faridah / Helena is Delilah’s mother.

 Freiyah

Freiyah lived a quiet farm life, foraging fruits and handling animals as any other Jhinga may have done. However, she lived in fear as most Jhinga in this time period did, knowing that at any minute friends and family may be stolen away by Royal Guards ordered to find high-ranking Royals a suitable slave to carry out various tasks. Many Jhinga were kept in bondage by Royals and mistreated by the Royal Guard who sailed to their territory. When the ships left the piers, there was always a temporary sigh of relief from the people. They often remained on alert to any ships coming toward them, with families hiding their children away.

Despite this life, Freiyah always tried to keep an upbeat personality, having suffered the loss of her own friends before and not wanting to let sadness rule her life. She was mature for her age, forced to be so because of who she had been born as. She continued on in her humble work, doing her part and keeping her head down when Royal Guard came to collect more Jhinga.

Freiyah often would spend her time in the forest as well, finding an old metal tree stump to sit upon to think and have time to herself. On one occasion when she went to do so, she found someone there—a Mutant girl with a broken spirit, head buried in her hands and sitting upon the same stump. She approached her, at first not seeing the protrusions from her head as she was hunched over facing the opposite way. But when the girl perked her head up, Freiyah was shocked to discover her horn-like cranial appendages. She could see the Mutant’s blackened eyes staring at her with sadness, and she asked who she was. The Mutant simply told her to go away, but Freiyah persisted—she was oddly drawn to the fact that this Mutant had protrusions stemming from her head, very much so like a Jhinga’s antennae. Freiyah thought the girl was strikingly beautiful despite being something she was supposed to be afraid of, to hate.

Instead of leaving, Freiyah approached the Mutant, much to her surprise. She asked why she wasn’t afraid of her, to which Freiyah responded “you have antennae like me”. Oddly enough, the Mutant did not get up and leave, nor did she try to make the Jhinga girl leave. Instead, she humored her, taken aback by the fact that she was genuinely being kind. The two began to talk, the Mutant introducing herself as Zhavala. They spoke hesitantly and in an awkward manner initially, but after a while, Zhavala felt somehow comfortable with the girl despite past experience telling her she would simply leave her or lie to her. However, Freiyah assured she would not do so, and in fact wanted to be her friend.

Zhavala returned to her home in Lower Commoner territory in the city, stowing away on another ship, but promised Freiyah she’d come back. The two became close friends, and every so often Zhavala would come to see her in their familiar meeting place. Both girls spoke of their past and their desires, spent time with animals in the forest, and ate fruit together. At one point, they became so comfortable with one another that a romance began to bloom, and the two became a couple.

However, at one point Freiyah came home to her parents in tears and a Royal Guard beside them. She at first thought he had come to take one of them away, but it was not until the Guard moved toward her that she realized he was there for her. When she questioned her parents, they admitted they sold her in exchange for protection, hoping they could use the money given by the Guard to bribe future Guards out of taking away any more of their friends and family.

The news tore Freiyah’s heart to shreds. As she was being dragged by Royal Guard to their ships, she thought only of Zhavala.

Freiyah was taken to the Royal Palace to service their pleasure, and on occasion dance in the palace’s Main hall for them like an object of aesthetic nature. Kept under lock and key when not needed, her spirit began to wither, although she tried to keep her mind afloat with memories of Zhavala. She grew up in the Palace, learning to abide by their commands but always trying to hold on to sanity and clinging to the idea of freedom someday.

The Royals eventually stopped finding Freiyah useful, although she ended up pregnant before they decided to stop using her. At one time, she felt an affliction, as if something was beginning to slip over her and her body no longer under her own control. It struck her greatly, although she fought the feeling and managed to overcome it. However, the guards who kept her imprisoned suddenly began to keel over as if in pain, clutching their heads. Freiyah did not understand why, but she took the opportunity to flee, grabbing their keys and letting herself out. She did not know what was happening, but attempted to get out of the palace—nobody seemed to try to stop her. Many of the Kekara she came across seemed violent and were heading straight into the palace. The sight frightened her greatly. She wanted to look, to see what was happening, but she focused only on fleeing. She never stopped to look behind her, but kept seeing faces of despair and anguish, of fear and confusion as she ran. Many people who did not seem to be under such influence as those in the Palace were as confused and terrified as she.

Despite everything she felt, Freiyah ran as far as she could, and even when things began to calm down, she continued to run. She eventually reached the docks and stowed away on a ship full of Guards who had not been affected by whatever was possessing people to act so strangely. These Guards, instead of fighting for their palace, decided to flee the city. They sailed into Jhingan territory, but were taken down by some Jhinga who had also been affected by the strange phenomena and were trying to make their way to the city. Some had even tried to mindlessly swim there on their own and were eaten alive by creatures of the Mercury sea, or drowned entirely.

Tired and afraid, Freiyah ran into the forest instinctively, but nobody was there. Even the animals had seemed to flee, and she stayed there alone for a long time.

Sometime after, things seemed to calm down, and Freiyah decided to find a home that had been abandoned and live there in hiding.

After Zhavala:

Much of her time was spent in her new home. Freiyah became somewhat reclusive until she eventually gave birth in the Mercury sea, left, and returned to find a son that had survived. She viewed him initially with resentment given how he was conceived, but her soft nature was unshaken and she could not bring herself to abandon the boy. She took him in and raised him, pained by his existence but feeling obligated not to let him die. His name was Amahad.

Freiyah never knew what had happened that day she was able to escape, nor did she indulge herself in the process of asking questions. None of the other Jhinga seemed to understand, although she heard rumors from their chatter that someone had slain the Queen. As Jhingan territory was far from the city, they hardly ever knew what had happened across the sea.

As she grew older, Freiyah felt her heart getting heavier and heavier, until she felt that it was near time for her to pass. Sick with frailty and a lifetime of abuse, she no longer wanted to live and felt her time in this world was over. Her son was now old enough to fend for himself, understanding of the world he lived in, and able to live his own life. So, Freiyah went to the forest.

CONCEPT: She returned to the area she had first met Zhavala, surprisingly to find a white, glowing tree there in place of the stump she used to sit upon. Oddly, she did not fear the strange thing, but instead took it as a symbolic gesture from higher power that it should be her resting place. She laid down by the tree to rest, and died smiling softly in her sleep. (This is meant to be the Guardian Tree, or the first guardian of their planet. Supposedly it attains a humanoid form through Freiyah, taking her body in and assuming her shape when necessary. This is all conceptual, though and needs research).

Amahad is Lokkjah’s father.

CLICK FOR PART 3

#fansession #fanadventure #fanstuck #homestuck oc #fankid #Kekara #dem art posts #Blog Navigation!