#mostly when they’re on the brink of death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

criminalamnesia · 3 months

Note

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

7K notes · View notes

ourautumn86 · 1 year

Text

stray. pt.4

joel miller! x fem! reader

< previous chapter next chapter >

summary; after saving Joel and Ellie from the brink of death, you get caught with having to live with two more strays.., and you don't do strays.

REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡either ways, i hope y'all like it. <3

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<3

warnings; eventual +18 content! MINORS DONT INTERACT IN THE CHAPTERS WHERE IT IS IMPLIED IN THE WARNINGS and smut, mentions of death, possible deaths, blood, fighting, angst, fluff..

warnings for chapter 4; as always reader being a bad bitch, guns, blood, fighting, clickers, wounds, weapons, threats, torture, murder, deaths, s3xual @ssault (no r@pe) , mentions of r@pe, tension, arguing, cursing, anxiety, angst angst angst, loss, mourning, ptsd…

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

“You’re not going.”

“But why?!” Ellie whines, shaking her hands. Exasperated.

“ ‘Cause you’d get me killed, brat.” you were packing on Larry’s house. You had a mission on the nearest city, a dirty job, but a good job. “Have you forgotten that you’re the most wanted kid in the entire world right now?” you ask her and she closes her mouth on a thin line. “Right.”

You roll your eyes, getting your water bottles and food to put them inside.

“It’s too dangerous even for you, y/n.” Larry says, sighing, tired. You two had been arguing about it for hours now.

“Larry. I’ve already tell you. If I get that motor for Maria she has promised to send us weekly food and resources. That could really help us out here, even more after this season…” you repeat, over and over again. He knows it’s a good deal. A deal you cannot pass on.

“But those men…” he tries, he really tries, but you are stubborn.

“Those men are nothing. I can take them.” you respond, and he doesn’t seem happy.

“No. Joel is going with you.” you look at him with a horrified look in your face. “Will you go with her. Joel?”

“No.”

“Sure.”

You look at him and he simply shrugs.

“FEDRA will be there.” you point out.

“I can use a cap.” you scoff.

“As if a cap would help you.”

“Believe me, they probably won’t even notice me. They’re mostly looking for Ellie, not me.” you sigh and Larry smiles, content. You hate him.

“If you die I’m leaving you behind.” you warn him and he nods.

“I hoped you would.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“Here.” Larry gives him a knife already sharpened and ready to cut. “You have a gun, am I right?” Joel nods and pats his back. “Okay. This mission needs to be quick. You get in there at night. Put them down slowly, no struggling and no shooting unless is necessary. We don’t want them to notice you’re there. You get the motor and you run, I’ll have Blair waiting for you with a car ready to get you back home, alright?”

“I still find it unfair. So he can go and I can’t?” Ellie whines and you give her a look that makes her cross her arms and huff, sitting back on Larry’s dinning table and taking a bite of his ham sandwich.

“Okay. I’m ready.” you say, hiding the last of your daggers on your ankles and wrists.

Joel takes his back and you two leave the house after having said your goodbyes. You had promised Lizzy to come back soon, in the mean time, she’ll have Ellie, since she’ll be staying with Larry.

You don’t talk to him, you hate it when people mess with your plans or things. You worked better off alone.

He followed you out of town and through the gates, the beep of the alarm on your backs letting you know it was newly locked.

Joel got on your left, and just tagged along. “We need to go up north a little bit and go right on the woods. Then we’ll get to the city. The most dangerous zone is a couple of km from here. There have been spotted various clickers.”

“Is there a way to avoid them?” he inquired.

“Sadly no. The safest way is right now completely occupied by a rebellion against FEDRA. They are really aggressive and don’t like outsiders.” you said.

“Tell me about it…” he muttered, remembering the first time Ellie and him were attacked while trying to get though one of those cities by car. “Well, it just means we’ll have to be more careful.”

“Just keep your eyes open and don’t stand on my way.”

He cocked his gun in a swift move.

“Copy that.”

“You got it?” you whispered, his arms extended and eyes focused on a stray infected on your way. You had walked around 2km and reached the dangerous and restricted zone. In a blink the infected was down. Shot straight to the head.

“I got it.”

Joel and you hadn’t talked much, only when necessary. It was normal. This silence in between the two of you. He didn’t know how to talk to you. You didn’t know either. Did you even want to?

He was a good fighter, not like you had suspected of their almost death the first time you had met him. He had a great stance, great aim. Maybe the fear of Ellie getting hurt had gotten the best of him. But that had been a mistake that could have cost him everything. Although you could understand.

“Let’s go.” he said, going to take a step forward, but before he could, you were dragging him backwards and in a quick movement pressing him against the wall. The building was cold and dark, creaks could be heard every now and then, and the paper of the walls was falling apart. Some bits stuck to his jacket. “What-“

You pressed a hand to his mouth, your eyes never meeting his but the door next to the both of you. Joel’s eyes did the same, and his chest got stuck in a new breath when he finally heard it. You were tightly pressed against him, trying to not be seen. The big heavy steps came closer, the sound of rotten flesh shifting with every thud. The bloater came into your point of view and you gritted your teeth.

Motherfuckers. You hated them. Every and each one of them. More than any type of infected. It had been a long time since you had seen one. A year to be exact. You knew it wasn’t the same bloater that had tore apart Laura. It couldn’t be. But you felt your blood rush, boil, the need to destroy him just like he had destroyed your most important person in the world.

But with that rage came too the fear. The panic. Your body froze, and your limbs shook. The images of that ominous day coming to your mind like flowing acid water that left you with a knot on your throat.

Joel placed a hand over yours when he felt them tense against his chest. You looked at him due to the recent touch, his eyes stare into yours. Soft brown and caramel touch. ‘Breathe’, you could read on them. ‘I’ll kill them. All of them.’ he could read on yours, your mind strong against your body, who seemed to be about to fall apart.

That silence again. A full out loud conversation made just with stares.

‘It’s not worth it.’ he shook his head, pointing out the obvious danger. Where a bloater goes a million clickers could appear.

You let go of his mouth when you could no longer hear it. It had gotten lost in the building once again, away from you. His hand was still on yours, his heartbeat bellow your palm. He was alive. He was here. You were not alone. This was not the past. Laura was dead. Joel was alive.

You got away from him as if he was burning and you were gasoline, about to combust.

He was alive. You were not alone.

That made your blood run cold, freeze in your veins and make you ache. Bitter and sweet, like lemonade on a fresh cut.

“Let’s go.” you said, and he looked at you, when you were about to walk away taking you from your hand and making you stop.

“Let’s go through the fire scape.” he pointed at the windows, where you could see the steps and stairs.

“It could fall apart. The erosion could have bitten it apart.” you said, and he pursed his lips, thinking.

“Could be. But if we continue we’ll meet the bloater again.” he argued and you rolled your eyes.

“Then we’ll kill it.” you said, and he gave you an stern look.

“It’s a suicide. We’re only two and with mere guns. We won’t be able to take it down.” you fight against his grip, as if you could prove a point, make him believe you were strong enough to take it alone. “y/n.” he said your name, and your body froze. “You’re still hurt. We can’t take the risk.” he said, and for once, you listened, ‘cause you muscles lost their tension and your skin softened under his touch. “Let’s try the fire scape.” you looked at him for what it seemed to be hours.

Follow me. Trust me. I’m here.

Your throat was aching to say fight more, stubborn as always. But you knew he was speaking the truth, and you had to take it even if it hurt your heart. Even if you couldn’t get your vengeance today.

“Fine. But if you fall it’s all your fault.” you said and he scoffed, letting you go as he walked towards the window that led to the fire scape and opened it. “You go first. I don’t have to die too for your stupidity.” you pointed out, crossing your arms over your chest.

“As you wish.” he shrugged and stepped outside, the fire scape not making even a sound. It was perfectly stable. “Told you so.” he smiled, cockily. You rolled your eyes.

“Shut up and move.” you said as you crossed the window to the other side and followed him.

The night quickly fell on your shoulders, and the city welcomed you with the remains of its busting energy. There were only a few people left on the streets, probably late workers getting ready to get home after an exhausting day.

You gave him a nod towards a hidden alley and he followed you with now his gun on hand. You managed to slowly open the door to the building where the motor was supposed to be stored, using a clip that has been seating on your hair. Joel was impressed, but again, this was a really hard world, and you learned things to adapt to it.

You slowly creaked open the door, gun looking right, then left. Clear.

Joel closed it behind his back when you waved your hand, stepping in. You cocked your head towards the right and started walking. The hallways were dark, dusty and old with multiple doors that you passed by as quickly and as carefully as you could, checking then one by one.

It was not long before you found the motor, after five minutes of searching room by room. It was in what it seemed to be an storage/meeting room, a really big one, with tables and a couple of sofas on the left. There were guns and bookcases and…

Next thing you knew, there was an arm around your neck. You choked, fighting the person that had attacked you. You heard Joel grunting at your back.

“Got him!” a male voice said, and you groaned as they dragged you further into the room, a girl snatched your gun away from you with a kick.

“Not as pretty as the one I’ve got.” the male at your back laughed, and your wrists were grabbed with his free and big hand, fingers digging on your skin and bruising it up. Your tries to kick him again were in vain, because in just a matter of seconds you were on the floor, his body pressing against you and making it hard to breath. The arm that surrounded your neck had retracted, his hand pushing your face against the floor. “Such a pretty little thing…” he smiled, and your heart jumped, a moan of pain leaving your lips when he tugged on your hair, bringing your face closer to him.

Joel was at your right, in the same position as you, fighting the buffer man on top of him.

“Don’t touch her!” he said, but he got kicked on the face by a blonde hair, breaking up his lip with her combat boot. Joel hissed and she laughed.

“You really thought it could be that easy? Get in here and walk right out?” she scoffed, taking a step closer to you and kneeling just the slightest to catch your face in between his fingers, fiercely digging her nails on your skin. “Who do you work for?” she asked, and you simply spat on her face, making her close her eyes and fall silent for a couple of seconds before she smirked, looking at you with malice in her eyes.

“Bob.” he simply said, and you had to watch as the man on top of Joel took his head and bashed it against the floor, making a breech open on his forehead.

“No!” you screamed, but you got silenced with a punch so strong that made your ears ring.

“Hey! Don’t touch her face! I want her all pretty for me later.” the man pinning you to the floor said, and the girl stood up, a golf stick now shinning brightly in between her hands.

“You bitch…” you said, and she smiled.

“Better watch what you say… Wouldn’t want your boyfriend here to pay for it, right?” she teased, and swung at his ribs, making his face contort in pain and a groan leave his lips. “Who. do. you. work. for?” she asks, Joel this time, and he doesn’t answer. “Fine.” she swung again, but this time he hit his head, blood pouring on his skin.

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!!!!” you screamed at the guy pinning you down, fighting him off as she got Joel’s ribs, making him scream in pain. “Fuck!!!!!”

“I love the tough ones. Always the ones that cry the hardest on bed.” he said, and once again banged your head against the floor. “Should I make it quick?” he said, and Joel glared at him. “Maybe I could even do it right here, in front of your little friend. I bet he would love that, huh?” he said with a smirk, and you felt your skin crawl when his tongue met your neck, sucking there ‘till you hissed.

“I’ll fucking kill-“

Your eyes widened when Joel was cut off by another swing to the head.

You screamed when he slumped against the floor, blood dripping onto the floor from the wound on his forehead, which got bigger. “You’re gonna fucking die!” your gaze was strong, your words directed to the girl that now walked towards you with an amused smirk on her face. “Fucking bitch, I’m gonna-“

But you moaned in pain when she kicked you on your side, three times, making you curl on yourself and knocking the air out of your lungs.

“What did you say? You ‘want me to kill him’?” she mocked you, cocking her head, stepping back towards Joel.

“Finish him off, already, Jade. We’ve got things to do.” the brunette girl that had kicked your gun away and now stood guarding the door said, making the blonde roll her eyes.

“You’re always so fucking boring, Ray. You never let me have fun.” she pouted.

“Joel, wake up.” you said, fighting to get away, trying to make him come back to you and live. “ WAKE THE FUCK UP!” you screamed, your breathing ragged.

Your blood was rushing through your veins, burning you from the inside out. Your whole body trembled and shook.

“Yeah. That’s right. Watch the little rat die. I promise you will be right behind, pretty girl.” the boy on your back said, whispering and kissing your ear. You felt the urge to vomit. “But we’ll have a little bit of fun before though, what do you think, hm?” your eyes landed on the gun scattered just a couple inches away from you. “I promise I’ll be good to you…” he said, one of his hands now leaving your head and pulling aside the neck of your shirt to reveal more skin, his hips grinding against your ass.

Big fucking mistake.

“I won’t.” you spat and with a quick movement for your leg you rolled on yourself, hit his legs that straddled you. He lose balance, falling at your right. With a quick swift of your hand you had your dagger in hand the one that had been hiding on the ankles of your pant and that now you dug on the neck of the asshole that had been touching you just mere seconds ago.

He let out a scream that soon turned into a gurgling mess of blood and gasps that couldn’t fill his lungs.

“Axel!” Ray was quick to react, gun and hand and finger pulling the trigger to shoot at you, but you dodged it by rolling on the floor.

Her body was the next one to hit the floor, your dagger perfectly placed in between her two eyebrows. She was lying in a pool of her own blood by the time you got to your gun, but you groaned when one of the last two standing shoot at it and pushed it away from your reach.

You stood up as quickly as you could dodging multiple of missed bullets. You went straight to the guy, that had been pinning Joel to the floor and that now stood on his feet, your legs aching at the effort.

“Finish that rat off!” he screamed at his blonde friend as he recharged his gun. He groaned and struggled with you as you fought for his gun once once you’ve taken a hold on it —a little trick you had learned years ago— twisting it to dodge a new bullet. He almost had it, though you were quicker than him and, once your eyes had found it lying in the floor not far away from you, you took ahold on a bat with nails that you supposed they had used to beat the shit out of others like you. It was the divine intervention that you needed.

At this point blood was decorating your skin in little freckles. A painting of death and revenge in the hands of the wrong artist. You were still thirsty for it, you were on the hunt for more. You couldn’t see, only red and the ghost of his bodies. Rage was taking ahold on you. Mind was turning blank.

Your veins screamed for death.

The nails dug on the side of his face as you swung, his eyes rolling back as his jaw falling slack. You could see some of them sticking through his cheek and onto his mouth.

You were sure to have hit the brain once he had fallen on his knees as you pulled from it, brain matter decorating your shoes. You took his gun, and with a quick twist of your body, you shot the last girl standing —which was the one who had been beating Joel with a golf stick— on the stomach before she could give him the final blow.

“Fucking bitch!” she groaned in pain, hands falling to the bleeding hole on his body.

You shot her again, this time to both his legs, making her fall, the golf stick clinking onto the floor. You were going to shoot again, somewhere that would hurt but not kill her yet, but the gun had ran out of bullets. You clicked your tongue and threw it aside, making a dent on the wall at your right.

You almost felt the need to laugh when you saw her crawling her way to the emergency door in the room, away from you and Joel’s semi-unconscious body, who slowly came back to his senses.

Your steps were the only sound filling the room as you approached her, her heavy breathing and pants adding to the melody of an incoming death.

You were gonna bash her fucking skull in.

When you got to her, you kicked her hard on the stomach, winning new stains on your dusty jeans. Maybe you’d leave them. Maybe you’d grow fond of them. Let’s see how many more you’d get after you were done with her.

You were breathing hard, your chest heaving with every puff of air you could get, though no oxygen seemed to be enough for your body, for your dizzy and gone mind.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

The scream that she left when you kicked her once again could made anyone shiver, but not you.

I’ll kill them. All of them.

She was finally on her back, bleeding out on your feet. And if you were someone else, you would have felt mercy. But you were just you.

So you rose the bat and swung, blood splattering all over your face and clothes when you did it again, and again, and again…

Your arms hurt, your lungs burned, your body shook…

She was already dead. But it was not enough.

No. Not this time. This time I’ll be strong enough. This time I won’t be left alone. This time he won’t die. Joel won’t die. Not him. Not again. Not like Laura did. He won’t…

And suddenly you could breath, strong arms surrounding you from the back and stopping you with force. You fought back his grip, his hushing, his soft voice promising that you were okay. That he was okay.

He could see it in your eyes. That fear. The same fear that he had fought for decades. The same demons.

He had seen them take a hold on you while you fought, he had seen you lost yourself on the blood.

“It’s okay.” he muttered, and you hands let go of the bat, your eyes fixed on the corpse in front of you, completely unrecognizable, your crimson hands, your messy clothes… “y/n.” he called out your name and your eyes swelled with tears that you fought to not let show… Your palms burned due to the friction of the wood, blisters rising up on the skin.

His eyes found yours when he turned you around and away from the bodies that you had left behind, trying to get you to focus on him.

He too had been through this. Through this rage, through this mourning and need for blood.

“I’m here.” he said, and just in case, repeated his words, slower, softer. “I’m here.” you slowly let him bring you into his arms, your cheek pressed against his heart, where you made sure that it was true. He was here. He was okay. He was alive. You were not alone.

And Joel made as if he had not noticed the way your hands had clutched and fisted his shirt, tugging him closer.

The look that Blair has given you when you had taken the motor back to the car was…, well it was an understatement.

She tried to make your eyes meet hers, gaze digging holes on your body. But you were too gone to say something. Too deep inside your head to be able to speak. You were staring at the nothingness, at the blood on your hands.

You didn’t recall the way back to the town, nor how you had ended up on the back along with Joel, who silently looked at you and made sure you were okay. You had always been silent, but this time it was different. You were as still as a corpse, your eyes lost and hands trembling every now and then. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what was the right thing to do, the right thing to bring you back to the present, ‘cause it was obvious you were caught in between it and the so painful past that you always avoided.

The doors made a beep that let the car in as they opened and closed shut behind it, securing you inside. You were back home. You were safe. But were you? Was the person on your left safe for you?

Joel’s face was a mess. Busted lip, a cut on his right cheek that had already stopped bleeding, swelling eye, bleeding forehead… He had cuts all over his arm, the same arms in which you had been in between just a mere hours ago. The same arms that had made sure to stop you from falling apart.

“What the hell happened?!!” Larry was quick to approach the two of you in the middle of the night, being drawn by the noise of the car, flashlight on hand. Ellie was right behind, fully awake. It seems that she hadn’t been able to sleep at all, not when you and Joel weren’t around, when she wasn’t ‘safe’.

Ellie froze when she looked at you, Larry with eyes shot open. You were bathed in blood, new deaths weighing your body.

You didn’t look at them.

Joel explained, explained that you and him had been caught with your guards down, that the mission had went wrong before you had fixed it. Before you had killed all that people…

Larry took your face between his hands and you looked at him. His eyes were concerned, his hands inspecting for new wounds, for danger. You were okay. It wasn’t your blood. Then, he hugged you. He hugged you so hard you almost couldn’t breath. You were like a ghost in between his arms. Lifeless, lost. You mind had too much to think about, your mouth too little to say.

Ellie didn’t move. She couldn’t. Didn’t know how to react, how to move or talk. She could breath when Larry had promised that you were okay, that everything was okay. But her hands were shaking, and a pang of pain crossed your chest in fear that it was because of you. Was she scared? Had you finally become the same monster that had killed your family…, your friends?

The apartment was too cold. So cold you were freezing under your sticky clothes. Larry had made sure the three of you were back inside, secured, still shaken up by the thought that he could have almost lost you, lost a daughter.

That was when you started to move. Your feet unable to stop.

You didn’t know where you were going until your hands were on the handle to Laura’s door, didn’t even realized you had finally opened it after a year of solitude —or ignoring it was even there— too fearful to try and step inside.

Ellie, Larry and Joel were looking at you. Frozen in place, unable to move or speak as you closed the door at your back and buried yourself on your best friend for the longest time after her death.

It smell so much like her it made your eyes water. Her paintings and sketches all over the walls. Polaroids decorating the empty spaces, photos pf the two of you when everything was perfect —as perfect as it could be in a world like this—. Books left unfinished where left at the feet of her bed, her night table still had her favorite one left open on her favorite page. Alice in wonderland.

Your heart plummeted with your body on her bed, on her unmade bed that felt like giving her a hug, like having her close. That smelled like the stupid citrus stupid shampoo he used for her curly hair…

Your hands tugged on one of her pillows, your body curling around it trying to find her. Trying to find her warmth, her own beating heart. But you only could feel your own, your own shattering one.

You were staining the sheets with blood. Destroying that already broken place that you had been to scared to walk into. But you couldn’t care less. ‘Cause maybe that’s what would make you finally clean them up and put them inside her wardrobe, which peeked open at your right. Maybe…, this new blood could make you move on, even if it hurt.

You closed your eyes, ignoring the stickiness of your body, the weight of your drenched clothes, and cried. Cried in the silence that she had left behind, cried in the fear that had caved in you today after years of fearless guts.

For the first time in a year you had been scared. Scared of this world. Scared of a new death. Scared of your heart breaking again.

taglist; ♡

@bubbles-for-all-of-us @hiphopdancer101universe @amethystwonders11 @mmeerraa @azxulaa @euovennia @twilightsbiggestfan @dabria14 @minaxcarter @lynndaline @frogjumps-world @cassiepascal @mdnigts @fudosl @batweildinglittlepysco @doodlebob-mp3 @boh3mian @saintmagx @scaredknight @ipadkidsworld @somebodytookmyusername @natalia42069 @cassrox @seninjakitey @maddsfilms @issybee0611 @corpsebridenightamare

pedro pascal’s masterlist

joel miller’s masterlist

639 notes · View notes

sentientgolfball · 10 months

Text

Silly little ghoul headcanons

Apologies for how long this is I have too many thoughts

Little content warning there are mentions of death and murder

-elemental transitions are extremely difficult and dangerous to perform. This is because in order to change the very core of a ghoul one must be completely taken over with the desired element.

-so to become a fire ghoul one must be engulfed with flame. For water one must be submerged until the water takes them. Buried alive for earth. Accepted by the storm for air. Basically a ghoul has to be brought to the brink of death using the desired element.

-it puts the body into survival mode and the only way to survive something as intense as death by elements is to adapt. That’s why transitions are so rare. Most ghouls don’t even attempt them because of the risk, but if they do they better hope their will to live is strong enough

-there is also no known way of transitioning to quintessence. Quintessence ghouls are already extremely rare due to their unique creation. There isn’t much known about them

-quint ghouls are the only ghoul type to not be created as just a beast of Hell, but rather a human who died young and traumatically with a powerful desire to live. They have no memories of ever being a human, but it is very common for them to have strangely detailed dreams of people they’ve never seen before. No one knows what may happen if a quintessence ghoul were to remember their past life

-they may understand the fact that they were once human if told, but it really means nothing to them since they have no recollection of ever living like one. To most, they’ve just always been a ghoul simple as that though some have gotten curious and have attempted to find ways to remember to no avail

-multi ghouls are also rare-ish but for a different reason. They don’t have a core element, sure they can learn small bits of elemental magic if taught how but besides that they are essentially blank slates. In the hierarchy of the Pit, that makes them the weakest. They have to fight to survive way more than an elemental ghoul

-they are typically solitary, being kicked out packs if not just just straight up killed. It is not unheard of, though, for small packs to be formed

-they’re also the most commonly summoned. Everyday in the Pit is a fight for them, so they typically hang around the cracks in the world waiting for the magic to burn bright so they can escape

-now obviously since ghouls are creatures made in Hell they look a lot different between the two worlds. On earth, they’re pretty much squished into a form that’s actually sustainable (mostly humanoid body shape, horns, tails, fangs, greyish skin corresponding to their element) but when exposed to their element their magic is a bit stronger giving them a bit more of a monstrous look

-for example, when a water ghoul is submerged they’ll gain extra fins, webbed hands and feet, bioluminescence etc. or when an earth ghoul is surrounded by nature they’ll start to grow various plants on their bodies and leave trails of grass and small flowers where they step

-the element of a ghoul also affects how they appear on earth. Fire ghouls generally have reptile like skin with blotches of scales and spaded tails. Water ghouls have shark-like skin and must regularly submerge in water to avoid drying out. They have the thickest tails with fins at the end. Quintessence ghouls have fur that ranges from peach fuzz to full pelt. They can have either furred or spaded tails. Air ghouls have splotches of feathers around their bodies and are unnaturally light due to their hollow bones. They either have long, elegant tail feathers or a whip like tail that ends with a tuft of feathers. Earth ghouls are typically very large and unnaturally strong even for a ghoul. They have a thin layer of fur. Their tails either end in spades or with fur. Multi-ghouls have human-like skin and are drained of color. While elemental ghouls skin and hair color are affected by their core element, multi ghouls are left in greyscale. Though, when using magic of an element their eyes will change color to match. Their tails either end in fur or spade

-generally speaking, ghouls typically have paw like feet with retractable claws on both hands and feet. However, any ghoul (minus water) can have hooves though it is most common in earth ghouls

-speaking of water, they need the most care after being summoned. In their Hellish forms they live in the lakes and oceans meaning they don’t have legs. The method that seems to be working so far is to throw them into the lake immediately upon summoning so they can learn to swim with legs first and then learn to walk. This also means many water ghouls need mobility aids, even after learning to use their legs on land. They also tend to have joint pain/problems

-ghouls are also pack creatures meaning they have no concept of personal space. Being accepted by a ghoul is like living with a clingy cat. They WILL follow you around everywhere and they WILL break into your room and lay on you with their full weight at 3am because they’re bored. They will also attempt to clean you at random times to show their care. Do not be surprised if you wake up to a ghoul trying to lick you.

-this has also led to many talks about privacy. It tends to be an issue with new summons that once they learn humans take showers to get clean they may try to casually hop in the shower with you to help to show that they like you

-it’s also pretty uncommon to see a ghoul by themselves. They’re almost always either with another ghoul or a human they particularly enjoy. If you do catch one alone either something is wrong or you’re about to get jumped, either with affection or murder it depends

If you made it this far I thank you for reading because I am constantly having thoughts about ghouls and I need to get them out of my brain :]

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghoul #ghoul hc #ghoul headcanons #ghost bc #I’m a bit obsessed

32 notes · View notes

theladyfromplanetx · 8 months

Text

(Because if you try to read the original, you'll get hit with a paywall. This article was originally published in 2021.)

By Paul Krugman

The blogger John Rogers once noted that there are two novels that can shape the lives of bookish 14-year-olds: "Atlas Shrugged" and "The Lord of the Rings". One of these novels, he asserted, is a childish fantasy that can leave you emotionally stunted; the other involves orcs.

Well I was a bookish 14-year-old, but my touchstones were two different novels:

Isaac Asimov’s “Foundation” and Frank Herbert’s “Dune.”

Many social scientists, it turns out, are science fiction readers. For example, quite a few experts on international relations who I know are fanatics about the TV version of “The Expanse.” I think it’s because good science fiction involves building imaginary worlds that are different from the world we know, but in interesting ways that relate to the attempt to understand why society is the way it is.

Anyway, that’s my excuse for devoting today’s newsletter not to the latest scary developments in politics and economics but to a much happier event: the U.S. release of a wonderful, satisfying film version of “Dune” — the first movie I’ve seen in a theater since the pandemic began.

Before I get there, however, a word about the new “Foundation” TV series, which is being released one episode a week on Apple TV.

The “Foundation” trilogy had a huge impact on my teenage self. For those who’ve never read it, it’s about social scientists who use their knowledge to save galactic civilization. I wanted to be Hari Seldon, the brilliant mathematician who leads the effort; this economics thing was as close as I could get.

“Foundation” might seem unfilmable. It mostly involves people talking, and its narrative inverts the hero-saves-the-universe theme that burns many acres of CGI every year. The story spans centuries; in each episode everything appears to be on the brink, and it seems as if only desperate efforts by the protagonists can save the day. But after each crisis, Seldon’s prerecorded hologram appears to explain to everyone what just happened and why the successful resolution was inevitable given the laws of history.

So how does the Apple TV series turn this into a visually compelling tale? It doesn’t. What it does instead is remake “Star Wars” under another name. There are indispensable heroes, mystical powers, even a Death Star. These aren’t necessarily bad things to include in a TV series, but they’re completely antithetical to the spirit of Asimov’s writing. Pretending that this series has anything to do with the “Foundation” novels is fraudulent marketing, and I’ve stopped watching.

Now on to “Dune.” The book is everything “Foundation” isn’t: There’s a glittering, hierarchical society wracked by intrigue and warfare, a young hero of noble birth who may be a prophesied Messiah, a sinister but alluring sisterhood of witches, fierce desert warriors and, of course, giant worms.

And yes, it’s fun. When I was a teenager, my friends and I would engage in mock combat in which the killing blow had to be delivered slowly to penetrate your opponent’s shield — which will make sense if you read the book or watch the movie.

What makes “Dune” more than an ordinary space opera are two things: its subtlety and the richness of its world-building.

Thus, the Bene Gesserit derive their power not from magic but from deep self-control, awareness and understanding of human psychology. The journey of Paul Atreides is heroic but morally ambiguous; he knows that if he succeeds, war and vast slaughter will follow.

And the world Herbert created is given depth by layers of cultural references. He borrowed from Islamic and Ayurvedic traditions, from European feudalism and more — “Dune” represents cultural appropriation on a, well, interstellar scale. It’s also deeply steeped in fairly serious ecological thinking.

So why was the 1984 film a disaster? Because the director — yes, David Lynch — either didn’t grasp the subtlety and richness or decided that audiences couldn’t handle it. That is, he did to “Dune” what Apple TV has done to “Foundation.” For example, in the book there’s the “weirding way of battle,” which is about using psychology and deception to overcome foes; in Lynch’s film this was replaced with some kind of gadget.

The great thing about Denis Villeneuve’s “Dune: Part I” is that he respects the audience enough to retain the book’s spirit. He trimmed the narrative to reduce it to filmable size — and even so, his two and a half hours cover only the first half of the book — but he didn’t dumb it down. Instead, he relies on spectacle and spine-tingling action to hold our attention despite the density of the story. In so doing he made a film worthy of the source material.

I wouldn’t say that this “Dune” matches the vision I had when reading the book. It’s better. The visuals surpass my imagination — those ornithopters! The actors give the characters more depth than the book’s author previously had in my mind.

Will this labor of love sell to a mass audience (and allow Villeneuve to finish his story)? The early box office looks good, and this does seem like the kind of film people will see twice — I did — so sales may hold up longer than usual. But I guess we’ll find out.

In any case, all of us former bookish 14-year-olds finally have the “Dune” movie we always wanted to see. Sometimes, things actually do go right.

#Dune #Foundation #opinion #Paul Krugman #2021 #AppleTV+#Denis Villeneuve

6 notes · View notes

dragonbanexxi · 11 months

Text

Soul of Bronze; Blood of Fire

****Not Canon Compliant!!!!****

Helaena Targaryen x OC Targaryen- Royce

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Heir of Runestone would often joke that he should be referred to as Rhaegar Stone. Seeing as his father (Prince Daemon Targaryen) had no want for him and his mother (Lady Rhea Royce) was long dead. All jokes end when he and Ser Gerold Royce are summoned to the capitol by none other than King Viserys the First of his Name. The King wanting nothing more than to bring his estranged nephew into the fold, Viserys offers Rhaegar his so called Targaryen Right. A betrothal to the Princess Helaena and the chance to claim a dragon. Will Rhaegar be able to claim such a beast? Even if his valyrian skills were lacking? Prince Aemond seems to think so. Though he’s mostly is just thrilled to finally have someone around who’s willing to be his friend. Also the court begins to notice that the Princess Helaena seems to have taken a liking to the new prince. Much to her mothers dismay, who’s fighting tooth and nail to have the girl be given to Aegon. Something neither sibling wanted. To Rhaegar everything was going smoothly until the news of Laena Velaryon death had dampen everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 17: Alicent

The loveliness of the day betrayed the grim atmosphere Alicent felt in the sail back to King’s Landing. The Queen sat vigilantly next to her maimed son, holding seven pointed star rosary. Reciting each prayer faithfully for the betterment of her darling boy.

“Glory to the father, may his judgment be just. Glory to the mother, May her protection be-“

“plentiful” a voice spoke up behind the Queen.

Her grace turns back to face the voice, with a startled expression. Eyes softening when she realizes who it is.

“Ser Rhaegar” she croaks on the brink of tears. “Would you like to join me in prayer?”

The boy nods kneeling down next to her. Bowing his head in reverence for the Seven. The Queen clears her throat and starts again from the beginning.

“Glory to the Father, may his judgment be just. Glory to the Mother, may her protection be plentiful. Glory to the Maiden, may her love be sincere. Glory to the Crone, may her wisdom be everlasting. Glory to the Warrior, may his strength be victorious. Glory to the Smith, may his labor be prosperous. Glory to the Stranger, may his wrath be feared.”

“Amen” Rhaegar says quietly.

“Amen” Alicent wipes her teary eyes on her sleeve.

Rhaegar pulls out a bronze handkerchief from his doublet and hands it to his Queen. Her slender hands drying her tears yet she can only will herself to cry harder into the cloth.

“You’re to good for this court child.” She says between sobs. “You have been nothing but kind to people who don’t deserve it. I fear I have behaved ghastly towards you.”

Her voice trembles as she finds his lavenders eyes.

“Could you find it in your heart to forgive my unwarranted predijuce against you Rhaegar?” Tone sincere.

The young knight smiles sadly for brief second. “There’s nothing to forgive your grace”

Alicent swallows nervously. They’re both still kneeling besides Aemond’s bed. Her darling boy sleeping heavily due to the combination of milk of the poppy and essence of nightshade. Only his steady breathing could be heard. Alicent caresses Aemond’s frosty hair. Another sob escapes her lips.

“I dishonored myself terribly.”

“No” The knight says with reassurance. “Your grace, you reacted how any mother would have reacted.”

The Queens brown eyes meet Rhaegar’s for a brief second before looking away in shame.

“As did the Princess” she whispers to herself.

Which brought out a sad sigh from the juvenile “Aye… as did she”

Rhaegar stands up and gives the distraught women his hand to help her up from kneeling. She accepts the help with a quiet thank you. Alicent takes her seat on the cushioned chair.

“Ser Rhaegar…” An awkward pause. She has so much to say yet doesn’t know how to express it. “I have given much thought to the proposition you’ve made about sending both my son and the Prince Lu- and Rhaenyra’s son to Runestone to squire.”

The Queen couldn’t bring herself to utter Prince Lucerys name.

“Once Aemond shows improvement and if he so desires…” she lets out a deep exhale “I will allow him to go and live as your ward. No matter if Rhaenyra also sends her son or not.”

The shock on the Heir of Runestone’s face couldn’t be contained. Unbeknownst to Alicent, Rhaegar was going to propose Aemond’s squirehood at Runestone to his uncle the king when they returned to King’s Landing. Yet he had spouted his idea to soon when the two royal women were at each others necks. Perhaps it was a bit impertinent for Rhaegar to meddle in a situation that didn’t involve him. Yet having his cousins future in endangered by both women with threats of torture… it just didn’t sit right in Rhaegar’s heart. Aemond and Lucerys are just children after all .

“If Aemond allows us the honor to foster him your grace, I vow to make a good man out of him.”

The words ring true in Alicent’s chest. She doesn’t know when this parentless boy had swayed her into trusting him. Yet surely enough the queen knows Rhaegar will live up to his vow or he’ll die trying.

“I know” a sad smile gracing her lips. “I know you will.”

“The Princess Helaena gave me some advice before arriving at Driftmark.” He begins offhandedly.

It piqued the Queens interest since it had to do with her sweet Helaena. Her sweet daughter who still hasn’t forgiven Alicent for calling her betrothal a wretched one. That had been weeks ago and still Helaena didn’t speak with her mother unless she had too. No longer did she attend their usual tea time in the afternoons in the garden. Nor did she come into her mothers chamber to just sit and embroider her curious insects on her handkerchiefs. Nothing. Helaena had completely shut her out.

“We were conversing on the way to the dragon pit about my relationship with my father and how it doesn’t exist.”

Alicent sees a sad twinkle in the boys eyes.

“I told her that I wasn’t sure how I would react if I saw him. If I’d be sad, if I’d ignore him or if my anger would get the best of me.” He let’s put a rueful huff.

“The Princess told me that fighting fire with fire would only cause a larger fire. Everyone would burn.” The boys gaze falls to his hands.

“I didn’t listen and let my anger get the best of me…” and they all burned.

It was left unsaid but Alicent understood. The poor boy blames himself and that completely cracked the ice shielding Alicent’s heart.

“I was reading a verse in the Book of the Mother” Alicent begins piously. “For the love the Seven Gods hold for their flock is so great and so dear that when one strays away the seven wait patiently for their lamb to return and embrace it with open arms.”

A smile appears on Rhaegar’s face and Alicent lets herself smile as well.

“Its a good feeling knowing that the Seven will forgive us no matter how grave the sin.” The boy says quietly. “We mostly just need to learn how to forgive ourselves.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another Alicent and Rhaegar interaction. The last time I wrote a chapter with these two, I struggled to find a connection between the two. Yet now that I found it, these too are so easy to write now together.

Thank you guys once again! Thank you guys for being so nice 🥺❤️

Comments are always welcomed ❤️

#daemon targaryen x rhea royce #helaena targaryen x oc #targaryen royce oc #original targaryen character #helaena targaryen

17 notes · View notes

zero-cycle · 2 years

Text

The dark at the end of the light

for @cestusss

(Fair warning: I have never written Purpled before so the characterization might be a bit wonky. TWs for (mostly implied) character death, non-exhaustive description of injury and lots of thinking about killing people. so just standard dsmp things, really.) AO3 link in comments!

“We used to be good people,” Hbomb says and the sun’s evening rays drench him in blood. “This server has a way of twisting people, making them into something they’re not.”

“You maybe,” Purpled answers. The sun touches his face. There is no sun in Bedwars, just eternal light that you’re never quite sure where it comes from. “I’ve always been like this.”

***

The void becomes dark when you go deep enough.

It’s not something that most people know. Even if you play Bedwars regularly, normally you respawn faster than reaching the point where the void becomes dark and empty and unbearable. Purpled had only seen it once, after a game glitched and he got caught on the brink between death and respawn in a doubles game. It had taken Walli the longest ten minutes of Purpled’s life to get an admin to teleport him out.

The void is dangerous, Purpled learned on that day. All Bedwars players treat the void with a certain respect, but if you play long enough, most of the fear vanishes and turns into resignation instead. It’s a part of their life, just like he’s heard Illumina talk about the void at the end of each world. The void marks the end of a round, of a game, of a life – but only temporary, just like there’s always more worlds for speedrunners to beat. But still, the void is dangerous and should be treated with respect. It may not leave marks like the swords and axes he’s learned to handle but it is vast and eternal and dark and not to be trifled with.

There is no void on the Dream SMP. There is no end to the game, or even just one war. No void to treat with respect, just endless ground and even more endless conflicts. Crossteaming is allowed here and even when he does it himself during the Manberg war, it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Schlatt doesn’t deserve his support but the ways the rules he grew up with are ignored or even flaunted makes him shiver sometimes. The Dream SMP is a lawless land and Purpled has to live by the only rule that still counts here: Adapt, or die.

***

“We used to be good people,” Hbomb says and the sun’s evening rays drench him in blood. “This server has a way of twisting people, making them into something they’re not.”

Purpled didn’t mean to find the other man. He was out searching for an untouched place to build a little base in case he’d ever have to abandon his current one and stumbled over the Savannah village entirely by accident. He’s never been friends with Hbomb but it still felt rude to just leave without at least announcing his presence. Back home, his friends would have had his head for it.

Back home, he’d been killing people in games daily.

“You maybe,” Purpled answers. The sun touches his face. There is no sun in Bedwars, just eternal light that you’re never quite sure where it comes from. “I’ve always been like this.”

He doesn’t stay long enough to decipher the emotion on Hbomb’s face.

***

“So what do you think is worse, fire or the void?”

There’s not really a lot of topics left to talk about, which leaves Purpled grasping at straws.

“Fire,” Ponk answers with no hesitation and turns so he’s no longer facing the wall. Purpled looks away from the bloodied bandages around his friend’s arm. He can never change them fast enough that they stay white. He wishes for a moment he’d be back home. There are no scars in Bedwars. No injuries, no ruthless (ex?)boyfriends to hunt somebody down.

“Why?” he asks instead and swallows the anger and the bitterness that aren’t his to feel. Back home, it’d be as easy as to relentlessly target somebody, crossteam on them for a bit, to make somebody pay. Here, with Sam behind iron walls and netherite armor, Purpled feels as helpless as when he got stuck in the void.

“Fire hurts.” Ponk’s tone makes him sound like he thinks Purpled is an idiot.

“So does the void,” Purpled protests.

“Fire hurts more.”

“You don’t even know that!” It’s true. Ponk, born on an SMP, has never touched the void. He’s told Purpled himself, so he knows that his friend is talking out of his ass.

“Okay then Mr. Wise Guy who’s seen so much, tell me fire doesn’t hurt more than the void.”

“Fine,” Purpled sighs, because Ponk is right, as much as he hates to admit it. “Fire hurts more.”

“See?” Ponk grins and it’s the first time Purpled has seen anything other than tears or barely-masked pain on his friend’s face since The Incident.

“You’re right, you’re right, I said it!”

“I’m always right.” Ponk looks smug. “Also…”

“Yeah?”

“Fire leaves something to mourn.” Ponk’s voice is flat. “You can still see the place where it ate through whatever you gave to it. At least the void kills cleanly.”

Purpled thinks of a lemon tree in sunlight, days and hours spent carefully carving it quite right and oh-so-flammable, and swallows.

***

The explosion is hotter than it seems.

Purpled’s first thought after the explosion of his home would probably have been something different if he was a normal person but he isn’t. Bedwars has taught him explosives through the mark of fireballs on his clothes (but never on his skin) and tnt launching him through the air (but never burning him). In Bedwars, explosives are tools to remove things, but they don’t hurt, and they certainly aren’t hot.

This TNT is going up in a fiery blaze with his base in the middle of it and it is as hot as the sun on his face on that evening with Hbomb that seems long-distant now.

Purpled turns and sees Quackity’s face and while the UFO has never been home, he thinks that if they were in a Bedwars game and he had the opportunity to break his bed, he’d shove Quackity into the void instead and watch him suffer for as long as the admins would let him.

***

“What do you think is worse?” Purpled asks on a lazy afternoon, lying on the cold floor of Hypixel’s lobby behind the statues that warp you to Bedwars games.

“Fire,” Walli claims immediately. “Of course it’s fire.”

“What?” Astelic exclaims. “Nononono. It’s void, obviously.”

The two of them start to bicker, just like they did in the doubles game they played earlier despite being teamed together.

Purpled looks over their heads and meets the mismatched eyes of Eighty. The older player looks tired.

“Fire,” he says with his usual calm.

“But…”

“Fire leaves scars.”

Purpled thinks of a blasted-out hole in the ground where his UFO once stood and nods. Eighty, blank, scarless face and arms covered with his signature grey hoodie, nods back.

***

It’s raining.

There’s no rain in deserts, but Las Nevadas has never been normal. Purpled is unnaturally calm. The lever he’s playing with is cold and slippery but he’s played while being shaky from no sleep or completely exhausted after a long day of matches. He has never dropped a weapon and he’s not about to start now.

Everything is prepared.

It’s almost laughably easy, to get Quackity and slime to where they have to stand. Slime opens the chest and like if he’d be buying wool in a bedwars game, Purpled uses his distraction and places the block.

Quackity turns.

Purpled flips the lever.

The hole they drop into has cost Purpled basically all of his free time since he’s arrived in this unnatural desert, this fake home. He thought of Walli and Astelic and Eighty and Sammy and David and Chazm and the others while building it and their faces float in his mind when he makes his way down.

The sky above them is dark. It’s thundering. No stars are visible against the ink-black darkness. Purpled thinks of the void he was trapped in which feels like ages ago. He’d fallen through the light until he’d hit a pit of darkness like the one above them and he’d stopped knowing what was above and what was below.

It’s different, here. The darkness is high on top and the light is here below, fizzing under their feet, the lava hissing angrily against the rain.

“What the fuck are you doing, Purpled!” Quackity yells and Purpled knows he wants him afraid, wants him to reconsider.

He won’t be doing that.

He gets down, finally, and there’s fear behind the anger in Quackity’s eyes. Purpled knows that fear, knows it from sweat on his neck and light in his eyes on his fifth game that morning. It’s the moment the Noobs realize they’re out of their depth, that they’re facing a master.

Quackity talks and Purpled answers on autopilot and nothing comes from it. He knows what he has to do and no talking in the world will stop him from his plans.

He throws the pearl.

Slime is standing there, unaware of what’s about to happen.

Quackity’s eyes go wide, panicking.

There is no dark void here, gentle if only you respect it enough. Instead, fire waits hungrily at the bottom.

Fire leaves scars, Eighty whispers in Purpled’s memories.

Purpled stares at Quackity who’s voice goes high when he realizes what Purpled is about to do.

“No, NO!”

Purpled stares at Quackity and thinks of a ruined hole in the ground and that fire leaves scars.

He pushes.

#purpled #dsmp #nare writes #oh my god am i really gonna bring that tag back lmao #been a while #cameos by various other dsmp and tiredtwt members #gratuitous image of imagery because of course i am #have fun callas :D

63 notes · View notes

uselessidiotsquad · 1 year

Note

💋🍑🌳 for Riag!

@mystery-salad

Ty for the ask! Grump hours ahoy!

💋 How affectionate are they with their friends? Their family? Their romantic partner(s) (if they have any)? Are they more physical or emotional when it comes to displaying their affection? Why?

Riag's sort of done the whole loop in terms of affection. Originally, he was a very physically affectionate person with both friends, family, and partner. Very much a hugger or casual touch person. Then the big oof that is HoT happened and he became touch and motion sensitive so all of his natural physically affectionate traits got buried. However, a large part of that was that he didn't really have anyone to be affectionate with. He is slowly but surely getting more comfortable being a little physically affectionate now. Baby steps but at least he's not about to start swinging on impulse or freeze and be overwhelmed with panic if something so much as brushes against him. He's an emotional person but not so much in how he expression his love for others - words are not his forte he'd much rather show.

🍑 Where is your OC’s favourite place to relax or calm down? Recount a story of their time spent in this place! What makes it so special to them?

Is there anywhere your OC hates to go to? Anywhere that stresses them out or have negative memories of?

It would have to be the Omphalos Chamber, and hanging out with the Avatar of the Pale Tree. He's always had a good relationship with the Tree and views her very much as a supportive maternal figure. Even though his connection to the Dream has gotten weaker since his mental break, it's still there and being close to her makes it more noticeable. His own thoughts, his failed Hunt, and then just general mental health struggles, seem less loud when he is up there with her. He has gone there many a time when the world feels too sharp or his own thoughts turn against him. Riag's also gone there for happier tidings, he would tell her of the Pact's victories and his own accomplishments. Despite it all, the Pale Tree is his Mother.

There are a lot of places that would stress him out that are obviously from the Maguuma Campaign (primarily Dragon's Stand and Verdant Brink), but on a more practical level Rata Sum. He's not always the easiest to get along with and stubborn personality + Asura personality do not mesh well. It's always lingered in the back of his head what they did to the Secondborn and how quickly they can turn their intellect into cruelty if fancy strikes them.

Plus, I mean, the city is just kinda of floating and that unnerves him a bit. He prefers to be on the ground or in supporting boughs of the Grove, thank you very much.

🌳 Compare your OC to themself from 10 years ago. How has their mental state changed since then, how have they aged and grown up? Would they say they’re in a better place than they were back then or do they need help? What advice would they give their younger self? What advice would their younger self give to them now?

Oh boy. Oh boy. Riag has grown up a lot, but not always in ways that are positive. He used to be a realist with a strong faith in 'anything is possible if you just try hard enough/work your ass off/get the right approach'. That has all but shattered, he's now a pessimist. He expects things to fail and go south on him, he expects heartbreak and death at any given moment. Does he need help? Absolutely. Is he going to get it? Nope. He'd refuse on principal and not get anything out of it.

I've actually sat with him about 'what advice would you give your younger self' and he's mostly just venomous to his past self. He thinks very poorly of the younger version of him for being so confident, so proud, and so naive. If anything he'd just be after himself to work harder, triple check plans, and put in more effort. Riag very easily forgets that he was already putting in 100% effort when he was younger, but still considers it now - not enough.

Baby Riag would not have anything to say to current Riag, he'd be too shocked at the change. Plus they both know they don't take advice from others.

#gw2 #ocs #Riaghael

5 notes · View notes

bardic-inspo · 1 year

Text

15 Questions

Tagged by @vault-heck. Thank you!!

Tagging back if you want to (no pressure if you’d rather not): @electricshoebox, @some27-url, @persephotea, @wishing4nuclearwinter, @totally-not-deacon, @just-another-wasteland-merc, @alannabix88, @alder-berry, @mercurymiscellany, @thedreamwolf, @seduce-me-with-coffee, and whoever else would like to!

1. Are you named after anyone? Nope.

2. When was the last time you cried? I got a little teary on Saturday when we left home to play D&D at a friend’s house a few hours away. It was the first time we left our kitty cat home alone overnight in our new place and I was feeling a little sensitive about it. He was completely fine and he probably slept most of the time we were gone.

3. Do you have kids? No, but maybe, probably, having one someday.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Me? Never. (Absolutely).

5. What sports do you play/have you played? When I was younger, swimming and cross country running. I don’t run at all anymore, it sort of fucked up my knees. I would love to get back into swimming again sometime in the near future. I semi-frequently do yoga at home, and would like to get into biking again. I’ve almost-nearly bought a bike several times over the past few years, but always found an excuse not to (mostly broken toes and long winters). I also have my scuba certification, if that counts, but the certification process was spread over two years (because of the broken toes) and I don’t feel qualified in the least, if I’m being honest.

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people? Their voice, if I hear them speaking. Otherwise, I guess...just, vibes? A gut reaction of however they make me feel based on what they’re saying/doing and especially how they’re saying/doing it.

7. Eye color? Hazel, leaning heavily towards green.

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Both is good!

9. Any special talents? I think I’m a decent writer, and a somewhat insightful person/deep thinker.

10. Where were you born? Midwest U.S.

11. What are your hobbies? Writing, video games, dungeons & dragons, reading (sporadically), dabbling in random artstuffs as the mood takes me, travelling to places I’ve never been, helping my cat live his best life.

12. Do you have any pets? My kitty cat, Leo, is about 8.5 years old (I cannot believe!!). We adopted him from a shelter when he was 5, and that was probably one of the best things that ever happened to me.

I grew up with a goldendoodle named Teddy, and I do love dogs, but I very much do not want to own a dog and owning a cat has reinforced that quite a bit for me, just due to the lifestyle changes/amount of work to take care of them elements.

‘Leo’ was the name my kitty’s prior owners gave him, and we didn’t have another name in mind, so we kept it. If we had ended up with a girl cat, we may have named/re-named her “Neset” and called her “Nessie” for short. Neset was a recurring villain in a D&D campaign I played in, and was also know as “the shadow of Egypt”. She was a monk/rogue multiclass who escaped our party probably five times on the brink of death before we eventually captured her. I

13. How tall are you? 5′1″

14. Fave subject in school? In college, I liked political science so much I ended up minoring in it sort of on accident, because I kept defaulting back to those courses while figuring out my actual major. In high school, probably psychology or language/literature.

15. Dream job? Not having to have one?

I think would enjoy being a writer, as a job, if and only if my financial wellbeing didn’t depend on it, and I was writing what I wanted/decided to write. That being said, some sort of story or narrative work. Maybe as an editor, or some sort of concept-person. I also really enjoyed anthropology, poli sci, and research in general in college, and if I wasn’t certain academia would ruin me mentally and financially, I might enjoy that, too. These are all dreams and don’t sound like real jobs one could have with the terms/conditions I’m describing.

#about me #megh speaks #tag games

4 notes · View notes

slytherwrites · 2 years

Text

‘Cause Oh, We’re Bleeding Out

Summary: Post-Tartarus Percabeth, broken up after the war. They weren't meant to last.

Young love rarely lasts. And demigods never get a happy ending.

Both statements Annabeth Chase has heard time and time again, mostly from her days being around the Aphrodite Cabin. She knows they’re true, but her pride caused her to be blind to those thoughts. She was going to have a perfectly normal life. She was going to settle down, get married, become an architect, be a better mother than her own was, grow old, and she was going to do it all with the person she loved—Perseus Jackson, her Seaweed Brain.

Tartarus ruined that. The Gods and their wars ruined that.

Annabeth starts to understand Luke’s rage. She’s probably been understanding it more and more as time goes on.

Annabeth looks over at the Poseidon Cabin, from the porch of the Athena Cabin. She’s supposed to continue plans to build a better Camp Half-Blood. She wants to build a New Athens, to rival New Rome. She wants to give these kids a home, one they can consider safe for all of their lives. But, she wanted to do it with Percy. This was for all campers, including him.

But now, he’s at his mother’s house, a reminder of another difference the two of them share.

Annabeth Chase left suburbia forever, for a camp that loved her. She stayed here for years, developing several close relationships with people. Her life is fully tied here. But Percy, he has a mother who loves him back home—a mother that wanted her, unlike Annabeth’s own mortal parent. He has a step-parent who’s happy to have him in their lives and he now has a little sister, one that will grow up and remember him.

And Annabeth won’t be around to see it.

It’s been a week since the two of them split. Percy’s gone back to redo his junior year—thanks to Hera kidnapping him halfway through last year. Annabeth’s still here. She’s applying to colleges, working on Camp Half-Blood, and submitting designs to her mother for New Athens. She’s back to leading her cabin—which is only her and Malcolm—just like she’s been doing for seven years now. But, it’s the first time she’s not expecting Percy to come visit whenever he could. She spent months looking for him, only for their relationship to fail after the second war was over.

He said that he couldn’t handle how hesitant she was. He said he couldn’t see the terror in her eyes whenever she looked at him. He said he can’t handle her reaction to the things he did in Tartarus.

But, can you blame her? He almost killed a Goddess. She was an immortal, choking on her own poison. She was an immortal, dying in front of her, at the hands of her boyfriend.

How else was she supposed to react? That was supposed to be something permanent. That was supposed to be someone eternal. And with his hands alone, he was able to get her to the brink of death.

Annabeth sits and looks out to the Poseidon Cabin. The night sky hides the sea-green paint—the color of Percy’s eyes. She can still see the trident standing tall, protruding from the roof like crosses of churches she’d been forced to attend when she was younger.

She sits and looks out. Part of her wants—expects—Percy to come back and apologize, that he was in the wrong and they can get over this. But, if Annabeth is honest, she was terrified of her boyfriend. He could kill something permanent. Most Gods couldn’t do that. And she couldn’t be with someone who could do that. Because if he can ruin something everlasting, what will he do to her?

#pjo oneshot #post-tartarus percabeth #annabeth chase #pjo fanfic #pjo #annabeth chase oneshot

10 notes · View notes

roguestorm · 2 years

Note

Do you have anyone you would ship Jean with that isn’t Scott or the Phoenix? If so, why? If not, why?

Last anon: And I totally mean “ship” in that you would like it to be canon /or/ you would like to see it in au of some sorts!

Absolutely! I'm always going to be for Jean/Scott first and foremost, but I am a multishipper and there are lots of people I think she would be fun with.

Probably the main one is Jean/Ororo, I love their canon friendship and I think they would be a really good couple. (I’m also into Scott/Ororo, so Jean/Scott/Ororo is good too.) I think they complement each other well in battle and out of it, where Ororo is more pragmatic and Jean is more optimistic but they have a shared vision of what they want the future to look like and the determination to get there. I also like that they do in canon have an intimacy that is easy to read as romantic. There’s a scene where Ororo is on the brink of death and Jean comes in to save her, but Ororo asks her to wait so that she can see her parents in the space between life and death, and then she introduces Jean to her parents. Jean is allowed to witness such an important reunion, and Ororo even invites her to do so, because they are extremely close and important to each other. In the drama of their lives, they provide a space to be quiet together, and I think that’s a really solid foundation for a ship.

Jean/Wanda is also good, more for what I’ve seen the fandom do with it than for anything in canon (although their friendship in XMFC is adorable). The aesthetics of it, too, are just amazing, they’re both incredibly powerful women with space-y aesthetics. And they’ve both done things that they really do regret but they’re moving on from them and they refuse to let them define them. Jean-and-Wanda-raise-the-twins AUs are always going to have a special place in my heart.

Jean/Bishop kind of came out of nowhere and surprised me, but I’m not opposed to it. Bishop has the kind of unflinching morality that Jean finds so attractive in Scott (although Bishop’s code of ethics is different from Scott’s), and for Bishop I think Jean has a hope/optimism that is good for him. I doubt we’ll ever see anything more done with this couple, but like I said, I’m open to it for sure.

Then there are a whole bunch of guys where I’m like, okay, in another life, I guess this could’ve happened. Warren’s the most obvious one, but also I think it would be interesting to see her with Gambit or Kurt or Hank. (I didn’t really like the teen!Jean/Hank plot; I am talking about other universes here.) I feel like it would be easy to be like, yeah, in this alternate universe something happened and Jean and Scott didn’t end up together, so she’s with [other X-Men member she has a decent relationship with] and that’s just a thing that everyone’s used to.

With Warren, they are like probably quietly going through a divorce that they don’t want anyone to know about because they’ve always been the face of the X-Men and the rock on which everyone else depends but they’re really better off as friends. With Hank, it depends on which Hank we’ve got. Classic Hank, he and Jean are very dramatic all the time and have several elaborate rituals that everyone else finds disgustingly affectionate. With modern Hank, we get a seriously preachy Jean who is always 0.2 seconds away from giving him a lecture on why locking people up without trial is Bad, Actually. With Kurt, they both have heavy subtext with Logan (listen. I hate Jean/Logan but I’ll allow it in the context of this specific AU) but mostly Kurt always catches her in his arms when she’s about to fall and smiles his most charming smile and then teleports her to safety and she always gets super mad and goes full godmode when anyone hurts her boyfriend. With Gambit, I think you have to go full nineties with the characters. He does not have half of the growth that our Gambit has had and she is in her least subtle and most dramatic characterization. They fight regularly and then passionately make up only when one of them gets into danger. (As you can tell, I don’t take any of these ship opportunities particularly seriously.)

My problem is that if Jean and Scott are anywhere near each other in a story, I want them to be together. I think they exist, naturally, at the center of each others’ stories, and it’s really hard for me to entertain the thought of other Jean ships when Scott is in the picture. 😭 This may be indicative that there is something Wrong With Me, but mostly I just think that from the beginning, Jean and Scott’s stories have always been written to be about both of them together, and so their relationship is very fundamental to the characters they are today, and I want to continue their character growth together. I love characters whose narratives are inseparable.

Thank you for the question! =D

#asks #Anonymous #also jean/any avenger is inherently funny #except for thor i guess since she's his mom now or whatever #ch: heart and soul

13 notes · View notes

babygirlthor · 2 years

Note

📖

alright, apparently at any given moment I‘ve got four something variations of mer/sea creature infinity stones AUs so here goes one…

the tesseract is on Asgard, hidden in the vaults— except she’s never been a cube and instead appears in the form of a sea creature. she’s a bit of an amalgamation of a box fish & a dragon sea slug but also vaguely humanoid shaped like a mer would be. So in the vault, instead of on a pedestal like everything else, Space is a bit separated from the main trophy room. Her water tank is completely blocked off by (energy) reinforced glass.

Young Loki finds the water tank cause he’s sneaky and wants to see the vault (because he’s drawn to it). The glass is a bit fuzzy and harder to see through when the bright barrier flares, though sporadically it’s more clear. The water is somehow not murky, as it stays completely clean.

Loki is of course fascinated by the strange creature he sees on the other side, though (at first) the feeling is not mutual as Tess is wary of all asgardians (and isn’t familiar enough with them to realize Loki is a child).

The cage, I mean- tank, is pretty small and barren, so although its depth goes a bit deeper than the floor, there’s no hiding spaces or similar creature comforts. There’s no algae, and no obviously no sun.

This also means that even tho they’re as far away as they can be, and Tess far larger staying in front, it’s obvious that there is two creatures here.

They don’t even attempt to communicate anything back to loki for a long time.

The second here is Mind, and he has been here for a long time. This was originally just his cage, and he has no idea Tess was in another section of the vault. At first, Odin had considered not keeping Tess at all, because having two infinity creatures in one place seemed risky even for him. He realized it was too risky even dumping one of them in a random spot in the ocean, because that would allow them to heal and become too powerful.

Tess had no idea mind was there either, but once she realized what was happening she attempted to contact the others. The message is vague as this kind of communication isn’t her strong suit, it’s mostly emotions and pain, but enough so if any of the others were nearby, they would know where she was.

Mind attempts to contact her back, but now behind another barrier, Tess’ abilities aren’t strong enough in this aspect for it to reach her. Mind is already worried at the message, but the lack of response is panic inducing and he knows they can’t die and the alternative can only be something worse.

In his panic, he manages to destroy his cage and the barrier, but it hurts him more than it did the tank. it could be rebuilt, and it was, multiple times. Odin eventually realizes keeping Mind away isn’t worth the effort, and he’s only destroying his vessel to the point, losing more and more of the leaf shaped structures (scales I guess? but also not really) he was once covered in.

And Odin isn’t cruel you know, he needs them weak, but not on the brink of “death”.

So he puts Tess in Mind’s tank, and well, that fixes one problem.

[Put "📓" or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I'll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven't written but daydream about.]

#thanks for making me actually write this out 💀#tesseroki #infinoki #I didn’t even reread this so apologies if it’s incoherent lol #I might’ve posted about this before but that’s because I routinely forget about it and then circle back around a few weeks later #I don’t even have a WIP doc for this plot I should probably do that #in case it wasn’t clear #they’re not fed btw :(#Odin is mean :(#better than bor but still :(#anyways eventually as Loki grows up he keeps visiting #he can’t help them escape (yet) but he realizes he CAN find their family so they can be reunited #he doesn’t have a safer place to bring them yet but it gets them a bigger cage!#Odin thinks they’re bringing back ‘treasures”’ just because. precious artifacts #just warrior things yknow #oh and reality is actually hidden in the vault too but on a seperate plane of existence so they don’t find him til later #the core from her chest is removed as bor had attempted to remove her power #he realizes she can’t be killed and traps her in that separate plane so she’s left by the stones with basically no water #so her vessel is partially destroyed & she can’t heal because she’s trapped and has no access to anything that would help #anyways that’s a lil bit of the backstory #I have yet to build much actual plot skfkf #sea slug mer #au

3 notes · View notes

closedcoffins · 2 years

Text

i’ve been pruning muses i don’t want to write but is there any potential interest for the following? i know i don’t share fandoms in common with a lot of my mutuals but here are some i’d like to add and brief descriptions to help.

akutagawa ryuunosuke ( bungou stray dogs ) --- known as the port mafia’s hellhound, akutagawa uses his ability “rashomon” to execute his murders as he has an extremely weak constitution and nagging lung issues. he’s cold, crass, and tends to shoot before asking questions, though he’s made a deal not to kill anyone at all for a year in order to kill the person he wants to most without a fuss.

yosano akiko ( bungou stray dogs ) --- the resident doctor for the armed detective agency. interestingly never once went to medical school, but using her ability “thou shalt not die”, she can resurrect people who are on the brink of death ( and ONLY when they’re on the brink of death ). carrying a lot of trauma from being used as a secret asset during wartime, yosano would do just about anything for her found family.

naganohara yoimiya ( genshin impact ) --- a cheerful if a little overwhelming person who has an intense passion for all things fun and festive ( but mostly fireworks ). though only known to most as a maker and enthusiast of fireworks, yoimiya also helped smuggle people out of inazuma during the vision hunt decree and helped people by making fake visions.

firo prochainezo ( baccano! ) --- a young-looking cammorista and the youngest person to become an executive in the martillo family. well-meaning, but has a tendency to snap at people sometimes and can be a little nosy about the right things. a very good fighter and has earned his place, but really not well-renowned for his smarts or subtlety.

ronny schiatto ( baccano! ) --- a 2000 year old homunculus who occasionally grants people who ask for it immortality via a liquid known as the grand panacea, currently posing as a member of the martillo family. extremely deadpan, and prefers to watch from the sidelines rather than getting involved--though his abilities have only the limit of not being able to see into the future and nothing more. punctuates most statements with “well, no matter”.

#out of character

2 notes · View notes

iamphatvenus · 27 days

Text

Tunde Imann Writing Challenge Day 2

Prompt: What is your relationship to time? How much is time worth to you?

Well, for one, my relationship to time just changed, and therefore, that’s why this is today’s prompt. MUAHAHAHA anyways. Time is the only true luxury we have. It’s through time that we experience life. The vehicle of choice would be these bodies we have, and now it’s making way more sense as to why the majority of the things we SHOULD be doing to stay healthy extend our time on earth.

Well, for starters, I have decided to wake up every day GRATEFUL to be here. My relationship to life has just changed, and suddenly, nothing really seems as urgent as everyone else likes to proclaim. I won’t say all of a sudden I no longer enjoy luxurious items, but I do not place any ITEM over my TIME. I recently went grocery shopping with my mom. I cooked and we ate and had girl talk in the kitchen. Chanel could never give me that feeling.

My life may not always be picture-perfect, but the way I SPEND my time, I thoroughly enjoy. I just want to reiterate, I don’t do struggle love, I don’t do bad gift givers or any sort of low balling, so please don’t read this and think, “Oh, I don’t have to get her Chanel.” I’m saying life is deeper than how things SEEM. And social media has us chasing (really y’all, not me, I’ve always had expensive taste anyhow) an IMAGE, and I’m here to say image isn’t a legacy. Image alone isn’t an impact. My greatest desire for the use of my time is to always leave an IMPACT, and a positive and long-lasting one.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think impact has a look. I hope I’m not about to die as in leave this body, and I’m actually just on the brink of another transformation, but if I were on my last days, I love the impact that I’ve left so far while SPENDING my time on earth.

I’ve somehow been able to enjoy how I spend my time and leave an impact everywhere I go, and that is something I’ve never acknowledged until today. To me, that makes me a great person. Today I choose to accept my greatness. I hope today you reflect on your impact and the legacy you leave behind.

Until recently, I’ve never been that “selfish” with my time. Once you see time as a form of currency, you realize the value of your presence and the value of your attention. You will budget yourself differently. I no longer take any offense to how anyone else chooses to spend their time on earth. I won’t waste my precious time dollars worrying about it either.

I believe an appreciation of time makes you a better artist. Really, the appreciation of the matter-of-factness that is death. One day we will all die. Which is why we as humans chase immortality. Always looking for the elixir of youth. I’m here to remind y’all looking younger doesn’t extend the time you have here on earth. As far as I know, they haven’t figured out how to make the human body durable enough to be invincible. Some of us enjoy being on stage, some of us enjoy staying home, reading a good book, and drinking a warm tea. Some people enjoy both. All I’m saying is we should be spending our time mostly doing what we enjoy, because we won’t always be able to experience joy, we won’t always be in our bodies. As an artist, we’ve all heard the conversations around creating beauty out of pain, which is a terrific thing to do. However, I hope you as an artist fall in love with the process of creating. Do not get caught up in the opinions of others. I know look at miserable hater ass people as enjoyers of misery. If they we’re the they would change, especially those with the privilege to do so. They’re just doing what they enjoy, who said you had to listen to them?

When I inevitably die, I want to be able for my soul to say, “Wow, I enjoyed that shit, AND I accomplished what I came to do AND many others are better because of it.” This isn’t me trying to tell you what to do with your time. I’m just asking you to think about is any of the things you currently engage in worth your time?

1 note · View note

adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 10 months

Text

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK THREE: WARMER - CHAPTER 22

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Book 3 Chapter 1 is here …

MPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: ART

“Kesla, come on, you need to think about this!” Krakka’s really having to trot along to keep up with her, she’s just walking but her powerful, long-legged strides are so big, and she’s so determined right now, I’m having to scramble to keep up with her too. “You’re not thinking straight, you can’t make major decisions like this while you’re angry!”

“I’m not angry, Krakka.” Her voice is scary level, about as flat as it’s capable of getting, and that’s never a good sign. She can be the Queen of Calm most o’ the time, but there’s always some emotion in there, even when she’s chill. It’s when she becomes truly monotone that you gotta worry. “I’m actually extremely calm. I’m just concerned. Extremely concerned that two of our friends are really messed up, one of ‘em might be about to die, which is becoming a frustratingly regular occurrence for me, while another one is just gone. Gael is gone, Krakka. They got ‘em, you said as much yourself. Believe me, I am very concerned.”

“Yes, I understand that. I am as well, very concerned indeed. But I also know that flying off the handle like this is not going to help anyone.”

“Except that I can actually do something about at least one o’ those problems right now, can’t I?” Kesla shoves her way through the door and into the narrow, lamp-lit corridor beyond, seeming to know exactly where she’s going. My head’s still reeling from that ridiculously huge library, that was way bigger than it had any right to be, but in truth only a small part o’ my brain’s really thinking about that right now, I’m mostly too distracted to think straight right now anyway.

Gael is gone. When Krakka finished doing what he could fixing my shoulder on the spot he filled me in on the situation, and the panic set in. Whoever the fuck that was who attacked us has my friend. They were sent to kill us, and they had some monstrous fucker of a lizardman with ‘em, I saw that thing in action and he was fucking scary, I’m scared to death for my friend now. In my head I’m climbing the fucking walls. It’s even enough to distract me from the lingering ache in my shoulder …

To make it worse, both the dwarves are in the infirmary. Dumoli’s apparently already recovering, his wound was bad and if he’d bled much more it might have been a lot worse, but once they got him back to the healers here they were quickly able to turn things round for him. But he’s still gonna be laid up for a little while yet.

He wouldn’t let Krakka near him when we finally arrived, anyway, he made him go straight to Thel. When we got to her we saw why. Fuck … that was a mess. Kesla’d done what she could for her using her heard-earned and experience-sharpened field medicine training, but she was already at death’s door, all the bandages in the world would only have delayed things a little. That kinda wound … it was miracle enough she hadn’t died already. Then Krakka learned who’d done it …

Apparently it was the blade of a cleric of Corvina … yeah, the whole group got real quiet over that revelation. It’s a bit of a paradox – she was a cleric, they’re healers and protectors of the helpless, but they’re also warriors o’ their faith, fighting for an ideal, and this one’s cause is death. That blade might as well have been poisoned.

It took everything Krakka had just to keep her from slipping away on the spot. In the end all he could do was pull her back from the brink itself, anything more than that was beyond him and his beloved patron. Then Lady Naru just took hold of both the dwarves at once and ported right outta there, heading straight for the temple of Minerva while Tulen sent a message ahead to Shul to let her know what was coming in order to get everybody ready. That just left Brung behind with the rest of us, and he wouldn’t respond to any of us. He just sat there, staring into space, looking like hell himself even though, so far as I could tell, he just got battered about a bit.

Tulen ported the rest of us back in groups, but in the end Lady Naru insisted on going back herself for Big Man, since she knew if Tulen did it she’d be out of it for the next day afterwards. Apparently she damn near passed out herself, porting the golem to the Heaths, that’s almost two miles from the temple, I’m amazed it didn’t floor her on the spot. Doing it twice certainly took a lot out of her as it was, last I saw of her she was stretched out on one o’ the couches in the lounge sucking down her third cup of wine to battle one hell of a headache. I heard Big Man had to carry her in from the entrance hall himself, she was so out of it.

Not that we could really avoid it. Big Man volunteered to just walk back, but after everything else that’s happened tonight Kesla nixed that idea the moment it was out there, and I don’t blame her. Instead we had to take the chance of messing up one of our remaining mages.

Now we’re just … licking our wounds. Those of us who ain’t mending are more’n a little frazzled round the edges, I know I ain’t the only one who’s scared to death for Gael. It’s clear enough these people are working for Jammund, or Hontiresk if that is who Jammund’s working for, which means that, near as makes no difference, our young half-elf’s prob’ly in Vandryss’ hands now. That thought alone makes my skin crawl and my heart scream.

Kesla’s worst off though, clearly. Shay at least is trying focus herself on the task at hand, so last I saw of her she was settling down to clean and tend to her gear, armour and weapons included, to be ready for what’s sure to come next. Kesla … she’s just untethered right now. Which I know makes her dangerous.

Krakka turns my way now as we scurry along behind her, while Darwyn’s trailing along behind us, mostly just looking rattled, about as unsure as I ever seen her now. The cleric gives me a pleading side-eye, and I wince seeing it. He’s begging for help, but I can’t offer it up. Part o’ me’s already onboard for whatever Kesla’s about to do, long as there’s a sliver of hope it might help us get Gael back.

“Damn it.” he mutters under his breath, which just makes me cringe a little more, feeling like I betrayed him. Which I kinda have, under the circumstances.

Kesla shoves her way through the door at the other end o’ the corridor a little more forcefully than she perhaps needs to, and I just duck straight through after her while Krakka sucks a particularly disapproving breath in response before following me. I don’t even bother to check if Darwyn’s still coming. Truth is right now I don’t particularly care.

Beyond the door is a large, high ceilinged antechamber, with several doors lining the walls, each unmarked but more’n one with temple staff stood outside. As we enter one of ‘em snaps to attention, shuffling forward with a somewhat uncertain expression on his face. He’s dressed in the Order’s livery same as the rest, sword at his side marking him as a guard rather than an attendant, but otherwise he’s surprisingly unassuming. He raises a hand and starts to speak, but when he gets a look at our faces he falters before he can get it out.

“Oh, um … forgive, me, Mistress Shoon … um … do you have business –”

“Back off.” She says it level as everything else she has on the way here, and the very flatness is a razor’s edge, enough even for someone who don’t know her to pick up on. “I gotta talk to ‘im.”

“Perhaps you should wait. I fear you may be out of sorts –”

“I wouldn’t, mate.” I sigh, already feeling bad for this guy. “Trust me.”

Again, he opens his mouth, then looks up at Kesla’s unnervingly blank stare and shuts it. His eyes flicker to me, than to Krakka, and he visibly deflates. Given he’s barely two inches shorter than Kesla and about as heavy, it’s a little unnerving to see. Finally he steps aside, indicating the door. “Please, help yourself.” he sighs, sounding as unbelievably tired as the rest of us feel.

Giving him a long look, Kesla takes a breath and steps past him, reaching for the doorknob. There’s a moment when she twists it that it resists, like it’s locked tight, but then the door springs inwards and she shoves it open, stepping through almost more as a reflex, but she must’ve been expecting it since her expression don’t slip. Again I follow quick as I can, trusting the others to make up their own minds.

The room inside is, at best, a cell. Calling it minimalist would be over-generous – there’s literally just a low cot with a thin mattress clearly bolted to the wall, and a small metal commode in the corner, no seat on it, not even any paper for wiping. The walls are white and startlingly smooth, and there’s light coming from somewhere above, I can’t really tell what it is looking up, it’s just there. The room itself is startlingly tall, but otherwise somewhat cramped, can’t be more’n ten feet across and twelve long. And there’s only one occupant.

So this is the famous Vik. He don’t look like much, given what I heard – he’s older than I thought he’d be, and a little smaller too, even as he stands up Kesla seems significantly larger than him. Or maybe it’s just got something to do with her purpose, he looks strangely diminished compared to her. Apparently when he came in he was wearing an impressive set of leathers, but now he’s dressed in simple slacks and an oversized grey linen smock, bare of foot and arm. His left wrist significantly unmarked, I note.

He's also wearing a collar, wide and surprisingly thick, made of gleaming metal like a manacle with subtly glowing sigils engraved around the edges. Two more bands are fastened at both wrists. As we bundle up inside the doorway, he steps towards us, holding both hands out as if to display ‘em to us. “What the fuck is this shit? This some kinda freaky magic shit? Every time I try to get within two feet o’ the door I damn near pass out.”

Kesla don’t stop walking with the rest of us, instead just stepping right up to him as he approaches. He doesn’t clock the threat ‘til it’s right in his face, and by then it’s too late.

Her first punch knocks him straight down. Thankfully the bed was directly behind him so he just ends up sitting down on that, but he still drops hard.

“What the fuck –” Her second punch knocks him back hard enough his head bounces off the wall, but thankfully not hard enough to brain himself or worse, it just rattles him. “Fuck!” he yells, raising his hands now to fend her off, his mouth already bloody while his nose starts to gush. “What the hell is –"

She hits him again, just as hard, and this time he loses a couple teeth and squawks in shock. “Who are they?!” she screams in his face, grabbing a fistful of the front of his smock now to drag him out of his slump before punching him again. “Who THE FUCK are they?!”

“What … who?!” Vik tries to brush her off again but he’s clearly getting dizzy from the hits now, his coordination can’t manage shit now.

“The sellswords!” she screams in his face, punching him one more time before letting go so he slumps back against the wall, head lolling some as his nose keeps spurting and he spits a few more teeth. “The fucking sellswords who just tried to murder us all! Who the fuck are they?!”

“I don’t …” He coughs, spluttering a little as he spits out two more teeth … no, this time they’re just pieces of teeth, looks like. Ouch. “Fuck … you crazy bitch!”

Kesla grabs another handful of material to drag him back up, cocking her fist with a particularly savage look on her face now. “If you don’t answer me right now –”

“I don’t fucking know!” Vik splutters, eyes wide, clearly terrified now. “I swear I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

Taking a big step back as she lets go again, Kesla draws herself up to her full height and raises both hands, brushing them back through her hair and yanks hard on what’s between her fingers. A little harder and she might even start tearing chunks out, looks like. She sucks a deep breath in through her teeth, and turns back to us, looking genuinely lost now.

Krakka just glares up at her, arms folded tight across his barrel chest, looking thoroughly done with her shit now. “Satisfied? You did all that for precisely nothing.”

Narrowing her eyes, Kesla glares right back, her lips drawn thin now. “You think? I don’t need a fucking lecture right now.” Without waiting for a reply, she just shoves right past him and me and Darwyn barely have time to scramble aside to let her through after.

Vik just coughs as he tries to sit up and fails miserably, pawing at his mangled face, already starting to darken and swell. “Crazy fucking bitch …”

“You wanna have a crack at fixing that?” I offer up to the tengu cleric with heavy sarcasm, who immediately gives me an even dirtier side-eye. Shrugging, I just turn back to head out.

Finding Tulen stood in the open doorway stops me short, more so the way she’s just looking at Vik sprawled on the bed, visibly shocked by his condition. For moment her mouth works on its own, like she’s trying to find words but none are forthcoming. Finally she spits out: “What … what just …”

“Don’t ask.” I lay a very gentle hand in the small of her back and press subtly in order to guide her back outside along with me. “Believe me, it won’t help.”

“Yeslee.” she mutters, mostly under her breath, as she allows herself to be directed back into the larger room beyond.

“What?” Kesla rounds on her. “What’d you say?”

“I talked to Yeslee.” She blinks a few times, and finally seems to come back to herself.

“Where … how … she took off, I thought …” Kesla frowns at me, seeming a little lost in the conversation along with me. From what I remember, she snuck off not long after we ported into that mess, but clearly with a purpose. Honestly I just thought she’d gone to look for Thel and her friends.

“She said she followed some of them.” She turns to me, looking a little uncertain now “The two you and Shay first encountered? I don’t really understand what she meant –”

“The halfling and the imori.” I say to Kesla as her frown deepens. I don’t think she encountered them herself, the impression I get is she ran into some different members of this mysterious group. I shrug. “They … I dunno. They both took some pretty nasty hits, the lizardman ‘specially. I’m amazed Krakka didn’t kill ‘im.”

“My swing might have been a little sub-par after he hit me.” he growls, still looking significantly pissed. “It rather threw me off my game.”

“Okay.” Kesla practically snarls, eyes closed now and teeth gritted as she shoves her hands back through her hair again. “Okay. Back to the subject in question?”

Blinking, Tulen looks round at us all, then seems to catch her meaning. “Oh … yes. Sorry. Um … yes, anyway, when I contacted her, Yeslee said they left. The imori was … not in good shape, it seems. But the halfling had mostly shaken it off, she said. They, um … it seems they had a plan, apparently. An escape plan?”

Cocking a brow, Kesla looks my way, and I just shrug in response. “Yeah, reckon that makes sense.”

“Course it does.” She turns to Tulen again. “What was it?”

“A boat? She said they had one waiting, on the canal, outside the Drumhalt. She followed them using the rooftops, they took it all the way to the river, then down to the docks. She said they went to a warehouse down there, on the wharves.”

That just makes me frown, so I turn to Kesla again, but she’s just looking down at Krakka, who’s simply cocking a brow back at her. “Well shit … guess that makes sense, too.”

“What d’you mean?” I really don’t have time for this shit, I’m too bloody anxious right now. “C’mon boss, what the hell?”

“A warehouse, on the wharves.” She turns to Tulen. “Hardward, up on First Point, right?”

She blinks again. “How did you –”

Kesla grins, which takes me by surprise, and reaches out to give her shoulder a good squeeze. “Luck. Sheer fucking luck. Reckon we’re gonna be all right. Now we just gotta get on it.”

As she starts walking gain, heading back the way we came, the rest of us all scramble to catch up. As we head into the corridor again, Krakka’s still frowning. “We’re sure about that though? That it’s not just a coincidence?”

“It’s a bit too specific, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, but still –”

“We got a next step. Means we can go after Gael. So it’s time to shake the others up, get ready to head out again. Just one more detail to take care of in the meantime.”

“What detail?” Krakka stop where he is throwing up his arms in clear frustration. He’s usually so stoic, it’s disconcerting to see him this worked up. “Kesla –”

“Something that’s been bothering me since before we got back, that I gotta deal with.” She stops and spins round, and next thing I know she’s lunged right past me, grabbing hold of Darwyn before she can even react and swinging her up off her feet.

“Hey, what the fuck are you –” The halfling’s cut off with a gasp, instantly winded when Kesla slams her into the wall, pinning her seven feet off the floor with her fingers digging into her arms like claws. “Wait, what –”

“Shut up!” Kesla leans in close, really snarling her words, and her face is enough to silence her all on its own. “I’m talking right now, when I want you to do it, I will say so. So just nod if you understand me.”

Darwyn’s eyes are very wide indeed, she looks damn near scared to death. She knows full well that she ain’t got a hope in this fight. Finally she nods.

Letting up a little bit, Kesla lowers her just enough to lean even closer, ‘til their noses are almost touching. “Good. I am not going to let you dodge this anymore, Darwyn. We’re gonna have this out right now. What the fuck were you doing in the Drumhalt?”

For a long beat she doesn’t answer, her eyes flickering down to me, and they’re beseeching again. “Art, please, I –”

“Fucking answer her, Dar.” I growl back, not even trying to go easy on her. Right now I couldn’t if I tried, half o’ me’s fucking anxious and the other’s just starting to get pissed off again. “Now. She won’t ask again, an’ you ain’t got a friend here right now.”

“No.” Darwyn cranes her neck forward far as she can, since she clearly can’t lean in right now, and fixes Kesla with that same stubborn glare I know so well. “No, I’m not gonna do that. Fuck you both.”

“You don’t have a bloody choice in this, you silly little bitch.” Kesla’s voice is growing soft again, which is a bad sign. “Just tell me.”

“I already told you, go fuck yourself. I ain’t saying it. Not to him. Not now.” She tips her head back, breathing a heavy sigh. “Fuck … I’ll show you.” She looks back at Kesla again, resolute now. “But then that’s the end of it. I want your word.”

“All right. You got it.” Kesla shrugs, and then lets go, and Darwyn has to catch herself, a little clumsy in her landing she’s so taken by surprise. She gives Kesla a pretty dirty look as she gathers her composure, taking a somewhat rattled breath.

“Let’s go, then.” Turning to crane up at Tulen, she offers up a hand, reaching out to Kesla too. “You can home in on where I wanna go, right? I heard that’s something you lot can do.”

Blinking again, Tulen looks at Kesla as she steps up and reaches down to grip the offered hand. “Um … yeah, kind of. It’s a little trickier than that, but –”

“Fine. Do that.”

Tulen frowns and gives Kesla a pointed look, but my friend just rolls her eyes and shrugs. Then she reaches out to me, and Darwyn frowns, her face darkening considerably.

“No, wait … I told you, no way I’m letting him come too. That’s a deal breaker.”

“Then break it.” Kesla gazes down at her, stalwart as ever, and I already know which one’s gonna break first in this staring contest. “He’s coming, or you can go in one o’ those cells and that’s that. I can’t trust you.”

Pouting, Darwyn genuinely looks to be considering the options, and I honestly don’t know which way she’ll go. I genuinely wouldn’t put it past her to pick the cell just to spite her, and me along with her. Then she breathes out a frustrated hiss and focuses on the floor as she growls: “Fuck … fine. You win.”

“You’re sure about this?” Krakka sighs, looking deeply uncertain now.

“It’s either this or I lock ‘er up on principle, and we need the bodies.” Kesla shrugs again, looking tired now. “When we’re gone, let Shay know what the plan is. Find out if Lady Naru’s feeling well enough to join us, tell her we might find Darion too if we hit it quick. And try and shake some sense into Brung too. We’re definitely gonna need him.”

Nodding, Krakka steps back and leans into the wall. “Just be careful.”

“I’ll try my best.” she sighs, turning to Tulen again. “You good?”

Looking down at Darwyn, then at me, she sighs as well, finally shrugging. “I’ll have to be. Just prepare yourself. This might be rough.” She looks at Darwyn again. “Concentrate on where you want to go. If it works, I’ll get a better read on where we’re heading that way.”

As Darwyn nods, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, going through the drill even as I lament the fact I’m getting a little sick of all this porting. Then Tulen says that strange sense-word and everything turns upside down around us, and through us, while Kesla squeezes my hand a little tighter and I return the favour purely by reflex.

When we settle it’s on pretty level ground, and there’s something quite familiar about these cobblestones, so while my head’s spinning a little from the transit and I still feel a touch queasy from the jump, somehow it don’t make me quite so anxious this time. I let the breath go and slowly open my eyes … and I know this place, I been through here a fair few times in the past, it’s really familiar territory. We’re in the Drumhalt all right, not far at all from where we just were actually, and the thought o’ that sets my shoulder aching some again, but then it don’t surprise me. Krakka ain’t had the chance to fix the wound entirely yet, so …

“Oh …” Darwyn’s doubled over, looking pretty miserable as she rests her hands on her knees like she’s ready to empty her stomach, breathing heavy now. “I hate that.”

“Yeah, it ain’t fun.” Kesla clears her throat, and it’s a rough sound, clearly she ain’t too comfortable herself as she looks round the narrow, shady street we’re in, pretty quiet now, but then it’s that time o’ night an this clearly ain’t a thoroughfare. We seem to be alone. “Okay … so are we there, then?” She turns back to the halfling. “Where we need to be?”

Gulping in a big swallow of air, Darwyn raises her head and gives it a little twitch, flipping her hair out her eyes to look round. “Um … yeah, this is it. Just through there.”

She’s pointing into a cul-de-sac a little way down on the left, a short flight o’ worn steps cutting between two buildings dropping into it. I can sort of make it out from this oblique angle, essentially a roughly circular courtyard surrounded by three storey townhouses, a few o’ the windows lamplit but most dark. I suspect it ain’t too late that a fair few residents are still in the pubs drinking after their shifts, or those who work nights have set out to start their own. It’s like pretty much any other place to grow up in the Drumhalt – cold, battered, worn stone and rusty iron, with no real nature to speak of besides moss and rats and other vermin. Honestly, it feels homely to me.

“Good.” Kesla checks her gear over and steps a little closer, giving it a good hard look over. “All right then. After you.”

Darwyn frowns now, giving her a look. “You still don’t trust me?”

“Reckon that oughtta be clear by now.” She shrugs, gesturing for her to go on. “Consider it a chance to earn some back.”

Narrowing her eyes, Darwyn tightens her jaw, and for a moment I think she might snap something at her, but she holds her tongue. Finally she gives me a good glare and takes a step forward, then stops and turns back to Kesla again. “Just so we’re clear, he is only here on sufferance. He ain’t welcome where we’re going.”

As she starts for the stairs, Kesla frowns a little too, looking across at me now. “Just keep an eye out.” Now to Tulen, who’s just stood by looking particularly uncomfortable as she observes her surroundings. “You especially. You’re the closest thing we got to a magic sensor right now. I want you sharp.”

“Oh … um … of course.” Tulen grasps the hilt of her sword now, while her other hand reaches into her robe to check her wand, tucked snug in its holster. Then she takes a tentative step forward as well.

I just flex my claws and start walking, brushing past the two of ‘em gently as I can so I can get behind Darwyn. Ain’t that I really don’t trust her right now, it’s just that … well, after what just happened, reckon maybe I don’t. Or maybe it’s just that I cannot stop working my nerves about Gael. What they done to ‘em, where they are, if they’re hurt, or worse. Might be it’s got me projecting right now, but … I know I ain’t in a good place in my head right now.

Nothing jumps out on us when we reach the bottom of the steps and step out into the courtyard proper. I can’t smell anything beyond the normal detritus of human existence, regular trash and worn scent-trails of regular passage over days, months, years. Kids play here too, I can tell, partly from their comparatively cleaner, more vital smell but mostly just the crudely drawn iconography of games on the broken, haphazardly laid flagstones and cobbles making up the yard floor. Simple grids for hopscotch, and ball games, and other makeshift diversions. Clearly this is a lively place during the day, at least.

Darwyn leads us in a direct straight line right across the courtyard, and from the trail I can smell as I follow her it’s clear this is a route she takes on a regular basis. Well that’s interesting … I turn to give Kesla a look, and when she sees my expression she cocks a brow down at me, quizzical, but don’t ask anything. I just shrug in response, but offer up a tentative smile too. Maybe this is something else to what we think it is.

Finally she steps up the narrow, somewhat misshapen three-step stoop to the corresponding door at the end of this unseen path, then pauses for a moment before reaching into one of her pockets and fishing for a moment. Finally she produces a bunch of keys and sorts through for a beat before selecting one and unlocking the door with it, then ducks through leaving it open in obvious invitation. Not bothering to wait for Kesla’s permission, I step in after.

It's somewhat gloomy inside, but there’s light coming through a small, dirty window at the far end of the narrow, crooked corridor, and I can see perfectly well anyway. The place is a whole riotous mix of different scents, I couldn’t sort through ‘em if I tried, but there’s nothing untoward, and one or two traces even seem vaguely familiar, even if I can’t place ‘em. Huh … well that’s strange … after a beat I realise I can smell Cobb in the mix as well as Darwyn. That’s real interesting.

“You comin’ or what?” Darwyn hisses at me a little further down, and I realise she’s waiting by the stairs, leading up. I bite off the retort that wants to come and just set my jaw again, continuing after her as she starts climbing.

After reaching the first floor she steps off into another corridor and heads a little way down before stopping at a door on the right. Now she looks real reluctant, and after a moment I realise she’s actually shaking, but it ain’t fear, more … hell, I dunno what this emotion is, actually. When she looks up at me her eyes are wide, and she opens her mouth like she wants to speak but don’t follow through, instead just frowning again and letting out a heavy sigh. “Fuck … all right. Just …” She turns back and glares at me now, but her words now are barely a hissing whisper. “Do not say a fucking word, clear?”

“Um … yeah. Sure.” I nod, a little more enthusiastic than I should, perhaps, but I don’t think she really notices now. She seems all kinds of nervous, I see. It should put me on edge again, but … I dunno, somehow it feels perfectly safe right now. I can’t explain it.

She doesn’t fish her keys out again this time, instead she just takes a deep breath as if to steel herself, and reaches up to knock three times on the door. Then she shifts on her feet, a couple times, and smooths her clothes down, proper fidgeting in fact. Eyes locked on the door as she waits.

After a few more moments I hear someone approaching on the other side, casual sounding footfalls on creaky floorboards, and maybe that same someone speaking to somebody else as they approach. I can’t make out what’s said, but the tone is clear enough, they seem relaxed. Happy, even. Another good sign, then.

When they stop just on the other side there’s a short pause before whoever it is calls through the door: “Hello? Who is it, please?” The voice, albeit a little muffled still, sounds … gods, I think I know that voice. Is that …

“Toyah, it’s me. Can you let us in?” Darwyn turns again and gives all of us a pointed look now. Seems that warning’s been extended to the group as a whole, now.

“Us? You got Cobb with you?” The woman on the other side almost sounds like she’s laughing the words a little, and now I’m sure I recognise the voice.

“No, it ain’t …” She lets another heavy sigh go, frustrated now, I reckon. “Look, it’s all right, everything’s fine, I promise. Just open up.”

For a long moment nothing happens, and I wonder if maybe the woman on the other side might not open the door after all, maybe they’re just too suspicious now after what she said or how she said it … then I hear chains shifting and locks turning inside, before a bolt is finally pulled and the door opens with a great crack and slow, slightly juddery creak. It opens a foot, then stops on a length of security chain, and a face appears about halfway up the gap.

I knew I knew that voice. On the other side is a dwarf woman, but very different from Thel. This one’s definitely not a muscular type, ‘least nowhere near so much as the young warrior, much more cuddly, all soft and round and devoid of corners, and very pretty too. She’s a good deal paler too, her chubby cheeks rosy under her fine, downy golden blonde fluff of a beard, but her full, bowed lips are rosier still. She’s grown her hair in since I saw her last, I see, now bound into a thick, loosely woven plait that hangs over her shoulder while curly errant locks hang around her face, and as she looks us over her striking pale green eyes dance with a somewhat mischievous light. She’s dressed in simple yet colourful day-to-day Untermer clothes, a jovial-looking dress of wool and linen and a light, ruffled blouse that shows off a lot less cleavage than I remember from when she was younger. Well, younger than she is now, anyway.

When she looks us over, she’s wary at first, especially when she sees Kesla, her eyes going a little wide at the six-foot-plus warrior woman in half-plate stood outside her door, but then she sees me, and she goes very still indeed. For a moment she seems genuinely shocked, but then a tentative smile starts to form, and that sparkle returns to her eyes. “Well I’ll be … oh my gods, it’s … hello there, stranger.”

“Hey, Toyah. Long time no see.”

Her brows twitch up at that, and she starts to laugh. “Is that … that’s it after five bloody years, you daft bastard?” She quickly frees the chain drags the door the rest of the way open and stalks out, her big bare feet thumping across the boards as she marches right up to me. I don’t stand a chance as she drags me into a big, tight hug and all I can do is let her.

I’m a whole foot taller than her, but she still crushes me, like she always does. She may be soft and plush, more fat than muscle, but she’s still a dwarf, so she’s still powerful, and as she gives my trunk a good tight squeeze I still feel my ribs compress. I gasp and I wheeze and I love every second of it as I return the tightest one I can manage, but can’t even try to match her strength. Finally I pat her on the back to let her know I want out and she relents, and I gasp again as I’m able to start breathing again. “Oh … gods, that’s still intense … oh, but it’s good to see you too. I’ve really missed you.”

“Yeah, I bet you have, you incorrigible little lothario.” She reaches up and gives my cheek a good pinch, her smile becoming rueful now. “I bet you’ve left a trail o’ heartbroke living wreckage across half o’ Rundao since you been gone. Or am I wrong?” She looks past me, likely regarding Kesla and Tulen again. “One o’ these intriguing young ladies made you honest, maybe?”

When I turn round I find Kesla’s really having to work hard to control her laughter, and ultimately failing. “Oh … oh fuck, no! Freya no. He is really not my type. Like, at all.”

Tulen, meanwhile, is blushing up a storm, I realise, her cheeks about as dark as I seen ’em get since I met her, and she licks her lips in deep discomfort, although she don’t really seem actually put off by the idea, which might give me hope. Under different circumstances, or at a different time, maybe. “Nor me. Um … I’m sorry, I mean … I am somewhat spoken for already, in a manner of speaking. Um …”

“I see.” Toyah rolls her eyes a little as she turns back to me, grinning now. “Same old Art, then. You never change.” She takes a step back and gestures for us to follow as she pushes the door open that last foot so there’s room for everyone to come through as she steps back across her threshold. “Come in, all o’ you. I got some stew on the stove if anybody’s hungry, should be about ready now. Plenty to go round, I always cook enough for a few days’ leftovers.”

“That sounds … lovely, actually.” Kesla’s got her laughter under control now, but she’s still grinning with clear mirth now as she shoves right past me. “It’s been a long day, an’ I’m starved.”

“Perfect!” Toyah strides off across the main room of the apartment, then pauses and turns back, cocking her head with a more quizzical look on her face as she looks at the rest of us. “Ah, yes. Anyone else?”

“Yes!” Tulen smiles now, a little sheepish but an improvement all the same. “Please. Stew sounds lovely. Whatever’s in it.”

“Veggies, an’ meat, o’ course.” Toyah chuckles “That’s how stew usually works. Dar? Art? You hungry?”

“Not right now, I’m sorry. Maybe later.” Darwyn’s casting about the room now, her nerves clearly still working at her.

When she turns to me I kinda blank for a moment, then I remember myself, and at the same time everything else. That’s right, we’re here on specific business, but I wasn’t expecting this. But this can’t be the reason Dar didn’t want me to come, she knows I’d be thrilled to see Toyah again. Something else is up.

And then I remember what else is going on again and … yeah, soon as Gael pops back into my head again I know I couldn’t keep anything down right now, it’s too much stress the way I’m all wound up. So I shake my head but try to keep my best face on all the same. “I’ll bow out too, to be honest. But maybe later, like she said.”

For a moment Toyah’s light-hearted mood seems to shift as she looks us both over, but she recovers quick. “Fair enough. It’ll keep, if you change your minds just let me know.” She gives Kesla and Tulen a fond wink and continues on the route she was previously taking, moving with a jovial spring in her step that I recognise with great fondness.

“She seems nice.” Kesla’s watching me now when I turn back, and while she’s smiling there’s an edge to it, partly curiosity, mostly expectant.

“Toyahlin Strongfall.” I chance a quick glance at Darwyn, who’s still stood by the now closed door, arms folded tight across her chest, looking at the floor. “She was our best friend when we were growing up, outside o’ the Guild kids. She’s a hedge wizard, works freelance for Cobb on occasion. Guess Dar was telling the truth about having somebody to come to to get through to ‘im.”

“Ah.” Kesla nods, shuffling her feet now as she starts to look round. “Okay, then.”

It’s a nice place, if small and somewhat poky like most places in the poorer quarters of Untermer, but here in the Drumhalt in particular, where folk are packed in like sardines. But clearly Toyah’s made a real effort to make this a pleasant, comfy, cosy place to live in, which don’t surprise me at all, she was always a real practical homebody, it was always something I really admired about her.

The walls are painted in warm colours, and surprisingly striking actually, patterned in swirling spirals and waves, while there are tiny handprints dotted around in various places in darker colours, along with a few much larger ones which are clearly Toyah’s own. As I look round the room, which has been furnished mostly with big woollen cushions and bundled blankets rather than seating, save for a small table and two similarly squat wooden chairs in the corner, I see other interesting signs too. There are toys scattered about on the floor, mostly makeshift plush animals sewn from frayed cotton and worn corduroy, but there are colourful building bricks and little carved wooden figures too. Most striking, though, are the colourful and simplistic daubed paintings pasted in various spots on the walls with a haphazard sense of pride. Clearly a child lives here too.

“Toyah’s a ma?” I venture after a moment, turning back to Darwyn now. Her reluctance to have us just show up like this is making a bit more sense to me now.

She stares at me for a long moment, eyes narrow and her face still so dark, and I don’t know what that’s about at all, it just don’t feel like the old hostility this time, it’s so much more complicated. I don’t understand it at all. “No. No, she’s not her daughter.”

That has me frowning too, genuinely confused now, and when I look at Kesla and Tulen I realise they’re listening closely too. Tulen seems as thrown as I am, but Kesla’s expression is a whole lot more complex, like she’s already working things out. “I … I don’t get it, then what are you –”

“Mama! Mama, you’re back!” The aforementioned child emerges through the doorway in a great explosion of effervescent energy and pounds directly to Darwyn at a full run, jumping on her even as the halfling’s still readying herself. She just manages to steady herself and open her arms as she’s enveloped, and it’s a strange sight to witness, really. And fucking sobering for me …

Five years … that’d make her a little over four years old, cuz when I left Dar weren’t showing yet. Oh gods … I wish she’d just told me. My head’s spinning like crazy now, and I couldn’t speak if I tried.

She’s already tall as her mother, but then bakaneko grow up fast, by the time I was eight I’d already reached my full height and was well on the way to physical maturity, I’d finished growing entirely by my tenth birthday. After that it was largely just having to finish growing up in my head, and gods know that took a lot longer. So when she hugs her mother with such enthusiasm Darwyn really has to brace herself so she ain’t just knocked down, and they wobble about for a moment cuz our little girl clearly has so much energy.

Of course. I thought those little handprints looked a bit odd, I realise it’s cuz there were only four chubby little fingerprints to each. More like extra-dextrous feline pawprints than tiny dwarf hands. Maybe that should’ve been my first warning.

I’m already dropping to my knees, I can’t help it. I wanna be at the right height when I meet my daughter.

“You said you weren’t gonna be back tonight! You’re early! Are you okay?”

“Well enough, luv, I promise.” Darwyn places both hands on either one of her cheeks as they break their hug, giving her child the fondest look I ever seen from her, she never looked at me so sweet when we were together, it’s a little jarring. “It’s just … something came up, and then … well, I had a reason to come back. Um … Vanna, look … I have to … I want to … um …” She’s faltering now, her gaze flickering to me as her words fail her, and she almost looks confused now, she don’t know what to do now the moment’s come.

Vanna turns now, sensing her mother’s disquiet and following her gaze, and she looks right at me now, so I get my first proper look at my daughter and … Freya, she’s beautiful.

In the end she looks more like me than her ma, so much cat is showing through, from her thick patches of fine, fluffy soft silvery grey fur striped with black, to her big, broad dark ears, proper standing to attention right now. She even has a slight muzzle to her face, as well as big oversized paws she’ll take at least another five years to really grow into if my own childhood is an indicator. She even has a tail, just as long and unruly as mine the way it just whips about with a clear mind of its own. Most striking, though, are her eyes, big and bright green like my own, although there’s more whites to ‘em, and her pupils are rounder.

But there’s still a lot o’ her mother in the mix too. There’s still enough of a halfling in her face she obviously ain’t pure bakaneko, with true, soft lips and bare patches of skin which the fur almost seems to line rather than cover. So while she has the same dark, rough pad on the tip o’ her nose, she also has sideburns but otherwise her features are bare, and there’s a broad line of clean skin from her chin leading down under her collar. Most of all, though, instead o’ just thicker, shaggier patches of unkempt fur forming a rough mane like I got, she has a full head of actual auburn locks, cut in a jaw-length bob that’s a good deal more unruly than her ma’s. In the end it’s a very striking appearance indeed, and while it’s deeply unusual I know when she grows up my little girl’s gonna break some hearts.

She’s dressed in a simple Untermer style orange linen smock and a small pair of loose, baggy wool britches, her pawed feet bare on the scattered, haphazard open-weave wool rugs. As she catches sight o’ me she becomes very still, her eyes widening a little more, and they were already big to begin with, so it’s a very intense regard. Her smile fades, but it’s replaced by a cautious curiosity. “Oh … hello. Hi. I’m Vanna.”

For a long moment I’m lost, trying to find something to reply with, my throat feels so thick right now I ain’t sure I could get any words out right now. Finally I just clear it and manage to slip out with: “Hello there … Vanna, I’m Art. Art of Shadows. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

After a long, pregnant beat she takes a step towards me, and her smile starts to return, but very tentatively. “Are you from the Guild? You dress like one o’ the folk mama works with. Like Uncle Cobb. You’re a …” She starts to frown, turning back to her mother. “Um … mama, he’s … he’s like me. He’s a … y’know, what you called it, a bakaneko?”

Darwyn’s lip’s wobbling, and I see now how wet her eyes are. She reaches up, but don’t quite cover her mouth, stopping just short as she tries to find the words. “Yeah … he is. Um … Vanna, sweetheart … this is … this is your father. Art. He’s your da.”

Vanna turns back to me now, and her frown deepens as she looks me over, her eyes sharper, more questing as they search my face. Then she takes a few more hesitant steps towards me, pauses, still seeming unsure, before finally taking those last two steps and reaching up. I start to reach out too but she shies a little, and I stop dead, trying not to wince as I do it but I ain’t quite sure I succeed. My heart’s in my mouth now, I don’t wanna spook her, I need this connection so badly. So I just keep very still, my own hands still up, and just wait for her to make the first move.

After another painful long moment’s pause, she starts to reach out again, and very slowly pressed her paws to mine, and I just let my fingers slowly open so she can do the same. She looks from one to the other over and over again, just comparing her paws to mine, and her eyes are widening again, her frown evaporating. Ever so slowly her tongue starts to poke out, a very feline thing I know I do myself on occasion without meaning to, and after a long beat her eyes turn back up to look at my face. Into my eyes and she starts to smile again. Tentative still, but it’s warmer than before.

“Hi.” she finally says, and I realise now that she’s purring, noticing in the same moment that her pupils are starting to dilate now.

My throat just gets thicker, and I can feel my eyes getting hot, tears threatening to come now, so I barely manage to choke out a response. “Hi. Hi there. Hello. Oh my … hello Vanna. I’m … I’m sorry I been gone so long –”

She springs on me as quick and sudden as she did her mother, just jumping between my arms and wrapping her own round my neck as she starts to crush me the best she can, and while I freeze for a charged moment I start to melt almost immediately after. I wrap her up in my own arms and crush her tight as I dare, nowhere near sure yet how strong she actually is even as I feel her hugging me with all her might.

I’m weeping now, I can’t help it, but when I look up at Darwyn I see that she’s doing the same, hands fully over her mouth now, but I can still see that her eyes are smiling too, even though they look so sad too. I’m starting to think maybe she doesn’t regret this final decision to tell me after all.

When I look at my friends I see Tulen’s smiling, but with her lip wobbling badly, and she has tears streaming down her cheeks too as she hugs her arms tight across her chest, mostly just as a self-protective gesture now. ‘Least Kesla’s got enough control of herself not to cry too, but she’s smiling all the same, stepping up to the dragonhalf’s side so she can wrap her arm round her shoulders and give her a good, firm squeeze.

I just tighten my own hug a little more, still careful but willing to bet my daughter’s probably a little tougher than she looks, and tilt my head to rest against hers. I close my eyes and let myself go, just enjoying the moment now. A chance for a little relief in the midst of all this worrying chaos, now I got a little hope to hold onto …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 3 chapter 22 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

0 notes