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laindtt · 1 year

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Rebirthing

Summary: The young Rachel has finally found a place to rest with her best friend Tracey among a remote community in Montana, and is about to meet for the first time the man who will revolutionize her whole universe.

Word Count: 2563

Warnings: Mention of drugs use

Comments: A lovely fic idea suggested by @i-am-the-balancing-point: “Rachel cleaning up a little after getting away from home and her eyes gaining their sparkle back when she joins the project.” I hope you’ll like it dear ♥ Same for you @deputyash! Thank you for being interested in my writing, you’re gems ♥

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language, and thus be indulgent ; enjoy your reading everyone!

Soundtrack: Skillet - Rebirthing (Acoustic)

Masterpost: Can be found under the “Masterpost” tag and here

Credits: Header by gangsterprayer, available here

“And she did not have to ask if this was right, no one had to tell her, because this could not have been more right or perfect.” - Patricia Highsmith, Carol

The water was softly running between her bruised fingers, soothing by its freshness both the pulling sensation of her cuts and her tiredness. Vagabond life was not tender for young ladies, but to be honest, life in its whole had never been merciful on Rachel, ever. What some scratches could be to a girl like her? Hand skincare was the least of her concerns, and none of the few luxuries that had brightened her days so far. Her old backpack, so worn out that she had to fix its straps multiple times along the way not to perpetually feel it falling from her shoulders on the ground, contained very few things, modest remnants of what have been left miles and miles behind. You didn’t need expensive creams when all that occupied your mind was survival. You didn’t need to pack all your belongings when your room was filled with cold and suffering. No photos, no keepsakes when family and friends were nothing but cruel ghosts. No regrets, because she had no future, no other option than an eternal run. In fact, her bag was light because it was full of so many agonizing emotions, fear, desperation, doubt, an eager need for something else, anything else. Her plan? Moving forward, as fast and as far as possible, pushed forward by this nearly overwhelming urge to escape all that she’d ever known. Running for her life, without catching her breath, had been devouring her mind with such hunger for so long that the fear of the unknown barely had a grasp on her heart.

In this restless headlong rush, Rachel had benefited from the benevolent comfort offered by her two best friends. Let’s be honest: without Tracey, the only spark of joy so far in her world, she would have never gone this far. The teenager admitted it with a gratitude tinged with fearful awe, as if showing her feelings too openly could scare away her yet bold travel partner: she would have been incapable of planning and embarking on such a runaway life. Her steps would have not crossed the threshold of her house and of her doomed existence, letting her rot there till the very last drop of life in her would have been vampirized. As far back as she could remember, Tracey had always been the more courageous of the two of them, always ready to fight back, always ready to protect her fragile acolyte. Rachel couldn’t help but never cease to be amazed by the profound differences between them, uniting them more than what could be expected at first, like two opposites attracting in a foolproof sorority –at least she was deeply convinced of this. Their friendship was her rock, as much as the driving force of their trip. She had no clue of when all of this would end, nor where they would finally settle down, but the simple thought of sharing a future with Tracey was enough for her, a comforting horizon, regardless of the struggles that they would have to overcome to reach this ideal. Oh dear, dear Tracey, her inspiring shield, her relentless compass… How devastating it was to, from time to time, catching her rolling her eyes because her protege had asked for a umpteenth break as they were walking on the side of an endless road, or begging her not to get into the truck of a driver she has a bad feeling about after hours of unsuccessful hitchhiking session. How saddening her frustrated sighs sounded when all that Rachel wanted was to live up to Tracey’s expectations.

… And that’s where cocaine came into play. Her second best friend, like a second shadow, had been following her and Tracey for quite a while, way before their great escape, another thing the young lady was trying to hide with all her strength, ashamed of always coming back in the arms of her addictions, incapable of not giving in to the siren calls for the soft comfort offered by the white powder and its sisters in arms. When the weather was too harsh, when she felt she had disappointed her role model once more, how could she possibly resist the only thing that could make her feel less useless, more powerful and capable than anything else? Even the dreadful fear of being arrested by the cops and brought back to her parents by force was not terrifying enough to overtake the despair that would be hers if once too often her weakness made Tracey lose her temper, to the point where she would just abandon her and keep going free from this burden. With a little more self-confidence, with a little more boldness and liveliness, she would surely never lose the only person that kept her on track, and luckily, the third-class gas stations interspersing their journey and groups of tramps they’ve met from time to time lacked a lot but rarely of a good soul more than willing to sell her some junk, whichever poison they had actually in store, slowly but surely consuming all the money she had stolen from her parents before fleeing. Maybe one day they would run out of cash and Rachel would feel guilty as hell for having spent so much on these delightful yet addictive sustainers, but Tracey would certainly find a solution, right? Like finding them some odd jobs offered by unscrupulous employers or any other means of subsistence; she had not the slightest doubt about her friend’s capacities to save their bacon.

This little boost was nothing but a temporary helping hand that she would drop as soon as they would have found a definitive shelter, a small secret that would hurt no one, especially not Tracey, because she was absolutely not aware of her mentee’s addictions, was she? If she had ever noticed something, she was kind enough to remain silent about it. Ignorance was bliss, as much as things left unsaid. Their next meal or the next place they would sleep at at night were enough trouble to deal with.

Reflexively, the young woman took a glance at her backpack, as her musing lead her from her pale reflection to the thought of the secret pocket where her precious remedy was hidden: checking on it, even simply by noticing that no one has touched her stuff, calmed her down, silencing her brief and irrational wave of anxiety. She had no reasons to worry at all, she thought: Tracey was sincerely convinced that giving a chance to this remote Montanan community lost in the middle of nowhere was worth it, and once more her sound decision had made their trip more comfortable. Since the day they had settled down in Hope County, Rachel had never ceased to be amazed by the warm welcome given by the group they had joined. Tracey’s enthusiasm about this little congregation called Project at Eden’s Gate had been quite a surprise for her young friend but without a doubt, she couldn’t agree more on the fact that their spirit of community made her want to permanently stay by their side –to her delight, Tracey seemed to share the feeling. No more mistrust as a protective reflex against strangers and their potential faked good intentions, no more walls to keep between them and the rest of the world, no more dangers or threats: this place was like a haven in the storm, and the two young ladies gladly savored each moment spent along with the members of the church. Their church, from now on? Rachel’s heart bubbled with joy: the followers were so kind, so generous! As if a light had been planted in their souls, radiating through their bodies like a seed growing into a beautiful and prolific fruit tree –really the last people who would rifle through her personal effects. Feeling safe somewhere, and not only by Tracey’s side, was something new but more addictive than most of the drugs that used to run through her veins.

“I brought you a towel and a few spare clothes,” trumpeted a sing-sing voice on the doorstep.

Rachel’s smile widened to greet the lady who helped the two newcomers to take their first steps into the Project and move into the dormitories of the Convent, one of the nerve centers of the teeming flock. Her host were so different from the shadows she had left behind – they all were-, a living proof that a different path was possible, not just a never ending absconding.

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome. It’s always a pleasure to integrate new novices… I’m so happy to have the chance to lend a hand, it reminds me of my first days here.”

In her eyes, Rachel could easily read that she was reliving her memories, and she wondered what it could feel like, to find so much delight in dwelling on the past. If only one day she was able to do so with as much glee as her…

“And the best is yet to come,” she assured the teen, putting her hand on her forearm. “I’ve heard that the Father himself is going to pay us a visit. How lucky we are!”

The mention of the leader of the Project made her thoughts race, spurred by curiosity: she had only met him a few times during masses, but it was undeniable that the preaching of the founder of their movement had left a deep mark on the young lady. Moved by the messages delivered during those sermons, the delicate passion he put in every intonation and the sheer emotion that ran through the audience, she hadn’t had yet the opportunity to talk to him in a small committee –something Destiny seemed to want to fix on that very same day, nearly making her hold her breath with anticipation. Rachel had never really shared the same dreams as the girls of her age, swooning at the idea of their favorite singer or actor walking into their local grocery store and falling in love with them at first sight while holding a bag of frozen peas; let’s be realistic, no one with some semblance of success would notice someone as ordinary as her. Yet, over the ceremonies, she felt connected to the others present in the chapel, overcome with the exaltation thrilling the people sited by her side, making her tangible, real. And this miracle was due to a voice, a blue stare hidden behind shades so yellow that the eyes they covered were turned green, an inspiring presence that made her discover that she, too, could feel alive in a way she had never experienced, not even with Tracey. And the man able to make this very feeling blossom in so many lost souls was about to visit them? That was all it took to color her cheek with a touch of pink that turned redder with the chuckle of her interlocutor.

“Don’t worry, dear sister. Our beloved Father is impressive, for sure, but he’s a simple man at heart, truly. And taking care of our new brothers and sisters matters a lot to him, you can believe me.”

Could a first impression not work against a poor little timid thing as Rachel? A part of her was burning with the hope that a captivating being like the Father would see something behind the vapid shell that had been her armor for so long, but that had lately started feeling tighter and tighter. Oh, to hear his words of wisdom voiced for her and no one else, some words of encouragement to praise her for all her efforts… Disappointing him during her first one-on-one would be dramatic, and thus, proportionately, her motivation to exist in his world was skyrocketing with the chance to spend time with him alone. The chance of a lifetime.

With a shy nod, she thanked her visitor before staring again at her reflection, checking the paleness of her skin, replacing a curl of hair behind her ear, barely noticing her sister leaving. Her nostalgic abandonment to thoughts chained to the past had its day, now it was time to face her future, to hang on to it as hard as she could. Even her inner voice, trying to convince not to dream too big or not to sink into self-delusion about the possibility to be more than nothing to someone as exquisite as the Father, would not silence her will to shine.

Now fully focused on what she could say and how she could act to be sure to turn this first encounter into something worth remembering, Rachel fell out of time again. For how long did she stay like this, a secret spiral, unbeknownst to the teen, beginning to wrap around her nothing less than a tragic fate? Hard to say, as a deep metamorphosis was also slowly taking possession of her, with consequences that she was so, so far to suspect ; nevertheless, time waited for no man, nor for innocent and determined damsels.

A soft greeting made her startle, promptly turning around with her hair whipping the air.

“Good morning, Rachel. I am glad to finally meet you.”

The lean figure by the door instinctively inspired her confidence: an impeccable white shirt, with a black vest and black borders, was giving him a soothing poise, and his yellow shades were the only touch of color in his outfit, but all that she could perceive in this moment was his warm smile, his presence, his intense yet gentle gaze upon her and only her. If only moments like this could last forever, so that a whole life of struggling leading to them would really be worth it.

“Nice to meet you too, Father...”

So many words were colliding with each other on her mind, on the tip of her tongue: words of thanks, of hope, of admiration, all mixed together and blocked at the gate of her lips. Fortunately, her eyes spoke for her, and a little something in his expression showed that his benevolence had turned both pleased and amused. A small laugh from him would probably have ruined it all, shattering her newborn spirit like hailstones tearing flower petals, but he didn’t mock her manners of debutante; he had so much to give, you see. So much that she wanted to take, while she also had so much that she wanted to give him freely, without any need to make any request.

All it took for that was reaching for her hand.

“Would you like to join me for a stroll?” the Prophet offered, his palm and fingers displayed like a promise for guidance and safety to come, something a fond father did for his child, something her real dad never did for her. “The place is lovely, and we could talk a bit. There are so many things about us I’d like to show you.”

A frantic nod from Rachel sealed the deal, and probably her fate: only a fool would have not let him take the lead. With complete trust, the young lady delicately held his hand and abandoned herself to the irresistible momentum they were sharing, his calloused skin feeling so pleasant against hers.

When they went out, a light breeze caressed her cheeks; the bright sunshine had her close her eyes, her free hand hiding her face from the sun.

All along, she never stopped smiling.

#Joseph Seed #Faith Seed #FC5 fanfiction #Far Cry 5 fanfiction #Personal writing

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babblingstacey · 1 year

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Felt like sharing some favorite photos of my main sims this year:

June Yamamoto, My Perfect Life Challenge

Iggy Pancakes, Globetrotter Challenge

Julianna Shaffer (daughter of Iggy), Expansion Berry Legacy Gen 1

Bianca Shaffer, Expansion Berry Legacy Gen 2

Fern Shaffer, Expansion Berry Legacy Gen 3

Iggy Pancakes (yes again), Batuu and Iggy's Making Money scenario

Tiana Pancakes (another daughter of Iggy), Tiana the Wolf Gameplay

Ciara Akuma, BabblingLegacy Gen 11

Laia Akbar, Felicity McGuire, Jazz Davis, Iggy Pancakes, Ari Park, Teenage Kicks Gameplay

Anna Deaton, Aliens Stole My Parents scenario and Anna's Vagabond Challenge (fun fact: Anna was a combo of Laia Akbar & Jazz Davis genetics, for no reason other than they were my favorites from the Teenage Kicks challenge.)

Julissa Visser, Julissa the Unlucky Chef scenario

Yvette Deaton, Yvette's Wandering Life Challenge

I had a lot of fun this year with Sims, I really enjoyed creating stories around the challenges. And that's really the whole point of this, isn't it? I loved each & every one of these OCs - looking back, it makes me want to finish some of the abandoned gameplays.

And yes, I've played with Iggy as a main sim in a total of 5 different saves (he started as June's best friend/husband in My Perfect Life and I didn't bother posting Iggy's Frogs Scenario, since it was one post). Apparently, he's my muse? But the photo above from Globetrotter is my absolute favorite, because he's so over it. And he's forever my blog header because that's my other favorite photo.

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nimrodinked · 1 year

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You Can’t Save Everyone (And Trying is Worse)

Hello hello, hope you’ve been keeping well up in the world. I’ve been fine, things have moved at about the pace I would expect. My free time has dried up significantly, as has my game spread, so pray forgive my impertinence with the already interstitial updates. But, if you’ll forgive the initial meander, I have actually linked my you tube channel at my header. For those interested, it is mostly short-form video edits I’ve made to please myself. I do plan, however loose that plan’s strings are, to put my thoughts to paper on longer videos, but the edits and such are fun for cutting my teeth and learning little tricks and skills. Anyhow, you’re not here for channel updates. What really saddens people is subjective. Like any emotion, really. People are angered, amused, saddened by unique things. I’ve seen joke posts that made me tight in the chest, and made light of things others thought horrendous and tear-jerking. So, to start this little tirade, To me, sadness is simple, and silent. Mostly unsaid, told through the background, the little actions. Not to say I can’t weep at other things... but when I find things sad I almost always find myself looking past the actual material, and reasoning what it means on a deeper level. To give example, the End of Evangelion movie, has a fairly soft scene, where a young Shinji goes to the park to play with some kids. For an extremely fast and dirty rundown, Shinji has a severe confidence problem, stemming largely from not having a mother, and from having an absent and cold father. To put it simply, he’s alone. Anyhow. He joins the kids building, before their parent scoops them up and away, and leaves Shinji alone to build the castle. He pats it, slowing down, before his hands just come to rest on it’s surface. Then, he shoves his hands down and smashes the measly structure. That’s about it, the movie continues on from there, but something about that whole exchange is so simple and haunting to me. I look past the simple bits to understand Shinji’s emotions. He doesn’t have anyone, and his attempts at reaching out all fizzle out. The kids just leave, there isn’t a whit of dialogue shared, but they have someone to go away with, and Shinji is still in the sandbox. Alone, patting a sandcastle with no one to share it with. Gut wrenching. For me, anyway. So, when I say that something is sad, deeply and gut-churningly sad, that is what you can expect, and what I will be telling in great detail presently. In the game Sunless Skies, you pilot a ship across the expanse of stars. It’s a fantastical game, full of both whimsy and terror. You can recruit officers to your ship that buff your in-game stats, and spending time with them unlocks their personal stories. If you manage to finish their personal stories on one captain (As in, don’t die before you finish with them) Then they move forward in life, and can be recruited as upgraded followers that give better stats. It’s a simple system, effective and lets you steer yourself towards a certain goal by picking the officers with the best lines of stats for you. But, I did say this was a game with horror in it. And not all of the companions have happy endings to their stories. No, there are plenty of charming completions to warm your soul, like giving a homonculus conductor a musical partner that could match his own prowess, only for him to balk and tell you that someone caring about him deeply enough to try was enough to warm his singing pipes once more. You can help a runaway mongolian haul his dead friend to various locations, deciding the best place that he could find his eternal rest. Charming... but we’re sailing for darker waters here. The Vagabond is a companion that most people pick up pretty early in the game. He’s the self-proclaimed “hobo king”, and jaunts around making your ship a lighter and happier place with his stories and songs. Starting his quest sets you off on a journey to find a long-lost hobo who was after some sort of treasure he claims is fake. You go through a number of hoops, including picking up a former friend of the Vagabond, and returning to the Vagabonds home to pick up supplies. Yes, the hobo king has a home. As you travel along this path, you hear tales scattered around of a massive whirlwind in an area of the game. The place is named Old Tom’s Well, so-called because of a legend surrounding the maelstrom. Supposedly, a wealthy man once descended into the well and asked it for something, some grand treasure. The well agreed, but, and I might be remembering wrong, spurned Old Tom and all that would come after for wishing. Now what’s in the well is entirely besides the point. Much of Sunless Skies is written in a lovely way where what is actually going on takes up a life of it’s own, and logic simply has to shrug and play along. You can, with certainly criteria, go down the well to see what lies at it’s bottom, but that’s got naught to do with Old Tom. And, if you’re naive, neither does the Vagabond. At the end of his story, and after having you imbibe a certain elixir, you travel down to the well with the Vagabond. There, he reveals it all. He is, in fact, Old Tom, and he wished to live forever. The well extended his life, but now longs to right what it once gave, as Tom was supposed to return there and give himself to the well to end his extended life. Instead, the crafty old weasel has been routinely setting up sacrifices, gullible people that trust a friendly face enough for him to get them to drink a certain elixir... At this point, the story can take one of a few ways.You can, at an earlier time, swap the elixir, and give it to the breakout you take with you. Doing so, Tom recognizes the same evil in you that he harbors in his own breast. After hurling your hapless hobo into the well, you and Tom leave, and he promises to make your crew and ship a lively place. Just... a crewman willl go missing. Every now and then. Nothing to worry about, you both understand. This is, while more than a bit cruel (and inconvenient if you really need the hands on deck) an ending that leaves Old Tom intact, if not punished for his sins. Secondly, you may choose to overpower the old man, and hurl him into the well to make good the debt he’s owed for so long. Doing so will net you an expensive, and hard to come be resource that can be used at certain points to progress. It’s a just punishment, though it permanently removes Old Tom from the game. He won’t be joining your crew anymore, and that resource is oh-so-temporary. So... Story-wise, as good an ending as you can get. Game-wise, you want an officer. But... there is a third ending. If you do certain things for Old Tom, you ingratiate yourself to him. Enough favor given, and he hesitates to betray you. He still reveals himself, but has a change of heart. AT the last minute he pulls back, and declares that he’ll bring another sacrifice, but it won’t be you. The well responds by dragging him in. You can save him at this point, but the well inflicts a horrific punishment. His arms and legs lignify, flesh turning to bark and branch as his extremities snap off in the whipping wind. You save Old Tom, but he’s been transformed. He can’t move any longer, though he’s still a capable officer, in his own way. This is... well it’s not a good ending. It’s a horrible ending. Just when you think you’ve gotten through to the blackened heart of an old trickster, the demons he’s tricked drag him down, and he doesn’t come out the same. He’s entirely changed, and his “upgrade” is an utterly gut-wrenching depression. From that point on, you still have your officer. But the Vagabond has been Dendrified, turned to a half-tree thing that doesn’t have a lick of the charm or energy he once did. Every description of him is painful to read, because it’s so soaked in that simple information that you can see into like clear water. When you find him at stations in future, he begs you to take him on, and offers what services he can for a pitiful price. When you bring him aboard you note that the crew are wary and weirded out by him, and no one talks to him. You can visit him in the menu, for a simple interaction, just like any other officer. It’s perhaps the easiest way to make me tense up I’ve yet discovered. From what I can remember (I’m not subjecting myself to more tears by reading it in full again): “He’s grateful for visitors. He tries to tell a story, but forgets the point halfway through. He attempts a joke, but stumbles through the punchline. He tries to sing, but the notes fall flat. As the silence becomes awkward, he begs you not to leave.” That. That final line I remember the most. Horrible. Almost cataclysmic. Old Tom was not a good man. But no man deserves the complete indignity he’s suffered. Reduced to an overgrown houseplant, stuck alive and robbed of the purpose and joy he used to have in his life formerly. He’s so starved for company, but he’s unable to even keep it anymore. I recognize that as perhaps my biggest fear. The complete nullification of the self. Old Tom will most likely live forever. But he won’t be living as he’d like. He’ll in truth barely be living at all. To put it in darkly poetic terms, he will remember just enough to know how much he has lost. That, is what you get for trying to be nice, for trying to save someone. It’s a gut punch everytime I see him again. I hire him on, every time. But I can’t bring myself to give him a job. It’s small comfort, and ultimately it is just a game. But that horrible thought, that without me he would simply be a sentient corpse adrift and alone, that tears at my heart until it’s bare. Even writing this now that feeling floats in my chest. Perhaps this is my way of letting it go once more, until I remember it again. I hope I’ve not brought you down too much. I also hope I’ve conveyed my point well enough to gift you some of my sorrow, but don’t let my dour musings overly soak your day in blues. If I would end this on my attempt at a high note, take that simple example to heart. Remember the lone person. The unapproachable. The isolated. That one melancholic figure slumped against a wall, sat on a bench, anywhere they may be. Be kind to them. Treat them with warmth. Spread your joy to your friends, so they may never know that cold and sinking feeling of loneliness. And ever more, take care.

#sunless sea #sunless skies #video games #this is depressing #pc games

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yostresswritinggirl · 1 year

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Guess who's back from the stress of real life responsibilities? That's right this bitch.

I didn't get to say Merry Christmas last time because of reasons but.

Happy New Years, hope you have time to celebrate with your loved ones.

Btw wanderer in your new header is a mood.

- Vagabond Anon

Vagabond anon, how I missed you! Happy New Year and late Merry Christmas anyways, I hope you're enjoying your time away from stress!

And yes, at least he has Ararycan with him

#vagabond anon #exile.goblet

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gillespiedickson2 · 2 years

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#Monticello Motel

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