#;; (has plans to test the most terrifying shit to mankind)

[yxstxrdrxxm]

Can you imagine albedo and dottore meeting. The experiments they would do together lmao 😭😭

HELP NOT THEM MEETING. NAH NUH UH IF THEY DID I WOULD CRY /exag

these two are going to have some true neutral and chaotic evil like?? Imagine...

[sachigram]

With Teeth Chapter 3

((click here to read on ao3!!))

“Is that man coming by here again?”

Izaya pauses in his typing, sparing a glance at Namie, who is staring at him from her side of the desk. She looks bored, but that's nothing new. She hides her emotions well. It's one reason he can tolerate her, despite her unpleasant personality and obsession with her brother. She's fun, hard to predict. She's a challenge.

“What man?” Izaya asks, knowing full well what she means. She scoffs at him, and he grins at her. “You'll have to be more specific.”

“That one. The one you're obsessed with. Heiwajima. He's been coming by here every month around this time, skulking and making rude comments. This will be the seventh month, right?”

“Observant, aren't you?” Izaya asks, turning back to his typing. “I can't predict what Shizu-chan does, you know that. He does what he wants.”

“Yeah, but there's a pattern now. People like him don't normally have patterns, do they?” Namie tilts her head at him, something other women might do to seem cute. With Namie, it's always a disarming tactic, something she does to seem smaller when she's actually a power player. Izaya is used to her by now, even without reading her mind.

“That's part of what makes him so unpredictable. He's random until he isn't, and then he breaks his pattern when you least expect.” Izaya waves her away. “Ask what you want to ask, and stop with the games. We're both busy people.”

“You've got something on him, right? You're blackmailing him? It has to be something like that. He wants you dead even more than I do, and that's saying a lot. There's no way he'd suffer in your company more than he had to.”

“Whatever I do or don't have on Shizu-chan is between him and me. That makes it none of your business, Namie-chan! Unfortunate for you, but true all the same.”

“Are you guys fucking or something?” she asks, and she shrugs at the look Izaya gives her. “What? There's not much else you'd keep secret. If he gave you something actually juicy, you'd be holding it over his head much worse than this. Unless you had something to lose too, you wouldn't care what happened to him.”

“You are the definition of an 'over-thinker',” Izaya informs her. “Sometimes things are what they are, and nothing more.” Almost on cue, a thundering knock raps at the door, and Izaya motions for Namie to get it. “Who knows who that could be! Look professional, would you? We're running a business, here.”

“Yeah, I'm so curious who it is,” Namie says sarcastically, wrenching the door open to reveal a grumpy-looking Shizuo. He doesn't bother greeting her, just steps around her as he stomps into Izaya's apartment.

“Shizu-chan, what a surprise!” Izaya calls. “Terrible to see you, as always.”

“Fuck off and die, flea,” Shizuo says, heading straight for Izaya's fridge. Namie watches him for a moment, and then she turns back to Izaya.

“Shall I leave you to your fornication?” she asks.

“Oh, I don't know,” Izaya muses. “You're pretty, Namie-chan, when I don't have to look at your face. Maybe you could join us for the evening.”

“I'd rather be eaten alive, thanks.”

“More like you have plans already to stalk that brother of yours. Don't bother; he's having a date night at with Mika-chan at your favorite Italian place! He made reservations yesterday.” Izaya tilts forward, smirking at her as her face reddens with rage. “Run along, won't you? Who knows what they might do for dessert?”

Rather than retort, she picks up a folder from Izaya's desk and throws it as hard as she can. The papers fly out, flowing through the air like confetti, and she slams the door behind her hard enough to make even Shizuo flinch.

“Fuck. What's her problem?” Shizuo asks.

“Lots of things. She has more problems than most,” Izaya says, going back to his typing. He makes a mental note of the fact that Shizuo went straight for the pork tenderloin Namie prepared the day before, and then he looks up at his expected guest. “How's the bloodlust?”

“Same as it always is. Too fucking much,” Shizuo replies, already chomping away on cold leftovers. He never bothers with reheating them, anymore.

“And yet, you haven't bitten anyone. It seems you either have more self-control than I ever would've guessed, or you're exaggerating your symptoms.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shizuo says, and he flops onto Izaya's couch, giving Izaya a scrutinizing stare. “Does your secretary not know you're a witch?”

“Of course she doesn't,” Izaya replies. “Why would she?”

“She practically lives here.”

“She works here, Shizu-chan. This is an office, first and foremost.”

“Funny. I thought it was your apartment.” Shizuo takes another bite of food, his cheeks bulging almost comically with the amount he's eating all at once. When he speaks again, it's with his mouth full. “Even your place is a front. No one knows anything about you, huh?”

Izaya gives him a withering stare, grimacing at the grotesque way Shizuo eats.

“You're awfully conversational today. Why the sudden interest in my life? Usually you just barge in here, eat my food, and sit in silence until you're the true monster you've always been.”

“I guess I'm just curious about the way you do shit. Shinra told me all about how rare it is, what you are. He said you're probably keeping my secret so I'll keep yours,” Shizuo says. He finishes the last of the container of pork tenderloin, and then he goes back to the fridge.

“By all means, tell everyone what you know about me. The people who don't immediately run screaming from you will hardly care. I've been called terrible things, and for good reason. Calling me a witch in public will hardly matter.” Izaya turns back to his screen.

“Got no reason to tell anyone about you. I don't give a shit what you are.”

“Wonderful.”

There's silence for a bit, the sound of Shizuo chewing, of Izaya's fingers clacking against the keyboard. Izaya spares a glance up at Shizuo, who seems to be thinking about something, his brows furrowed. Curious in spite of himself, Izaya can't help but dip into Shizuo's mind. He snorts, and it draws Shizuo's attention.

“If you wanted to go to Shinra's place for this, you should have,” Izaya says. Shizuo snarls at him.

“Don't fucking read my mind.”

“Then stop thinking so loudly.”

“You said you didn't read minds often!”

“And you said that was a lie.”

Shizuo growls, his mind going to static as he considers throwing Izaya's entire counter out the window. Truth be told, Izaya wasn't lying when he said he doesn't try to read minds very often. It would be helpful for him in his line of work, but he was always more interested in doing the work himself. It was more fun, more challenging, easier to convince himself he didn't need his magic to be as powerful as he was.

“I hate you,” Shizuo hisses. It's the truth, Izaya can sense. Shizuo hates everything about this, being here, relying on Izaya, speaking to Izaya, smelling Izaya's scent all around him. Like this, Shizuo's mind is so loud and consumed with rage that Izaya pulls back, unwilling to listen to all that incessant noise and clatter.

“So go to Shinra's, then.”

Shizuo doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. Izaya doesn't even need to read the beast's mind to know what he's thinking. Shizuo doesn't want to be seen that way by anyone he actually cares about. Izaya doesn't count in Shizuo's simple mind.

Of course it would be something like that.

Izaya pushes it from his mind. He's always loved seeing the worst aspects of other people, seeing them at their lowest, their breaking points, and choosing to love them anyway. Part of what makes Izaya able to love mankind as a whole is being there when they break, observing them as they either pick up the pieces or destroy others as they have been destroyed. It doesn't matter how it happens, whether Izaya has to cause it himself, or not. Their choices are their own.

Even in Shizuo's case, he's choosing to come here, to rely on Izaya, to trust in Izaya to help him remain himself.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Shizuo barks, snapping Izaya from his reverie.

“Oh, nothing,” Izaya lilts.

Creepy fucker. Shizuo thinks it, so clearly it seems almost direct, as if he wanted Izaya to hear it. Knowing him, it's more than likely. Shizuo doesn't censor his thoughts or his words, after all, and he's never been afraid to tell Izaya what he really thinks.

Seemingly content with the amount he ate, Shizuo sits back on the couch, his legs bouncing in nervous anticipation. He's always filled with anxiety on nights of the full moon, and Izaya can't exactly blame him. Even if Shizuo has a higher pain tolerance than most, the transformation is still incredibly painful, and Shizuo worries about keeping his sanity more than anything else. He's terrified of hurting someone, anyone, even Izaya, and he finds comfort in the fact that Izaya would never let him get close enough to actually hurt him.

Sometimes Shizuo is so human it's sickening.

***

The first time Izaya was consciously aware he was dealing with a dangerous, inhuman creature, he was in middle school.

Tsukumoya Shinichi found Izaya first, of course, an incredibly tame bloodsucker, but an irritating one all the same. He was Izaya's first official client that wasn't a desperate spirit, and he also had the annoying habit of popping up out of nowhere, eager to poke and prod at Izaya like a test subject, much like Shinra, but much, much more adept at getting under Izaya's skin. Izaya was just beginning in his potion-making back then, and Tsukumoya was enthusiastic about needing to feed less. A fellow lover of humans, it had been a long time since Tsukumoya had taken a life. He knew the right amount to drink, but he also had the habit of getting lost in his work, forgetting to feed, and always risked taking too much from the first victim after a period of accidental starvation.

“That's where you'll come in. You could have an entire market of potions for those like me, those that don't want to hurt anyone in the world of the living,” Tsukumoya explained. He had popped up out of nowhere again, met Izaya on his walk home. The sun was freshly set, and Izaya was walking home from Shinra's, enjoying the rare break of caring for the toddlers since his parents were home.

“Isn't making a potion as simple as reading a recipe?” Izaya asked, already irritated by the vampire's presence. “Couldn't you do it yourself?”

“I could,” Tsukumoya said, “but it would only be a drink at that point. I'm not a witch. There would be no magic in it.”

“How fortunate for me,” Izaya said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Tsukumoya merely laughed at him, as he always did. The vampire seemed to view Izaya as a trinket of sorts, the kind of thing one might pick up on a whim, and then keep for a long time.

“Just think about it, would you? There aren't many options in this world, or the next. Witches are few and far between, as you're aware,” Tsukumoya said. “It's been centuries since I met one as powerful as you.”

“So you've said before,” Izaya replied.

They walked in silence for a while, Tsukumoya still grinning like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, and Izaya with a small frown on his face, irritated by the fact that between Tsukumoya, Shinra, and the twins, he was always having someone trail after him. They were passing by an alleyway when Izaya's body screamed at him to RUN and NOW. He felt the pinpricks of danger along his skin, but he was rooted to the spot, too curious for his own good.

“Stay back,” Tsukumoya said, his voice calm, but tight. “That one's pretty strong.”

“What is it?” Izaya asked, straining to see through the darkness of the alley. He could see a figure, huge and looming, but he couldn't make out any details. As if in answer, a ferocious growl sounded, and Izaya was bombarded with the ugliest thoughts he ever heard in his life.

Kill, kill, blood, bite, KILL, KILL, KILL—

Izaya pulled back with disgust, and his sudden movement seemed to trigger the creature, who lunged forward. Tsukumoya yanked Izaya out of the way, too fast for Izaya to truly follow, and then Izaya got a full look at what was after him.

The creature was massive, covered in patches of thick, course fur. It had glowing eyes filled with madness, singularly focused on Izaya, the same thoughts running through its head. Teeth, sharp, jagged teeth, were in the creature's gaping maw, too large to truly fit.

“Werewolf,” Izaya said aloud, as fascinated as he was on edge.

“Yeah,” Tsukumoya answered, “and we interrupted his meal.”

Only then did Izaya notice the blood all over the creature, the viscera under its claws and in between its teeth. He inhaled sharply, and the creature lunged again. It seemed to be all Tsukumoya could do to dodge it.

“You shouldn't be out walking on nights of the full moon!” Tsukumoya said through clenched teeth, throwing Izaya over his shoulder as he ran up the side of the building, the wolf hot on his heels. “Haven't you read enough to know what's out here by now?”

Izaya had. He knew what was out here, knew the risk, but he didn't care enough to stay safe indoors. He couldn't bring himself to regret his decision, not when he could see firsthand what a werewolf could truly do. He propped himself on his elbows to watch the werewolf from over Tsukumoya's shoulder, and his stomach felt like it was dropping to his feet when the vampire detached from the building, free-falling in a careful spiral towards the ground.

The wolf fell after them, still only thinking the same thoughts as before, and Izaya didn't know what Tsukumoya's plan was, didn't wait to find out. He gripped his hand, and the wolf seized, a confused yelp leaving it as its arms and legs snapped to its sides, sending its body careening into a crumpled heap on the hard concrete. Tsukumoya wasn't breathing heavily, not the way he should've been after such physicality, but Izaya reminded himself that for as human as Tsukumoya seemed, he wasn't, and he had no need to breathe. He set Izaya down on the ground and moved towards the still snarling wolf, who snapped at them repeatedly, still trying in vain to bite them.

“Was he one who could've used a potion?” Izaya asked, watching in awe as he approached behind Tsukumoya. He felt fear, certainly, but not nearly enough to leave.

“No,” Tsukumoya said, “this one enjoys the hunt.” With that, he lifted his foot, bringing it down hard on the wolf's head. Bits of skull and brain-matter splattered onto the ground and walls as the wolf's growls ceased, and slowly, the body left behind became that of a man's. Izaya stared at the grisly scene, finding it strange that the first tangible thought he had was that he wished Shinra could be here to see this.

“Sorry,” Tsukumoya said, turning to Izaya. “He would've just killed someone else next month. It was better this way.”

“Yeah,” Izaya said, his body still thrumming with adrenaline. “I've never used my power like that on anything living before.” He didn't really even mean to. He didn't realize it was happening until he was doing it. Tsukumoya only laughed, of course.

“Oh, Izaya, that's only the beginning of what you could do.”

***

Hours later, and Shizuo is back to his usual pacing, his looming form weaving between the coffee table and the TV. Izaya is staring at his computer screen, trying to keep up with the chatroom conversation, but it's nothing he's interested in, and his attention keeps drifting elsewhere, his vision blurring as he loses himself to his thoughts.

He was up the last few days with another assignment. Shiki has been keeping him busy lately, definitely trying to occupy as much of Izaya's time as possible. Shiki really enjoys his petty tormenting, and Izaya has to admit he's been stepping out of line these past few months. He hasn't admitted to anything, of course, but he doesn't have to.

—like shit.

Shizuo's thoughts cut through Izaya's. Shizuo is glancing at him as he paces, his mind the usual maze of self-loathing, bloodlust, and emotional static, but it's clear he's thinking of Izaya, too, specifically that Izaya doesn't look well. Shizuo is thinking of the last time he saw Izaya in the middle of the city, and how he resembled a caged animal, manic, listless, poised to strike. Izaya's jaw tightens, and he fights to keep his expression neutral as he stands and moves to the kitchen, bypassing Shizuo.

Shizuo's thoughts continue to carry as Izaya makes tea. The monster is thinking of how small Izaya is, like this, with Shizuo's form so massive in comparison, but also all the time. Shizuo has always thought of Izaya as flea-sized, a beanpole, something annoying to be flicked away, but somehow Izaya always returns. Shizuo thinks Izaya is completely out of his mind, would have to be in order to keep coming back to annoy him.

But there's a comfort in that, isn't there? Izaya thinks, and Shizuo goes completely stiff, his body turning slowly to face Izaya.

Get the fuck out of my head.

“It's not my fault your thoughts are so loud. You're practically screaming them at me.” Izaya finishes with his tea, and makes his way back to his desk. “Besides, is it really even considered eavesdropping if you're thinking of me?”

Yes. Shizuo's ears are pulled back, his teeth bared. You've invaded enough of my life, you fucking parasite. Let me think in peace.

“Monsters don't deserve any peace,” Izaya mutters, but he grants Shizuo's request, and leaves his mind. At least, Izaya tries to. It's strange. He's never encountered this before. Izaya doesn't read minds often, at least on purpose, but most people are always subconsciously guarding themselves, even without being aware of Izaya's abilities. With Shizuo, he's both protecting and projecting his thoughts to the point that he's pulling Izaya in more than he's pushing him away. If Izaya had to guess, he'd say it's because Shizuo has never had to guard himself. For all of Shizuo's confounding nature, he's incredibly simplistic and straightforward, and his close proximity to Izaya is only making his thoughts even louder. Izaya groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.

What's wrong with you? Shizuo sends, and Izaya blinks up at him when he realizes Shizuo is now sending his thoughts freely and directly.

You're making my head hurt. Izaya thinks back. Shizuo growls a bit.

Good. You deserve it. Fuck you.

Izaya snorts and sips at his tea. This is new for them. In all the time Shizuo has spent here in his transformed state, he's never really conversed with Izaya before. The conversation isn't exactly thrilling, but it's an improvement over Shizuo's usual brooding pity party.

Izaya turns off his computer, deciding he's done playing with his humans tonight. He carries his tea with him as he pads over to the couch, passing by Shizuo again, who glowers at him the entire time. Izaya sits down on the couch and turns the TV on, flicking through some different channels before he decides on a cartoon he likes.

Shizuo isn't looking at the screen, but his ears are twitching towards the sound of whimsical music. Izaya wonders if Shizuo deprives himself of all creature comforts on nights of the full moon because he's afraid of this being his new normal, afraid of accepting this is his life now. It's laughable, and Izaya does laugh, can't stop himself. Shizuo's head whips towards him, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, still incredibly human even in that distorted, monstrous face of his.

“Don't look at me like that. I'm only watching TV,” Izaya says, and he sips at his tea. Shizuo goes back to his pacing, his ears pulled back. He's pissed, as usual, and he wants to ask questions, but he knows Izaya won't answer them. Curiously, Izaya delves a little deeper into Shizuo's mind, wondering what it is exactly that Shizuo wants to know.

Out of my head. Shizuo sends angrily. Izaya pouts and obeys, wondering how Shizuo even sensed him eavesdropping.

You're no fun at all, Shizu-chan.

***

The first thing Izaya really notices when he stops floating along is that he doesn't recognize where he is. It's a normal-looking house, filled with pictures on the walls, and it takes a few moments for Izaya's eyes to focus on them long enough to make sense of the faces. Shizuo's picture is there, and he's smiling, flexing for the camera as Kasuka stands stiffly at his side. They're both young, and like this, with Shizuo's dark hair, it's incredibly easy to see the similarities between them. From a distance, they could be mistaken for the same person.

“Why are you here?” A voice asks from behind Izaya. He turns to face Shizuo, a spitting image of the child in the photograph. He's maybe ten years old, if Izaya had to guess. He's looking at Izaya like he knows who Izaya is, despite the drastic difference in their ages. “Get out.”

“I'm not sure why I'm here,” Izaya says, his hands going in his pockets. “Is there something you wanted to show me?”

“Fuck, no. I want you to get out.” Shizuo's fists are bloody, and his body is covered in tiny scrapes, his clothes filthy. He's been fighting. Izaya can't help but wonder when the fights started, how young Shizuo was the first time he was jumped.

“Am I dreaming?” Izaya asks aloud. He doesn't remember closing his eyes, but it's possible he passed out. He hasn't slept, and he hasn't eaten. He thinks of Shizuo in werewolf form, pacing around and refusing the comforts he desires and he scoffs.

“How the fuck should I know?” Shizuo's fingers twitch, and he's glancing nervously at the stairs. His parents are up there, Izaya realizes, and Shizuo is afraid of them for some reason. No, that's not it. He's not scared of them. He's scared of them being scared of him.

“Were you fighting? You're so young here,” Izaya says. The Shizuo he met was already broad-shouldered and blond, carrying a heavy reputation with that strength of his. This Shizuo is nervous, jittery, unsure of himself.

“You're in my head,” Shizuo accuses, and then he jolts as a door upstairs opens. “Why are you always in my head?”

“I don't know,” Izaya says honestly. “I'm beginning to think you want me to be here.”

A woman begins walking downstairs. She's strikingly pretty, her face similar to Shizuo's and Kasuka's, her dark eyes large and kind. She moves to Shizuo's side, putting her arms around him. She doesn't acknowledge Izaya.

“You didn't mean to,” she says, petting through Shizuo's hair. “You were trying to help.”

“I still hurt her,” Shizuo says, leaning into her and closing his eyes. He seems to have forgotten about Izaya. “I couldn't stop myself.”

“Kasuka said you were trying to do the right thing. You were only trying to scare the bad men away. You're a good, sweet boy, Shizuo.”

“Where's dad?” Shizuo asks, and his mother pulls away a little, giving him a false, gentle smile.

“On the phone with the police. Don't worry, they just want a report of what happened.”

“I already told them what happened.”

“Yes, but they want to hear it from an adult.”

Izaya looks from the scene to the doorway, which is shrouded in darkness. He makes his way over to it, stepping through, and he finds himself outside the wreckage of a convenience store, multiple people buried in the rubble. Shizuo is there, breathing heavily, Kasuka at his side.

“Was this your first time hurting an innocent person?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo snarls at him, tears in his eyes.

“Go away.”

“I can't,” Izaya says, and he walks towards the woman's unconscious body. “You throw your little tantrums all the time. Who knows how many people you've injured?”

“I don't mean to!” Shizuo shouts. Kasuka isn't paying either of them any attention, is only looking towards the distance where a cacophony of sirens are moving closer to them. “You hurt people more than me. You ruin lives all the fucking time, you like doing it. You're the real monster here and you know it!”

Izaya ignores him and looks around, deciding to explore all he can while he's here. Shizuo follows after him, face still contorted in rage.

“How would you fucking like it, huh, if we walked around your memories, all the things you don't want people to see out in the open? All the things you're scared of, ashamed of? How would you like it, flea?!”

Izaya scoffs, turns to tell him to shut up, but everything shifts around them, and they're suddenly in Izaya's childhood home, the twins both screaming in their cribs as a young Izaya curls in the corner, sobbing as the lights flicker around them and doors open and slam repeatedly. Shizuo's expression changes as he looks from Izaya's younger, terrified self, to the real Izaya in front of him.

“Flea?” Shizuo is older, suddenly, and he looks so fucking concerned that it makes Izaya's teeth click together.

“OUT!” Izaya roars, and the scene dissolves around them. He and Shizuo both wake with a start, still in Izaya's living room, Izaya on the couch, Shizuo curled up in the floor, human again, sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Wha— What was that?” Shizuo asks as he sits up, his voice unsteady. “Were you in my past? Was I in yours?”

“Get the fuck out,” Izaya hisses, scrambling to get off the couch and stand over Shizuo. “You had no right, no right.”

“I didn't do anything! You're the one with—magic. What did you do, huh?!”

“I don't fucking know!” Izaya snaps, and then he turns on his heel, marching towards the door. He steps into his shoes, throws his coat on. If Shizuo won't leave, then he will. He refuses to stay here with Shizuo looking at him like this, with pity clear in his gaze. The door slams behind him as he hurries out of the building, his skin prickling and his hands shaking more and more with every step he takes away from Shizuo.

[avecorviidae]

Fic: mainlining the spiraling spherical truth of the universe

Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: T Relationship(s): Male Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Male Sole Survivor & Shaun Word Count: 5012

Ao3 Link

Toby descends into the Institute to find a son that's old enough to be his father, and despite that, still looks at him with a very careful sort of vulnerability as he walks with him through the pristine white laboratories, introduces him to his heads of staff, shows him orderly living quarters and serene recreational areas, looks at him sidelong like he's always waiting for Toby's reaction, like he wants him to be proud.

And there's a part of him that wants to pull his son close to him, and tell him, yeah, it's fantastic, this thing you've built, I'm proud of you, I love you.

But Toby knows what the Institute does. He's been smuggling synths out of here with the railroad for months, and they're fucking terrified, gun-shy and shaking, watching over their shoulders for the coursers that will surely, inevitably come to reclaim Institute property. and the way Shaun talks about the folks above ground - so dismissive, as though the towns and cities and communities and bonds, the buildings and the families and the love and the art that people on the surface have created, don't matter because it's not pure, not clean,and he just as much wants to grab Shaun by the shoulders and shake him, go, don't you know that I'm one of those people? That you ought to have been too? That it's beautiful up there? That in the face of all this awful fucking shit, I've found people that have, against all odds, refused to be anything but kind?

So Shaun says, "What do you think of my home? Of everything I've built here?"

And Toby says, "I'm sorry. This wasn't what I wanted for you. This place, it's beautiful, but it's not the world I'm from. It's not a world I can ever be a part of. And you can run your lungs dry justifying every awful thing I've ever seen the Institute do by saying it was a mistake, or for the greater good of mankind, but I'm sorry, kid, the mankind you've got down here isn't any better than the mankind I’ve got up there. I love you, and I am so fucking glad I’ve found you, but I can't support you with this. The things you do here - it's gotta change."

"Please," Shaun says, "Father, let me show you- the work we've done down here-"

And Toby just shakes his head, and says, "I've seen the work you've done. I’ve seen the people it's hurt. That's enough for me."

There is a hard, tight hug, and some tears, and Toby leaves the Institute with his son's permission and blessing, and in the seconds before Toby relays out, they look at each other with hard, tight eyes, and Shaun's got a look about him, stubborn and angry, and Toby, with a sinking sense of dread, thinks, that's my boy,'cause if he's a bullheaded little shit, then he got that from Toby and not a damn place else.

.

“Aw, hell,” Nick mutters, as soon as he finds it. “Guerra? Think you might wanna see this,” he calls over his shoulder to the other room of the abandoned house, where Toby and his terrifying friend had been digging through cabinets looking for unexpired food.

Eli appears in the doorway a moment before Toby does, hand already drifting to the holster at her hip. “Christ,” she says softly, as soon as she looks down, sees the baby sitting on the filthy floor at Nick’s feet, gnawing happily on its chubby fist. It’s about the fifth word he’s ever heard her say, he thinks, and definitely the one with the most feeling behind it.

“Nick?” Toby calls, as he rounds the corner, “Everything alri- Oh. Oh.”

In a moment flat he’s crouched on the floor, waving fingers at the little one’s face to catch its attention. “Hey sweetheart,” he says gently, all bright and smiling. “What are you doing alone all the way out here, huh?”

Pointless question, really. Toby knows as well as Nick does that there’s no good answers to it. Whoever the kid was with before was either dead, or ought to be dead for deciding to leave it behind.

Toby grabs it under the arms and scoops it up, tucking it snugly against his hip. It makes a hiccupping, surprised little noise, looking at Toby with wide, guileless eyes.

(He oughtn’t call the kid an it, really. Most of the humans he knows have been nice enough to do him the courtesy of a pronoun, he can at least return the favour.)

“Okay, sweetpea, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” He’s talking to her in a low, sorta sing-song voice, swaying gently, and it’s right around then that Nick remembers that Toby’s got a kid. Well, it’s not as if he forgot, it’s practically the first thing the guy says to half the people they meet, I’m looking for the man who took my son. But this is the first time Nick’s looked at him and really understood what that means. ‘Cause it’s gotta be some paternal instinct, right? The way he comforts her like he’s not even thinking about what he’s doing, like it comes as easy to him as breathing.

She’s been alone long enough to be soiled, so Toby sends Eli off to look for a metal washbasin, pours some of their purified water in there, warms it over the fire for good measure. Grins when he dips her little feet in there to let her test the temperature and she starts to giggle and kick, splashing him right in the face. She seems delighted with the bath in general - Nick guesses he would be too, if he’d been waddling around in a stinking diaper for however long. (He sometimes gets - phantom memories, he supposes, of what it’s like to have a human body. Sometimes feels a strange nostalgia for the sensation of hunger, or genuine, non-battery-related exhaustion. He has never once missed the ability to excrete.)

Toby’s only got eyes for the kid, all attentive and careful as he cleans her off, and Nick finds himself making an awkward sort of eye contact with Eli, who shrugs slightly, expression as blank and unreadable as it’s ever been. She’s sat herself down cross-legged on the rug, ostensibly relaxed, but Nick’s travelled with enough mercs, knows she’s one of the smarter ones, knows how carefully she’s positioned herself, sat between Toby and the door, rifle across her lap, angled towards the open window. It had used to make Nick nervous, how careless Toby seemed, like he’d never been taught to watch his own back. Guess he gets it better now, the idea of having someone that you trust enough to watch your back for you. He feels safer these days, walking into a room full of strange humans, with Toby at his side, fending off any synth-averse sentiments with a truly aggressivedegree of cheeriness.

“Are you old enough to talk?” Toby asks, to absolutely no response from the babbling kiddo. Still, she’s clearly charmed with Toby, like just about everyone is, and she’s watching him with big, happy eyes as he chats at her. “Can you say... Toby? To-by?”

She laughs, and Toby snorts, swipes a little booger from under her nose, and Nick’s struck again by how unthinkingly he does it, like it’s just second nature to him. “Alright, maybe that’s too hard. Let’s try... Can you say aaaaahhhh?” He goes all dramatic with it, roars like a little deathclaw, and the kid laughs, delighted, and copies him, screeching with all her tiny little lungs can give.

“Awesome, sweetpea! And look at those teeth! You’ve got a whole bunch! Think you can handle some tato stew?”

She’s got no idea what he’s saying, of course, but she’s very agreeable as he lifts her out of the water and pats her dry with one of his clean shirts, dresses her as best as he can given their limited supplies.

Feeding babies is, apparently, a spectacularly messy process, but Toby seems inexplicably delighted to have half of a perfectly good meal splattered down the fronts of him and the kid.

“We’re, what, five hours from Diamond City?” Toby says, eyes not leaving the kid as he waves a spoon enticingly in front of her face, trying to coax her to open her mouth.

“Six, if we take the long way around Hangman’s Alley,” Eli says, almost making Nick jump out of his circuits. She says it real neutral-like, almost careful, makes no mention of the fact that they’d packed for a week out in the wasteland, a job for Nick’s agency, nearly halfway from here to Sanctuary, with no plans to turn back.

“Six,” Toby repeats. “Okay. We’ll catch a few hours’ sleep here, set off at dawn. Someone in the city will be able to take her in.” The kid finally takes her spoonful, only a little of it dribbling down her chin this time. There’s an odd, hard set to his face that makes Nick some weird sorta mix between nervous and sad, a kind of seriousness that doesn’t often touch Toby unless it’s something to do with Shaun, or the gal that Kellogg killed, his life before. Makes Nick almost want to rest a hand on his shoulder, say, look, she’s sweet, but you know you can’t keep her. not now, not here. she ain’t a lost mutt that you’ve found in an alley, and she can’t be what you’re looking for, not when you’re still following leads on your boy. But Toby knows that, doesn’t he? It’s why they’re heading back at dawn. Why he’s going to knock on the schoolhouse and ask around for any families that’d be able to care for a kid her age, why he’s holding her so close on his lap now, his nose and lips pressed into the dark, downy hair on her head. He knows, maybe better than any of them, what he can’t have.

.

Despite that - Toby does go back. Gets a message on his Pip Boy from Shaun, asking if he would like to visit, for coffee. They sit in a careful, studied sort of silence at the table, Toby sipping on the freshest fucking coffee he's had in 200 years and feeling conscious of the fact that he's probably leaving dust and various other wasteland detritus all over Shaun's bright fucking white chairs

"I just-" Shaun starts, shakes his head. “You're from before. When everything was pristine, when humanity was striving forwards. We're doing that, here, now, looking to the future. How can you support the people up there, stuck in the filth and ruins of the past?"

Toby leans back in his chair, sighs. "Forward isn't necessarily a straight line. Sure, back in the day, we had working air conditioning and fancy vending machines, but the way I was- the way I am- was illegal. It was an unkind fucking world, and all the shiny trinkets didn't do a whole lot to hide that people were paying a few hundred bucks a month for medication that they needed to live. Down here—you’ve got the science down, I won't deny it. Clean food and water, medication, synthetic life. The kind of shit we read comics about when I was a kid. But up there? Shaun, they've made art. You can't walk thirty feet in Diamond City without hearing someone playing guitar, there's murals on old billboards, I once met an old church choir made up entirely of ghouls. Here, you're taking care of the body, but Shaun, humanity needs a soul."

The kidbot - Toby can't bring himself to think of him as Shaun, despite the fact that he's got Toby's eyes and freckles and smile - steps into the room with something in his hands, freezes in the doorway when he sees Toby sat at the table.

"I was just-" he starts, looking back at the door like he's thinking of bolting.

"It's alright, don't mind me," Toby says softly, waving the kid in.

"What did you need, Shaun?" Shaun says. Fuck, that's going to get weird fast.

The kid shuffles his feet, something guilty about his face. "I was trying to make my remote control car go faster, but I think I broke it." He holds the little shiny red racecar up to Shaun and Toby for inspection. Toby's actually got a similar one back at the house in Sanctuary, blue paint fading to an off-green, some rust gathered around the wheels. He'd managed to fix up a little motor in it to make it go one night, and he and Hancock had spent half the night racing it against a rat. Good times.

Shaun peers over to inspect the car with a distant sort of interest, but Toby can see where the kid's gone wrong. He's always been good at that shit, fiddly little stuff to do with his hands. Besides, his dad taught him his way around a motor back when he lived out west and they had the truck, and he fixed garage doors for a while when he and Val were trying to get on their feet in Boston.

"Give it here?" He holds out a hand for the car, and the kid hands it over. It takes him a couple minutes of fiddling with the multi-tool he keeps in his coat pocket, but he returns the car with a perfectly functional suped-up battery, and the kid grins when he sets it down and sends it careening off out of the room and down the hall, says, "Hey, thanks!" and runs off after it.

The door slides closed behind him, and Toby finds that he's smiling softy after him, and when he turns back to Shaun, he's looking at him oddly. Do you think you would be capable- Shaun had asked, that first day, Of loving a synth? As though it were a human?

Toby knows he is, as surely and intimately as he knows every crack and tear along the seams of Nick Valentine's face, knows the whirring and clicking of machinery under the skin when he's lying with an ear to Nick's chest, the black metal of his spindly hand tapping an arrhythmic beat on Toby's shoulder.

"Don't you know what you've made, with synths? the Gen 3s, they have free will, they feel.They're feeling for the first time, it's incredible."

Shaun tuts dismissively. "They're just machines. They cannot feel. The Gen 3s have some errors which seem to cause them to behave... erratically. The defects, they are violent and dangerous, and cannot be allowed to roam free."

Toby raises a single, skeptical eyebrow. Shaun wilts, just a little, and Toby realizes that he's just given his son his first ever I’m not mad, just disappointedlook. What an exciting moment in his parenthood journey. "Yeah," he drawls, "so violent and dangerous that they desperately run away from the coursers that want to bring them back to be dissected, and go looking for help and shelter, usually blending in peacefully into human settlements in an effort to live a normal life and find a purpose. Real terrifying. Shaun, jesus, this is what I'm talking about. You've created people, and you have the chance to care for them, to guide them into being a person, and you're treating them like defective equipment! Up there, at least, they can find community. They can find home."

.

You’ve never personally met the General of the Minutemen.

Which, like, you get it. He’s this big important guy, right? Dragged the Minutemen out of ruin and obscurity singlehandedly, spreading goodness and justice wherever he went, and you’re just a farmhand from fuckoff nowhere. You and your folks joined up with the Minutemen because it was your best shot at protection from the local gangs of raiders and other assorted scumbags that tended to make your lives miserable, and all the righteous justice and fun uniforms and shit were just a bonus. Still, you believe in it, right? And you’re grateful. So when the radio call comes through that Garvey and the General want to retake Fort Independence, set up a big fuckoff stronghold, yeah, you want to get involved. You’re twenty-nine and pretty much the most exciting thing you’ve ever shot is a real sad looking radstag, so you’re pretty excited at the prospect of some real action.

When you roll up to the diner across the wharf from the old fort, there’s a few campfires burning all around it, sleeping rolls and tents and scattered packs, folks sitting around on upturned cars and half-rotted benches, cleaning rifles and gnawing on jerky and passing around canteens. Preston Garvey, the biggest bigshot the minutemen had before the general came along, greets you at the door of the diner with a big smile and a clap on the shoulder, tells you to make yourself comfortable, introduce yourself to your brothers in arms. apparently the general’s travelling from pretty far west, and he’d had to detour south to rendezvous with an ally of theirs, so it’d be a few days yet before they mounted the attack on the fort.

There’s folks from all over the commonwealth here, and all sorts. Salt-of-the-earth farmers like yourself, hoity-toity Diamond City types, rough mercenary-looking people, all breaking bread and listening to the radio, singing along to the same five fucking songs, and you’re right there along with them, sipping whiskey and drunkenly drawling Johnny Guitar into the shoulder of one of your comrades.

The General arrives near sunset, and if Garvey hadn’t greeted him as such, you’d never have guessed it. You’re not sure what you expected – maybe a big buff blonde guy waving the star spangled banner, maybe someone more like Preston Garvey himself, big tough freedom type – but it wasn’t the unassuming kid who pulls Garvey into a brief, warm hug, grinning wide as Garvey claps him on the shoulder. You wouldn’t put him at older than twenty-one, and he’s small, got this kinda delicate look about him, all freckles and big puppy eyes and bouncy, curly hair in a cute little ponytail at his neck. He looks soft, and you’re pretty fuckin’ sure that he’s not really the General. Like, okay, maybe he’s got the title, but it’s cause somebody’s his daddy, right? Something like that. Anyways, he’s just some ditzy, pretty kid who smiles at folks and tells them everything’s gonna be okay, and Garvey’s gotta be the real brains of the operation, the one who does all the bloody, dirty work to make it happen.

The attack is being mounted at dawn, and when y’all are gathered round for the strategy meeting, you figure Garvey will take point on explaining everything while the kid smiles and nods along. Still, he seems to have half an idea what he’s talking about as he points to things on the map of the fort, asks questions about fortifications and potential choke points, takes shit into account when Garvey or one of the other more experienced vets chimes in with an idea. It’s just weird to see, you guess. This bright-eyed, smiley kid squatted on his haunches, his pouty, round face all serious as he stares down at a war plan. Fuck’s sake, he’s still got baby fat clinging to his cheeks, he looks younger than your baby cousin.

The plan, such that it is, is not the most complicated thing you’ve ever heard. There’s a bunch of slimy monsters holed up in the fort. You and your comrades will storm the fort, and shoot the monsters. Simple enough. Some of you will be scattered around outside, taking the high ground and moving up to the turrets once the towers have been cleared, to provide ranged support and catch any little bastards who try to escape down the hillside. You’ve all got a nice little stockpile of frag mines to take care of the egg clutches. Gross. You reckon it’ll work, though.

“Gonna let y’all go to catch some sleep before we get this started tomorrow,” the General says, addressing his little crowd of soldiers as a whole. “But just wanted to say one thing, so listen up. If you find yourself shit out of luck tomorrow – if you’re cornered, run out of ammo, get too scared, too tired, too hurt to keep fighting? Run. Scram. Get the hell out of dodge. I know it’s the coward’s move, I know it doesn’t make for a good story, I know it feels like deserting. I know you probably joined the Minutemen because you believed in it, believed in what we do, and you’re willing to die an honorable death doing it – and I’ll be honored to fight and die alongside you. But in the end, that’s just a big old castle with a bunch of mirelurks crawling around in it, and that’s not worth dying for. The fort is a symbol, and in my eyes, no symbol will ever be worth more than people. I’d rather each and every one of you ran away from it screaming and lived to tell the tale, than if we managed to take the fort, but at the expense of half of you getting gutted by some overgrown crabs.”

It is the weirdest damn speech you’ve ever heard, and the weirdest part of it all is, you’re pretty damn sure he means every word of it. He’s looking around at you all like he’s trying to remember faces, nervous sort of energy to the way his fingers tap tap tap on the stained yellow paper of the map at his feet.

“Besides,” he says, smiling ruefully, and you realize that this kid’s carrying an exhaustion that’s older than the fucking war, “If y’all keep on dying, people are gonna start saying that we’re called the Minutemen on account of us managing to lose another man every minute.”

.

They keep irregular coffee dates. Fuck if Toby knows why Shaun keeps inviting him. Fuck if Toby knows why he keeps coming back. Maybe it's the same reason for both of them. Shaun is his son, and Toby loves him, wants to know him, even if he hates him half the fucking time.

The Railroad's suspicious of his intentions, and he has to smile his way into a restricted lab and bring them back some stolen synth research to convince them that he's still on their side, despite getting cozy with the Institute's director. Desdemona's angry that he won't commit to destroying the place from the inside out, but... he's talking to Shaun. It's philosophy and ethics, and even Toby's got to admit that the serene quiet of the Institute is a good place to do it, and Toby brings him little oddities he's found along the way, comics that survived the old word, photographs and holotapes, even shows him some of the sketches he's done of the folks he's met above.

Toby starts bringing toys for the kidbot. They're nothing near as shiny and pretty as the ones he's got down here, but he seems to still love the scuffed up Nuka-Cola van Toby had found in a ruined comics store, goes wide-eyed and amazed when Toby hands it to him.

.

It's a peace that wasn't meant to last, of course. Most of the Minutemen settlements at this point are informally doubling as Railroad safehouses, Dez and the rest delighted to have farms to send newly-escaped synths to, places where they're guaranteed jobs and work and purpose, and folks who will look after them and check up on them like they're family.

Preston flags him on the radio, lets him know that there's been reports of coursers at five different settlements across the Commonwealth. They're going after the escaped synths, and they're more than willing to kill any humans that get in the way.

Nick gives him a dark old look, that, "We've both seen two hundred years of the world going to shit and you and I both know this doesn't end well"look. They recall everyone to the castle, it's the most fortified place they've got, the best shot they've got at defending their people. They all arrive within a couple days, plenty of them with coursers on their tails, and Eli dispatches them with quick, clean shots, the respect that one hunter shows to another. For days, the coursers keep coming, and Toby's people are getting tired. Shaun's not responding to any of his efforts to contact him on the radio, and with grim finality, he lets Preston prepare the Minutemen and the Railroad to invade the Institute and take down the Commonwealth's boogeyman, once and for all.

It's surprisingly quick work in the end, Toby using the access Shaun gave him to relay his little army inside, and they make quick work of the synths that patrol the halls. Ss soon as alarms start blaring, all the humans in clean Institute whites panic and scram, which makes Toby's job a hell of a lot easier. Place the detonator on the central reactor, ignore the frantic ticking of his Geiger counter and the vague feeling that radiation might be making his teethbuzz.

He tells Preston to issue the evacuation order, get as many people and willing synths out as quickly as they can, and he and Nick trek up through the eerily empty halls to the director's quarters.

Shaun's in some kind of biobed, skin ashy and face gaunt, eyes half-lidded as he watches Toby step softly into the room. the kidbot's sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled around himself and shaking, and as soon as he sees Toby, he darts up, wraps arms tight around Toby's waist. Toby keeps a firm hand on his back, comforting as he knows how to be, in a situation like this. He meets Shaun's eyes.

I didn't want it to come to this, is what neither of them say, but both of them mean, when Toby blames him for the death and pain the Institute's wrought on the Commonwealth, when Shaun spits back that Toby is destroying his life's work. But what's done is done.

"...You'll take the boy?" Shaun asks wearily, looking at Toby's hand, still keeping the kid close to his side.

"Of course," Toby says, rough with feeling, "Yeah, of course. We're taking everybody, everyone we can get out. We'll take you, too."

Shaun shakes his head. "No. I want to rest now. I don't want to live to see the destruction of my home."

"Neither did I, but I managed, didn't I?" Toby snaps, then shakes his head. That was, well. Mean. Even for him. "You wanted progress. You wanted to move forward. You don't always get to choose the direction that goes. You don't just give upwhen you lose."

Wordlessly, Nick hefts the kid up against his hip, and Toby guides his son to a wheelchair near the bed, pushes him back down the sloping halls to the relay point, where the last party is getting ready to leave, waiting only on their General. Preston and Dez give him hard, unreadable looks when they see who he's pushing, but they've both got the good sense not to say anything, especially with Nick hovering over his shoulder and Eli quickly returning to his side.

.

Later, much later, they return to Sanctuary.

The kid wants to be called Callum. He read it in one of the comics Toby gave him. Toby had helped him to set up a bedroll and a lantern in the upstairs nook of Toby and Nick's home, had tucked him into bed wearing a soft shirt of Toby's that went down to his knees, hugging the bedraggled teddy bear he'd left the Institute with to his chest, and Callum had said, softly, "Night, Dad,"and Toby had smoothed a hand over his soft, perfect, synthetic hair, and said, "Night, kiddo."

At night, Sanctuary's strung up with lanterns and cooking fires, soft orange glows from inside the windows of the carcasses of old homes, flickering lamps in garages and driveways. It's more crowded than usual, on account of it being something of a celebration, the end of the Institute, and all. There's most of the Minutemen from across the state, the Railroad HQ, and the Institute evacuees, scientists, citizens, and synths all. Deacon and Hancock are arm wrestling, and they've drawn... quite the crowd. The Institute evacuees are slowly, surely mingling with the Commonwealth scum, who are meeting them with only minimal suspicion, and mostly good-natured heckling about the ugly white clothes. Someone's playing Johnny Guitar, obviously, and the soft strumming mixes with the gentle, constant murmur of a hundred or more voices laughing and talking and singing.

Toby finds Shaun on the outskirts of the celebration, his wheelchair parked in the dim driveway of the house that he was supposed to grow up in. Toby wonders, vaguely, if that's a coincidence. He's avoided this house, since he woke up. Maybe he's more like Shaun than he's wanted to admit. He's wanted to move forward.

Toby sits beside him on the concrete, follows Shaun's gaze to further down the block, where Preston's got an arm around Desdemona's shoulder, making some kind of triumphant speech, most likely.

"So," Toby says eventually, with a strange sort of serenity. He's got a thin layer of dust and sweat on every inch of his skin, and his fingers probably smell like battery acid from the plasma cell ammo, and his lip is still tingling from the little shock he'd gotten when he kissed the open circuitry on Nick's cheek. He's aching and stinking and exhausted, and he's never been happier. "What do you think of my home? Of everything I’ve built here?"

Shaun sighs softly, and after a long moment between them, says, "I don't know this world. but I suppose I'll have to take after you, and learn to adapt."

He stands, puts a hand on Shaun's shoulder, squeezes. "That's all I can ask for."

[drzedzworth]

For those who gives a shit

This is yet again another vent, so i won't interupt your dash

____________________

General:

Basically every day, i live day by day, trying to get though the day by just relaxing and playing games. People drink to forget their problems, sometimes they do drugs, and i honesty don't blame them, that's why i ignored my commissions for many weeks, and time goes fast, luckilly i do plushies....but it isn't easy...at all...people are vile and evil to me, every single day I'm being told to fuck off because I'm just trying to make a little living of selling plushies and making sure I pay my bills, I'm really sick of this because all I am trying to do is live my life but also help support my life as well and I'm going through so much financial troubles and because I buy Arts here and there with some of my own money I get bitched at as well, and honestly DePue pitch at me or complete other fucking idiots cuz the drink they don't bitch at the people that they're always fucking pulling their dicks at because the only people they're doing is the people who buy from fucking major artists.  people should be bitching at the fucking people who spends all of their money on OCS from fucking big ass artists instead of picking up people like me who actually look for a little artists to get a better art then the big shot artist, but what really pisses me off nowadays is when people actually have money they shake it and wave it around all the fucking want just spending it on all kinds of bullshit well I had to suffer through fucking getting hate harassed and bullied online just because I'm trying to make a fucking cell and nobody appreciates my effort or work. and so I am forced to get on stupid media's like Kik Telegram and Discord just a fucking offer my products and services in return for some funding where I could support myself and whatever's leftover and extra I can actually spend on myself because honestly I Love My OC. she means a lot to me and I love getting art of her more than my original OC. and when I think of our Humanity today I feel like you're nothing but a bunch of monkeys and sheep all they do is just Trend over each other and they are so ignorant and so I capable of thinking nowadays that they think it's okay just to go around and harass people and pull it off just as a prank. they're really disrespectful nowadays and they have no manners and they have no morals people smoke in there like 16 people where they get pregnant at 15 and honestly it's just terrible to see how Humanity has gone from the simple times to now on these bad times. especially the people on the internet who are very rude and very Cruel to me and I try not to lose my cool but I end up fighting at them because I feel like I don't want to take shit from anybody anymore but regardless I will always be doing that and I always will take it even if I don't want it.

The future:

 if I'm really honest with you I'm really terrified about the future because 2016 everyone said it was the worst year because of Donald Trump winning the election. now we are going into 2017 and we already had threats of a nuclear war in Guam from North Korea, things get political and next to you know all of a sudden there's a fucking hurricane coming to Florida. but it wasn't just one hurricane. It was 5 all around the world. this is because I feel like it's cuz of global warming and honestly during the summer time or air conditioner was broken and it was intensely hot. it was like over a hundred degrees outside and it was almost unbearable to stay outside and inside. so many nights I try to stay cool how you put ice in my room and it doesn't stay cool. and then next thing you know I hear about the end of the world. and I was really really scared for my life and I ended up breaking down in tears almost every single night. we had no power we had no air conditioner and I was always just afraid every night thinking that it might be a sound of a huge Rock coming to hit Earth. and I was scared I was shaking for a week straight. I always look down to the news to see where the meteor was coming from and what people are planning to do. And they see no I found out it was a revelation from the Bible and that Mary told somebody that is a lot of fear on the Earth. About wars earthquakes volcano eruptions hurricanes and Nixie nail a piece of the sun will land on the Earth. thinking about the extinction of mankind and everything we have and everything we have done will all become meaningless and a matter of seconds. And we would all be dead and it really brings me to tears and I was shaking because I was really scared to I lose everything. I was really depressed and I didn't even want to clop anymore masturbate or whatever silly should I do I didn't even want to play violent video games I didn't want to play anything I was so depressed and scared out of my mind. Topics about the end of the world gave me PTSD because I was too petrified about all these things that add up to the end. and now I'm scared of next year because of global warming there will be stronger storms. More fires in California. and who knows maybe earthquakes and volcanoes will erupt. then I can hear all the people in the men and children and the women crying in pain and fear. During those times I actually feel them. I feel their sorrows and I feel their pain and it made me cry as well. 2016 wasn't that bad. but 2017 has the top the worst year. but now we are going 2018 and I just pray to God that he will be merciful to us.

Other shit

 I'm not one to be religious but surprisingly the fact that I have my OC on PornHub and I draw clop, not to mention buy clop.  but I am actually a member of the Mormon church and I don't really go there as I should but people that are the only honest Church Christians whatever in the world. they have an organisation they also help people and they even feed the Homeless and they're doing so much as he sings and yet people don't even know what Mormon is and they even make fun of them even if they knew. and people who think that religion is stupid or fake honestly in my opinion they can be ignorant because I've witnessed evil before and I heard that the devil's greatest trick is to make people think he doesn't exist. because if there's not a devil there's not a God but there is one. I tested my faith in many practices before. I watched as I planted my seed and watch her grow fruit and I harvested that fruit as blessings to keep me fed. I helped people before and I've been blessed for it. And I testify that it's true because if I do something for God God give something back to me. Sunday I gave 40 bucks to the church and I told my mom to do it for me because I skipped out on Church. next thing you know today I actually had one of my customers pay off their plushie and I was surprised and I even yelled out my prayers have been answered because I have been blessed. you can't tell me that it's a coincidence that if I hadn't donated and give money to the church that will help people then I couldn't have receive a blessing today. but honestly I'm scared to think about the second coming and Jesus and everybody else because it'll be chaotic and if I die it would not be the end. just like everyone else I will be judged on all my actions that I have done on a scale of all the evil things I have done and all the good things I have done. and honestly I think I'm going to hell. I really try my best to be a nice person not because I am afraid of going to hell or I want to gain something from it. I actually couldn't help myself to not help anybody. I feel so bad for them because honestly right now I'm begging for help from you guys. and some of you guys actually listen and help me and I love you for that. so it's my turn to give back and when people ask me for help of course I say yes because it's only fair. then again I just clop every single day...at least it's not porn. That is pure evil and costs me problems....believe me.

Last shit

From what I have experienced really concerned about the small things in my life and the big things in life in general. I'm scared about the world but I'm also scared about myself going homeless and I'm also scared about my own health because my face was feeling numb the other day and I was worried I might have a stroke maybe I still can or maybe I'm sick either way. I'm really overweight because I stress eat a lot and I get cravings and I take more than two portion. I honestly worry too much because I don't know how to stop things and I don't know how to do anything really. I dropped out of high school because my dad took away my mother's company and because of that shit I am basically in poverty. I'm really poor and I actually feed my dog cereal but just because I buy Club every now and then. Doesn't mean that you shouldn't help me out because of some of the things I do. I try to get my commissions out and with those commissions that's where I can buy my art for my OC. but for plushies I give most of that money to help pay the bills and to help pay whatever Necessities we need. But I'm just hoping that good things will come. Maybe we learned that Congress or government or people who have authority will turn out to be good people and they will have a change of heart and show kindness. But I also hope That my financial situation will soon disappear and then I will have a happy wealthy life and whatever treasures and riches I get. I will use it to help the poor and make sure that all the people around the world that are sick hungry homeless and said that I will be there for them to help because nothing makes me more sad to see our reflection of myself but same time I have the ability to do something and I just don't do it. that's how I feel about people's right now. They are rich and they are having fun with all their money gambling and spending it on really really expensive things well people like me Don't get any of that and we're forced to suffer poverty. I used to draw for free but I can't afford that because I need money to sustain everything in life. So I do not know how things will turn out but all I can do is pray and wish for things to get better but the cold truth is rather than worse is coming or the best is coming and right now it looks like the worst but I'm going to hold on to my faith And hope for the best.

 if you people are read the entire thing. I would like to thank you so much because you actually took time and effort to read this thing.

 it would also really mean a lot if you would leave your thoughts in the comment section below. Fucking how I sound like a damn YouTuber. Funny thing is I actually wanted to be one but I don't think I'm ready for anything yet

But Thank you so much!

[jojuarez26]

This war Part 3

Mature content and strong language Divergent fanfiction: Eric/OC Sequel to I hate you I love you @pathybo @tigpooh67 @ljvosscmt @beautifulramblingbrains @clublulu333 @frecklefaceb @dani5102 @scorpio2009 @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @glamlover87 @jaihardy @ericdauntless @mom2reesie @sparklemichele @ariwolff14 @james-k-delaney @deepfrz @badassdauntlessgirl @badassbaker @crystalbaby12 @angolodiparadiso @emmalouwho1999 @muffinmano Jess's POV Food trays where some boiled potatoes, boiled chicken and stale bread. No butter, no seasoning. Oh and a glass of water. I was so thrilled. "I will never complain about Dauntless food again. Is this your mothers idea of toture?" I admittedly whined to Four. He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "No. It's the way Abnegation prepare food," he smirked. "Like I said. Torture. How did you eat shit like this for eighteen years? " He just shrugged. "You don't mind when you've never known different." "I suppose." I ate it anyway. I was hungry. "It makes me miss Lissette's shitty cooking, " Four huffed. My head whipped in his direction. "My Lissette? " now I was curious "Um, yes. You aren't mad are you?" he looked worried and I just laughed. "Not at all. Just surprised. Your total opposites. How long?" two of my closets friends. How did I miss that? "A little over a month. We got close planning baby stuff and wedding stuff. We were going to tell you at dinner before we where all so rudely interrupted. " his face took a rare pissed off look. "Yes, Auntie has great timing doesn't she. What does she want with us anyway? We won't fight for her no matter what. Besides pissing off Eric isnt exactly smart." I wanted to know what this was really about. "Obviously it has something to do with your baby. But what, I don't know. Myself, well I am sure it's just because I am her son, but this isn't helping her any." the lock on the door turned. A young girl entered. She left a toiletry basket and fresh clothes at the end of each bed and collected the dirty dishes. "Hey, what's your name? You look familiar?" Four asked her. She looked to be maybe fifteen. "I can't. Mother will be angry if I talk to you?" she looked terrified. "Mother? Who is your mother?" Four asked gently trying not to frighten her. "Evelyn, " she whispered. "Your my sister?" Four looked torn between hopefull and dismay. "Are you Tobias," she squeaked. "I am," he nodded. "Yes. You are my brother. I am your sister Avery." she smiled shyly. Four smiled. He wasn't alone. But then he looked distraught. "How old are you Avery?" she looked uneasy. "Almost fourteen." she was even younger than she looked. "We need your help Avery. If you help us we can get you out of here. Protect you." Four was being cautious but truthful. She's family. "I can't. I have to go. Mother will let them kill me," she stood quickly. "Avery wait. Who, who will kill you," he asked quiet and gently. Her eyes darted wildly in fear. I saw Four grind his jaw. He was already in protective mode over this young girl. "Edward, the people from Erudite. I'll be back. I have to go. I-I, I'll try to get word to Dauntless troops. You promise to protect me," she breathed barely audible. "Of course. You're family. We both will protector. I am your cousin and a Dauntless Leader. So is my husband Eric," I was desperate and would indeed protect this young girl. She nodded and quickly left. I looked at Four who looked conflicted. "What? What's on your mind?" I asked sullenly. "Did we just condem a little girl and the sister I JUST found out exist to a death sentence?" I shook my head never more unsure at the moment. "I sure hope not." Eric's POV I sat in mine and Jess's home with only my sister, Laurence and Lissette. I didn't trust anyone else with the information I was about to receive. It was making me nervous waiting to hear it. This would reveal what they wanted from my wife and daughter, I knew I wasn't going to like it. "Eric. I hate to being passing on this information under these circumstances, " Laurence sighed heavily. "Just get on with this shit," I waved my hand absently. Seventy-two hours no sign of my wife or Four and not a fucking peep from the Factionless. "So you remember two hundred years ago the war was fought due to mankind altering DNA and genetics correct?" Laurence asked. "What does this have to do with anything? " I snapped. "Everything Eric. We have monitored genes and DNA since the time we closed off Chicago after the war. To see if genes and DNA would heal themselves, also to keep track of who carried on dangerous traits. Now for the last seventy years or so most of the traits where all but gone or in such a small percentage they where essentially harmless." "One of these traits was called a shield. Nobody possessed it for about one hundred years. Until about fifty years ago. A man was found to test at seven percent. Then twenty-two years ago a baby boy was born with thirteen percent." I cringed. I knew that was me. That was part of why Jeanine desired me so among other things "Explain what that means," I grumbled. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. "Eric how often have you been sick in your life? Including the chicken pox epidemic that hit Erudite when you where ten?" I had to think. "I haven't been. I didn't get the chicken pox." "Besides being the cave in, which should have killed you by the way, how many times have you been seriously injured." Once again I had to think. "Besides the cave in and being shot, never," I didn't like where this was going. "How long on average does it take you to recover from a gun shot wound?" fuck this was bad for my daughter I could feel it. "A few days," it was becoming very clear what a shield meant. "A few days. Most people take a few weeks minimum. This is at thirteen percent. Your daughter is seventy percent." I swear I felt my heart stop. "It gets worse doesn't it? Why they want her?" my chest was getting heavy. "I'm afraid so. You know how yours and Jess's bodies posses the ability to heal and reawakening?" damn it. "Yes." "Your daughter can do both on her own. Jess possess psychic ablities and what non due to Jeanine's experimenting. She only has fifteen percent capabilities. Your daughter, eighty-two percent, because it's by birth." "Anything else," I asked all but terrified of the answer. "Her blood type is somewhat of a universal vaccine to most diseases and viruses." "So she is pretty much indestructible and a weapon, " I put my head in my hands. "I am afraid so Eric. Someone in the labs was a leak for Edward for a long time. He knows all about you, Jess and baby girl Coulter." Laurence was upset. I knew it bothered him such sensitive information had been leaked. "Is this from my fathers side or Julia's, " I had to know. "Julia's. I need to run test on Randall's unborn son too." shit my brother's kid. "Lisette call in security and put Mindee under protective custody now. Laurence I want all but hard copies of myself, Randy, Jess or either babies DNA or genetics destroyed. Only yourself or our family allowed access." my mind was reeling. I had to find them now. They will kill Jess and turn my daughter into a damn science experiment. I refuse to let this happen. I need a few minutes and then its time to tear Chicago apart. "Everyone out!! OUT!!" leave it to my sister to try to defy me. "Eric I don't think- " "Em, you are my sister. Before I say some shit I don't mean please get the hell out!!" she just didn't get it. "Eric please I just-" "Emalie love, before your brother threatens to put you on fence duty for life without even being Dauntless for fucksakes just leave," Lissette was gently pushing her out. God Bless Lissette. Even though I wanted to kill her half the time. "Liss!! Wait." she shut the door and came to sit on the other end of the couch. "I miss her. I can't live without," I starred into space trying to think. "I miss her too. I miss the back rubs and Four's cooking too," I slowly turned to look at her. "You and the Stiff? Didn't see that coming," I saw her spill a few tears for the first time "How long?" "About a month. We were going to tell you both at the dinner." I was tired of people ruining our lives. "Alright Lissette let's lick our wounds and go find my wife and your toy." she laughed and grabbed my hand. I looked at and she was blinking back tears. "We're going to find them."