#She was meant to be her own kind - and she serves as a shelter for her crew from the usual systems of abuse they otherwise face

[candied-cae]

I've been trying to figure out how to say it for weeks, but:

The title of the show being "Our Flag Means Death" + Lucius's Line "What if it's not a Death? What if life just begins again?" = The Revenge has always been, and will always be, a safe haven for her crew.

All those aboard are not held to the rules of their lives before, they are not pushed to fulfill expectations or assumptions or pressures from the rest of the world.

They are allowed to sing and dance and laugh and cry and create and love and be every little bit of themselves that they've ever been scared to be within her walls. When they board her deck, when they hoist her flag, when they accept their role as a member of her crew - she carries a promise.

A promise, that under her flag, their lives may begin again anew.

Her Flag Means Death, but a Death only to what was and a Beginning to what could be.

More OFMD

[atlabeth]

greener grass | luke castellan

i recommend reading bleedin me dry before this as this is the au to that!

summary: what if you left with luke that day in the woods?

a/n: would just like to give a HUGE thank you for the massive amount of support on my luke fic!! and another huge thank you to all you angst demons because why do you want more of it. i mean i get it but why. anyways here’s a different path of actually accepting luke’s offer like so many of you said you would instantly fold lmao i hope you enjoy

wc: 3.2k

warning(s): fem!daughter of demeter reader. luke is his own warning. kind of unhealthy relationship, weird vibes all around

The stars were brighter than ever tonight. 

It was one of the first things that stuck out to you when you got to camp, and it was one of the first things that you noticed when you first got on the road with Luke. 

You’d always loved the stars. They were a rare sight coming from the city, such a sign of nature and purity that it honestly shouldn’t have been a surprise when you were claimed. You still remembered the shock that went through you when you first saw what a night sky free of pollution could be, and you still remembered the first time you risked your life with the harpies just to spend the night star-gazing. 

And you could never forget the first time you dragged Luke along with you, his wry protests falling on deaf ears though he grinned the entire way down to the beach, his hand laced in yours.  

Gods. 

Luke. 

Even the thought of him these days was enough to make your heart clench, a slight shiver run down your spine, and you weren’t fully sure as to why. 

You loved him. You ran away with him. Every path that led you here, you willingly chose to walk down. 

But you still questioned every second of every godsdamned day if they were the right decisions. Especially now, as you sat alone in front of the fire, carefully stoking it with one of the few dry sticks you’d been able to find after taking shelter—in your own haphazard tent made of vines and tree trunks and any other bits of nature you’d managed to sprout from the ground with your powers—to wait out a rainstorm. 

You decided to spend the night, deciding that traveling through the darkness was too risky after the last monster attack, but the minutes couldn’t have been creeping by slower. If being in nature didn’t quite literally fuel you, you knew you would be far more miserable than you already were.

You loved Luke with all your heart, and if he was willing to potentially throw off his entire plan just so he could bring you with him, then he had to love you the same. You owed him this, at least, to not abandon him. 

You— you didn’t want to serve Kronos, but you didn’t want to serve the gods, either. Your mother abandoned you before you were old enough to know what the word meant, leaving you on your father’s doorstep swaddled in blankets and with a note that he still had to this day. 

Demeter left your father to raise you on his own, left you to live the half-life of a half-blood, and hardly paid attention to you since. She didn’t help you when you were on the road to camp with your satyr, wondering if every bump in the night would be your end, and she let you feel worthless for an entire year before she finally decided you were deserving of her claim.

Or maybe she just finally remembered you existed. 

You understood Luke’s anger—you felt it yourself more than you liked to admit—but the path he was on was a dangerous one. You doubted you could take him off of it, but you could keep him safe, and you could prevent more damage. That was all you cared about at this point. 

How long you could walk this line was an entirely different question. 

You sensed him before you heard him even lost in your thoughts, but the snapping of twigs still made your breath catch for a moment. You kept your gaze on the fire as you spoke. 

“Anything?” 

“These woods are surprisingly bare for the time of year,” Luke said as he set his backpack on the ground, kneeling down to rifle through it. “I feel like Artemis is punishing me.” 

“Well, she doesn’t exactly have a reason to help you,” you said wryly. You gestured with your head towards the miniature orchard you’d been making at each one of your camps—one pro of your parentage was that you—hopefully—wouldn’t ever starve on the road. You’d been growing plants since you realized you could, so it was practically second nature at this point. “Fruit’s on the menu, if you’re interested.” 

Luke chuckled as he walked over, and as he plucked a perfectly ripe strawberry, he glanced at you. “Feeling nostalgic?” 

You shrugged. You wondered which of your siblings would be in charge of the strawberries with you gone. You hoped Mr. D wouldn’t give it to one of his kids. “Do you blame me?” 

“Not at all.” He popped it into his mouth then took an apple from the smallest tree you’d been able to grow. “It was home for us both, for a while.” 

You bit your lip. It still was your home—it had been for the past four years. You wanted to go back eventually, but you felt like you had sealed your coffin by going with Luke. Would they ever welcome you back, knowing you willingly followed him into the darkness?

“How long do you think we’ll be on the road?” you asked, finally looking over at him as he sat down across from you. “Not that I don’t enjoy being with you, but… it’s not exactly the safest.”

“At least another week or two,” Luke said. You tried your hardest to keep your expression even as he settled the full force of his gaze on you—you couldn’t deal with the scrutiny. “I need to make sure they’ve lost our trail. The last thing we need is a questing group on our asses.”

You huffed a laugh. “You think they’ll actually send anyone after us?”

Luke shrugged. “If all went well, camp is in total disarray. If it didn’t, they still know I’m with Kronos. I can’t imagine Chiron would take that lightly. And,” he inclined his head, “I did kidnap you.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t kidnap me.”

“They’ll probably think so,” he said, and there was something strange in his eyes. “Doesn’t make sense for you to come with me willingly.”

This again. “Luke—”

“I know,” he said, a slight smile on his lips. There wasn’t much heart in it. “You don’t have to explain yourself again.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m not with you,” you said. “I— I am. I’m only here for you, Luke.”

His eyes softened. “You mean it?”

“I do,” you nodded. “I couldn’t just leave you.”

“I don’t take any of this lightly, you know.” His eyes never wavered from yours, the orange light flickering across his face and casting a devilish shadow. “You being here means the world. Nothing’s gonna happen to you—I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m not just gonna lay you out to dry, either,” you said wryly. “We’ll protect each other. Like we always have.”

“Exactly,” Luke affirmed. He bit into the apple he’d seemingly forgot about, and you looked up at the sky in the resulting silence.

It felt like your mind always drifted back to camp, back to your siblings and friends and the victims of Luke’s crusade.

Your summer siblings who would come back next year and wonder where you went, your year-rounders waking up the next morning and all the mornings after with a discontented glance at your bed. 

How long would it take for them to forget you? For you to just be another lost demigod in the camp files?

And poor Annabeth Chase. Luke practically raised her, and he walked out on her without a word—you considered yourself lucky he didn’t do the same to you, and you had no idea what awaited you on your path together. 

The gods had never been one for listening, and certainly not to you, but you hoped at least one of them would look down on you. Maybe your mother could provide some of that wizened second child advice, shine her favor on you for the first time in your life.

Well. You doubted Demeter would very much appreciate your quasi-support of the titan that ate her. The thing you should have considered yourself lucky for was that your powers still worked. 

Luke brought you back to Earth by saying your name, and your gaze snapped back down to meet his. His scar seemed especially grisly in the firelight, at odds with the softness of his expression—something that felt all too rare these days. 

“What’s on your mind?” he asked. 

“What else could possibly be on it?” you asked wryly, tossing the stick you’d been fiddling with into the fire. It crackled as the flames devoured it, something so out of its realm thrust into it anyways. 

“Stupid question,” he admitted. 

“We’re practically fugitives, Luke,” you said. “We have monsters after us, and possibly people from camp. We left everyone behind. I’m with you, trust me, but— but I can’t just get over it all as easily as you.”

“And I get that,” he said. “This—” he sighed and shook his head— “you really don’t know how much you being here means to me. I thought I was going to be out on my own on all this.”

Your throat bobbed. You’d never tell him, but you didn’t even know what your answer was going to be until the words left your mouth.

“And you’re telling me that you’d still choose them over me?”

“No,” you said. “I wouldn’t.”

Luke’s eyes softened and your throat felt like it was closing up.

“Then come with me,” he whispered. “We will change the world together.”

“I can’t,” you asserted. “I can’t just leave everyone behind— I’d be leaving my entire life behind, Luke!”

“You’ll help them more this way,” Luke insisted. “The gods aren’t on our side—we’re here so they don’t have to pay attention to us. If we want anything to change for the better, we’re gonna have to do it ourselves.” 

You bit your lip, and he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. 

“I wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t think you were right for it,” he murmured, tilting his head as he gazed into your eyes. “Your mother’s never bothered to see you before. I’m gonna make her see you.” 

“How?” you asked, hating the hints of desperation coloring your voice. 

“You’ll see,” he said. “But we’re gonna do something so big that no one’s going to be able to ignore us.” 

Memories of the past four years flashed through your mind, but the two at the forefront were ones with Luke and ones without your mother. 

He’d always been there for you, even when Demeter—especially when she wasn’t.

You couldn’t just leave him on his own. Not when he was baring his soul to you—not when his quest for greatness included it for you too. 

Not when he was the first boy you ever loved, the one who brought you back from the god-induced edge. 

“…Okay,” you said, the word feeling like an ultimatum the moment it left your lips. “Okay. I’ll go with you.” 

He stared at you for a second like he didn’t hear you, or rather like he didn’t actually believe it. And then he broke out into a grin. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really,” you said. “Have I ever lied to you?” 

“Go to your cabin and pack your bags,” Luke said, still unable to control his exuberant expression. We’ll meet each other at the top of the hill.” 

“Right now?” 

Luke nodded. “Only a couple hours until we’re harpy feed. Everyone’ll think we’re just leaving for the school year.” 

“You’ve always been a year-rounder,” you said. “Won’t people—” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “No one’ll think anything of it. We just have to get out before anyone asks any questions.” 

“Luke,” you murmured, “are you—” 

Luke cut you off with a blazing kiss, the same kind of fire in his eyes when he pulled away, a slight smile on his lips at leaving you breathless. 

“I’m sure,” he whispered. “You’re not going to regret this. I promise.” 

It was all you could do to stare up at him, his grip on your arms the only thing keeping you upright for a solid moment. 

“Go,” he said. “Take your time—don’t draw any suspicion. I’ll meet you there.”

“You’re really sure?” you asked, finally able to form words. “Really really sure? About this, a— and me?” 

He cupped your cheek, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am about you.” 

Leaving camp was insane—when Luke told you of Kronos’s plans, it was even more insane—but it had always been you and Luke. He’d been such a huge part of your life, ever since you first came to camp, that you couldn’t imagine yourself without him. 

And when you looked back at him, illuminated by the fire, you were sure of at least one thing. 

You weren’t leaving any time soon. Not when you could still fix all of this. 

A yawn got the better of you, and you felt Luke’s eyes on you as you covered your mouth with a fist. 

“You should get to sleep,” he said. “It’s been a long day.” 

“It’s been a long day for both of us,” you said. “We both had to get here—and you were the one who wandered around in the woods for two hours trying to hunt.” 

“How do you know I wandered?” Luke asked, setting the apple core down on the ground next to him. “You weren’t there. Maybe I had a very respectable saunter and just came up with nothing.” 

You chuckled. “The trees speak to me.” 

“Really?” he asked, clearly amused. “And what did they say?” 

“That you’re an awful hunter,” you mused, “and you should be very thankful that your girlfriend is good at everything.” 

Luke smirked and got up to start walking towards you. “Your ever-knowledgeable trees should know that I already know.” He kneeled down in front of you, a slight smile curling on your lips. “And that I am very thankful.” 

He pressed a heated kiss to your lips, and you reciprocated, looping an arm around him to keep him close before you pulled away. 

“It’s always good to hear it,” you murmured. 

“I’ll say it as many times as you need,” he assured. Luke stole another kiss then gestured towards your makeshift tent. “But you do need to get some sleep. We’re picking up at first light.” 

Your smile wavered. “We’ve been moving break-neck for a week already. Are you sure we can’t ease up?” 

“Soon,” Luke promised. “I told you, I just want to make sure we’ve lost any tails. We can’t afford that right now.” 

He must have seen the change in your expression, because his eyes softened and he took your hand. “It won’t be like this forever, babe. You can handle it.” 

“It doesn’t mean I want to,” you said dryly, but you sighed as you squeezed his hand. “I’ll turn in if you do too.” 

“Anything for you,” Luke said with a smile. You chuckled and shook your head as you stood up, and Luke grabbed his backpack before he went over to the tent with you. 

Your meager belongings weren’t much. You’d stuffed all the demigod essentials, some outfits, and a sleeping bag in your pack before hightailing it to Thalia’s tree, and Luke hadn’t packed much more—but at least it was light traveling. 

Every night had been spent in the same way, sharing your sleeping bag as you got what precious sleep Luke allocated before you were back on the road again. You were sure the only thing that got you through each early rising was his soft touches and easy murmured words. 

You laid down, staring up at the roof of brambles and bark, and you twisted your hand just so to make them twist away from each other for a small opening. 

Luke raised an eyebrow at you as he zipped his bag up, still crouched on the ground. “What’s that for?” 

You shrugged. “I’ve always liked sleeping under the stars.” 

Again, that small smile. It could still make you melt, even now. “I remember. I just hope it doesn’t start raining again.” 

“Like rain’ll be the worst thing we’ve dealt with,” you said wryly. “Besides, I can feel it in the air. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We are.” 

You glanced over and he was looking at you. You patted the spot next to you. 

“C’mon,” you said. “I’m cold.” 

“Oh, we can’t have that,” he said, amused, and he huddled in next to you. You let out a contented sigh as his body heat sunk into you, and he draped an arm across you to pull you closer. 

“That better?” he asked. 

You hummed in response. “Thank you.” 

“Always.” 

You closed your eyes as you exhaled deeply, trying your best to unwind the tension in every part of your body. You weren’t used to trekking miles every day, eating rations you’d packed from camp or gas station food from whenever you ended up close to town, only having the woods and the sky and Luke for company. It was starting to wear on you, but you weren’t going to let Luke know. 

“I love you,” Luke said suddenly, breaking the silence, his breath tickling your neck. Your eyes snapped open. “You know that, right?” 

A moment passed before you murmured, “I know.” 

You could feel some of the tension leave his body, and he adjusted his position to be closer to you. 

“Good.” 

His curls brushed against your skin as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. Luke was a comforting presence behind you, like an anchor in the choppy waters you’d thrown yourself into, but it… it just felt different than the countless other times. 

But that was only natural. You were back on the road, living the way you did when you first made the trip to Camp Half-blood with your satyr. Of course it felt different than the crowded chaos of the Hermes cabin, or the beach underneath a tapestry of stars, or your own bed at the behest of your siblings. The only thing that stayed the same was the scent of nature, and the scent of Luke. 

Things were different, yes, but you knew that would happen. Luke was different, but you knew that would happen—half the reason you came along with him was because you wanted to make sure he had a lifeline, a way to come back to shore when he decided his crusade was over. 

Because it had to be over eventually. He would decide that there was no way you could beat the gods, that it wasn’t worth killing himself over some meaningless mission. The gods had never cared about you before—you didn’t know why they would care about some half-baked rebellion by two of their least favorite kids. 

You loved Luke. He loved you. You told yourself that was all that mattered, because you were in this together now. 

For better or for worse. 

[ownedbythescribe]

Wanderer/Scaramouche | Small Wish

ıllı Synopsis: Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, and Wanderer. His life was a beauty in tragedy, and between those pages lies his encounter with you. Yet, where did you go?

ıllı Genre: Romance, Slight Angst

ıllı Notes: Gender Neutral Reader

ıllı Warning: Mention of death

ıllı A/N: I’ve finally finished it! I’m not sure if I gave him justice, but I love how this turned out. It’s a bit long, but I had to place things here and there to make sense. Please enjoy!

ıllı Part 2: Wanderer/Scaramouche - Heard Wish

"Who are you?" It is the same question I ask every time I dream of you.

I remember the comforting smile on your face, the warm hand that held mine, and the soft kisses you gave. Yet, I can't remember how you looked. I don't recall the person I fell in love with. Instead, I drown in the nightmares fueled by the whispers that say you are nothing but an illusion. It hurts. I want to see you, to remember you.

"Maybe we can be together for eternity in your next life." You mutter, holding my hand tightly. Salty tears trickle down your cheeks, but I can't wipe them away.

Why?

Because I know I died before you. I left you alone. I broke my promise to you.

Blinking the sleep away from your bleary eyes, you were met with the rattan roof that sheltered your slumbering form from the cold wind. Soft shuffles could be heard from below, so you rose from your bed and peaked at the source. It was Araja, waddling away with radishes in his arms. It seemed too much for the Aranara, so you rushed to his side and grabbed it for him. Ignoring his startled stance, you asked where the vegetables would be placed.

"Thank you, Nara (Y/N). I was about to bring these to Arapacati. Please help me carry the ingredients to their home." It was a simple request that you happily obliged. There were also tomatoes, sweet flowers, and mushrooms outside. Quickly drifting to Arapacati's home, you turned to her brothers. They were discussing about the unique dish they planned to serve to everyone. Araphala noticed you and waved at you to come closer.

"Will Nara (Y/N) taste our new invention once you return?" He inquired. It might not be evident because of their facial expression, but you could hear the hopeful tone laced in the Aranara's voice. You nodded, but you turned to Arasaka and warned him not to put too much 'taste of happiness' (sugar) in the dish if he planned to use it. The aforementioned Aranara deflated, but it was for the best. Arasaka had the tendency to oversweet dishes, even those that were meant to be savory.

After praying to the Dendro Archon for the success of the Aranara's dish, you wandered into the forest to see its condition. The fauna and flora were thriving, and only minimal problems were present such as weakened plants and pestering fungi. News was that the Withering Zone had decreased significantly after a certain Traveler rescued the Dendro Archon and healed the Irminsul. You had the opportunity to meet them, and they were kind, as Araja and Arapacati mentioned. Paimon was gluttonous, but she was the best travel companion the Traveler could ask for.

Only the fungi, hilichurls, and ruin machines littered the forest. There were occasional sightings of Eremites and Fatui, but they did not harm the forest. In turn, you left them to their own devices. It was for the people in the city to handle as it was their business. Your role was to assist in guarding Vanarana. As such, you found yourself eradicating several ruin sentinels from the underground ruin that came near the Vanarana. Arabalika was also beside you, using his Ararakalari to take down the weak points of the machines. He once mentioned that it was an excellent exercise to strengthen his power, but at the cost of memories, so there were times when you had to re-introduce yourself to him.

"You're not getting away this time!" You concentrated the dendro energy in your hand and hit the center point of the ruin hunter. It crackled before falling unceremoniously. Leaping in the air, you slowly descended to check for your Aranara companion. Just a few meters from your position, Arabalika was hitting the other sentinels with his weapon. As if they were mere toys, the enemies disintegrated into dust. The forest was peaceful once more.

"Nara (Y/N), strong as always, but Arabalika noticed that your speed had dwindled. Is Nara (Y/N) sick?" He asked, trotting toward you. Your eyes widened at his sharp observation. The facade you put up crumbled, and you confessed that you had been having nightmares that exhausted your body and mind.

The Aranara hummed in thought before floating up to your stature. He touched your forehead and used his power. He noticed a blockage at the back of your mind and advised that you talk to Araja about it. You raised an eyebrow at that. Arama once mentioned that there were memories he could not access, like it was purposely sealed inside you. Although you wished for the Aranara to further elaborate his statement, he had long departed to Sarva.

"All right, I'll go back to Vanarana and talk with Araja. See you there, Arabalika. Stay safe!"You bid him farewell. He waved his arm before disappearing underground, most likely to hunt more ruin machines in the Ruins of Dahri.

Shaking your head at his antics, you vanished back to Vanarana. The moment your eyes landed on its sky, you could not help but gawk in awe. The mystical shade of purple and vermillion never failed to astound you, even to this day. There were no moon, sun, or stars in Vanarana as if it was suspended in time. It was also filled with unique flora only the Aranara could reproduce. They said that the memories of the forest brought forth the vegetation in the area. If Sumeru had the Padisarah, Vanarana had the Viparyas, a dazzling seedless flower created using Vasmrti and the forest's memory.

Trudging back to Araja's house, you found yourself humming the Song of Great Dream. It was the last gift Arama gave you.

"Ho? You're back early, Nara (Y/N). Sit down. I'll prepare some tea." Araja mused, motioning to the chair on the ground floor. You gladly took it before voicing your concern.

"Araja, I've been dreaming strange things lately. I always find myself with a man I don't know. Deep inside me, I have an inkling that I know him. There are feelings of happiness and regret whenever I dream." Araja floated toward you and placed the tea on your lap. You thanked him before he positioned himself atop the table.

"I can only surmise that those are your memories, Nara (Y/N). Remember when we found you, a part of your memories were sealed. We did not have enough power to unseal them, but we believe you can unlock them by finding the right trigger. Nara (Y/N), these dreams might mean that fate is with you, preparing you for what you hid from yourself." He responded. You sipped your tea in silence, thinking about the Aranara's words.

It had been nearly two centuries since Araja and Arama found you in the Fane of Ashvattha. They said you stood absentmindedly in front of the first Vasara Tree before collapsing like a withered log. Luckily, the tree remained active and cushioned your fall with leaves and flowers. The tree asked the two to nurse you, but you were like a blank slate when you opened your eyes. No memories of anything. Both you and the Aranara feared each other. You because of being with strangers, and them due to a human entering the Vanarana, which served as their safe haven. Building trust between the two parties took time, but you were thankful for their patience. One day, you overheard Arana, who had just returned from her journey, inquire about your state. Araja said it was amnesia, and when Arama checked your memories, it blocked him. The seal harbored no ill will, but it seemed like you were the one who placed it there. For what reason? None of you know.

“Thank you, Araja. To be honest, I am scared of my memories. What if I was a bad person? What if I hurt you and the others?” You muttered, anxiety coursing through your veins. The Aranara chief floated to your trembling figure and patted your head.

“I believe Nara (Y/N) was a kind Nara even before we took you. I saw the warm treatment and patience you gave to every one of us here in Vanarana. Even when Arasaka put too much zaytun peach jam on your food, you did not complain and finished everything. Nara (Y/N) is a gentle Nara.” He comforted. Tears welled up in your eyes before nodding, enjoying the head pats the Aranara chief gave.

The next day, you were greeted by a bowl of delicious-smelling food held by Arasaka. You blinked owlishly before he gave you a spoon to eat it. He said that they noticed the scent of ‘sadness’ emitting from you yesterday and wanted to comfort you with food. A smile erupted from your lips, and then you began munching on the dish they made. There was a vast improvement in the flavor.

Once breakfast was done, you informed the Aranara chief that you would be visiting Tighnari in Gandharva Ville to learn more about the Withering Zones and the status of the other forests in Sumeru. Arasaka waddled over to you and queried why you were not scared of the Forest Watcher. You were aware that they feared Tighnari because he was a descendant of Valushka Shuna (desert dogs). You crouched down and assured him that the fennec fox would never hurt you or them. He was reluctant to believe your words, but he trusted your strength. With a smile, you left the village.

Gandharva Ville was hours away from Vanarana by foot, but the forest had been kind to you and provided you ease in transportation across lands as long as you remained in their sight. Transporting yourself to the ville, you instantly found yourself in front of Tighnari's office.

"Tighnari? Are you home?" You asked, peeking at the leaf curtain of the hut. The Forest Watcher turned his head from his work, eyes widening at the surprise visit.

"(Y/N)? Well, this is a nice surprise. Come inside." He offered. You gladly followed in and sat on a spare chair in his office. He inquired about your whereabouts the past few days, which you indulged in. An upset frown marred his face at the facet of endangering yourself, but you promised him that you had Arabalika backing you up when you go around fighting.

Tighnari sighed. He decided to get to the main agenda of your visit, which was to explain the declining number of Withering Zones and its impact on the ecosystem. He started with the effects of Irminsul being healed and how it cut the source for the zones to pester. Without the withering, the forest would recover slowly from the detrimental impacts. Plants might need assistance, but it should not pose an issue to you or the forest rangers. The leylines would also start to stabilize, so fewer overflow effects on fauna and flora in Sumeru were expected.

Digesting the information he laid out, you adjusted your itinerary for the day. For now, assistance in revitalizing wilting vegetation was the best option while the forest rangers eliminated the remaining zones. You might help occasionally, but you were confident that Tighnari and his rangers would do the job just fine. Happy with your findings, you thanked the fennec fox and left his hut with a promise to visit again soon. Tighnari shook his head before returning to his work, but a shuffling outside interrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh, it's you, Collei. What's wrong?" There was worry evident on his junior's face. Collei huffed out a shaky sigh.

"Who were you talking to just now, Master? There was no one there." She replied. Tighnari froze in his spot.

The common areas you patrolled as self-proclaimed guardian of Vanarana included the Fane of Ashvattha, Yasna Monument, and Chatrakam Cave. Araja admonished them never to enter the Old Vanarana without him or Arabalika as dangerous monsters loitered the deserted region. You heeded his words gravely.

Jumping down the short cliff in Chatkram Cave, you landed on another group of wilting plants. You concentrated the dendro energy in your hand and set it underground. The color of the leaves brightened as they swayed in the wind, overjoyed by the new life given to them. Suddenly, you heard a series of footsteps coming your way. Indigo orbs met your stupefied ones. He looked extremely familiar, like a bygone breeze meeting an old friend.

"Who are you, and what are you doing around this area? Didn't the forest rangers warn the citizens of Sumeru not to wander deep in the forest?" You demanded. The indigo-haired male scoffed at your indignant words before moving past your figure. Offended by his actions, you huffed out that you would not be responsible for any danger that came his way.

"Not to mention, I don't want to be responsible for burying your body. That would be a pain." You murmured, but he heard it loud and clear. Now, it was his turn to be aggrieved.

"Ho? How foolish. You think I'm feeble I can barely lift a rock, is that it?" There was a dangerous glint dancing in his eyes. Not minding the challenge, you replied.

"If the shoe fits." Wanderer was dumbfounded by the sass you showed him. However, he was more bewildered by the lack of recognition from you. A frown marred his face.

Glancing back at the man, you noticed a conflicting expression on his face. You urged the man to move to another area, but it was immediately shot down. He said he had some important business to care for, which he deemed none of your business. He waved goodbye after that and moved ahead.

There was no way for him to enter Vanarana without a special instrument, so you let him be. However, a creeping intuition told you to check on him later, so after aiding the withered plants, you scanned the area for his silhouette. You found a familiar ascetic garb and hat standing just outside the Vanarana. He was deep in thought.

"Who are you really, and what are you here for? As the forest guardian, I can't permit you to trespass this area." You warned again. He gave you a blank look and then sighed. There were no Aranaras in sight, and the Dendro Archon failed to inform him of such problems.

"Look, Lesser Lord Kusanali requested that I inspect this area. Got a problem with that?" He replied. The way your eyes squinted in suspicions was well-known to him, so he shook his head. There was no way for you to believe his words without evidence.

"You won't believe any of my words, so why don't you bring one of those stupid vegetables here? They'll recognize me." He simply said, sitting down on the rock to rest. You were displeased by his attitude but disappeared from his vision nonetheless. He knew you were most likely involved with the Aranaras, considering your protective nature on the said place.

Wanderer let out a shaky sigh the moment you left. After years of losing you, he did not expect to see you in Sumeru, of all places. Why were you here? Never in his life did he wish to quickly return to Nahida and demand if she knew all this time that you would be here. It felt like a cruel mockery of his past, one that he longed to move forward. However, he knew he could never let go of his last betrayal.

"Just how...?"

Moments later, you reappeared outside Vanarana where the young man clad in blue was waiting. Beside you were Araja and Ararycan (he wanted to tag along and see another human). The Aranara chief saw Wanderer and nodded that it was indeed the young man the Dendro Archon brought with her the last time they met. His hat stood out the most, genuinely recognizable even from afar. There was still distrust in your heart, but you opted to give him a chance.

Materializing a wooden lyre designed by the Aranara, you taught him the Song of Great Dreams. You snickered internally at his disgruntled look. He plucked the strings, and the Vanarana in front of you changed to the state you had grown used to. The Aranara around squealed at the sight of Wanderer, while the others peaked curiously from their houses.

"Araja, Ararycan, I will be with Arasaka and Araphala. Call me once you three are done." You waved goodbye to them.

Wanderer watched you go, an uneasy feeling welling up in his chest. Araja cleared his throat to gain his attention before urging them inside his abode. Ararycan sat on one of the stomps and stared at his figure, enamored by the massive hat on his hut. The indigo-haired male was bothered by his stare but decided to relay the Dendro Archon's message to the Aranara chief. They diligently discussed the Irminsul, Tree of Dreams, and the new Ashvattha Tree in the underground of the Old Vanarana.

"Arama will always be with the forest, right? Ararycan can't wait to see Arama again in Sarva. Ararycan will tell him many stories, especially the Golden Nara who helped with the big iron chunks!" The cyan Aranara intercepted. Araja chuckled while Wanderer had an undecipherable glaze in his eyes. Was it pity or empathy? He was not sure.

"I'll report this to the Dendro Archon. We'll personally visit the Old Vanarana. Maybe further in the desert after we resolved the minor issues in the Akademiya." Wanderer voiced. Araja brightened at the news.

"You have my utmost gratitude, Blue Nara. Hmmm? What is that in your hands, Nara (Y/N)?" They all turned to you. In your hands was a tray with three bowls. It smelled delicious.

Placing the tray down, you told them it was Arasaka's newest invention. You taste-tested the dish, so you assured them that it was good. Not too sweet and not too savory, just the perfect balance. Wanderer was reluctant to eat the dish, so you grabbed a spoon and walked to him. He was about to protest, but you shoved it in his mouth. He did not wish to admit it, but you were right.

"Not bad, right? Anyways, sorry if I'm interrupting. I did not want Arasaka's effort to go to waste. I'll be going to the Fane of Ashvattha, Araja. If you ever need me, I'm one teleport away. Sorry if I can't escort you out, uhh... Wanderer, right?" You apologized with a hint of questioning tone at the end of your sentence, uncertain if you got it right. The indigo-haired male winced at the name, not liking the fact that you called him that instead of—Nevermind. It was not yet the time. The three watched you disappear from their sight. Once you were gone, Wanderer also decided to leave the area.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Aranara Chief." He tipped his hat respectfully before going to the Silapna to play the Song of the Great Dream. Like before, he was back in the real world. He glanced around, hoping to catch your figure, but it was impossible to get anything from you. Not when you did not even remember him.

The puppet returned to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, where he reported about the Aranara's situation. Nahida understood the situation and already formulated a plan to assist the children of the forest with the changes brought by the Irminsul. Before she could go, the puppet stopped her in her tracks.

"Buer, why the fuck are they there, and why is it that they don't remember me?" She could hear the frustration in his voice, but an honest answer was all she could give.

"They've been in a state of limbo, you could say. They're not exactly dead, but their spirit had been lost in the transition due to our interference with the Irminsul. I dug up this information. You remember the reason and how they died, right?" She questioned. He nodded.

You two argued about the Doctor's cruel experiments on his body. The distaste you held for the harbinger angered the puppet because it seemed like you were not happy with the path he chose. He thought that you were there to hinder him from reaching godhood. However, you knew better. The Doctor desired to break Wanderer, so you confronted him. It led from one thing to another, and his last memory of you was the moment he saved you from falling down the snowy cliff in Snezhnaya. Your body had long gone cold.

Without knowing the confrontation, Wanderer begged Dottore to save you. He did not know that the Doctor used your body for experiments. He was curious about your constitution and the runes engraved on your wrist. After researching, he found that it was meant to lengthen your life, but your spirit escaped his grasp. Wanderer learned the truth after he tampered with the Divine Tree. It was one of the things he would not forgive Dottore for. Currently, your battered body remained in a special room in Bimarstan, suspended in time and slowly coping.

"Is there a way to get them back?" He asked.

"You have to make them remember. Slowly. Going by what you mentioned earlier, there must be memories sealed at the back of their mind that they could not access alone. At least not with the right stimuli." She responded. Wanderer froze, torn by the decision he had to make. Letting you remember meant recognizing his god-awful attitude. An exhausted sigh escaped his lips.

"Are you scared?" Nahida tilted her head, confused by his hesitation. Embarrassed, he turned his head, but the young god was not far from it. The puppet was terrified. He just found you, and if you were to know his past, you might run away and leave him for good.

"Hmm. Now that's a surprise. I thought you would not mind because they did not seem special to you. However, there must be a change of heart along the way. Interesting. You're shrouded with guilt and now favors them. Don't worry, I think they can handle it. They must be looking for those memories as well." She voiced. Wanderer did not reply and left the sanctuary quietly.

The following day, he marched back to Vanarana. It was a difficult decision on his end, but the feeling of emptiness in your heart must have been excruciating. It was only fair to give you the right triggers to unlock those memories.

“Wanderer? What are you doing back here? Did Lesser Lord Kusanali say anything?” You asked, placing down the timbers you collected for cooking. The Aranara with you squeaked in fear, but you petted its head and assured it that the Nara with them meant no harm. Wanderer was perturbed by the creature’s reaction. He also crouched down and apologized.

“I’m sorry for startling you. And no, I just came to spend time in Vanarana while awaiting the Dendro Archon’s next order.” He returned. Your eyes widened at the tenderness of his voice, almost as if the person you met yesterday was a stranger.

“Are you really Wanderer? Why are you not scoffing or huffing indignantly?” You questioned, trembling at the strange behavior he exuded. He gave you his infamous dead eyes before standing up.

“Don’t get me wrong. I can still insult you whenever I want. I just needed some time away from my duties.” The sincerity in his words made you trust him a little bit. You directed your attention to the Aranara beside you and whispered. It nodded before floating away with the timbers in its hand.

Wanderer raised an eyebrow at its action, but his thoughts were soon occupied by your hand pulling him above Vanarana. It was a sight to behold. He sat down by the cliff and listened to you talk about the place. It seemed like you had grown accustomed to life with the children of the forest. Unconsciously speaking out loud, you confirmed his speculations.

“They’ve become my family. Still, my heart yearns for the past I hid from myself. You might be confused, but the Aranaras rescued me. I had no memories of my life before, and even if I tried to remember, I ended up getting hurt. The migraines I get from pushing my mind were no laughing matter, but I still want to know. Was I a good person? Did I leave the world happily? Did someone cry for my death?” You wistfully said.

Pursing his lips, the puppet released a shaky sigh. Yes, this would be his gift to you. He would gladly take it to his grave if you hate him afterward.

The Dendro Archon’s assistant became a frequent visitor in the Vanarana. A few of the Aranaras learned to interact with him, and they found him tolerable. As for the indigo head, he hated that Ararycan would find opportunities to steal his hat and throw it around like a frisbee. It would make you laugh at the incredulity of the situation, but you made sure to grab it for him and have the Aranara apologize. Not like the cyan Aranara would not do it again.

At some point, he became a staple part of your life. You would go in patrols and come home to see him there. He would say that the Dendro Archon requested him to inspect the area, but you rarely see him go anywhere. It was amusing, to say the least. However, his visits also brought stranger dreams. The man's silhouette started to clear up, but before you could fully see him, the dream would turn into nightmares. There would be a doctor, and you would hear yourself tell him to stop with the experiments.

“You’ve done enough! Can’t you see that you’re killing him?”

“A toy? He’s not a toy for you to play and discard after!”

“You’re a horrible man, Doctor.”

It was always the same, and you would be drenched in sweat by the time you woke up. Araja noticed your disorderly state and advised that you get out of Vanarana. Take in a new surrounding, breathe and forget about your duties for once in a while. Somehow, you ended up in front of the first Ashvattha Tree, where Araja and Arama first found you.

“Lesser Lord Kusanali wants to talk with you, Chief Araja. Maybe she could come here next week?” Wanderer asked, back again in the Aranara’s home to discuss Nahida’s request. The chief gladly accepted the meeting. Before the puppet went, he inquired about your whereabouts.

“Nara (Y/N) left Vanarana to clear their head. It seemed like nightmares began claiming their sleep. I have not seen Nara (Y/N) get a good night's sleep, so this change of pace might help.” He confessed.

Wanderer thanked him and left to find you. Nahida could wait, but he had an inkling that you needed somebody to understand what you were going through right now. Was he the right person for it? Maybe not, but he could care less.

‘Where are they?’ He searched high and low for you, even going into caves to see if you would be in them. However, there was no trace of you. He was about to give up and ask Nahida when he found a strange glow in the Fane of Ashvattha. There, he found your slumbering figure leaning against the tree. It pulsated as you dozed off. He was about to walk towards you when the vines around him reacted as if protecting you.

“Don’t worry, I’m just here to talk to them. I’m a… friend. They’re safe with me.” He was unsure if he was going insane by talking to a tree, but this was Teyvat, where even the most insane thing existed. The vines retracted and revealed your figure. Wanderer carefully trod the path laid out for him.

“Hey, why are you dozing off here in the cold, idiot?” He nudged. You opened your eyes at his voice and yawned. There was no recollection of when you fell asleep, but you could tell this was the best slumber you had in days.

There was a moment of silence between you two until you noticed he was waiting for an answer. Stupefied, you stammered a response saying that sleep evaded you. Not to mention, the nightmares kept you up almost everyday. You followed Araja's suggestion and took in new sceneries. Although, in the end, you still wound up in the Ashvattha Tree.

"Those dreams, have you ever presumed that they could be memories? They said you could attain the past you lost with the right stimuli. Scaramouche, Dottore, Fatui, don't they ring a bell?" Hope and desperation gleamed in his eyes, and you could not fathom the reason for it. His eyes told a thousand words. Before you could utter a thing, an excruciating headache hit your head.

“Hngh! It hurts!” You moaned, clutching your head in pain. It felt like your head was splitting into two as tears gathered at the corner of your eyes. You bit your lips until they bled just to prevent yourself from screaming. The atmosphere around you turned colder, and Wanderer squinted his eyes at what was happening to you. Even if it meant hurting you, he knew you had to remember.

Familiar silhouettes appeared in your mind. There was the doctor named Dottore and a man— No, a puppet named Scaramouche. Both were harbingers of the Fatui, and your fate had been entangled with theirs for some reasons you could not recall.

“What…? I—“ You huffed, your body still trembling. There was no continuation after that, but the remnants of the headache made you dizzy. You wanted to puke, empty your stomach to the bottom, but Wanderer held you against him in comfort. He took your hand and sternly asked for your permission.

“I know that you have many questions right now, but (Y/N), I know about you. If you are willing, I can take you to a place where we can restore your memories." He assured. You peered at him, incredulity coating your orbs. Fear engulfed your body. How could a stranger you had only known for days know more about you? You tried to push him away, but you were too weak.

"W-Who are you, Wanderer? What do you mean? I—" You lurched to the side and emptied the contents of your stomach. He held a pained expression before reaching for you again. Wanderer asked if you could trust him once more. He rambled about how it was for your own good. The confident yet sullen glimmer in his eyes said it all. You slowly nodded, then collapsed on him.

The puppet fussed over your weakened state, but you promised him that it was the stress eating you up. Reluctantly, he carried you to Nahida.

The moment you arrived at the Sanctuary of Surasthana, you were in awe. It was a sacred place you could not help but feel unwelcome. However, the Dendro Archon warmly welcomed you. She gave Wanderer a disappointed gaze, but he brushed it off and asked that she give you your memories back. Nahida glanced at you and asked if you were ready to face what you hid from yourself.

"I may not be, but... I want to face the me of the past and owe up to what I did." Your words reflected those that Wanderer said when he was still as lost as you. He could not help but smile. He was proud of what you had become.

Nahida tilted her head before nodding. She opened up a space, and it swallowed you two. You instinctively closed your eyes in dread of where it would take you. Wanderer remained unfazed, but when the area cleared up, he came face to face with your body. The Dendro Archon asked you to open your eyes and touch the slumbering form before you.

'Is this... my body?' You thought. Wanderer carefully placed you down as you slowly approached your body. It opened its eyes and gazed at you. There was a smile on the body's lips before it embraced you, the soul its missing for centuries. You froze in your place as memories flashed before your eyes. The seal at the back of your mind dispersed, and you watched each day pass by.

The first memory was the kind Kabukimono who Niwa took under his wings. He first met you below the Sakura Tree in one of the villages near the mines. The thunder sakura enhanced the beauty you possessed, and he fell in love for the first time. He did not recognize what emotion it was, but to you, it was adoration. You loved his indigo orbs that seemed to reflect the night sky. However, you were not formally introduced to each other until he saw you again with the sick child.

As if arranged by fate, the child pulled you towards the Kabukimono. His indigo eyes widened at the sight, but he smiled and introduced himself. This time, he hoped to learn about you. Kabukimono would go out of town to work, while you remained at home to care for the child. It was like a little family in a deserted place despite you three not having the same blood. The puppet learned to cherish and love you two, but tragedy struck. The child perished away from death. The puppet did not understand why he broke his promise. He could not discern death. You tried to explain to him its concept.

"Are they always fated to die? Does that mean you will also leave me? You will break your promise?" He was desperate. He did not want to be alone. You could only look to the side, unable to answer him truthfully. Kabukimono wistfully laughed.

"Don't die on me, (Y/N). You have to promise you will do everything not to die. Don't betray me as they did!" He hissed. You reached for his hand, but the tears trickling down his face stopped you. Nodding your head, you assured him that you would live for him. Yet you knew that it was only a matter of time.

Days passed by, and Kabukimono changed his name to Kunikuzushi. He wreaked havoc amongst the Raiden Gokaden. Blood was spilled, yet you could only watch in horror. You still loved the man, but he longed for an impossible revenge and power. Soon, the Fatui reached out to him. He was recruited and renamed Scaramouche "The Balladeer". Snezhnaya was a frigid place, and their plans frightened you. Scaramouche sought to keep you in the dark, but some things slipped here and there.

At one point, the Doctor was intrigued by his constitution and implored to conduct experiments on his person. Scaramouche was repulsed initially, but Dottore assured him it would help with his revenge on the Electro Archon. He would be cut up, injected with strange serums, and connected to machines that destroyed his body, but Scaramouche remained resilient. You could not stand how he strived to reach his dreams and confronted him.

"What do you know?! You're just a lowly mortal, (Y/N). Remember that you will leave me too. I have prepared myself." He coldly stated.

"I promised you that I would remain alive, did I not? I am also researching ways to extend my life, Kuni—" He held your wrist tightly and threw you to the side. It was a silent warning not to mention that name. You feared the Scaramouche in front of you. He could kill you if he wanted but chose not to.

The only option you had was to confront the Doctor. The harbinger only laughed at your attempt. He mocked your efforts to protect Scaramouche, but he proposed an option. It was to use your body in his experiment. He noticed the runes on your wrist and desired to uncover the secrets behind them. You declined his offer. It was one of the arts taught to you by a dying adepti during your research to lengthen your life. There was no way you would willingly give it away. The Doctor clicked his tongue in distaste before turning his head away.

"Then amuse me, (Y/N). At what lengths are you willing to protect your lover? Will he be happy with your interference?" He scorned. You clenched your fists tightly before leaving his laboratory. Dottore chuckled at your stubborn nature.

"One way or another, I will have you." He uttered, satisfied by the turn of events.

Scaramouche continued with his ordeal with the Doctor. As much as he despised the man, he was his key to reaching godhood. On the other hand, you were determined to impede Dottore's experiment. He was initially amused until you discovered his human experimentation on god residues and Delusions. He sighed at the unfortunate turn of events. Because of your stubborn nature, death was the only option for you. He could not waste his 'materials' anymore after all. Not to mention, your body seemed worthy of his attention.

"In the end, you could not protect him. Hilarious. You could have just accepted my terms, and I would have been lenient with the Balladeer. How pitiful." He chaffed. You tightly held onto his wrist, desperate to pull the scalpel out of your heart, but Dottore pushed further. Your vision blurred as your breathing slowed down.

"Y-You'll get your karma soon...bastard." He dismissed your threats and threw you off the snowy cliffs. You watched his figure disappear in the snowstorm. Thoughts of Scaramouche filled your mind, pained apologies uttered in the howling winds. Your memories ended bittersweetly.

As you opened your eyes, your gaze landed on Wanderer (Scaramouche, Kunikuzushi, or Kabukimono, his names overwhelmed you). He gently held your figure against him, and the kind act warmed your insides. Yet, the guilt in your person coated your heart.

"I'm sorry... for leaving you..." You muttered, holding his hand tightly. Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes until they fell one by one. Soon, you were a sobbing mess. He smiled ruefully and kissed your forehead.

"I should be the one who's sorry, stupid. You endured my god-awful attitude and even had to deal with the Doctor. Ha! The nerve of that narcissistic bastard." He replied. You weakly chuckled before resting your body against him in exhaustion.

"You know I'm willing to do everything for you. It was all for you." You mumbled before your consciousness absconded.

The space around you dispersed. Nahida appeared and greeted you with a smile. She noticed your fatigued figure and let you relax for the time being. The Dendro Archon focused her attention on Wanderer and inquired about what occurred inside. He scoffed and turned his back to her.

"They got their memories back, and... we were able to reconcile. There are still many things to discuss, so we will take our leave. You have my gratitude, wise god." He fixed your figure against his hold and left the Sanctuary of Surasthana. Nahida shook her head and remembered that Wanderer forgot to give his report about the Tree of Dreams.

"I'll just pull him back here tomorrow. I'm sure (Y/N) will understand if I take their lover away for a while." She giggled.

The following day was filled with reticent apologies and assurance. Wanderer with his attitude while you with the broken promise. It was out of character for him to be affectionate, but this was his chance to make up for what he made you go through. Once that was fulfilled, he whispered that you were free to leave him and have a happy life, but you immediately opposed it.

"This time, this time, don't let me go, Kuni." You begged. His eyes widened, and his fingers trembled against yours. To him, you were too nice for the cruel world he knew. If possible, he would like to hide you from the ugly things of Teyvat, but you would surely be angry at him.

"You're right. I'm the stupid one. Then this time, we will be together for eternity. I'll make sure this small wish will be ours to fulfill." You smiled at his words.

"By the way, if I recall correctly, weren't you supposed to report to Lord Nahida about the Tree of Dreams? I recall Araja talking about the progress of the plan about it." You uttered. Wanderer froze. He totally forgot about it after the incident yesterday.

'She's right. I believe you have to come to my office now, Wanderer. Or do you want me to drag you back to the sanctuary in front of your lover?' A gentle voice resonated around his home. He scowled before standing up to prepare. You lightly laughed.

Standing up, you picked up his hat and placed it on his head. He was surprised but more taken aback when you kissed his cheeks. The sudden affection made him flustered.

"We have an eternity to compensate for the lost time." You whispered. He gently held your hand and nuzzled it. It was this warmth you had been chasing in your dreams. You finally remember the person you fell in love with, and the promise between you two was forged anew.

'Not to interrupt this ending, (Y/N), but you might want to tell Tighnari that you're a living person. I think you spook the living mushrooms out of him after Little Collei asked who he was talking to from your last visit.' Nahida urged. You blinked owlishly before following Wanderer outside. You did have some explaining to do, and you might as well visit Araja and the others while you were at it.

Please do not copy or repost my stories, but notes and reblogs are always appreciated!

[papermatisse]

Lost and Found || B.BH

♔ pairing: dionysus!byun baekhyun x f!ariadne!reader

♔ genre: angst, one-shot, fluff

♔ word count: 3.5k

♔ warnings: abandonment, murder

♔ abstract: Love comes with all kinds of sacrifices, and after everything she'd sacrificed for her own hopeful romance, all she really wanted was a lover to live with for the rest of her mortal existence. Though the universe—and for that matter the gods who inhabit it—has a cruel sense of humor.

♔ author's note: I've been thinking of writing a Greek mythology story for all of the exos (ot8 [minus Chen, the nation's husband and father]). I have a few plans already, though this one felt the easiest and quickest to execute cause I really wanted to test out and fix my link/tag issue on here 😔

for context, here's a rough synopsis of the Theseus story: the king of Crete angered Poseidon who cursed the queen into woohooing with the king's bull, thus creating a minotaur named Asterion. mortified by this creation, they banished him into a maze and alienated him as if he were nothing, thus creating the bloodthirsty monster he was. the king's son went to Athens bc they themselves had a minotaur problem, but their minotaur wound up killing him. the king of Crete blamed the king of Athens and after some altercations, it resulted in an annual tradition of sending a select few Athenians to serve as tribute and be eaten by Asterion. one of these tributes was Theseus, son of the king of Athens, and he actually defeated the Athenian minotaur. to help him in defeating Asterion, the Crete king's daughter, Ariadne, gave Theseus yarn so he'd be able to navigate the maze, which helped him in killing Asterion. afterwards, they sailed to Naxos, where he abandoned her. interpretations vary of course, but most involve Dionysus marrying Ariadne afterwards bc he fell in love w her.

masterlist

Nestled within the Aegean Sea, lost amongst the plethora of islands which dotted the cerulean expanse of the ocean, lays the idyllic yet ever forlorn island of Naxos. Viridescent fields of crops and greenery encompass the entirety of the island, sloped along the verdant hills which make up its landscape. The only obstruction to its rolling plains was that of its mountain at the very heart of the island, as well as the sandy beaches which encircled it all in a protective ring of golden grains.

Upon first arrival, it had seemed nothing short of picturesque—perhaps even going so far as being the most beautiful sight she'd ever observed in her rather dull and sheltered life thus far. The warmth of the sand which greeted her once she'd hopped off the boat felt like the welcoming embrace of a new start, the fine grains sinking beneath her every step as if accommodating to her new presence. The seas lapped against the shores as if reaching out to her, waving—both metaphorically and literally—like it were greeting an old friend. And the winds which carried with it the strong aroma of sea salt and petrichor encompassed her being in a cool and refreshing embrace, nearly cementing the thought that circulated in her head of what a perfectly quaint and romantic escape Naxos was for her and her lover to settle in and establish their new lives together.

At least that's how it had all felt no more than a day ago. It was astounding how much could change upon settling down to rest after the strenuous voyage to Naxos. A mere daytime nap, meant to simply reinvigorate her, had suddenly turned her whole world upside down, because upon opening her eyes, her lover, with whom she'd risked her entire life in order to save, had all but vanished: him, his boat, and by extension, her heart along with him. She couldn't even see a single speck of him remaining on the horizon, and the thought that he had left her the moment she'd fallen asleep felt ever more disparaging.

Now, she sat along the shore. The sands, cooled with the setting sun, cradled her dejected form. The cacophony of waves crashing against the island served to drown out her cries. And the winds, which had grown significantly weaker as the day waned, brushed against her face as if to gently wipe away her tears. Naxos, with its surreal beauty and tender acceptance, had become no more a prison prompted by her own circumstances just as her accomodations had been on Crete. Exchanging one pitiful excuse of a home for another, though now she was utterly alone.

And all she could do was cry to herself. Cry over her foolishness to have risked everything for a boy she'd fallen for so rashly. Cry over her imminent future and the dread of the unknown which lay in waiting for her. Cry over the abandonment and outright rejection from someone she once believed to be her soulmate.

What a miserable life she led.

What a tragic course of events she followed.

What an absolutely pathetic human being she was.

And how utterly vexing it was that she could not even wallow in her own self-pity by her lonesome for very long.

“(y/n)?”

Her body seemed to register the foreign voice before her mind had, as she slowly turned her tear stricken face towards the newcomer. Though once her eyes met those of the familiar deity, now standing a mere few feet away from her, she quickly turned back to her original position, staring out at the sea. By now, the harsh line of the horizon had become ingrained into her corneas, remaining in her vision even when her eyes were closed, yet she continued to stare forward, hoping to find a stray boat somewhere in the distance. Hoping to see her beloved rushing back to her as if his initial departure was nothing more than an accident. Hoping to fall back into his arms and forget the worries incessantly plaguing her mind.

Though once more, these desires went unanswered, and instead, she was met by this ever so gentle touch skimming carefully over her back.

“(y/n), look at me.”

The demand hadn't held much of an authoritative tone, more so that of an insistent plea, one where she could faintly discern the shreds of desperation laced in between. Yet she remained as is, eyes trained on the ocean, waiting. She thought by ignoring him, he'd leave her alone. Allow her to grieve in peace without his mischief and revelric tendencies. Let her sulk in her misfortune without being reminded of her affiliation with him. Yet he could not even spare her this one luxury.

Instead, in her periphery, she found him crouching onto the sand beside her, seating himself in a way so he could remain attached to her side. The heavy weight of his gaze lingered upon her, even as she attempted to ignore his presence as a whole. Though he seemed none the wiser to her efforts, or perhaps he merely couldn't care less what she thought of him—not that she's out right proclaimed her opinion of said god, but from mere context clues given their history together, she was sure he had a general understanding of where she stands with him.

It had been a few years since she first met Baekhyun. A rather untimely meeting with the god of wine and revelry, one marked by unrequited affections which has since plagued her every waking moment. She had never processed how burdensome it could become to be the apple of one's eye, especially if that particular person was a deity of Baekhyun's caliber, and one she felt nothing towards. And even now as she tends to a broken heart, abandoned on a remote island in the middle of nowhere with no means of escape, she still couldn't conceal the discomfort she felt in Baekhyun's presence, knowing fully well of his affections and how he had been waiting for her answer to his proposal.

Though unlike all the other times he’s randomly materialized before her, usually wreaking of that sickly sweet aroma of wine and teasing her relentlessly until she was pleading for him to leave her be, he sat there calmly and quietly, waiting for her to acknowledge him. It was a peculiar shift in his modus operandi, one that did not go by unnoticed by (y/n), yet even with the silence he granted her, she couldn't bear to speak to him as she usually would.

Humiliation silently lingered in the air even before she could say anything. She didn't know what she'd tell Baekhyun had he pestered her in his usual manner. The last thing on her mind was telling the man who proposed to her—with whom she'd essentially left unanswered—that the man she intended on running away with forever had all but left her stranded on an island to die in solitude. Though somehow, there was a small inkling in her that felt like Baekhyun already knew. And perhaps a smaller, more hopeful part of her believed he was here not to torment her, but rather to check up on her, ensure she was fairing well.

Hesitantly, her eyes strayed from where they'd been zeroed in along the horizon, sparing Baekhyun a small and brief glance.

It was odd. His eyes seemed duller now, a more muted umber tone devoid of that trademark glint he usually dons when running amok. He usually always bore this confident, bordering on cocky, grin that seemed all too pleased with himself and his shenanigans, yet now his lips were naturally downturned, perhaps the first time she's ever seen his mouth in its natural resting position. Even his scent was more subdued, and she was able to pick up the rich undertones of grapes usually concealed by his alcoholic carousing. His gaze was dropped, steadily trained on her hands laying in her lap, and the undivided attention only prompted more discomfort on her part as she fiddled with the fabric of her dress.

She had half a mind to ask him if he was okay, momentarily forgetting her own plight once she saw the shift in demeanor of Baekhyun. Though the silence that encompassed them prompted her own wariness in approaching the subject.

And so they remained as is, the sun now meeting the horizon, igniting the sky into a mural of warm, fiery hues. As the sun continued to set, it dyed the blue depth of the waters into a color akin to wine with its deep and rich crimson shade.

Without realizing it, her mind had begun wandering back to Baekhyun, curious as to why he remained by her side even as she ignored him. And though she didn't know for how long she'd strayed with these thoughts, she did know it was his presence alone that managed to briefly distract her from her current situation.

“Why are you here?” (y/n) asked, voice gravelly from misuse. For a moment, she was met with silence, the ocean serving as white noise to fill the void. But as she dared another glance his way, she saw his somber countenance. It was a foreign expression to be gracing his face, and she found herself intrigued by the furrow of his brow as he remained lost in thought.

“I went to visit you on Crete…” He finally responded, the timbre of his voice lowering with raw solemnity. “I know how you get with the annual tributes, so I wanted to be there for you.”

She shied away at this, never fully processing how Baekhyun's sporadic appearances coincided with certain times. And it was true. Every year as the Athenian tributes arrived on Crete, she distanced herself until after these events were done and over with. Though as she now recollected memories from recent years, she began putting together Baekhyun's arrivals were never truly as spontaneous as she first made them out to be.

He was always there whenever she was at her lowest. She thought it was intentional as a way of tormenting her when she's at rock bottom, but as he continued speaking, a pit of remorse began accumulating within her heart.

“Instead, I was met with… chaos. Carnage. Disorder.” He paused, turning his head in a direction she could only assume was where Crete faced. “Asterion was dead. A tribute had escaped. And the princess had all but disappeared.”

At his final statement, (y/n) stared down in shame. She knew there would be repercussions for her actions, but she thought she'd have been long gone at this point. Too far away to even spare a moment of regret for having abandoned her family and her kingdom. Yet it all came back to bite her. Her brother, cursed and estranged as he was, had been killed. Theseus, her lover who she assisted the entire way through, had been the one to kill him. And she, princess of Crete, had run off in the midst of this mayhem.

“I'm sorry…” (y/n) whispered, voice strained as she fought back tears. “I'm so sorry. I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't bear to see more death. Every single year without fail they'd send these Athenians off to die by my brother's hands. And we'd just have to sit there and watch. Watch as they all lost themselves to the labyrinth. And Asterion would…”

As if having finally broken the floodgates, tears began streaming down her face without fail. The tragic life of her brother, born a monster and treated as such. And even if she had never interacted with him, even as she witnessed his bloodshed year after year, the knowledge of his death being instigated by her own involvement was debilitating enough to ground her back into reality.

The gravity of her predicament began to settle in. Sitting on an island, hopelessly waiting for a guy she had only just met and was ready to run away with forever. The realization that he used her for his own benefit, exploited her blind affections towards him only to then leave her for dead. He had probably already returned to Athens, assumed the role of hero who killed the minotaur of Crete—as well as that of their princess. And she sat there, longing for him for hours at a time, seated beside Dionysus himself. The absurdity of it all was almost laughable, and she'd probably be doing just that if it weren't for the overwhelming humiliation she felt coiled and festering within her.

“I helped him…” She confessed aloud. “I gave him the thread so he wouldn't get lost in the maze. I was the one who helped him defeat Asterion. I was the one who helped him escape. It was all my doing. And he left me here as repayment.”

Before she could continue, Baekhyun had suddenly shifted from his position, arms wrapping around her tightly and dragging her into his embrace. Any other time, she'd probably have swatted at him whilst yelling profanities, all while he laughed in delight at her hostility.

Yet now his touch didn't feel repulsive.

She could feel his warmth fully encompassing her, shielding her from the outside world. His hands clung to her body as if afraid she'd slip away from him at any moment. And now closer to him than ever before, she could smell his true aroma past the wine. An almost woodsy scent, just as warm as he was. Fruits and earth and nature as a whole. Faintly, she could smell the ocean intermingling with his scent.

It was so peculiar the way that distinct saltiness had first felt like a refreshing start to a new life, though shifted into an overwhelming and paralyzing apprehension that infested every aspect of her being. Though now, in Baekhyun's protective arms, it felt comforting. As if he himself dispelled it and this island of any and all of its negativity that consumed her.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tension from her body had melted away. The sound of his heartbeat coinciding with that of the calm waves was like a melodious harmony that transcended her into a state of utter tranquility. His breathing lulled her away from the worries that tormented her heart, and she finally felt at peace.

“Did you love him?” Baekhyun asked. His tone was more inquisitive than anything else. There were no hidden intentions with his question, and although hesitant to admit it aloud to him, for fear of hurting him, (y/n) felt at ease with telling Baekhyun the truth he sought.

“Yes,” she responded quietly. “But I regret it. I regret it all.”

“Don't.” His grip tightened around her, pressing his forehead against the top of her head. “You shouldn't regret the love you give people. Don't let this foolish boy disparage you from expressing yourself to your fullest potential.”

(y/n) remained quiet, surprised by the turn of the events, though still listening intently to Baekhyun's words.

“I've always held such deep admiration towards you. From the moment I met you till now. I could see the way you loved so genuinely and fully. And I thought it was beautiful. I thought you were beautiful. You shouldn't grieve over an unrequited love. Loss serves as a reminder of the love we once felt, and the remorse we feel further exemplifies that. Your love is something so wonderful. Something I adore greatly.”

As he spoke, his warmth seemed to intensify. Filled with familiarity and security, coaxing her further into his embrace until she buried herself into the crook of his neck. He held her as if she were everything he had ever asked for. His touch was like ambrosia and nectar, the sweetest of prose to ever be professed, a safety like no other.

“I find myself wanting to be inconvenienced by you. I want to have you distracting me by lingering in my thoughts. I want to take time out of my day just to see you. I want to love you, even if you don't love me.”

At this, a sob slipped past her lips, and she clung onto him harder. Away from it all, everything inside her felt tumultuous and heightened. All of the emotions she'd been bottling up for years seemed to overflow in Baekhyun's presence alone. Her heart ached with grief, remorse, hatred, anger, defeat. Yet it also sang like never before, healing itself from years of anguish and torment.

And after the cathartic intervention came to a conclusion, faces marred by dried tears and eyes reddened with strain, a peaceful serenity had settled over the two. By now, the sun had long set. The cool of the night had begun penetrating the warmth of their embrace. The sand beneath them no longer retained the heat of the afternoon sun. The oceans were calm and still. The winds now settled into a gentle breeze. The world was asleep, silent in every regard. The day had ended and (y/n) had made it out alive, no doubt due to Baekhyun's influence.

Panic begin settling in her as he shifted, rising to his feet and pulling her up with him. Though when she met his gaze, loving and sweet and attentive, she began to settle once more. His hands held her own, thumbs softly brushing over her knuckles, all the while maintaining his sight on her face.

“What would you like to do?” He asked. “I can build you a palace here on Naxos, away from the cruelties of the world and the people who inhabit it.” His smile grew wider, bearing that familiar wickedness whenever he was up to no good. “I could overthrow the monarchy of Crete and reinstate you as its sole sovereign, allow you to redeem yourself and your honor, perhaps even reestablish Crete as a just and fair kingdom.” Both options were tempting, neither having any inherent consequences as long as Baekhyun held sway in their components. And she could tell Baekhyun had more to say, but she quickly intercepted before he could propose another offer.

“I want to be with you.” Baekhyun blinked at this, chuckling as if she were telling a joke.

“I will be there. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“No.” Her hands slipped from his, reaching forth to cup his cheeks and bring him closer. “I choose you, Baekhyun.”

She pressed her lips against his own, soft and delicate. He seemed stunned for a moment, his body moving subconsciously for the first second or two, but once he had fully processed where he was and what was happening, Baekhyun began reciprocating. He kissed back just as earnestly, his hands reaching up to hold onto her wrists as he poured every ounce of his adoration into her. And (y/n) couldn't help but think how perfect it was.

She'd always thought love at first sight was perhaps the most romantic of gestures one could have. The act of finding your soulmate from a single encounter seemed so otherworldly and unmatched. Yet here in this moment with Baekhyun's body pressed against her own as he drew impossibly closer to her, his hands softly wandering in an attempt to map her form into his memory, she found this very moment to be the epitome of what love should be. A gradual fall into love. In a way, she can reminisce on growth and development, reflect on what was not there and how it came to be.

One of his hands had wandered to her hair, gently carding his fingers through the strands, and the other drew patterns on her waist, amorphous shapes that each portrayed his unspoken love for her. She thought back on every encounter she had with him. Every laugh he coaxed out of her even as she tried to hide away from the world. The bittersweet smiles he gave her every time she rejected or delayed his proposal. His neverending determination and devotion, even when facing adversities like herself. And with each revelation, each tender kiss from Baekhyun, her heart seemed to swell with love for him and him alone.

Once more, he was the one to pull away first, perhaps more in control of his long-standing affections than her, yet he didn't draw too far from her. Just far enough for him to look over her countenance with a lovestruck expression of his own. His eyes glistened with this saccharine-like joy, crinkling at the corners with his sweet smile dedicated to her. And she found herself smiling back, an uncontrollable jubilance bubbling in her as she reveled in his affections.

“Come then,” he spoke softly, hands returning back to hers. He brought one up to his lips, pressing one final kiss to her fingers. “Let's go home.”

[vermont-writes-fanfic]

How about some headcanons of Rip, Alucard, Schrodinger and Captain with S/O, who don't have very good opinion on humanity (not to the point of wanting humans' complete extermination, but still...)?

Hey anon! I know you asked for this a looong time ago, but I have some time so I thought why not do it! I wasn't sure exactly what you meant but I took it as the reader not having a good opinion of humanity and not the other's you had requested hope you don't mind! Also, doing this in parts!

Alucard(You are here) Rip Schrodinger Captain

Request: Yes

Warnings: Pessimism, kind self-disgust if you squint, mentions of wine

Sidenote: Reader is a human for Alucard and Rip, thought it would be interesting 

The conversation started when you were talking about the ghouls Alucard had torn through that day, you are well aware he doesnt have a very good perception of the ghouls and vampires that he has to chase around and neither did you.. He had brought up the targets of the particular hooligans he chased down which brought you to a bitter scoff. He watched with amusement as you rolled your eyes and took a sip of the wine you had on the bedside table. With a chuckle that seemed to almost come out as a purr he questions your behavior.

“Where did that come from?”

“Where did what come from?”

“That , I’ve never seen you so bothered.”

“Well it’s easy to be bothered with the human race, humans in general.” You say, taking another long sip of your drink.

“You’re a human,” he mentions, to which you nod your head and continue..

“I am, and I can’t stand my existence any more than I can any other humans… In a way, these vampires and ghouls serve as a reminder of just how awful humanity is. Given the chance of immortality and life you decide to go on a spree of mindless indulgence rather than refine your abilities and stay in hiding. Never satisfied with what we are given, it’s annoying really, our mindless gluttony.” You elaborate, swirling the dark ruby liquid in your crystalline glass.

He observes you, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he watches your movements. He couldn’t help the small feeling of  amused shock at the disdain in your voice ans you spoke your rather pessimistic piece to him.

“More, more, more, we are never satiated by anything. We get out of our parents homes to get away from the control but lose free food and shelter and so driven by necessity we get a job under someone elses control. And we pursue this even more than we need to, we want raises, side hustles,, so many not because they need it, but rather because they want the extra cash for some materialistic desire that will only sasiate our petty greed to show off what we have for a temporary time frame before we are woking for more things we don’t truly need. We ca[italise on others poor emotions and the unfortunate events around us for monetary gain or popularity and then drop it the moment it serves us no use. Greedy things we are, it is so embedded into our nature that when we lose all autonomy and become a ghoul all we want is more to feed off of and consume.” The tone of your voice could only be described as disgusted.

As you pause in your degrading tirade Alucard looks at you and laughs loudly, much to your irritation and for a long bit before settling down and tilting his head down to look at you from over the bride of his glasses.

“You humans are interesting, I never knew one to have such a view,”

“Us humans are disgusting, we only benefit others for our own gain. We are selfish and self-cented creatures at our filthy cores and I truly can’t stand being one myself. Everyone in this place that has humanity is still corrupted by it. It’s awful really…”

“Seras doesn’t seem to mind, she clings to that humanity you detest pathetically.”

“Only because it was taken from her, she was too determined to let her life be taken in any way than the one she had planned and so desperately she clings to every part of her human life she can retain, simply because it wasn’t her choice. Sir Integra, is saving the people of london not by the queens orders but as a way to get revenge and prove to her father and her uncle who you killed that she can do this job just as well as the other Hellsings who had the spot before her and her father. Walter is following the Hellsing organisation simply because he was once recruited for his own selfish reasons and is bound to Sir Integra and every soldier their is greedy for the title of glory and a false sense of pride and duty that comes with supposedly saving the rest of the world from those true coloured ghouls.. Everything us humans do, is driven by our own selfishness and greed. I’m only here to begin with because Sir Interga gave me a choice to prove myself and get revenge on the filthy monsters that nearly took my life. Simply for my own satisfaction, I mean even my being here with you now., in a way is my selfish need to have you as my own, and mine alone.”

He listens as you speak and slides a large hand up your back, the other taking away the now empty glass from your hand. A smirk plays on his lips, clearly amused by his darlings perspective on humanity and their own kind. Normally you kept your rants to a minimum, but the bottle of wine that had made it down your lips  seems to have really opened you up. As you huff and roll your eyes, he chuckles, not only at that but at the way you thought. So pessimistic and borderline cynical, something about it had made him a little excited but before he can say anything you are dosing off the wine having caught up with you as you slumber away. Above your sleeping form, he adds his own thoughts, seeing as you had barely allowed him the chance at all to speak.

“You humans are greedy, yes, but in the end only you humans and your humanity can even hope to kill monsters like me.”

[a-strange-inkling]

A bit more of the Count of Monte Cristo AU, featuring some baby hellcheer and Jason’s POV:

*

Christina was meant to be his.

Jason knew that.

It was predestined, written in the stars. He had known it the moment he first saw her when they were just children, playing in the fields in the countryside, her hair like honey beneath her bonnet, eyes gray and blue like the seaside. When they would run through the tall grass together, he would hold out his hand and she would take it and she would smile.

It was a small smile, shy, but it was still bright… It was. He hadn’t made it all up. He knew she loved him. She had to… How couldn’t she?

One couldn’t pretend to love. She was going to be his wife one day.

Nothing was more certain until the earth shifted beneath his feet that day in the early summer when he took Christina out to the market, her arm tucked safely in the crook of his own. Sheltered little thing as she was, she was enthralled by the people, the smells and the sounds. Jason had some coins in his pocket that Father had given him and he would buy her something pretty to wear if she liked, maybe some ribbons for her golden hair, or something sweet for her to taste on her tongue. Maybe she’d even let her kiss him in secret behind the linen stands where no one could see. They were twelve at the time and he was so eager to please her, to enchant her.

It was a perfect day, until she suddenly tugged at his sleeve and he looked down to see her staring off toward the town center, her eyes sparkling. “Jason, what is that boy's name?”

Jason’s brows lowered in confusion and followed her gaze to see just who she was speaking of. Edward—rather Eddie—Munson sat at the edge of the fountain a small distance away, playing his guitar with a straw hat at his feet, collecting dust and spare change from those passing by. His dark eyes were on them, on Christina, smiling at her like a damned fool.

Jason frowned immediately.

“Who? Eddie?” He had known Eddie his whole life. His uncle managed in his father’s shipyard and Eddie served as the cabin boy on the Loch Nora for the last three years. He was a few years older than him, illiterate and poor as the dirt he was covered in. “He just works for my father.”

“Are you friends?” she asked.

“Yes, I suppose,” Jason replied with a stiff shrug, feeling suddenly kind of embarrassed about his companionship with the penniless orphan… the ship builder’s nephew. Eddie was amusing and good at playing catch when Jason’s studies were a bit too boring. He liked him well enough, but he still felt the need to explain himself to her. He was a viscount after all. “He's the only one around who’s my age.”

Christina nodded in understanding, half listening as she just kept staring at Eddie. Their eyes still locked on one another. Jason began to feel his own sweat staining the linen of his shirt under the hot sun as he looked back and forth between them in nervous confusion. He could not for the life of him understand what was happening here. “Did you wish to make his acquaintance?”

“I already have,” she replied softly. “He just hadn’t told me his name.”

“…Where?” Jason tried not to snap in confusion, a strange sort of dread filling his lungs. Where on earth had his perfect, delicate Christina meet rough and rowdy Edward Munson? He cleared his throat. “Where did you meet him?”

She didn’t answer him, just smiled shyly down at the cobbled street. “…He plays so well, does he not?”

“I…I guess.” Before he could grab hold of her, she slipped away from him, floating toward the music, toward Edward, as if cast under some spell by his playing… or perhaps by his eyes that she had yet to look away from.

“Hey, what are you doing? Wait up.” He called after her, scrambling forward. “Christina!” She was not supposed to leave his side. She was his to look after. His Christina.

His.

“Could we go listen?” she asked as if she wasn't already going to do just that, not even bothering to look over her shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to wander off!” He huffed, pushing past the crowd, falling behind Christina's light and graceful steps weaving her through the myriad with far more ease.

Eddie’s smile grew brighter at her coming, looking almost breathless with wonder when she reached his side, it was like he was looking at the sun for the first time after living underground his whole life. “Hello again.” he greeted her, his song slowing down to something more gentle and sweet, his eyes glimmering with delight.

“Hello.” Chrissy replied a little shyly, curtsying politely.

“…I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” There was some amusement in his tone, some secret between them that made fire burn behind Jason’s eyes.

“My family summers here, near the seaside,” she told him, folding her hands in front of her skirts. “…I wanted to thank you.”

Thank him? For what exactly?

Eddie’s gaze softened as his eyes glided over her face, his fingers stilling against the chords. “It was nothing… I’m glad you’re alright.”

[cutsiewitch]

Bitter Witch & Blunt Doll

As The Witch looks down at the people walking the roads and paths beneath her balcony she sips her tea. The tea is sour, the kind of sour that makes her mouth tingle and salivate. The Witch watched the pedestrians go about their business beneath her. The Witch saw other witches walking along, their dolls in tow. The Witch couldn’t stop the scowl from crawling onto her face.

She couldn’t help but despise them, the witches and even the dolls to a degree.

She saw the compassion they held for each other. To let yourself be so subservient to someone else, to offer them complete control. To take complete control of someone else, to have that power over someone. The thought made her sick, and the sight reminded The Witch of the absence of a doll of her own, which only added bitterness to the equation.

The Witch had never had a doll before. The Witch thought about it sometimes, of course. Witches and dolls were an iconic pair. You usually didn’t have one without the other. Dolls got their purpose from a witch, and witches were completed and complimented by their dolls.

The Witch had always felt uncomfortable with the idea of owning a doll, though. She hated the feeling of ordering others around, and having others do things she was more than capable of doing made The Witch feel lazy and almost infantile.

The Witch used to justify the absence by just saying it wasn’t for her. Today however, The Witch couldn’t shake that bitter feeling, so she made up her mind. She took another long drink from her sour cup of tea, focused on the tingling sensation in her mouth, and then got up and started getting ready to head out.

The Witch was heading to a local shelter for dolls without anyone to serve. While dolls could possibly take care of themselves just fine, it was a lot better for others to take care of them, in a sort of symbiosis. The Shelter was almost like a miniature apartment complex, affording each doll a small space for itself and several communal spaces for all of them to gather at.

The Witch made it to the shelter after a relatively short walk. She met an attendant at the counter and explained softly that she was looking to take in a doll. The attendant nodded and asked The Witch a few questions before leading her into the back where the rooms of the dolls were.

As the attendant led The Witch down the hall she tried her best not to look any of the dolls in their eyes. Most of the dolls didn’t fit the criteria The Witch had set her mind on. Most of the dolls looked at her with eager curiosity, rushing up to the doors and windows to get a look at the new witch. Some simply shied away, just as eager but also nervous and shy, a lot meeker than the others. The Witch did her best to be nice to them, smiling back with as genuinely as she could muster.

The Witch didn’t want an average doll, one that would be subservient for her. The Witch wasn’t comfortable with the kind of power dynamic they were after. She didn’t want complete control over her doll, and she knew well that most dolls here wouldn’t stop her from taking it. The Witch didn’t want to trust herself to not try.

The Witch ended up near the back of the large shelter, having not found a suitable doll yet. She stopped, finding a room she thought vacant. The Witch came closer to the window and saw that the room wasn’t empty at all, and instead housed a doll, sitting in the dark. The Doll had a look on its face, not eagerness or nervous curiosity, but annoyance.

A smile crept onto The Witch’s face, a satisfied smirk that tugged at her lips in a truly genuine way. The Witch asked the attendant if she could enter the room and the attendant agreed absent-mindedly, not yet realizing which door The Witch had meant.

Upon entering the dark room The Witch saw The Doll better in the light of the hallway. The Doll looked particularly menacing, brooding in the corner with a mean scowl that was aimed right at The Witch. It stood and to The Witch’s surprise it was even taller than she was, which didn’t happen often for her.

The Witch greeted The Doll but it remained silent. The Witch tried asking it about itself but was again met with silence and a mean look. Reluctantly, The Witch turned to the attendant and asked them about The Doll. The attendant said it was a retired combat doll, discharged from service due to violent tendencies. It was clear that the attendant was nervous about the situation. They hovered by the door, a worried expression on their face as they spoke. They even took occasional glances at The Doll, as if worried it would attack them or The Witch.

The Witch nodded in understanding, and turned back to The Doll. The Witch asked The Doll if it would like to come home with her. The attendant visibly jolted in shock, and quickly began rambling to The Witch about how The Doll had been returned several times due to violent outbursts and attacking witches. The attendant even offered The Witch a discount on the fees if she chose another doll.

The Witch just held a hand up to the attendant, silencing them. She turned back to the doll and looked at it with as honest of a look as she could. The Witch said that she wanted the doll to come home with her. The Witch knew that it had probably had several bad experiences with its previous witches, and that she understood her stand-offishness. The Witch couldn’t automatically make The Doll trust her, and she didn’t want that.

The Witch assured The Doll that she wanted what was best for it. The Doll could come if it wanted, but if it said no, right here and now, The Witch would leave, it had her word.

The Doll contemplated this. Seeming to take a long time to think. After a few minutes it got up and trudged over to The Witch, offering nothing but a nod.

The Witch smirked once more. A grin that split her face wide and made her eyes squint. The Witch and The Doll walked back to the front, following behind the frankly terrified attendant. The other dolls gave their noises of awe as they saw The Doll pass, and to its credit it actually managed to keep its cool. It wanted things to be different this time. It liked The Witch, It trusted her.

They got to the front desk and The Witch filled out more dull paperwork. At the end the attendant even tried handing her a coupon for a 30 day return policy with full refund. The Witch vehemently denied taking it, as she was sure she had made the right decision.

The Witch’s hopes were confirmed, when that same night The Doll almost killed her.

They had returned to The Witch’s home and The Witch began preparing a late dinner. The Witch had idly mentioned needing something from her bedroom. The Doll had gotten up to retrieve it, but The Witch rushed over, Trying to assure The Doll could just sit down and relax. The Witch had a knife in her hands from chopping vegetables, and when she grabbed The Doll’s hand to stop it from leaving, reflex and fear took control of The Doll before it could even think.

In a moment The Doll had slammed The Witch into the hardwood floor and pinned her there, one hand grabbing her shoulder and pressing it down, hard. Its other hand had grabbed the knife and turned it on The Witch, holding it up to her throat.

The Witch initially just looked shocked, obviously startled and dazed by the impact. The Doll was shocked too, but now also angry. It had acted on impulse, but that impulse had been right, she was so close to it, with a knife, what else could have happened next.

When The Witch got a hold of her senses again and saw the kitchen knife’s blade dangling an inch away from her throat, The Doll’s livid stare behind it, she smiled widely.

The Doll looked confused at that. She was happy? Why was The Witch happy? It was currently threatening her life, was she stupid or something?

The Witch spoke. She said how she really was hoping for this. That she was glad she made the right choice. The Doll just looked down at her confusedly and demanded she explain.

The Witch sighed and looked up at The Doll. She said she was happy that The Doll was willing to fight back. She wanted an angry doll, one with a backbone. She wanted someone who she knew for certain was strong enough to put The Witch in place. The Doll was still a bit confused, but it sort of saw what The Witch meant.

The Witch apologized to The Doll. She now realized how that must have looked from The Doll’s perspective. The Witch asked to be let up, and The Doll obliged. It was calmer now and knew both parties were somewhat at fault.

It apologized for its reaction, but The Witch assured it that she wasn’t mad.

The two continued the night in peaceful silence. The Witch would sometimes ask if it was ok with doing something for her, and The Doll would always oblige. The Doll would sometimes ask if there was something it could help with, and The Witch would give it a task to help her.

They spoke very few words, but by the end they had formed a unique bond. They felt like they had both finally found someone who could understand them. They ate the dinner they had prepared together and when night truly fell they both slept.

Both knowing that someone else was there in the house with them helped both sleep more soundly than either had in a very long time.

[lisa-and-shadow]

Arisen & Pawn Info

Using the template from @arisenreborn thank you 🙏

For Lyra and Gariad 💕

The Arisen

Vocation: Magical Archer

Name: Lyra

Race: Human

Pronouns: she/her

What was their life like before becoming Arisen?

Lyra was born into a noble family in Vermund who had made their fortune in trade and export. Her father ran the family business while her mother spent her time on making social connections. Lyra's upbringing was heavily focused on training to be a proper noblewoman in preparation for adulthood. She was given etiquette classes, dancing lessons, taught to sing, and how to run a household. After begging for sword fighting lessons, a compromise was reached, and she was taught archery. (Her mother claimed it was more ladylike.) Lyra adored it and took to the bow quickly. As Lyra got older she found the rigidity of noble life stifling. She was constantly being tutored or critiqued. And her mother seemed intent on disagreeing with every idea or suggestion she had. Her father was kind, but often absent. Her main source of comfort was her maid, Katla, who served her since she was an infant. Any time her mother lectured her or belittled her, Lyra would come back to her chambers and Katla would sooth her and braid her hair. As a young adult she was charming and lovely, so her father saw an opportunity and sent Lyra as a liason to meet prospective clients. She would travel with Katla, two agents from the firm, and a small retinue of security. Lyra reveled in her new found freedom, such as it was. She enjoyed the opportunity to work for her father and the trust he placed in her. She acted in this role for several years, becoming an indispensable part of her father's company. It was on one of these trips, while their carriage was stopped for the night in Melve, that Lyra became Arisen.

How do they handle being Arisen, and the responsibilities that come with it?

Lyra was overwhelmed to say the least. When the dragon attacked, she had jumped between it and her maid Katla as well as the villager, Ulrika. By some twist of fate, Katla was killed, Ulrika survived, and Lyra became Arisen. Once she regained her memories, she had to grieve, on top of processing being Arisen. But deep down, she truly enjoys it. It's frightening. But she's never felt more alive or more free in her entire life. She takes her responsibilities, her Charge, very seriously. Somehow she feels like this is what she was meant to be doing.

What are their thoughts on Pawns in general?

She had always seen pawns in Vernworth and wondered about them. What were they like? Where did they came from? But having been brought up as a rather sheltered individual, Lyra didn't ever interact with them. She only knew what she heard about them, so she thought of them as a curiosity. But she always felt a sort of sympathy for them, being under the control of someone else through no fault of their own. She could relate.

What's their relationship like with their main Pawn?

When Lyra was told to imagine the person who would protect her, she hadn't even pictured anything yet when the Riftstone lit up before her. She had opened her mouth to question the pawn who'd led her there, when suddenly, Gariad had stepped out of the Rift. As soon as she saw him it was as though she'd known him before. Their bond was instant. She felt a bit awkward at first, with him calling her Master. But having him by her side felt right somehow. He was her aegis against all who would harm her. Traveling together, she grew to care for him deeply. Eventually she stopped seeing him as a Pawn. Soon she realized she loved him.

Who are their love interest(s) and/or closest friends?

Lyra realized that she had fallen in love with Gariad one night at home. The firelight from the hearth was warm across his features and she looked at him and felt a pang in her chest where her heart should be. They shared their first kiss that night and nothing was the same after that. This is the most serious relationship Lyra has been in as she has avoided her mother's attempts at matchmaking. Her previous dalliances pale in comparison. As for friends, she was surprised to meet a failed former Arisen at the hot springs. Lamond is a bit of an enigma, but he's been a good friend and unexpected mentor. While everyone else seems fixated on lofty goals, he's entirely pragmatic. And he seems to genuinely care about her. They've shared some long talks, but she has declined his awful hardboiled eggs.

What drew them to their preferred vocation? Do they have history with it?

With her previous training in archery, it seemed a natural progression to try magical archery. After meeting Cliodhna and receiving her instruction, it turned out that Lyra was adept at the vocation. She showed an innate proclivity for it. Lyra had no idea she had any magical abilities prior to this.

Do they have any hobbies? Any way of relaxing between all that monster-slaying and traveling?

Unfortunately, most of Lyra's "hobbies" were forced upon her as a child. The dancing, the singing, the poetry lessons... all were for educational purposes, not pleasure. So now she finds herself luxuriating in being able to do nothing. She enjoys reading a cheap novel, or going to the tavern, or simply sitting by the fire with a glass of wine. Her free time is scarce so these nights are rare.

The Pawn

Vocation: Fighter

Name: Gariad

Race: Human

Pronouns: he/him

What was their life like prior to being summoned by their Arisen?

Gariad's memories prior to being summoned are hazy. He remembers bits and pieces. Days and nights spent in camp with other soldiers. Fighting... both monsters and men. Honing his skills in battle, testing his mettle in preparation for when he was needed. Although he could not say precisely when that would be. Traveling across countrysides in a land far away and unrecognizable. And dreaming of the Arisen.

What is their opinion on the Arisen? How do they view their relationship?

Upon exiting the Rift and seeing her face for the first time, he knew her. He had dreamt of her. But he hadn't known she would be so inexperienced. She seemed highly intelligent yet naive in some ways. Wide eyed, but determined. He admired her tenacity. And he was glad to be the one to protect her, to be the bulwark at her back. As a Pawn, Gariad felt an unwavering bond to the Arisen. Over time however, he began to feel something else, something that gnawed at him. These urges, these feelings, towards Lyra at times threatened to overwhelm him but he dared not act on them. Then one evening Lyra had placed her hand on his cheek and kissed him. His heart felt like it would burst with happiness. Their relationship has only deepened since.

What is their specialization and is there any story behind how they cultivated that skill set?

Gariad is fluent in the Elvish tongue. Although he isn't entirely sure when or where he learned the language. It's a skill he picked up during his time across the Rift. It has come in very handy at times. Lyra was particularly surprised when he was able to translate for Glyndwr's family.

Is there a reason they chose their preferred vocation?

Gariad has always been a fighter or a soldier for as long as he can remember. It's all he's ever known, and he's damn good at it. He'll tell anyone who asks that his preferred place is in the middle of the action, right in the thick of things. But more importantly, he wants to protect the people he's traveling with. The way he sees it, if he's getting hit then his comrades aren't. When he and Lyra travel together, he always walks out in front, eyes scanning the roadside, looking for trouble. He's ready to jump between danger and his Arisen at any moment.

Do they have any hobbies or preferred past-times?

He's a simple man. He likes to have a pint down at the tavern and play a hand or two of cards. Now with Lyra, he's also been joining her for wine by the fire in her little house. He's very fastidious about his armor and weapons. So he spends a lot of time doing small repairs and maintenance on his and Lyra's gear. Sometimes he sings or hums while he works and he catches Lyra smiling at him.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

I feel like the Cousins from Other Dimensions would have a weird time with Christmas if they celebrate at all. Harry celebrates in the sense Revin(his aunt who possesses her own skull after her death) harasses her sibling into providing some sort of culture for him so Hallor puts up a tree after asking some people and gives gifts it’s just there is little tradition or belief? Hallor is bound to Lolth as much as they hate the goddess and Revin is dead but possessing a skull. It’s very much a holiday for the family meant to show they love each other.

Izuku celebrates to, sort of. Izuku stopped actually believing in a higher power after Inko died, or at least stopped believing any where kind. Being under Lord Malivor is too heavy for faith like that. Eri however is kind, gentle and Izuku wants to give her whatever she wants. Ashan, who lost everything and rebuilt herself, helps. They had a festival around that time to celebrate the mushroom harvest (she lived underground. Seasons are weird okay?) so there are hints of that in the celebrations. Gifts of handmade items and a big meal that is served to them and then taken to the homeless shelter to continue.

Tsuna isn’t Christian or any sort of Christ based faith. He was Shinto before and still believes now. Fairbraid doesn’t celebrate anything, not really. She doesn’t believe in giving any spirit power over you which she firmly thinks doing something like celebrating their birth or death would do. They focus more on New Years, and just have a chicken dinner for Christmas. They’ll send gifts to the cousins but both don’t care enough about it otherwise.

Naruto was born in a world without Christmas and who had a Shinto faith. He believes so much in it, given Briar came after a prayer. Briar follows Ilmater and respects his holidays. The two didn’t even know of the day until the whole cousins thing. Naruto likes trading gifts, and Briar enjoys the helping aspect. She volunteers a lot in Izuku’s dimension at soup kitchens.

[quietlyimplode]

Things you taught me when I was young

4 times Melina’s life intersects with Natasha’s; and the one time it doesn’t.

AN: warnings for child abuse, death, relinquishment of a child. I’m not really happy with this one, but has been clarifying in setting straight some of my thoughts about Melina. (bwf2022 (day 4), 3.2k, gif not mine.)

1/

Promises. Promises.

Melina stands in front of Dreykov, the urge to roll her eyes terminal as she curls her fists instead.

The genetic testing of the first line of Widows had proved that whatever they had been injected with had made them sterile.

Followed by the complete hysterectomy, the Red Room had shot themselves in the foot.

Women, were child bearers, they didn’t need to steal children, buy them, traffic them, when they could birth them onsite.

But, the men running the program decided that they wanted the enhancements more than they wanted to fund child bearing women, so, the mission was finding those that would inevitably be worthy.

Dreykov pats her face condescendingly.

“You’re supposed to be smart, this can be your special mission. Pick two others. Find six children with potential. If they succeed, you live. If they don’t, I suppose back to basics for you.”

She knows he means reconditioning.

Reprogramming.

Mind wipe.

She sighs inaudibly.

“Yes sir.”

Melina has a good place to start. What men don’t know is that women will always be ten times more cunning and street smart than their oppressors; survival always breeds it’s own type of street smarts.

Homeless shelters.

Since the end of the Cold War (if it had indeed ended) meant the displacement of thousands, the divide between those that were aligned with the bureaucracy and those that didn’t.

She knows it’s self serving, that it’s wrong, but if she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t care.

.

There’s a holy man she ignores as she walks through the door.

“Can I help you?” he asks, gently.

“I’m here for my sister,” she tells him, looking around for where the women’s quarters are.

“Where are the women held?”

She pushes past him, seeing a small child peeking from around the door.

Jackpot, she thinks. Where there are children there are women. The man doesn’t stop her as she enters and looks around. There’s two woman sitting on beds, both holding small infants.

Melina stands tall, changing her approach, her demeanor and rearranging her face to one of kindness, just like the instructors taught her.

“Hello,” she opens.

The women look to her and almost shrink. They’re unkempt, skinny, and wary.

She explains to them who she is, that the Red Room is an orphanage for girls, that they are fed; educated and supported.

It’s a safe life. A good life.

She tells them they can come back for their children when they want, and they can take them back.

It’s a lie, but they look to her with hope.

Melina knows it’s a long term play. But it’s a good one. If it works, it means a stream of girls.

The women hug their children tighter as she talks. She assures them, food, education, safety, and leaves them with a card with an address.

She visits two more and gets another idea.

.

There are orphanages.

Abandoned children, traumatised lives. It reeks of poverty and pain.

She tells the director she wants the youngest of girls. There’s no shortage.

They agree to two a year, with proper payment of course. He grabs her arm, and tells her he’s only doing this so he can feed the rest of the children.

She shrugs. She doesn’t care for his guilt.

Tells him she’ll return in three days for the two girls agreed upon.

Dreykov will be pleased.

She sees two more orphanages before lunch, and realises that by the end of the week, she got the six girls that he asked for.

.

The woman meets her at the gate as she walks to it. The day has been long but still she recognises her from the first orphanage.

She knows her because her infant has a wisp of red hair and her eidetic memory recalls the way the infant had watched her with intelligent eyes.

The infant is scrawling now, as the woman shushes her and calms the child with just words. She looks distraught as Melina meets her.

The woman is skinny, and Melina thinks she must have missed the cut off for the shelter.

Wind bites at her face and Melina shivers deeply and looks expectantly at her. The compound looms over them as they stand opposite each other.

“She will be safe?” The woman asks, desperate, angry at her choices in life.

Melina nods. Lies.

“The red room will be her home,” she tells her.

There’s a beat as she seems to battle inwards.

“I’ll come for you,” she promises, kissing her baby’s nose, her face, nuzzling in, appearing to memorise every inch.

“Stay alive,” Melina hears the woman say, “and I will too.”

She hugs the child tightly.

“I’ll come for you,” she promises.

“This is not forever.”

But Melina knows it is. Once the child is in her hands, she is the property of the Red Room.

The woman turns her back, hunching over her little girl, almost keening in grief.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs, tears coming fast, “this is not the end, I’ll come for you. Just stay alive; ok my Natalia? I’ll find you, I’ll always find you.”

Melina moves to touch her shoulder.

“Give her to me,” she says gently.

And the woman does.

She lifts the baby away, the blanket going with her. The bereaved stares as her red headed child, starts to cry, pathetically.

“You can go now,” Melina tells her.

But she seems to be rooted to the spot.

She wants her baby back.

“I’m sorry,” the woman sobs, falling to her knees as Melina walks off, indifferent, ignoring the pull in her heart, unsure what it means.

2/

Melina throws the knife at the target, hitting just above the girls head. The girl has a far away off look, that Melina knows, if she’s caught distancing herself from the activity she’ll be punished.

She knows she was.

Two more throws land next to either of her ears, seemingly waking her up and bringing her back to the present.

The training is interrupted as Dreykov enters the hall, flanked by two men in suits.

“Come here,” he orders.

She sighs inwardly and follows her feet to stand in front of him, eyes down.

He hands her a dossier and tells her she has a mission.

Hope springs in her gut at being able to leave the darkness of these four walls.

She nods at his orders and he dismisses her, telling her she has twenty minutes to meet her handlers at the front gate.

Wandering back to her room, she tosses the dossier on the military made bed, and changes into tactical gear.

She pushes down the anger and disgust at herself making sure the mirror is covered still.

She gathers herself.

A simple mission. A simple assassination.

The Red Room is the most depressing place, and when she leaves it’s like she remembers colours, smells and sounds. Even if those colours are still red, the metallic smell of blood and the sound of a gun shot.

She grasps for the dossier and looks over it, stopping short at the picture and name.

The woman.

The first one that gave her child to Melina.

She looks older now; it makes sense, four years have passed. The child is now close to six, she’s completed the first round of Black Widow training.

Not that Melina has been keeping tabs on her.

She hasn’t. She doesn’t care for anyone.

But she never forgets a face.

Scanning down, she wonders what the woman has done to deserve the wrath of the Dreykov.

Oh.

Melina thinks.

She wants her child back.

A laugh breaks free of her lips as she reads some of the things the woman has attempted in efforts to rescue and get back her child.

Breaking into the red room? She’s lucky she wasn’t shot on the spot.

This must be one special child.

Melina moves through the hallway, stopping where the class of six year olds have headphones on their heads learning the intricacies of English. She spots red hair straight away and stares.

What about this child is so special that the woman would risk her own life for her? She moves on, the paper heavy in her hand.

She doesn’t understand.

But she does understand orders.

The two large men flank her as she leaves in a black car and contemplative thoughts.

.

She watches her for a day.

The woman seems insignificant. No power. No pull on state of the world.

Irrelevant.

The sniper rifle is heavy on her shoulder as she watches from the rooftop. She plans to kill her in her sleep, then set her house on fire. No one looks for a bullet in a fire, no one should think twice anyway.

But she’s not one for making mistakes.

The night grows around her, the woman setting a fire, sitting on the rocking chair as she nurses a drink, looking at a worn photo that Melina zooms in at.

Natalia, the woman had called her. They’d kept the name for within the Red Room, she’d noticed the change to Natasha, the American diminutive, for obvious reasons.

It takes her ages to settle, to do something other than drink and stare.

Finally, she heads to bed, and Melina watches through the scope. Watches as she completes her mundane routines, eating, bathing, placing the photograph carefully on her night stand.

She lines up the shot, takes a deep breath and slows her heart rate down.

3. 2. 1.

The shot is clean and the woman is dead.

Melina feels strange.

It’s not a sadness, she knows that, maybe it’s a pity. The woman was killed because of her love for her daughter.

Moving carefully, she drops down to the pavement, entering the house.

The kills is confirmed as she sees blood and the body.

Pouring the gasoline, first on the body then she moves from room to room, dousing everything as she goes.

Lastly, the room that could be a child’s bedroom she finds a shrine built, to honor the living. A teddy bear, a small pink infants dress, a candle and a small poem sit on a table.

Melina licks her lips, the smell of gasoline becoming strong.

It’s not sadness she’s feeling, because she doesn’t feel that. The tears that threaten are because of the smell. The guilt that hangs low in her gut is nothing, she just needs to leave.

Exiting through the back, she takes a match and sets it to the fumes.

She stays to honor the dead, the poem in hand, wondering what it might be like to love that fiercely.

3/

Melina feels sweat dripping off her body.

The training regime she’s set for Natasha is child’s play.

“Almost there,” she tells the wiry girl.

Natasha runs, her small legs beating fast on the pavement, they reach the house and slow down to a stop.

“Was it faster?” Natasha asks, a small amount of hope in her voice.

Melina looks; it is faster but she doesn’t want the girls hope.

“No,” she lies.

“Again.”

“Oh,” there’s so much disappointment in her voice that Melina almost feels bad.

They set off in a steady pace, and Melina feels her mind go blank as all she concentrates on is the way her muscles are propelling her forward.

“Start,” she commands.

Natasha’s breath is audible as she starts talking in German, recounting the story of Sleeping Beauty.

She gets half way and stops, heaving for breaths.

“Come on Natasha, pain only makes you stronger,” she encourages.

It’s enough to scare the child into moving.

She gives her reprieve and then nods.

“Start.”

Natasha starts again.

.

The food is in a locked box.

Yelena thinks it’s hilarious, but Natasha knows better. She hasn’t eaten in a day and a half.

Melina had hidden the key in front of her in the morning. She should have been paying attention to everything.

“Think Natasha,” she says in Mandarin.

“You saw me put it away this morning.”

Melinda knows how it feels when you’re hungry, that the only thing you want is food, you can’t think of anything else. It’s why this is so important.

When they leave here, Natasha enters the next stage of training. It’s brutal.

Melina would know.

She needs to be prepared.

Natasha climbs on bench, opens the cupboard and looks in the sugar bowl.

She’s right of course, looking up in triumph.

“Good, child,” she praises, unlocking the box and handing over the muffin that lived inside.

Natasha takes it, and without thinking hands half over to Yelena.

It makes Melina’s heart pull.

The return to the Red Room is going to break her and take her heart.

.

Natasha and Alexei are sparring. He’s not holding back and she worries that he’s going to break her tiny bones.

She tests Yelena on her Arabic, focusing on verbal instructions, when she hears the distinctive sound of a backhand hitting skin.

“Get up,” Alexei growls.

She wants to intervene, spare Natasha some pain, but that’s not who she is.

Melinda knows this is nothing compared to what’s coming.

She turns her back and guides Yelena out.

“Don’t worry,” she’s assured the blonde girl, “Daddy will make sure she is okay.”

Later; she finds Natasha crying in the bathroom, holding ice to her bruised cheek, gently touching her broken nose. She enters, and shows her how to reset it.

“Pain only makes your stronger,” she whispers to her, like it’s a long held secret, as tears leak out of Natasha’s eyes.

Blood is wiped away, and Natasha looks to her, with sadness.

Melina flashes to the picture of her mother, their eyes the same as she places a hand on her shoulder.

.

“Hide and seek,” she says to Yelena and Natasha, grinning.

Yelena cheers and Natasha gives a rare smile.

“Don’t fall for the traps,” she hints.

First, she handcuffs them both, then she ties them to a chair.

“You have twenty minutes to ring the bell,” she stipulates.

“First one to ring it, chooses dinner.”

It’s a meager prize but seems motivating enough.

“Go.”

Natasha is first out of the cuffs, Yelena close behind as she frowns and stops at the door. Yelena doesn’t stop and runs straight into the tripwire, setting off the smoke grenade.

Immediately, Natasha covers her face and encourages Yelena to do so, she moves into the next room and finds the doors locked.

Vision obscured, Melina watches as Natasha picks the lock, coughing harshly as smoke permeates the air.

Yelena attempts the other door, but Natasha is first.

There’s two more traps, and Melina watches with interest as Natasha stops and thinks, even though the air is thick.

Yelena sets off the alarm and Natasha grins knowingly. She opens the next door slowly, running her finger along the side finding the string attached to the handle. She produces a knife cutting it then opening the door, finding the bell inside.

She rings it and smiles.

“Mac and Cheese,” she announces, much to Yelena’s delight.

And Melina’s heart sinks.

They’re going to kill you, child; she thinks.

4/

Melina wakes up, pain radiating throughout her body.

There’s doctors around her as she drifts in and out of consciousness. She’s handcuffed to the hospital cot and she sighs.

The plane, the girls, the escape, all come back to her.

She’s lost them.

She’d said to Natasha she was sorry, and it was the first time she’d ever said those words.

But they were truthful.

She is sorry.

The Red Room is her home; it should not have been Natasha’s.

If she’d turned her mother away…

If she’d chosen another homeless shelter…

If she’d helped her mother instead of killing her…

Guilt makes bile rise in her throat, but she pushes it down.

Melina understands why no one came for her when she was young, she was rotten, even then; abandoned, unwanted; but that’s not the case for Natasha.

She wonders if she will ever see her again.

She doubts Dreykov will ever let that happen.

Pain only makes you stronger, she says to herself, believing it with every essence of her being.

This experience may just make her invincible.

She misses them.

Natasha’s stoic face and the rare smile.

Yelena’s easy laugh and simple understanding of life.

She pulls against the handcuffs, preferring the pain on her wrists than the one in her heart.

.

She’s sent back. She’s always sent back.

Reprogramming, Dreykov tells her, and then she’ll be sent away.

“We have a new program for you to work on,” he smiles.

She will never admit that the thought fills her with dread, even if her life is not her own.

Melina wants to know, what’s happened to the two girls.

She sees Natasha first, her hair now red, face now more serious as she fights ruthlessly against another girl twice her size.

“You taught them well,” a voice in her ear says.

She can’t repress the shudder.

“The younger one is a spitfire,” he laughs.

“We’ve sent her to Dikson.”

Melina’s heart sinks.

Everyone knows what happens in the small coastal town.

If she believed in God, she’d pray.

Instead, she turns to him and smiles at his mirth.

“I’m ready,” she tells him.

And she is, ready to die again and come back as someone new, without all this guilt and pain.

+1

The Avengers.

Her Natasha is an avenger.

She has the power of a god, a scientist, a science experiment and a man of iron at her side.

The worlds greatest spy.

She doesn’t care about the happenings in New York, although the appearance of aliens was a surprise, it doesn’t concern her.

Melina watches Natasha with interest on the news, her near perfect American accent, as she stands next to Iron Man asking for privacy at this time.

She sets up her scanner to always alert her to Natasha, whether she is on the news, radio, or being hunted by police.

Maybe.

Just maybe, the choices in her life have not lead to destruction and ruin.

The break of the day brings with it the birth of piglets and feeling of renewal.

.

<3

[paragonrobits]

from a strictly narrative point of view, the reason Azula doesn't really get fleshed out that much besides a few small elements and characterization details is for the same reason Ozai doesn't either; in terms of what they bring to the story and contributing to the events of Avatar The Last Airbender, they are both designed from the ground up to be antagonists, and not much more than that.

In much the same way that Ozai is a beard-twirling ultra-villain who isn't much more than a spoiled brat and power-mad bully, Azula seems to not have been meant to be much more than that. Narratively, she's clearly built around the idea of being Zuko But Worse, more skilled and deadly than him, more willing to be ruthless and overtly cruel as opposed to Zuko being thoughtless and selfish; there's a reason she is introduced at the same time as Zuko being treated as an enemy of the Fire Nation alongside Iroh, as she supplants Zuko's initial role as a recurring antagonist and most immediate threat.

As a character, she's designed around this purpose; she serves the Fire Nation's interests without question or scruple, her views on the other nations are pretty condescending from what we hear of her (in that the best she can say is if someone acts LIKE a firebender and otherwise she dismisses others as peasants, which mirrors Zuko's insistence that royalty should get whatever they want).

Now, there's certainly room to mirror about the characterization at play. Ozai is personally a pretty emotionally shallow person, which does mirror the real life tyrants and many conquerors; that he's too emotionally sheltered to care about anything but his own wants and regards his children as tools is a fairly straightforward concept. I don't believe it's BAD that he's like this; there are plenty more faceted antagonists in this series, and I don't think there's much benefit in playing the genocidal conquering warmonger as having relatable issues or some kind of point to make. The Fire Nation is EXPLICITLY an antagonist committing unspeakable atrocities in the name of their dominance, self interest and delusions of supremacy. Nuance does not exactly help things besides give ammo to the sorts of people who think the Empire and First Order of Star Wars are the explicit heroes of the story.

An interesting thing in this regard is that the character Azula was originally based on has a pretty minimalistic role in the original draft for the series. There are more large scale changes (Zuko being more motivated by the plight of Fire Nation civilians in poverty from the war, Toph was a boy and part of a love triangle, Iroh was sabotaging Zuko's training) but strikingly Azula's original inspiration is barely present apart from being an antagonist and is barely mentioned elsewhere. Accordingly, its probably likely that Azula's hints of more complex characterization was a very late stage development. (I don't know if 'Katara and Azula are direct foils to one another' was the intended point at that stage but it's certainly the most compelling take.)

[etherdwellers]

Misc. headcanons: Connor Roy ➜ Maternal line & 'parentification' content warning: discussion of mental health, abuse, suicide

Connor's mother was Julia, youngest child of Roger Martin, a telecommunications mogul based in Massachusetts. Today the Martins are a footnote in broadcasting history, but at the time Logan met Julia, theirs was a well-established company dating back to the 1910s. Logan and Julia's attraction was initially genuine but their relationship mostly made a kind of serendipitous business sense. The Martins provided broadcasting infrastructure and Logan intended to fill the airwaves.

Julia, never especially business-minded, regarded her family's wealth as a means to support her passion for the arts. She was a sheltered but mostly sweet and well-meaning socialite who delighted (at first) in permanently relocating to New York after marriage, because it meant she got to hang with the trendy artistic crowd, playing benefactor for poets and galleries.

Some of Julia's qualities that made her attractive to Logan—'flightiness', an offbeat charm and an ability to soldier through conversing with strangers no matter what—came from her loving upbringing, but also from what would be recognised today as ADHD. The traits which made her a social butterfly were just what an austere man like Logan needed to help him navigate America's old-money scene. (These are, of course, the same traits Logan dislikes in Connor, but the irony is lost on him.)

Julia was also prone to depression, exacerbated by Logan's treatment of her and her increasing isolation from her family. When Connor was ten years old and Julia in her early thirties, Julia experienced her first major depressive episode with psychotic symptoms, which eventually saw Logan having her institutionalised. Connor did not see his mother for a year.

When Julia was able to be released, the Martins seized the chance to assume responsibility for her care, arranging divorce from Logan and taking on the bulk of Connor's upbringing. Logan was happy with this arrangement, becoming increasingly consumed with work and, eventually, his second marriage. Between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, while Logan was remarrying and having Kendall, Connor had no contact with Logan at all. Subsequently, New York has never fully felt like home to Connor, but then, neither has Massachusetts.

Julia would spend the rest of her life in and out of care, with the mental health provision of the seventies and eighties leaving much to be desired. She experienced delusions of her doctors and relatives meaning her ill, and tended to trust only Connor a little more consistently. Though this time, he would assume the role of carer: bringing her food so she'd trust it enough to eat, sitting with her, helping her dress or reading to her. He also began retreating into an inner fantasy life and voracious reading, mechanisms he'd go on to use all his life.

Connor was in his mid-twenties when Julia died by what might have been a suicide, but was officially a prescription overdose. The Martins' company had long been sold off; today, they exist as a middling old-money dynasty with a comfortable investment portfolio. Just as he is with the Roys, Connor is not fully a Martin. He has a good relationship with some of his cousins and plays Fun Uncle to their kids, but older members of the family blame Connor in part for what happened to Julia, given that his existence served as a constant reminder of Logan and his cruelty. Still, the Martins are much likelier to take Connor up on the offer of visiting him than the Roys.

Connor's involvement with his half-siblings' upbringing was limited to family events and scooping them up where he could for breaks from the Roy household. He wasn't quite a fatherly figure but tends to assume that role with them to this day anyway, because playing the caregiver is what he knows. It's part of the reason he doesn't want children of his own: on a conscious level he believes it's because he doesn't want to risk passing down what his mother suffered from, but on a subconscious level it's because he's sort of "been there, done that" in regards to parenting through his mother and half-siblings.

[gcdeater]

𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕-𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅, 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈-𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅

gugu mbatha raw . demi-woman . she / they ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s MADGE UNDERSEE , the THIRTY-SIX year old GRAND PIANIST/VOLUNTEER MEDIC from DISTRICT TWELVE . they’ve been in the capitol around TEN YEARS , long enough to gain a reputation for being so lionhearted & paranoid . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising )

STATS

name: madge undersee birthday: july 14th zodiac: cancer sun, pisces moon, taurus rising gender: demi-woman pronouns: she/they orientation: pansexual panromantic occupation: grand pianist/volunteer medic district: twelve family: dianthus undersee (father), nicoletta undersee (mother) faceclaim: gugu mbatha-raw

PERSONALITY

positive traits: amiable, compassionate, courageous, curious, hardworking, idealistic, perceptive, sentimental negative traits: mannered, opinionated, paranoid, presumptuous, quirky, sheltered, secretive, possessive moral alignment: neutral good mbti: infj-a (the advocate) enneagram: 1 (the reformer) temperament: phlegmatic deadly sin: envy heavenly virtue: charity parallels: eliza hamilton (hamilton), belle (beauty & the beast), rachel chu (crazy rich asians)

BACKGROUND

IN THE STREETS OF DISTRICT TWELVE, MADGE UNDERSEE STICKS OUT FOR ALL THE WRONG REASONS. her dresses, always beautiful, are always a tad too new. she never learns what it means to go hungry. when it’s time to sign up for tesserae, madge’s family never does so. always the precocious child, madge asks her father, mayor undersee, why she couldn’t opt-in and donate the rationing to someone who needed it more. he informs her of the stakes, and she is wholly unfazed. ensuring someone else could eat, at the risk of entering the arena, appeared a small price to pay. 

mayor undersee’s gaze darkens. to think she saw so little value in her own life. she was of his blood, and her brazen attempt to throw away her life becomes a slight against himself. after all, he and his wife had done to ensure she never be met with hardship. when he storms off wordlessly, madge is made to piece together her wrongdoing through her father’s silence. 

friends come and go easier than expected. madge is kind, but she’s somewhat eccentric. her interests frequently deviated from that of her peers, which became the most notable amidst conversation. madge, who knew little outside the confines of the undersee household and the piano lessons she frequented, was nowhere near the conversationalist most would’ve expected from her. still, she welcomes each and every friend.

it takes several failing friendships for madge to realize that there is a flaw in her friendship philosophy. she realizes that those select few people would only desire association based on her name alone. that was no way to sustain a friendship, and they tended to fizzle out one way or another. the people she often considered her friends most likely didn’t realize how dear they were to her. you could care about people from arm’s length.

when katniss volunteers, madge is reminded of their shared lunch table. she’d noticed her sitting alone one day. next thing she knows, she’s sitting diagonally from her— her other table mates watching her perplexedly. no words are exchanged beyond awkward first greetings, but madge knows there’s something about the girl she likes. it’s why when the time arrives, madge relinquishes her aunt’s mockingjay pin, insisting that she wear it in the arena— meant to serve as a symbol of district twelve.

when rumor of rebel activity begins circulating, mayor undersee becomes increasingly suspicious of his only daughter. while she tended to walk the straight and narrow, she’d proven on more than one occasion that a bleeding heart often led her to trouble. she’d have no particular interest in leaving home, but mayor undersee arranges for her to attend music school in the capitol.  she’s somewhere far away from the rebellious district. 

when she graduates, she lands (though she suspects this was also arranged by her father) a position in one of the top orchestra companies as a grand pianist. madge is ethereal when she plays, giving into the piano’s every whim. still, it's no secret that her talent surpasses her interest. she possessed the notoriety and accolades, but her heart wasn’t really in it. it’s during a visit home that madge stumbles across rebel activity without realizing so. it’s almost immediately that she knows what she needs to do.

madge abruptly abandons her career as a grand pianist. to the outside world, she’s merely taking a hiatus to find herself, to perform with the same vivacity as she once did. she begins training as a volunteer medic— a position of her own choosing (a freedom she’s unaccustomed to.) there are faces she recognizes, faces she recognizes in a way she didn’t before— with the newfound knowledge of what they’re all working toward. 

FUN FACTS

madge has a ten year old calico cat named sweetheart. she adopted her while working in the symphony, wanting company in her quiet studio apartment.

while she and her parents are on good terms, they were never particularly close to begin with, as if there was immediate distance between them the moment she's born.

despite her father being the one to insist on her playing piano, madge has always held a special appreciation for music.

training as a medic makes her feel differently, though. she feels fulfilled in a way the music never made her.

CONNECTIONS

childhood friends/acquaintances / people she came across while working in the capitol / fellow district 12 rebel friends / teenage romance prior her attending music school / other people she's played music with / someone who rubbed her the wrong way / a friend who winds up betraying her in the end

[dernarrleid]

continuation from here

Relishing in the cold stare of a woman never perturb Kenzou before. The words falling from his lips, he meant them in earnest, understanding the nuance behind the work he performed day in and day out yet scolded himself on their delivery. Choosing who to save, it was easy to stay objective in a system who's design made the incoming of patients fair, taking away another element of all powerful responsibility aside from the conspicuous. Fundamentally, life wasn't in the same colors or variations for certain individuals over others; many had not the privilege to venture out and discover this notion. He supposed it's why there's a near permanent misunderstanding between people of what the meaning of said existence was, as the battles of hopefulness and nihilistic ideals wage on indefinitely. It doesn't entirely explain why most of his run ins with decidedly head strong, free-thinking persons question his character in a way almost condescending. The Irina he had searched for, the profile heard only from a man too cowardly to go on record, yet to damn good at his job for Kenzou to ignore the tip off. The @zorkaya he'd met instead.

Not to be deluded by her distinct features, the pure color of her hair paired with the crystalized, sunny twinkle seemingly disemboweling the fabric of his ideals from a few words exchanged. Across from him lie the proverbial serpent to his dove. Kenzou does not think so highly of himself in a personal sense, absolutely not, remaining completely neutral in his perception. To the defense of savings lives, it may only be faced head on. In the past, his ire while at bay grew each time his concurrent morals were challenged. Which fair, word of mouth often served the impression of his auspicious skills, never probing his beliefs since the medical world had no room for differing interpretations. However, the sheltered upbringing gave way for perhaps the ultimate form of prosperity. He'd been practicing inadvertently.

"It's a flaw I'm not proud of, but the more I believed in it the more it never failed to unsettle me. Outside of a professional environment one has to abide by their own set of morals." Kenzou says, mildly. Ridiculousness settles upon him in his surroundings, staring at the floor where his shoes stood out above all. The extravagance in her prim mien, only familiar with money in a detached sense considering his travels, he'd be rolling in it if his materialism was anymore than it was currently. Extremely aware of how terribly odd they come given they traditionally have no inhibitions left. "Whether I'm alive or on the brink of death, I'm not doing a thing for you." Rather callously put, although something tells him she wouldn't mind in a non-murderous way. Surprisingly, most of his interaction were the opposite. "My life is in the hands of my patients... you don't seem like the type to require any immediate attention."

He shuffles the soles of suede shoes on the wooden tiles underfoot, taking the glass before him if only to peer at his reflection. Self conscious wasn't the correct wording, hair a bit disheveled both from his roots with the beginnings of stubble prinking his chin. In stark contrast, he sighs to the air. "Have you ever felt the need to stray away from this world?" He questions tentatively. Recognizing a smile, not truthful, from miles away never mind the few feet between. The drink swirls in hand, thumb and index finger spinning the steam of the glass. "A man I'd been helping," saving, "he mentioned you in some capacity before his procedure. I... had to see for myself what kind of person you were—why he was so afraid. He wanted me to give you a token of his time with you, said I'd have no trouble seeing how beautiful you are." Reaching into the breast pocket stuffed with a handkerchief was a poorly written letter, manuscript by someone on the verge of death.

The way it was frantic burned together—anyone would have concluded the note held a powerful infatuation behind it. Why for a Ms. Zarya he'd no clue. Pleasantries fell short via his time to even make the trip and her demeanor; reading the letter was one thing different from the reality of his first encounter. He hoped it was his last. "He was wrong."

[naoa-ao3]

Escaping the Sun

The sun burned over head like a never ending act of cruelty, her heat and unfeeling light washing over a white earth in white rays of suffering.

For two months Cassandra had stumbled on, directionless except for what lay behind her.

Pain and humiliation. Monsters and raiders in masks. Death and his cohorts.

She had escaped the horsemen but here in this vast landscape of brightness and heat she was trapped again. Starvation and dehydration were constant and each time one of them claimed her she came to know her immortality just a little more.

The thought of what lay behind her however kept her going. Each time she revived she found the strength to move again and though the desert seemed unending and brutal she knew it had an edge somewhere.

There would be an end to this, just as there had been an end to the horsemen.

She had fought Kronos, survived him and the rest of them. . . Silas, Caspian. . . Methos.

Methos who haunted her dreams. . . His kindnesses just as cruel as his violences. His touch burning her either way.

Kronos scared her but it was him who had gotten under her skin. The fragile relationship they'd had. . . Master and slave and whatever else that had swam around them. . .

She hated them all for this and nothing had felt so good as to sink a blade into Kronos.

She had nearly trusted Methos.

Nearly but he had betrayed her. Handed her over to Kronos and with her any hope for decency he might have ever had.

The nights in the desert were a relief. Cold and cooler they were still a break from the scorching sun that lingered overhead each day, baking the earth hard like her heart.

She had been made a slave by them. She would never allow that again. She would never be brought so low or made to serve men like them. . . If she had an ounce of control in her life she would prevent it.

Now however she was at the mercy of nature and her own body. Even as the life was taken from her over and over by an unforgiving sun she struggled on, each time she revived she pulled herself to her feet, desperate to be as far from the horsemen and their camp as possible.

She lost track of the days quickly, dry mouth more important and the weakness that had taken hold of her body in the heat.

Time meant nothing. She died and came back over and over. What could time mean like this? The unending desert stretched out under a still wider sky and she found herself wondering at the size of the world.

Had she ever been so arrogant as to think it could not be so big? Perhaps she had been merely ignorant and perhaps ignorance could be forgiven.

Her ignorance was gone now. She knew so much more than she had. She understood the world and the people in it more. She understood the depths of cruelty and the prices of greed. She understood what it was to be collateral in a world that cared nothing for the ants that crawled upon it.

Her skin dried and cracked after a while, flaking under the sun as she felt more weary and older than she ever would be.

She suffered hallucinations. Memories of an earlier life in ignorance and memories from their wretched camp.

She had visions of the horsemen riding up around her and at one point threw herself to the ground in terror, weeping into dry sand and covering her head from the eyes of the world. She had tried to bury herself then before the night had come and sanity had returned and with it terrifying shame.

She feared them and in the desert there seemed no shelter. She saw no one either and wondered if perhaps they were all dead. . . The people of the world. . . Were there any left or had the horsemen killed them all?

Days and days. . . So many days spent stumbling onwards, desperate for some sign of human life. Animal life would have been good but here in this barren place there were not even birds over head.

This was a place fit for death and his victims only.

She watched the sky for signs of life however. Like the ocean birds would mean there was hope. She knew it without ever having seen an ocean. A sky without birds was unnatural. Frightening even and though she had an idea that she could not die now she just the same feared the empty sky.

A single drop of rain would have been a blessing but now these many days and weeks she had seen and felt none. The sky was merciless like her former masters had been. Existence hell.

She could still feel them upon her, their fingers and hands and mouths playing across her flesh. . . Methos and the others. . . She could still feel the stinging slaps that had spun her head so many times.

She was weak now but she would learn. She knew that now. If they could learn then she could as well.

She would survive in this new world. If she ever made it out of the desert. She knew now what she was and that she was not alone.

It was this thought that pushed her onward, that encouraged her to survive. She could endure this because she had already endured evil and hell.

When at last however she finally saw people it was not to be. She came across a band of nomads who traveled the same tired paths their ancestors had years and generations before.

They were careful people, wary of the stories that spread across the sand, stories of vicious killers on horse back.

She saw them and fell to scabby knees and cried into the dry earth. She had not seen another human in so long now and with cracked lips she called out to them, gathering herself from the ground and running towards them.

Their men turned and looked at her, faces swaddled in cloth wraps. The looked to each other as she fell again in front of them.

"Help me!" She begged not caring if they too were slavers. Anything was better than what she had left behind.

They muttered in a language she did not know, turning their heads swiftly back and forth and shaking them. Their horses were uneasy too.

"Please!" She sobbed, crawling to their feet. "Please help me!"

One of the men was shaking his head and pointing in the direction from which she had come. He said something in a worried voice, speaking loudly.

She didn't know his words but she understood his meaning. 'Go back'.

She shook her head and clawed at his feet pathetically. "No, please you have to help me!"

They spoke quickly amongst themselves and then a skin of water was thrown into her hands.

She turned it over in confusion before understanding what it was and began gulping down as much as she could in a messy display of indignity. She came away gasping.

"Go back." One of them said in a language she did know. "Go back."

She shook her head desperately, still kneeling on the hot sand. Their wives and daughters stood back watching her with guarded expressions. They were scared too. "I can't." She said. "Please take me with you."

"Go back." He said again. "Go."

She began to weep, ragged and burned and starved. She was pathetic and now the first people she had found were refusing to help her.

"There is death where you come from." The man said and horribly he sounded almost sorry for her. "Go back. You bring evil here. Go back."

She shook her head again. "No, no evil! I swear, I have nothing. Please. you must help me."

The horses neighed and her heart broke. They were shaking their heads again, their women were clustering together and whispering to each other. They were forming a wall against her and her desperation.

They would not help her.

"Death is behind you. Go back."

The water wasn't enough and they were taking their horses by the reigns and trying to gather their people. They were going to leave her here.

"Please I can't." She sobbed.

The man who had first spoken to her gave her a sad look and a chunk of bread was thrown to her.

She held it along with the water skin and didn't know what to do.

They were leaving, walking away from her now, their horses still laden with their belongings and lives. They would not help her and she was left again on the desert sands with only a little water and bread to get her to the next sign of civilization and as she clutched the bread to her chest she curled around it and wailed, the sun uncaring over head as it burned down on her exposed skin and the world around her.

This was too much, even now the horsemen were tormenting her. Even now they were in control of her life. Their influence was destroying her still.

She lay panting and half mad until the sun set and the world turned dark. Only then did she find her mind again and pulled herself up into a sitting position.

She looked at the bread in the dark and sniffed. She had wasted precious water on her tears and wetly she tore a piece from the loaf and began to eat, trying to save what she could despite her shrunken stomach.

In the dark, without the sun she could think again.

The nomads were long gone, their tracks all that remained now. Their tracks and what they had left her with.

She sat in their tracks, petulant and tired. She had really believed she had had a chance. She had really believed that she had found rescue.

Now she had nothing except the little food and water swirling in her stomach. She looked out towards the sky and stars and then the tracks that lingered across the earth. She would follow them. They could not stop her from doing so. Even killing her would do nothing.

Slowly she tucked her bread and water under her arm and began to trudge through their steps.

It was her only hope.

On unsteady legs she followed them, hoping against hope that they might lead her to some kind of civilization. . . to some kind of mercy.

Her hope was slim however but it was all she had and it was the closest she had come to finding safety.

Even when the water and bread was gone and she had thrown the skin behind her she followed.

She could do this. She had no choice. She wasn't going to die and she couldn't stay and so on she marched.

[shelterpark]

Welcome Michael!

ABOUT THE MUN:

Name: Jill

Age: 25

Pronouns: she/her

Discord:

ABOUT THE MUSE:

`Name:` Michael Alexander Evans

`Age:` 27

`Gender:` Demi Male

`Pronouns:` He/They

`Sexuality:` Bisexual

`Height:` 6'3"

`Location:` Living in South Park shelter

`Occupation:` Mechanic. He makes sure any vehicle or other similar items that are available to them are working, and in the best possible condition they can be in. He also tinkers a lot with the radio in his house, but little has come of it

`Brief History:` Michael had worked since he left college in order to save up enough money to finally leave his home town. This did mean biting his pride and going to a closer community college near South Park, instead of a nicer state school farther away, but it did mean he was living on his own, and not having to rely on his parents or anyone else for help. This did substantially alter his relationships with his childhood friends, especially since any time not devoted to school was spent working at a music school, and he now lived a few hours away. They were living in Denver when news of the outbreak hit, and left very quickly, knowing that his small redneck town would be a better place to be. Also, he had a smidgen of concern over their parents, but the house was empty by the time he showed up.

`5 or more HeadCanons:`

-Michael worked as a mechanic very briefly after High School, and mostly spent his time complaining about the work he had to do, and the stupid conformist music that was blasted through the shop. They know the basics of an engine and how to make it run, but are far from an expert.

-Michael is a huge fan of B-horror movies, and fees oddly prepared for a zombie outbreak. Even though he's not really seen any zombies yet, it's weirdly a fun thing to consider. The reality of it, sitting alone in their childhood home doing little to help, is less cool.

-Michael is a huge loner, and without his friends in the town (to his knowledge), most of their time is spent alone. Which is probably not a great idea in a situation where comradery is cherished.

-Michael has a small stash of cigarettes in his room, which is slowly depleting. It's one of the few things that keeps them sane in the wake of everything changing. He knows that once he's out, he's out for good, but any attempts to ration them out has proven unsuccessful.

-Michael plays guitar, and has a small collection of them in his room. It passes the time, and keeps him from going totally insane.

`RP Example:`

Michael's childhood bedroom looked like a hot mess, which really wasn't out of the ordinary. In all honesty, Michael couldn't remember a time his bedroom wasn't constantly covered in things that weren't in their right place. And despite his mother and father constantly bitching to them about it, he was never able to fully break the habit. And even now, when Michael had nothing but time to kill, it still looked awful, which meant it was probably an issue of laziness, or Michael thought was an undiagnosed depressive disease.

Michael ambled over to the makeshift radio, very idealistically placed by the window in his room, as if the slightly closer distance to the outside world would make it produce more than static for once. Michael's dad was some kind of weird WWII buff, and the old radio that sat in their garage for years now served as mild entertainment as Michael had nothing better to do. After fiddling with the pieces once again, Michael picked up the microphone, leaning against his post at the windowsill.

"This is Nocturne radio, coming to you live from my bedroom in Buttfuck, Colorado." Michael spoke, any affectation of a true radio announcer completely lost as he used his spare hand to draw a cigarette out of the carton, moving it back and forth between their fingers as he continued to speak.

"It looks like straight up shit out there. I don't even know if anyone is out there, or if this is even going out, or if i'm talking to the posters on my wall. I don't really know how radio works, but this is probably helping, somehow." Michael stuck the cigarette behind his ear as he leaned his head back around the windowsill.

"If I get fucked up here, i'm using my last dying breath to crawl across the city lines and dying anywhere else. Fuck no, i'm not dying in South Park. Throw my rotted, festering corpse somewhere else so at least I rest easy. Catapult me. Throw me in a truck and put a brick on the accelerator." Michael paused his spiral for a moment to take a deep breath.

"Signing off. Send your cigarettes. I'm running out."