#The ones on his back obviously from protecting Dusty in the abandoned mine

[flying-machine07]

blade how are you still alive with all these burns you've gotten /j

[ahdenyadahling]

Final Fantasy XV - Fate & Destiny

note: mild violence/language

Chapter Six, Part One

Chapter Six: Cor

The short drive to the northern outpost, simply called the Prairie Outpost, was a silent one, with everyone deep in their own thoughts. I couldn’t help but stare at the floor between my feet. My cheeks still burned with embarrassment and regret. Maybe I shouldn’t speak at all. I had no idea how to hide my emotions as Ignis suggested. On the other hand, if there were no secrets, we wouldn’t be worried about saying the wrong thing. Maybe I should just blurt it out tonight when we make camp.

The Regalia came to a stop in the blessed shade of a billboard. The young men exited but Gladio faced me, his expression still wary.

“Just sit tight til we call ya.”

I nodded solemnly, watching as the four started ahead. From my viewpoint, I was able to watch as they stood in the entrance of what appeared to be a former repair shop, now inhabited by the remnants of Crownsguard soldiers, Hunters and supply trucks. In the sweltering mid-day sun, few people roamed the dusty road. They seemed to be taking shelter in the dilapidated shacks.

The four appeared to be speaking with a woman with chin-length brown hair. She also wore a long black coat that spoke of her position in the Crownsguard. Noctis waved his arms emphatically as he spoke, and she nodded. For a moment, the five disappeared into the building, and I scooted over into Noct’s seat, impatiently awaiting their emergence. Gladio stepped out first, raising his hand to catch my attention, but Prompto popped out behind him, pushing the bigger man aside, waving both arms above his head, signaling me over.

With my stomach quivering with butterflies, I obediently hurried over to the wooden building, watching Gladio and Prompto step inside out of the sun. When I reached the entrance, only the brown-haired woman and Noctis remained inside. The other three were out behind the building, in a quiet discussion with a deep-voiced man.

“Hello,” the woman extended her hand and shook mine. Her skin was soft but her grip was strong. “I’m Monica Elshett, Senior Officer in the Crownsguard. I understand you are the daughter of Arthur Willowby?” At my nod, she continued, “Your father has our gratitude for his years of dedicated service. And your mother? She worked for the Crown as well, did she not?”

Noctis jumped back, his eyes wide with disbelief. We had touched on the subject, but I didn’t blame him for not recalling every discussion. “What?”

I nodded again. “Yes, for a time.”

When she let go of my hand, her fingers brushed against my wristband, and I jerked away quickly, holding my arm protectively. She smiled, obviously knowing something that I didn’t. Monica turned toward Noctis. “I see no reason why this won’t work, as long as it’s of your own free will.”

“Alright,” He shifted his weight to his opposite foot, “Uh, could I get some privacy for this?”

Monica, who looked old enough to be either of our mothers and quite possibly knew my father personally, nodded her assent. She patted the young prince on the shoulder before stepping out back, closing the door behind her.

The building we occupied was dimly lit, and the dirtied windows let in little light despite the desert sun. Noctis and I stood motionless in the awkward silence for a few seconds, until he sighed loudly.

“Just so you know, I’ve never done this before.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, “I guess, get down on one knee.”

I wondered what kind of situation I put myself in, receiving an order like that, and I glanced around the abandoned room. No one was in sight to witness this. The sound of blood pumping in my ears became a headache. I couldn’t speak even if I could find the words. If anyone else had asked me to do this, I would be shaking with fear. But this was Noctis, the future King, whom I trusted and followed willingly. His deep blue eyes darted away from mine as I glanced down at him questioningly. He seemed just as nervous as I was.

Knowing my place, both as a citizen and a rescuee, I drew in a deep breath and lowered myself to one knee, tilting my face to the ground so I wasn’t eye-level with His Highness’s groin area. Unless that was what he wanted? What had he never done before? What did he expect of me?

Reaching behind his back, Noctis drew forth, or rather seemed to summon, a thick sword made of blue and white light. He held it upright before him, and began to speak: “I, Noctis Lucis Caelum, One Hundred and Fourteenth Prince in the line of Lucis, the Prince of Light, Chosen by the Six, bestow upon thee, Ardenia Willowby of Duscae, as an honorary Crownsguard in service to myself and close friends, utilization of the Kingsglaive.”

He tapped each of my shoulders with the manifested weapon, and to my amazement, it felt real. It had weight like a tangible sword, yet it appeared as fragments of light. I bowed my head in recognition of his blessing, and felt a surge of energy flow through me.

Noctis ordered, “Present your weapons.”

Slowly, I reached for my right hip, unbuckling my whip and offering it to him. He touched the sword tip to it, and it vanished in a flash of blue light. The same happened when I presented my bo, or rather, the makeshift bo Gladio made for me after training a couple days prior.

“Rise, Ardenia, and fulfill your mission as a member of the Kingsglaive.”

I got to my feet, unable to look the Prince in the face after that impromptu induction. The sound of tiny crystals shattering signaled that he had dispelled his sword. Noctis rocked back on his heels and clapped his hands together.

“How was that? Professional?”

I smiled at him, holding in a bit of a laugh, “Sure. I think even Ignis would have been impressed with your phrasing.”

He put his hands on his hips and relaxed. “I’m glad. Now let’s see if it worked.” He stood beside me, one arm extended forward. “Now, concentrate on having your weapon in your hand. Believe that with a flick of your wrist, it’s already there, and with a wave of your fingers, it’s gone. Go on, try it out.”

The reality was, I was terrified to try. I had seen the four of them summon and dispel so effortlessly, I didn’t think it would be as simple as believing. I took so long concentrating and worrying about failure that Noctis climbed onto a rickety table to sit down.

I walked to the other end of the room to try to clear my mind, but all that raced through was my need for my parents to be proud of me, proud that I was given the opportunity to become something bigger than I had ever imagined. I thought of Prompto, Ignis and Gladio waiting outside for me. Did they know about my induction? Were they anticipating my success or failure? I had to succeed. I have a Duty now, as well as a Destiny to fulfill. I was a part of the Crownsguard, the Kingsglaive, which meant I was responsible for keeping Noct safe as well. If I don’t fulfill this duty, I’d not only let myself down, but those who are depending on me, whether they know it or not. I looked back at Noctis and was relieved that he was still watching me. He wanted me to succeed, he wanted my help, and my fist clenched with determination.

And I felt the whip in my hand.

He jumped down with a triumphant shout, “Yes!”

Not very Prince-like, I laughed to myself, shaking my wrist so the weapon unfurled. It was amazing to see and feel the manifestation; it was as if thousands of fragments of light raced down my arm and from my fingertips to create a spectral yet destructive weapon.

“Try it out,” Noct urged, stepping closer.

For the first time, I realized my heart was pounding not with fear or uncertainty, but excitement. Seeing Noctis happy energized me, and I lifted my hand, summoning my whip to hit an empty bottle on a shelf. It broke into chunks and shards spilled onto the floor. It would take some time and practice to understand my new weapon, but I knew I had a few reliable teachers.

Following the sound of breaking glass, Gladio rushed through the door, bringing harsh sunlight along with him.

“Everything cool?” he questioned, eyes darting from Noctis to me.

“Everything’s great,” the prince replied, gesturing to the whip still in my clasp. “Yep, Gladdy, every once in a while, that brawn takes a backseat to your brain.”

Ignis and Monica stepped inside, and Ignis stated, “An odd compliment if I’d ever heard one.”

Gladio chuckled, “I’ll take it.”

“Well,” Monica started toward me, “It looks to me like someone needs an official uniform.”

I was a little taken aback and my whip dissipated. “Uniform? Black leather Crownsguard uniform? Skull insignia and everything? An official one?”

“With a twist, yes. Let me get your measurements, we should have this ready by morning.”

The men again stepped outside and I was told to disrobe down to my underclothes. While Monica measured, pondered and typed on her phone, my vision blurred. This was all very sudden, so unreal. So much was happening; it was exciting and overwhelming at once, and I wasn’t sure how to react.

Monica thrust her phone screen into my visual space one time, allowing me to preview my uniform, and immediately I opted to alter it. I told her it needed to be more modest, and where to put the added material, and various other changes. To my relief, she didn’t reprimand me for my principles. She told me to dress as she typed further on her phone, not giving me so much as a glance before she spoke. “As I said, I will meet with you tomorrow morning. It should be ready. You may walk out back; you will need to next meet with the Marshal.”

[diavolosthots]

Do you do yandere? If so, and if it's alright, can you do a fic with Belphie being yandere or at least bring possessive with a female MC? Thank you much, and love you 😘

I do so yandere although here's my official disclaimer since i dont believe this is my strong suit 😅 love you too, I also kept this GN since it wouldn't really change with a male/non-binary MC and no sex is involved.

Warning: yandere, kidnapping, mild non-con (NOT NSFW, just kissing), unwanted touching, choking

Can't You See? (YANDERE!BELPHEGOR X GN!READER)

It made him laugh. You… made him laugh. How gullible you were, how easily manipulated and bent to his will, seen perfectly in how willingly you helped him get out of that attic. He won’t lie, that’s probably the moment he realized you were the one. The moment he realized you’d be the easiest target, much easier than Solomon or even Luke. In all honesty, he couldn’t help but laugh at it and if you were in his shoes, you would be laughing too. The only thing that made your cluelessness even better was the sheer fear in your eyes when he choked you that night, edging you closer to death without really meaning to; that’s what brought him true thrill. That’s what’s been getting him off and keeping him going these past few weeks. The thought of seeing that face again as you beg him not to, your body struggling in his grasp… it was far beyond the simple need to get rid of a human. It turned into a need to have you, to use you, and to scare you. He didn’t necessarily love you for you; he just loved you for the excitement you brought to him. 

It was almost too easy too. You never expected it from him. He slept, mostly, and if he didn’t sleep, he was just too lazy to do anything, so it was quite simple to hide things from you. His longing glances, you brushed them off as him simply zoning out. The days he ‘fell asleep’ on your shoulder were also just explained by his Avatar, not by his very real need to feel close to you. Even his anger directed at Mammon or Levi, or basically any other brother, was easily explained by annoyance. So where did he mess up? Beelzebub. He messed up with his twin. He snapped at the glutton when he got a little too close to you, a moment he instantly regretted in fear of blowing his cover. 

Things just weren’t the same since then, and you actually turned toward Beelzebub more, which only angered the youngest. You were his; his toy. Granted, you may not know it yet, but that’s exactly why you needed him, too, so he could show you. “(Y/N). Come with me.” Something inside of you told you against it, and you hesitated, something Belphegor quickly picked up on. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” “You killed me before.” it was meant as a joke; you even laughed right after, about to just follow him anyway, but he stopped, turning back around to face you. “Are you still holding that against me?” You started to shake your head, about to speak, but he interrupted once more, “I’m not like that anymore.” Lies. “I simply wanted to show you something.” Lies. He was getting angrier, agitated,... you could tell. 

“Belphie, I-!” Before you could even finish your sentence, he had grabbed you, dragging you out the House of Lamentation and down the busy Devildom streets. You struggled in his grasps, yanking at the article of clothing he had such a tight grip on, to no avail. He dragged you down several streets and alleyways, never once speaking to you until he stopped at an old abandoned shack that you weren’t quite sure anyone has used in centuries. You were thrown, quite literally, inside, onto a dusty old bed as he shut the door. For a moment, everything was pitch black and fear kicked in as your eyes tried to adjust, albeit too late so. He was sitting beside you now, quick to pull you into his lap and hold you, as if he was trying to protect you from the bad, not realizing the bad was him. 

“Belphie let me go!” “Now why would you say that? I’m simply holding you.” You shook your head, unsure of if he could even see it as you continued to struggle against his iron grip. “You’re hurting me! Why did you drag me here?” A hand, almost too soft given the circumstances, caressed over your face and you quickly turned your head, causing him to grab it firmly so he could look at you, “to have you for myself. You’re always hanging out those pesky brothers of mine… I never get to have fun with you anymore.” Something about the way he said that made you uneasy; it made a shiver run down your spine as you continued to push against him, screaming out. 

That, to him, was the best part. He laughed at you, letting his head fall back, “yes, scream. See if anyone down here would save you.” Suddenly, you were pushed back against the mattress, the dust flying up and hitting your nostrils, causing you to cough, “choking? Let me help you.” but all he did was wrap his hand around your throat like he did once before. Fear shot through you as your own hands wrapped around his arm, trying to pull him off, “don’t be like that… can’t you see I’m doing this for us?” His head dipped down and you barely registered it before his lips landed on yours. You squeezed yours together tightly as he tried to nibble on them, your body still squirming beneath his, “no… no this is just you. I don’t see you as that.”

His grip on your throat tightened as he leaned back, lifting you up by your neck and making you choke. A chuckle escaped him, “No? You’re clinging to me, holding my arm so tightly…” You wanted to protest; obviously you only did that to get him off, but he was currently cutting your air supply short. Before you knew it, your head hit the mattress again and he leaned back over you, breathing out against your lips, “Don’t lie to yourself, (Y/N). Don’t hide it any longer… “ You were confused, tears slowly forming at the corner of your eyes as thoughts raced through your mind of what he could mean; what he could do. 

His breath tickled your ear with his next words, followed by a dark chuckle, “I’m yours… just as much as you are mine. Only mine.” You wanted to scream again, but he was quick to cover your mouth with the hand that was previously around your throat, barely giving you enough time to take in a much needed breath, the tears finally falling, as your mind prayed to whatever was out there, that he wouldn’t go too far. 

[otomememento]

Unwanted

Cybird Creative Challenge: Day 20 - Warlord

(Guest staring an original character of mine who will have to remain nameless.)

It was a small village.  From a distance there was little about it that stood out, from the dusty streets to the simple homes, from the crop fields stretching out behind it.  It would have looked like another sleepy village, except for the row of armored soldiers standing in a few lines.  At the head of the men was a figure astride a horse.

At the head of his own army, Kenshin frowned.  Something didn’t seem quite right about the figure.  He urged his horse forward, but at a slightly more cautious pace.  As much as he loved battle, and didn’t care so much about his own fate, he wasn’t reckless with the lives of his men.  Battle lust aside, he was still brilliant at strategy and sensing the tides of war.  And something was off here.

When he got closer, and details came into sharper focus, he realized a few key points.  Firstly, the leader of the opposing force was not wearing standard Japanese armor.  This was no samurai or daimyo fitted for battle.  Comparatively the armor was very plain, being mostly undyed leather and a minimum of metal fastenings; it looked flimsy and hardly able to deflect the blow of a sword or spear.  There was no ornamentation to indicate clan or status, no symbols to inspire fear.  There wasn’t even a helmet.  

Which brought into focus something that made Kenshin’s frown deepen.  Not only was the figure a woman, something that stirred a deep dread within him, she was a foreigner with red hair and a much fuller, taller physique than many of the women he knew…and some of the men.  In sharp contrast, the sword at her hip was definitely local; he knew the shape and grace of those swords anywhere.

Kenshin pulled on his reins, bringing his horse up short.  This was…not what he had anticipated.  Whispers had reached him that there was an uprising in a village on the borders of his land.  Naturally, bored with waiting, he had gone to investigate, hoping that there might be someone who could offer him even the pretense of a challenge.  He was certain that a woman, any woman, would not be it.  While he was deliberating between simply turning around and sending his troops into squash the insurgents, the woman urged her horse onward, quickly closing the gap between them, leaving her soldiers behind.

“You’re not wanted here, Warlord!”  Despite her obviously foreign appearance, the woman spoke clearly and without hesitation, the language smoothly falling from her lips.

“And you don’t belong on the battlefield, Woman!” Kenshin replied, his own words like ice.

“Belong or not, here I am,” said the woman, her tone cool, but without the sharp ice that was in Kenshin’s voice.  “You’ll have to go through me to get to the village.”

“I wouldn’t waste my time fighting a single soldier, let alone a woman, when we can simply ride around you,” scoffed the Warlord.

“But why ride around me at all, when things could be settled here?  Are you so eager to draw as much blood as possible that you’ll rush towards the village?”

“What do you mean?”  Kenshin’s bi-colored eyes narrowed at the woman, sizing her up.  She seemed confident, yes, but not quite arrogant.  But there was still a breeziness to her that made him wonder if she knew what she was doing.  That didn’t help his mood.

“Fight me here, win, and no one will resist you.  Lose, and you take your army away and leave us in peace.”

“I doubt you can win against me, Woman.  Besides, I don’t know of you; what worth is your word?”

“Would it please you more if it was a duel to the death?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.  “The dead can’t change their minds.”

Kenshin was no stranger to death; he had caused enough of it.  He had had a close brush with it.  He had lost those he loved to it.  Often, he even yearned for it, or at the very least, he needed to be confronted with the chance for it.  Skirting the line was what made him feel alive.  Despite all this, something about the woman’s words gave him a chill.  Anger, he was used to now, but he had so little to fear anymore that this felt almost like a new emotion.  

“I’m not going to slaughter an unseasoned fighter,” said Kenshin flatly.

“Who said I was unseasoned?”

“You’re not wearing proper armor, so you’re not born, raised, and trained to fight.  How could you beat me that way?”

“How many of your men would I have to beat to prove that I’m good enough to fight you?”  The query gave Kenshin a moment of pause.  He knew his soldiers were well trained; he insisted on it.  But he wasn’t sure how to quantify them that way.  What sort of answer could he give to this woman?  Whatever number he declared, he would be bound to abide by the results.  He was cold and absolutely ruthless in war, but he wasn’t a liar.  At least, not to anyone but himself.

“Ten men.  One after the other,” Kenshin finally said.  He waited for a few moments, believing the woman would be deterred, but her expression didn’t so much as flinch.  Turning back he gestured for ten individuals to come forward.  Tersely he gave his command.  They formed a line in front of him.  The woman dismounted from her horse.  She took a moment to stroke the beast’s nose, then gave it a slap on the rump to send it back to the village.  It gave a snort and a whinny and trotted away, leaving the woman completely on her own.  At the very least, it showed she cared something for her horse.

“I accept,” she said firmly, drawing steel.  That was the only cue the first soldier needed to attack, not being held back by Kenshin’s particular issue.  His motions were precise, professional, and skilled.  The Foreigner easily met his blows with her sword, her own motions still precise and skilled, but with a certain exuberance that Kenshin found…familiar.  Even though her style was a bit different, she clearly wasn’t a stranger to a sword fight.  And it wasn’t just a duty she was performing; the woman was smiling.

The most surprising thing, however, was that she rather easily bested the first soldier.  Kenshin had organized them in tiers of skill, but even so, he didn’t think the least of his men would fall that quickly.  Either the woman was better than he thought, or he hadn’t trained his men hard enough.  He suspected the former, however.  The woman was barely breaking a sweat.

One by one the soldiers came after her.  One by one they fell back, defeated.  She didn’t seem inclined to deliver a killing blow to any of them.  And it wasn’t by lack of skill that this happened.  In fact, she seemed to have an excellent sense for how badly to injure someone so that they were forced to yield, but not so badly that they couldn’t recover.  Again and again she delivered this blows in precise, methodical places, even if the initial appearance of her style was something with more passion than sense.

But she wasn’t so unbelievably good that she didn’t have her own fair share of cuts.  They didn’t seem to hamper her fighting though.  She hadn’t broken a sweat in the first couple of fights, but as her opponents got tougher, the effort involved in besting them went up, and soon she had worked up quite a sheen on her skin.  Kenshin had to admit he was entranced.  Without the bulk of standard armor, with her height and physique, she was a sight worth watching.  It was a sharp contrast to the woman he lost, the woman who had not been able to fight for herself.  This foreign woman was another type of female altogether.

And then, all ten men were finished, groaning on the sidelines, some of which looked apprehensive.  Would their lord punish them for failure?  Was he disappointed?  Cold as he was, Kenshin was a good Lord and a good Commander; his men were all fiercely loyal.  The Warlord himself simply ordered that they get their wounds tended to; he didn’t take his eyes off the woman.  Now that she had met his challenge, he was bound to fight her.  He didn’t know how he felt about this.  She had proven she could fight, but he still didn’t know what her word was worth.  He knew the value of his own word, however, and he wouldn’t tarnish it by backing out now.

“You passed the challenge; I must admit you are not unseasoned.”  Kenshin started to dismount from his horse, but the woman held up a hand.

“Wait!”

“Do you wish to back out, after all of that?”  Kenshin didn’t know if he was disappointed, or relieved, at the notion.

“Not at all.  But I feel a need to show you something.  Come.”  With two fingers, the woman gave a shrill whistle, and her horse came back in a few moments.  Swinging herself up onto its back, she began at a slow trot towards the village, stopping a little ways away from it.  She made another whistle this time, actually a series of them, and gestured for Kenshin to look.  He was surprised as, in a wave of motion, all of the village soldiers fell to the ground.  Only now he realized they weren’t soldiers at all.  From a distance he hadn’t been able to tell that they were simply armor situated in a way to give the illusion of having an army.  

“What is the point of this display, this trickery?” asked Kenshin, his voice hard.

“I told you before, the dead can’t change their minds.  You see an army of ghosts, the fallen, the departed.  The only thing left is armor and memories.”  The woman paused, her expression distant.  “Oh, and their widows and children.  This village, it was abandoned.  There were people, displaced by the war.  It seemed a perfect fit.  But with all their men gone, either dead or in the armies, who would protect them?”  She shakes her head.

“Why fight my men then?  Why did you want to fight me?”

“I wanted to take your measure, Warlord.  This is your land, is it not?”  The woman sighed softly.  “I wanted to protect them, but I have no real power here.  As you saw, I can fight one on one, but I’m not a match for a whole army.”  Her expression grew stern.  “With all the wars going on, you Lords may win battles, but the people always lose, even when their lords win.  Someone needs to end this fighting, once and for all, or there will be no country left to command.”

It was something for the Warlord to think about.

[darklesmylove]

wicked games ch 7 | jurdan

heres the last chapter my friends! check it out on ao3 as well :)

Cardan's P.O.V

He watched his wife sleep with troubled eyes, thumb rubbing in gentle circles against the back of her hand as his remained clasped within her grip. The silken curves of her body tangled through his with reckless abandon, her tightly held suspicion and guard both dissolved within the blanket of her unconsciousness. She was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever needed, yet there still was a terrifying chance that she would never forgive him, never be with him again. Their relationship was nothing but a mess of silent understanding and fractured hearts, but still, there was nothing else. Just her.

And yet, it couldn't just be her anymore. He had his people to think about, his kingdom. If she refused to come back from exile, he would have to go back. He would have to lose her.

The thought made him want to curl up in the sheets and never wake up.

So Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame, was going to do everything in his power to make sure his wife came home.

Jude's P.O.V

When I woke, it was to the feeling of a finger delicately tracing over the curve of my lip, along with a softly delicate murmur.

"Jude, wake up."

My eyes peeled open, my vision immediately filled with the soft expression adorning Cardan's quite flawless features. Against my iron will, my stomach fluttered at the sight. He pulled me closer, hand digging into the curve of my waist with firm gentleness.

"Good morning, Cardan." The smooth, unaffected coating to my words made pride tingle at my fingertips at my self control.

The corner of his lips quirked, though only slightly. "How do you feel, wife?" he asked with a tone that only could be described as a hollow, pitiful excuse for teasing. An annoyed breath blew through my lips, though I allowed my back to arch ever so slightly as I stretched out my limbs in a brief test. A pang of dull soreness sprung up my legs, though not unbearably so.

Even still, my cheeks warmed.

"I'm perfectly fine," I arched a brow, jaw clenching slightly.

Then silence fell, an invisible tension that clenched its warm fingers around my chest, tightening with wicked ease.

Torturous. That was the only way to describe the inches of physical distance between us, the miles of divide between us mentally. It took a fair amount to leave me speechless, but even if I tried, I doubted any words would come out.

And so, in some unspoken agreement, they didn't attempt to bridge that emotional divide yet, merely falling into the gravity of their love for one another and holding their bodies close.

***

The unrest in Elfhame was tangible. Cardan's absence had left the throne vulnerable, and every powerful enemy from the darkest corners of Faerie were sending rippling whispers throughout the land.

Time was running out for them.

***

Vivi's P.O.V

When she returned from taking Oak to school, the environment in the house was eerily calm. She paused at the threshold of the front door, taking in the sight of Cardan calmly flipping through a magazine on the couch, though quite obviously not reading a word, while Jude was aimlessly pulling food from the fridge to make a meal that looked, so far, harrowingly unappetizing. Neither spoke a word, tension laying thick over the room.

A small prickle of irritation stung at her fingertips. It seemed she would have to fulfill the role of bossy older sister despite her best efforts to keep herself out of anything that had to do with Faerie.

"Jude, come here right now," she sighed, though her tone was unwaveringly firm. Jude turned, eyes narrowing to near slits almost immediately, as if she could sense Vivi's thoughts before they were even formed.

Their stares connected, Jude's stubborn glare surprisingly fading rather quickly with a defeated slump of her shoulders.

And then she was trudging over to Vivi, trailing behind her as they made their way to the couch. Vivi stood standing, crossing her arms as the two obviously star crossed lovers looked anywhere but one another.

"Talk."

Vivi's command was apparently as convincing as if it was spoken with a glamour.

Jude's P.O.V

As soon as Vivi vacated the room, the accusation tumbled from my lips like water spilling down rocks of a particularly powerful waterfall.

"I loved you, and you betrayed me."

Speaking the words still felt like being struck by lightening, a bolt of fear and electricity crackling through my veins at speaking them aloud so casually. Cardan's eyes were haunted with dark grey circles, storm clouds against the shocking pale of his skin. "And I loved you. I still love you. I thought I was doing what was necessary to protect the throne, you were security that Madoc or any other opposing force couldn't take the throne, even if they killed me. You were that security. But allowing it to hurt you in the process was my constant, painfully torturous retribution for what I did to you." His breath caught, tears wavering in the corners of his coal black eyes. My throat tightened as his eyelids fluttered shut for a moment, blinking them away. "And it destroyed me, Jude, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't... I couldn't function, I swear couldn't even breathe right without you with me. I need you, Elfhame needs you, and... I can't do it alone. I don't want to do it alone. So please, come back and be the queen that our people need."

Our. Quite possibly the first time he had referred to us as equals, one in the same.

The overwhelming rush of emotion was almost too much to bear, a mix of relief and hurt and just the barest sliver of hope.  

"I thought mortals were too weak for such a thing. Too lowly. Nothing."

His lip curled slightly. "Words spoken by a jealous boy. You are anything but lowly and weak, Jude."

The pride that stuttered my heartbeat was only a brief flicker of vulnerability I allowed before I clamped down on it with an invisible iron cage. I didn't need his approval.

"I know you don't need my approval," he murmured, as if sensing the words directly from their weight on my tongue, his silent and complete understanding of me always startling. My fingers clenched as he continued. "I don't know how else to convince you to come back, Jude. I could tell you a hundred times over how much I'm so desperately in love with you, I could fall to my knees and beg at your feet and kiss your shoes until my lips bled. But you have to want to come back; I can't make you, and I will not make you."

I blinked, my vision clearing as if seeing him for the very first time. This was not the spoiled prince that had tortured me day in and day out, wicked and spiteful and childish. No, the firm exhaustion in his eyes, the slightly stiffer posture to his back, the calm acceptance radiating off of him...

Cardan Greenbriar wasn't a prince anymore, he was a king in every sense of the word.

And I was a queen.

It felt as if I was moving through hot liquid, my limbs slow and sluggish as I stood up, settling onto the cushions on his side of the couch. The mere proximity of him sent heat eagerly licking across my skin, begging for his touch. He merely gazed at me, eyes glittering and lips slightly parted as his stare unabashedly roamed my features.

"I love you Cardan," I whispered, my fingertips lightly grazing over his as a bare smile turned my lips.

"I'll come back with you."

***

Jude's P.O.V

The journey back to Faerie was nothing but a blur, my hands stuffed into the pockets of my trousers to hide their obvious tremble. Cardan somehow was the picture of confidence, his golden crown immaculate and gleaming in the light of dusk, extravagant clothes having since replaced the dusty mortal t-shirts he had worn for the past several days. We strode through the gardens spilling over with bright, fully bloomed flowers, the only sound between us our footsteps against the gravel path. The temptation to grab for his hand was overwhelming, but I wouldn't stand to look weak in front of all of these people. I was a queen returning to claim her crown, not Cardan's terrified mortal wife.

My chin lifted with a wave of stubborn confidence.

As we ascended the steps, my pulse grew wild, rushing in my ears as we hesitated for a brief moment at the grand door to the main ballroom, a party clearly in full swing from the sounds filtering underneath the threshold. The guards, though attempting to seem impervious to our presence, were quite obviously watching us like vultures. Cardan turned to me, a wan smile adorning his rosy lips. "I love you." Before I could reply his lips were pressed to mine, warm and sweet and a silent confession of everything that I knew and felt in my soul. Then he pushed the doors open.

It was a few moments before anyone even noticed the two of us, drunken guests distracted by wild dancing while drowning in sweets and alcohol. But it seemed that Cardan Greenbriar had a special talent for pulling focus, and it wasn't long before a hush went over the crowd at the sight of us together. I could pick out familiar faces in the crowd as my eyes dragged across the room. Nicasia, looking a dangerous combination of shocked and livid. Locke and Taryn were half tangled in an embrace, my sister horrified in contrast to Locke's expression of dull intrigue. And then, after a second glance, the Bomb and the Roach hovering among the shadows of the rafters, their slight smiles almost invisible in the darkness. My chest tightened with anxiety.

Then Cardan spoke.

"For several months, I have been living a false truth, casting a cloak of doubt over my people. When I tell you this, there is no manipulation, no tricks, no falsehoods. I have not been a king nor a leader to you all. I have merely been the face of Elfhame, allowing my subjects to believe I was the one that kept this country going, when in actuality I was no more than the puppet. No, this entire time it was my former seneschal that was bringing security and strength to our land."

He turned to me for a brief moment, tilting his head slightly. "The Fae parade as if we are superior to mortals, but she was the one leading you all of this time, not I. She is an equal to any one of us, if not with magic and gifts than with her cunning, her intellect, her ability to make decisions. And with this I believe she is the answer to the growing unrest in Faerie. Which is one of the reasons why I asked her to marry me, second to the fact that I am so very, completely in love with her."

If there was something quieter than silence, that was what now blanketed the room. My blood was ice cold in my veins, yet alive with a thousand fires of excitement and possibility.

"Jude Greenbriar, my wife." He smiled out at the crowd with dazzling brightness as he took my hand.

"Behold, the High Queen of Elfhame."

tags: @highqueenofelfhame @daddycardan @barrowmare @lazyperfectionistteen @brittpetersen @greenbriars @thequeenofeveything @sleepingfancies @feysandmaraudersdramatic @thomasscresswell @courtofdreamsandterrasen @nxyatr @totallyamazingasshole @starlightfound @jeanval24601 @city-of-fae @reedingandbleeding @nish247 @arwensundomiels @darklingslover @l0sts0uls1128

[marauder--harder]

“All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” with PA Sirius pretty please coz Ed made me hurt my knee and I need Sirius distraction. 😉 See what I did there?

Sorry this took so long, but I don’t half ass anything when it comes to you and I got carried away. :) Hope you enjoy, lovely! 

Gruff and Grimy. 

Word Count: 1,277.

Walking down the old, dusty corridor, you heard the faint sounds of shouting. You wondered what exactly you got yourself into in accepting Molly’s request to attempt sprucing up the new headquarters of the recently reconfigured Order. She had told you that it was in no current condition for meetings, let alone possible guests, and the current owner was not well enough to manage the task of cleaning it alone. Despite her refusal to tell you the current owner’s name, you had agreed to go under the condition that she would make you a feast fit for all seven of her children upon the house’s completion. 

Thus, you were left walking into 12 Grimmauld Place, feeling rather overwhelmed by the state of filth the house had procured under the new owner’s guardianship. You thought they must have been elderly to be this lazy with the place. From the ornate paintings that hung on the walls, to the fancy decor, you knew this was a wealthy families’ home at some point. Perhaps you could find out more history from the old man or woman who was left here. 

As you neared the back of the house, the murmurs of shouting grew louder and more profane. Eyes widened as you heard the grunt and clammer of pots and pans, before more loud curses came tumbling past the man’s lips. You rounded the corner quickly, hoping that the old man hadn’t hurt himself in the commotion, but before you could rush to his aid you stopped dead in your tracks just past the doorway. 

“You’re not old,” you said. 

Sirius turned with a start, wielding a skillet in his hand as if it were a wand. “How’d you get in here?!” he shouted gruffly. 

You quickly rose your hands in surrender, realizing that you may have been in over your head on every front when it came to Molly’s favor. Her pie better be damn worth it. “Molly Weasley sent me. I mean no harm, sir. I heard shouting and thought you’d injured yourself.”

Feeling rather dumb now as he glanced down at his weapon of choice and then your frame, he sighed and dropped it with the rest of the kitchenware at his feet. “How’d you get in here. This place is sealed with protective charms.”

“Do you know Molly Weasley?” you asked.

Sirius thought for a moment and felt a tug at his memory. It was painful to remember nearly anything after being with the dementors for so long. Perhaps Dumbledore did mention the Weasley woman feeling outraged by the state of 12 Grimmauld Place. He said there may be someone by to clean within the next week, but had it been a week already?

You continued to stare at the rough and ragged man in front of you. He had not answered your question, but now had a far off, almost pained look to him. With his matting and thinness, you thought he looked like a wounded animal: hurt and confused. Your heart ached for this man. 

“Well, nevermind if you do. She’s a friend of Dumbledore’s. You do know him, now, don’t you?”

Sirius was shaken from his trance and cracked a smile, while rolling his eyes. His cheeks hurt with the movement. Merlin, when’s the last time he smiled? “Yes, I could never forget that old man.”

“Ah, good. He and Mrs. Weasley have sent me to do some cleaning for you since I was told you were, er…” you trailed off and looked around. You didn’t want to insult the man any further but this was easily the grossest house you had ever stepped foot in. “Well, two sets of hands are better than one, yeah?”

Sirius found himself smiling again and let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “This place is a shithole. Always has and I don’t think some dusting is going to fucking fix that.”

Your eyes widened with surprised delight at the change of pace from the man in front of you. Just a moment ago he looked as if he was broken and inconsolable. Now, he was smiling and held the smallest amount of light in his amazing grey eyes. 

“Might as well make the shithole livable at least, then. People in the Order wouldn’t want to catch pneumonia from the amount of dirt caked on everything.” Moving closer to him, you began picking up the pots and pans at his feet. “Were you looking for something before or just taking inventory of your kitchenware?”

Sirius stood above you, unmoving, and a bit speechless. You hadn’t been scared away by his nasty appearance, nor the state of his birth mother's home. He hoped you would be joining the Order so he could see more of you. 

“Coffee kettle,” he managed to grumble, before helping pick up the mess he made. “Wanted something other than fucking whiskey to drink.”

“Well if you’re not having any, I may need a glass,” you joked with a wink. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Sirius’ smile dropped. “Sirius.” He deadpanned. “Sirius Black.”

Your eyebrows raised just a hair before you schooled your face and extended your hand. You had to remember that Molly and Dumbledore obviously approved of him, or thought him safe to be around. They wouldn’t send you into danger unknowingly. “Nice to meet you Mr. Black. I assume this is your home?”

“Godric, fuck no! This was Walburga’s place; but since that bitch is dead, it is about the safest place for me now that I’m a bloody fugitive and all.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nonchalant way he expressed something so dire and drastic. Although, with what the Prophet had said about him, you thought it was probably his new normal. Not much would phase him at this point, probably. 

After clearing your throat, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and managed a small smile. “Alright, well, I’ve been tasked to make it Order ready. I can do it with or without your help, Mr. Black. Which will it be?”

Sirius merely smiled in response. 

Hours later, caked in layers of dirt and sweat, you managed to flop down on the sofa and put your feet up with a groan. “I can’t believe we didn’t even finish more than two rooms!”

Sirius smiled again, something he was growing more accustomed to, he realized and groaned with a stretch. “I can. This place has been abandoned for bloody ages; Kreacher didn’t keep anything up worth shite.”

“Kreacher?” you asked with a cocked brow. 

Sirius merely waved his hand in dismissal. “Nasty bugger of a house elf.”

You hummed in acquiescence, and decided that you needed something to drink. “How about that coffee now, yeah?”

“Sounds lovely, thanks.”

You huffed out a laugh, before shaking your head. “You’re the host, Mr. Black.”

“You’re the hired help, Ms. Y/L/N,” he replied with a cheeky grin. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Touche.” 

After you managed to make two cups of coffee, you made your way back to the living room and set it down. “So, what else is there to do around here?”

“Not fucking much.”

“You truly are more foul mouthed than a sailor, aren’t you?” you asked with a quirked brow.

Sirius smiled behind his cup and you saw that shine of mischief in his captivating eyes. Bloody hell, were you attracted to this gruff mysterious man? 

“Sweetheart, all I do in this fucking house is drink coffee and say bad words.”

“Well, now you can add cleaning to the list.” You smiled. 

“And having beautiful company,” he added with a wink. 

Your smile grew, now stretching from ear to ear. Oh yes, you were definitely attracted to this man. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Black. All fucking mine.”

IT’S DRABBLE NIGHT, Y’ALL!!

[finsterhund]

Childhood Emotional Abuse and the Resulting Unhealthy Fears Involving Comfort Items

For those unfamiliar with the concept of comfort items/comfort objects the idea is simple. People, children especially, become emotionally attached and find comfort in an inanimate object. The most famous example being Linus’ blanket from the Peanuts comic.

Studies have been done that show comfort items being more common among children living in suburban communities and in cultures where parents are expected to work full time and spend long periods away from their young children. Rural communities where parents stay closer to home and work in jobs that can be done on one’s own property see comfort objects in children less.

It used to be believed that a comfort item was evidence that a child did not have a healthy strong bond to their maternal figure, but more recently it’s suggested that developing a bond with a comfort item can also be the first steps to independence from a parent as a child explores their personal identity being separate from their provider. It being the first thing that is theirs that they have responsibility over.

Comfort items are also fairly common in children with developmental disorders, and adults on the autism spectrum can often have them as well. They serve as a means of grounding one’s self and finding familiarity, security, and safety in an unfamiliar or perceived unsafe environment.

And with that understanding it should come at no surprise that people with trauma disorders will have comfort items as well.

Recently I’ve been trying to rationalize why I have such an unhealthy view on the physical health of, and personal responsibility for the natural wear on my comfort items. I’ve seen many others who don’t seem emotionally devastated by comfort items fading, greying, losing their softness, becoming threadbare and such. There’s more an interest in protecting the textile feel of the worn stuffed toy than there is in making them bright and soft again. But for me it’s a source of emotional anguish.

To me the physical wear on any of my stuffed animals (my comfort items are almost exclusively stuffed dogs these days) is the source of significant mental duress. To the point that I will suffer not bringing them places because I fear for their safety. At the cost of my own comfort.

I have figured out what I think is the reason for this.

I have severe abandonment, attachment, and loss issues and these have been directed at my comfort items due to the sheer amount of times in my early childhood that mine were stolen, harmed, and destroyed by my birth parents. Often times as a punishment or as an attempt to forcibly “cure” me of my mental illnesses.

Warning: the following few paragraphs will be discussing this. In explicit detail. I want to get it out of my head. I want my experiences out. I want them heard. But they are tough to hear.

My earliest memory of a comfort item being stolen were the most common way my birth mother punished me for anything and everything up to about age 7. My birth father physically abused me which many people will rightfully say is worse, but the things my birth mother did were severely emotionally abusive. Bear in mind, the reasons for this “punishment” weren’t always bad things that I had done. Off the top of my head some of these reasons for being punished were:

Not paying close enough attention when something pertaining to her religion was being done or said

Complaining about something to do with her religion in any way was immediately and severely punished. Was pretty much the only time she herself physically abused me.

Stuttering when reciting passages from the bible (bear in mind this was age 3-6 and I had a significant speech impediment)

Being selectively mute

Speaking out of turn

Crying. For pretty much ANY reason. Including fear, hunger, and pain

Accidentally hurting myself

Not eating properly (holding cutlery right, chewing properly, being a picky eater)

Showing visible fear or apprehension in public

Not wanting to be held, hugged, touched, or picked up

Showing resistance towards intrusive, uncomfortable, or unpleasant medical procedures

If it was severe enough (it angered her enough to resort to violence) she would “safely” beat me with her hand or a wooden spoon, but most of the time it was a psychological punishment that took advantage of my Achilles's heel: stuffed animals.

Now even though I definitely was not ready, she forced me to sleep alone starting around the age of 2. I was one of those kids who was TERRIFIED of sleeping. (not of the dark yet, but that’s coming, oh don’t you worry) I did not feel at all safe in the house when it was day time, and was constantly afraid and looking over my shoulder and alert of impending dangers. My ears constantly pricked for the tiniest of sounds. This is common for CPTSD sufferers. It’s hyper-vigilance. Anyways, this was worse at night. It was too quiet, and my birth mom was often at work. That was when she worked. Night shifts. So naturally being without her (despite her shortcomings I trusted her and relied on her back then) it was scary. This was also the same time frame that the Spot incident happened which messed with my brain severely. I remained a bedwetter up until around 10 due to this and further complications because of how I was emotionally abused.

The point I’m haphazardly getting at and providing context towards, is that I would usually be punished by having my stuffed animals taken away at bedtime. Knowing, full well, that they were the only things that helped me feel safe. She made a big deal about this too. Mentally degrading me for it. Sometimes she’d take them away one by one to further incite fear. She made sure to know each of their names and made it seem like they were going to be emotionally harmed by being taken away as well. I remember one distinct instance where I didn’t want to recite whatever bullshit she was trying to record me saying on camcorder (I was also scared of cameras) and I whined and tried to run away. She pinned me down in place and said that for every mistake she’d take away one of my stuffed animals. I couldn’t talk. Evidently we got down to all of them (about five) at which point I began sobbing and pleading with her to have even a sliver of empathy. She did not.

This punishment sits comfortable in the timeline coincidentally around the same time that my nyctophobia first started to present itself/develop. It also aligns with when I was locked in my bedroom with the light bulb removed for hours at a time as a punishment. I could not in any way verbally react to being forced to sleep in the dark with no stuffed animals because my birth father would just beat me. Even crying relatively quietly. At that point I was unrelenting and “the only punishment that worked” was physical violence. Everything else had been taken from me. I’d pass the hours by holding as still as possible and breathing shallowly. I was given a nightlight by a relative eventually but this was also frequently stolen from my room for bedtime as a punishment. My memories of this blend together with being forced to sleep in the dark later into my childhood. It was all the same: The completely cover yourself with a blanket, not move or make any sounds, and hope you mercifully fall asleep even though it feels like you’re suffocating under there thing.

My birth mother rarely relented with the bedtime punishments. Even though I would spend the rest of the day begging her to. She could pretty much force me to do things just by threatening them. I tried to be as good as possible but it really felt like she could do it at any time, no matter what. Like she was deliberately looking for things that would justify it.

She showed a lot of resentment towards me and did psychologically abusive things like this frequently back then. She did let up with time. Early in my life she harbored a lot of resentment because my conception had ruined her life, career, and tied her into an abusive marriage and she did, no question, take it out on me. I think a big reason why it stopped is because in order to get me ready for kindergarten I had to see a speech therapist and they immediately told her that she was being fucking batshit and making me worse.

I don’t 100% blame her for this. I know full well extremists in her religion promote this as “proper child training” and she was extremely gullible, believing pretty much anything that was spoonfed to her with the trappings and flavoring of her faith, and that a lot of the time my birth father would make her punish me or else he’d physically assault me. But still, it’s obviously something that destroyed the way my brain works. I was something she didn’t want. That she didn’t value. She learned to love me (or at least the concept of having children. She doesn’t value ME per say, as an individual or for who I am) later, but the early childhood developmental damage was done. We can dance around the issue of who’s responsible, who’s guilty, who’s at fault all we want but in the end it happened and I suffered for it.

Going back to what I mentioned earlier where if it involved her religion she’d go feral, at one point when I was a very very very hyper 5 year old stuck inside for Sunday school instead of getting to play outside on a bright warm summer afternoon like a regular boy I had brought a dog with me named Swirly. A golden retriever with slightly curly fur fabric and a soft fake rubber nose. He had been bought at a Rexall drugstore. Anyways, I was bored out of my fucking mind because I was 5 and was forced to sit in a stuffy dusty room and listen to big complicated grown up words from a six thousand year old “translated into extremely dated English” book and started stimming with Swirly by moving his ears up and down and similar small, non-obstructing things. Once Sunday school (hour and a half) was over it was pretty much time for the regular church service (hour and a half to two hours) so for those wondering that means a 5 year old boy who is very hyper having to sit still and do nothing and “pay attention” in extremely uncomfortable clothes his birth mother forced him to wear for a total of around 3-3.5 hours. So, knowing that the five or so minutes between the end of Sunday school and the beginning of the regular service would be the only chance I got, I began running around in the church basement and tossing Swirly up in the air and catching him. A fun activity to get some of my pent up energy out with and stretch my legs right? Wrong. My Sunday school teacher who was an asshole and an absolute lying manipulative scab got all snappy and hostile towards me and tried to force me to hand over Swirly. She had never hit me, she had no power over bedtime, so of course I wouldn’t obey. Fuck you. So I refused to hand over Swirly and easily avoided her by running the fuck away and hiding in the storage closet. She then snitched to my birth mom, claiming that I was a “serious disruption” and being “disrespectful” and “not paying attention.” My birth mom then took me outside to scream at me, took Swirly, locked him in the car, and then when the ordeal was finally over she took me home and beat the absolute shit out of me and then wouldn’t let me sit down after because I’d get blood everywhere so I was forced to stand but I ended up just lying down face first on the floor because my legs got too tired. Swirly was kept on a high shelf in the cupboard for a month as further punishment. Part of me thinks I still have him... somewhere... I renamed him to a character in a book I liked. But yeah. In case it wasn’t obvious I hated going to church. Sure the windows were cool and it taught me the valuable skill of staring off into space and daydreaming about cool space battles and shit, but it was so much a waste of time that I will never get back. I also wasn’t allowed to bring toys with me after that. Made me hate it even more. Congratulations.

I was immune compromised and that factored into stuffed animal theft a lot. She would frequently take my stuffed animals and force them through the washer and dryer. On hot cycles. Sometimes used bleach. This destroyed many of them and caused further distress. I started actively fighting against attempts at washing my stuffed animals with tooth and nail; hiding them, attacking with violence, and the classic begging and pleading and hysterical sobbing. It was at this time she introduced me to a book called The Velveteen Rabbit. This book actually has extremely positive messages about the wear and tear of children who love their toys making them “real” which likely would have helped me with this if not for how I was introduced to the book but it ended up being completely ruined for me because instead it was used as a cautionary tale of “let me wash your stuffed animals or I will BURN THEM” because of the boy in the story having his possessions burned due to scarlet fever. I really don’t know what it is about Christians and burning things. Specifically stuff that’s made for kids. To this day if you burn something meant for kids I will laugh at your funeral. You are a detriment to society.

So anyways, I was threatened with fiery stuffed toy execution if I didn’t let them get matted and torn with chipped and shattered safety eyes in the washer and dryer. At one point I did get a stuffed toy burned. By my birth father. I don’t remember why but I do remember him tormenting me about it, degrading me, and being physically restrained as he threw the penguin who’s name has long since been repressed in a far recess of my brain never to come out again into the woodburning stove. I remember the event like an out of body experience where I was only loosely connected to the physical plane. Like I’m not in control of my own body. Most of my traumatic memories are like this. It’s like I try to forget that that was me and that I’m watching a movie instead. My brain humanely doesn’t show the actual burning. Only the toss.

I’ve had other things burned. Books, VHS tapes, computer games, drawings I’ve made, etc. They’ve all been extremely traumatic and my brain blocks out most of them. I remember I had a Dragonball computer game or something (all I remember was it was a disc) and my birth mother burned it because she was under the impression that Japanese cartoon styles looked “evil, hateful, and demonic.” This happened sometimes too. I wasn’t even being punished. She was just a religious lunatic who thought kid-friendly media that didn’t promote her religion was dangerous and needed to be destroyed. She frequently got parenting self-help books that promoted beating your kids and burning secular toys to show your kids that they were evil. She eventually eased up on this with time though and I went from being screamed at for wanting to watch Pokemon at 4 to getting to own Pokemon cards and Harry Potter books (bot not letting my birth father find out) at 12. 

Things being burned happened a little bit later into my life, around 5-10. The stuffed animal theft (with them being returned eventually most of the time) was from earlier. Theft of personal possessions that held significant emotional value to me was continued to be used but it stopped being used as a punishment and started being an attempt to “cure” me of being mentally ill. “Weak” as my birth father called it, but as I’ve come to suspect “easily identifiable as being abused in the home” as being the true motivator. They were under the impression that I needed to be forcibly made to stop having comfort items altogether.

I had trouble with sensory feelings. I could only wear specific fabrics, clothes that fit a certain way, and would become severely distressed if forced to wear an unsuitable fabric or something too tight. As a result I would become attached to articles of clothing for feeling just right. I had a pair of bright green shorts and they were my favorite shorts. Even though the only damage that ever befell these shorts was easily fixed, my birth mother decided that I was relying “too much” on these shorts and tried to hide them. I found them. She then destroyed them in my presence to “teach me a lesson.”

Things like this happened frequently throughout my life. Another instance I remember vividly, when I was 8 or 9 was when me and my brother got happy meals from McDonald’s. They came with a little stuffed toy. My brain can’t piece together what it was, repression and all that. But I remember it being red. My birth mother had taken us out to McDonald's for some positive reason. Because we had good report cards or something. Anyways, so we had McDonald’s and went back home but she forgot something at the restaurant so she went back to get it. Leaving me and my brother alone with my birth father who decided for whatever reason that we hadn’t deserved McDonald's so he came into our rooms to beat us and take away the toys. My brother submitted quicker than I did and I heard him hit the wall and not cry after before my birth father went to me. I had a death grip and absolutely did not want to let go. I put up more of a fight and he physically assaulted me, squeezing around my throat with one hand and tearing the toy out of my hands with the other. It ripped. I tried to take it back and he repeatedly slammed my head into the metal bars of my bed frame, causing bruising and broken skin on my right temple.

My birth father frequently did shit like that. Just decide out of the blue that we didn’t deserve something or needed to be taught a lesson. My birth mother when she was around would come between us in these circumstances so he often waited until she was gone. He didn’t like us being “spoiled” with praise, nurturing, rewards, and food so he’d often treat us this way after something positive happened like we went with my birth mom to see a movie or to the swimming pool. Getting a new stuffed animal was usually grounds for harassment.

Honestly the fact that this was so common it’s a wonder that I’ve managed to keep the most important stuffed animal from my early years with me. Battered, worn, falling apart, missing his face, with skin grafts and a loose eye Ope is worse for wear, that’s putting it lightly. But I still have him. My guess is that it’s because he was given to me by my grandparents and they died when I was five. My birth mother had and still has a lot of remorse for leaving them, for not listening to them about my birth father, etc. His connection to them probably saved him from destruction or being thrown away. I’m not complaining. He matters so much to me. Despite how badly he’s fallen apart all these years he’s the only stuffed animal who’s degradation doesn’t cause me as much emotional stress. It still makes me sad when I think about it, but that’s just Ope. I still chew on his nose. Some things are eternal.

The last time I had to deal with parental stuffed animal theft was later. Within the couple years or so before my friend rescued me and took me in and we shared that fateful first apartment. At that point my birth father was gone and the locks were changed. He wasn’t living there. Because of my high school’s disability program I had got a part time job. Yes me. With a job. It was possible at one point. Anyways, while I was out, being the SOLE BREADWINNER of the house at the time, my birth mother for some fucking reason decided to take a bunch of my stuffed animals to the thrift store. In her infinite wisdom she didn’t think far enough ahead to consider that:

Going to thrift stores is one of my only recreational activities. 

That I did so very frequently. 

And that exact thrift store was my favorite one to go to. 

Never mind the fact that eventually I would have noticed when I got out my stuffed animals to brush them for stress relief. She really did think I was that stupid. It went about as well as you’re thinking it went. I went to the thrift store, went to the stuffed animal section. “Oh. I have one of these! I have one of these too. Wait... the dent in his safety eye is the exact same one that I--” And then I was in HYSTERICS as I had to buy back as many of my stuffed animals that hadn’t been sold yet as I could. My brain repressed pretty much everything after discovering that they were mine. Can’t remember bringing them up to the front or coming back home. I was absolutely DESTROYED. Why the fuck would she have ever thought that this was an okay thing to do? I don’t know. 

When I went back there to clear the old house out several years later she had the nerve to get mad at me for wanting to donate things I didn’t want (but she wanted me to want), as if she hadn’t snuck behind my back and done it to things I actually held value in, taking advantage of me being at work to do so.

Looking back on just how much my comfort items were exploited to abuse me and torture me for the crime of existing it really isn’t a matter of WHY I get so manic about and attached to the ones I have now. You should be able to see the clear path of progression that lead to me being so terrified of bad stuff happening to my things. I also have to wonder if this didn’t also contribute to my unhealthy addictive and obsessive personality. I was misdiagnosed as being on the autism spectrum and I wonder if my hypersensitivity, special interests, and the like are the result of being punished for enjoying things and having boundaries. Maybe my new psychiatrist will be able to tell me that. But for now I just wanted to write out a bit of a memoir about these sorts of things. It feels good to acknowledge and expel them onto the internet.

Where I am now I am constantly buying stuffed dogs, each with their own name, each being cared for and valued. Some are more important than others: 

Tiny, bought for me by one of my best friends Rob/Fishytales who is my immediate go-to when I’m having mental problems to just hold close. Afraid to let anything happen to him he mostly gives comfort by just being there. A reminder of what a great friend Fishy is. 

Whisky, who goes with me to conventions as part of my cosplay, who I hold in my arms when I sleep and who’s deteriorating softness has been the subject of many a late night vent post or cry. 

Wheezy, who I bought at a flea market where I eventually got robbed and lost everything else I bought except him because I held onto him. A meme parody of the original Whisky who ended up being the one I brought around in public when we were searching for a new place to live and I didn’t feel safe where we were crashed for the time being. 

The beanie baby dog army, toys used to be kept as an “investment” now selling for a dollar a piece and easy to buy in perfect condition. A reminder of my early years and great high quality stim toys who look cute and are satisfying to hold. My four favourites being the one I had as a toddler, the one I always wanted to have but was never able to, the one that’s named after my first childhood dog, and the one who was also a dalmatian like the first aforementioned one. (Dalmatians used to be my favourite breed) 

The customized beanie baby dogs with wings, just like my dream stuffed animal I’ve always wanted to have, and just like my imaginary friend who became my voice when I had none. 

There’s the Vicious plush and the Andy plush, characters from my favourite video game who brighten up my room and make it feel safe.

I have a little red pillow that is technically a comfort object. I’ll always hold onto it.

And my Andy hat helps too doesn’t it? It’s like armor for when I go outside. Being Andy is my first line of defense for fears and trauma woes.

Last of all is Ope. Who despite looking like a rotting corpse has kept me moving forward and feeling brave. Who comforts me with his textile feel, smell, and just by being there.

And you know what? So many people, even now, have at one point felt the need to berate me about my “stuffed animal problem” as if my 1 dollar each beanie babies are as much of a crisis as your super expensive but socially more “acceptable” adult grown up hobbies, or in any way comparable to having thousand-dollar-limit credit cards or car payments or whatever.

Like no offense, but it couldn’t be more obvious that these mean so much to me because of severe trauma and child abuse. Your lack of compassion or failure to acknowledge another person’s life experiences is demeaning and degrading. Wow. How dare I buy stuffed dogs at thrift stores and occasionally on ebay and want to get collars for them and bring them around with me everywhere. It might not be that way for every child with a comfort object, but mine WERE because I didn’t have a bond with a maternal figure. And I still don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to have parental guardians. I don’t know how to feel safe. I have violent nightmares almost every night and wake up with bruises all over my legs. Apparently I’m not loud during these nightmares so they’re easy to ignore. I get that. Fine.

But listen. We are mortal, only here for a little while. We shouldn’t have to suffer just to appear normal to appease some industrialist dehumanizing status quo. We should do things because it makes us happy, because it makes us feel safe, because it gives us comfort, peace, and enjoyment. We should care about comfort, health, safety. That means having a home, medicine, food to eat, and of course, things that bring emotional well-being. Like my dogs do for me.

And when you ridicule me and make fun of me for doing what I can to feel safe in this big scary world, you are serving as echos of the same violence that refused to let me bring them to school, that took them from me to try and force me to be “normal,” that stole them from me to punish me for things that children just do, because their children. You echo the way they were stolen to “cure” me of things of which there isn’t a cure. Which DOESN’T WORK. It only causes further mental damage. So all you’re doing is being the ghost of that damage. making so that I can’t escape it, recover, or heal.

I don’t know if I’ll ever not feel guilt for my stuffed animals showing their age, getting dirty, and little accidents that sometimes just happen. Maybe with time I’ll stop projecting blame onto myself, the victim of what happened, and realize that I was just a regular kid in an irregular situation. But until then I DO know that YOU shouldn’t be projecting shame onto me for something that harms no one.

I wish I could go back to when I was five and knew how to stand up to people. To tell adults that invade my personal boundaries “No.” Because telling me how to live my life is the definition of invading my personal boundaries. And you need to stop.

I’m proud of my stuffed animals. I care about them. In spite of how I was raised to perpetuate violent and fear I want to treat them with love, respect, and dignity. They’re not just worthless, disposable, things. I love them.

And my first step to standing up for myself and not taking blame for things that aren’t my fault will be bringing them with me. Keeping them with me. I will not be ashamed of them. I have not only suffered but survived horrors few children in the western world go through and my stuffed animal entourage is my reparations. I have the right to have them. Especially after my past. 

They give me independence. And that there’s something I have control over in this world.

[pbandjesse]

Happy Fourth of July everyone. I have a lot of feelings about America, the government, the political climate. I know that my outlook on life is always going to be do good recklessly. Be kind. Care about other people. And if today is the day where people can come together and try to put a little positivity in the world. And maybe blow some things up beautifully. It's not all bad.

I was very distressed last night. I'll admit that. But I did fall back asleep around 11:30 and we didn't get up until almost nine. I felt pretty good actually. When we got up. James left and went down to his parents house to get the car. Took his mom on an errand and then got to me around 10:30 or 11. I had had a very small breakfast. But I felt fine. It was just very hot today. And the air conditioning in the car is broken.

So we are both quite sweaty. We did two trips from my apartment to the garage. And we got almost everything. We need to get a U-Haul or a truck or something for the last couple things. Which is annoying. But it's fine. It'll all work out. We really need to get into the cleaning part now. Everything is just very dusty and there are spider webs everywhere because I haven't been there for a couple weeks. Still got time but still makes me anxious.

We finished up and we were so tired. But we went to get his mom. And then she came downtown with us so that we could not have to wait for the bus since we both had work. I got to see their family friends house which was beautiful. But I was also just very hot and I wanted to go home.

We got back to the apartment and have an hour and a half to spend together. James made us lunch. He made me a quesadilla and he had hot dogs. And we enjoyed the air conditioning in the fans. We brought another fan over to keep in the bathroom. It's very humid in there. And we just were both quiet together. He had to be at ships by 2 and I didn't have to be at the museum until 5. So he left around 1:30 and I went and took a shower.

It felt great. I wash my hair. And then I got all lotioned and it was nice. I spent the afternoon listening to scary stories and laying around with sweet pea. It started raining. They were calling for it basically all day. And all weekend. But it was pretty at least. Was the nice kind of soft rain. Lots of thunder and lightning though. For not being a very strong storm I was surprised by how noisy it was.

I left here around 3:30 ish. I don't exactly remember. I took my time I left the house inside to come back up to the apartment to get a plastic bag because my purse is nice. One time a long time ago I saw a photograph that said how to tell if a purse was real. And it was two pictures. One where a girl was using her purse to block the rain. And the other where the girl was keeping her purse in her jacket to protect it from the rain. I finally reached a point in my life where I want to protect my bag from the rain.

I had a really nice bike ride down to the museum. Just kind of enjoying the rain and listening to music and it was nice. I got down there about 4:30. There wasn't much for me to do it first. So I kind of walked around the museum and I took pictures of my Furby. I had stopped on the pier and taking pictures out there as well. Which is what my outfit of the day photo is. About at 5 everyone else got there. We got pizza and we all got a voucher to get ice cream later on. We got to make buttons! That was fun. Then we chose our Galleries and then we're just able to chill for a bit. I had spurts of wanting to be social in spurts of wanting to be solitary. I got to tell some stories about going to a Christian School that I believe is a cult. And how we should never be Facebook friends wit people from High School.

I had a fabulous night. I was in the machine shop again and I must have given my 15-minute talk 12 times. The time. That I was in there does not account for that. But I did feel like it. I had crowds of people listening to my speech. And I was telling jokes and I got laughs. I turned on the machines and I made jokes about sculpture. The kids wanted to touch my furby. And that was adorable. I have an excellent night. I got to meet a bunch of really cool people. I have to talk about my art. I'm at some older guys who told me stuff that I didn't know about Machining. I met a couple people who had fun history facts that I can add into my speech. And I always loved that. And soon enough it was mine and we were done.

All of us Educators got together and went and turned all the lights off. And then we went outside to get our ice cream. I got a orange float. Which was fabulous. And then Lane was there! I was so excited to see her! We all were going to go inside after we got our ice cream and watch the fireworks from The Cannery. But then me and Edison, one of the educators, were in there and we decided we both wanted to go outside. So we abandoned the group and went and sat on the dock for the boat. And it was great.

We think the boat might have caught on fire at one point because the grand finale did not go on and the boat was very orange and bright for a little while. But the show itself was great and I really enjoyed it. Even if they didn't have a finale.

We all went and sat in the Cannery for a little bit and waited for the crowds to kind of disperse. And then we went out and help clean everything up. And soon enough it was time to go home.

I biked back here. And I hated biking down by the harbor. In the Inner Harbor at least. The first half of my trip was nice. Middle half was terrible. Way too many people and no one being aware of bike lane. And then I had to be in the weird traffic over where everyone's trying to get on the highway. But I made it safely up to the neighborhood. Where I then proceeded to crash into a telephone pole. Clipped my handlebar right on the side and fell right off. Yelled. But I did not hurt myself. I only bumped my ankle a bit. I think I'll have a small bruise but obviously not as bad as it was last time.

I got in here and close the window and made sure Sweet Pea was okay and turn the air conditioning on. I took a shower. And now I'm laying here and I'm waiting for James. I'm assuming they're still cleaning up and he's okay. Hopefully he'll be home soon. Tomorrow Justice coming to town. And I'm very much looking forward to seeing her. We have a couple activities but hopefully it will mostly be chill. Good night everyone. Be safe.

[supercasey]

Keep Your Promise

Description: Nodad/Twins AU. The story of how the Mystery Lady escaped her abuser, and eventually kept her promise to Skout.

A/N: Based heavily on bl00w1tch’s Nodad AU, my Twin AU, and signomad’s fanart of the Twin AU! Check us all out on Tumblr! If anyone can come up with a better description, please let me know because this description fucking sucks. Thanks for reading!

A lone woman hurries quietly through the shrouded desert, sweat dripping down the back of her neck and dampening her nightshirt. She has to keep going. Behind her, she can hear the quiet chitter of little creatures on her heels, following her, keeping her running until she’s out of breath. They think that this is just another night, but she’ll prove them wrong. She’s not going back, not ever again. She can’t. Wrapped up in a ragged, dusty green blanket, a little girl lies dormant in the runaway’s arms, her soft snores enough to encourage the woman to keep moving forward.

Pausing on top of a sand dune to catch her breath- a dangerous move, she knows, but these Critters aren’t made to capture. They’re made to track- the runaway gives her child a tentative rock, trying to sooth the toddler into an even deeper sleep. “Easy, my little Skout,” The woman whispers, pressing a tentative kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “It’ll be okay… we’re going to make it this time. I promise.” Last time… well, the woman would rather not think about it too much. She still bears the bruises on her left shoulder.

Behind her, one of the Critters- a tumbleweed, it’s body bristly and cracking- gives the young mother a curious look, as if expecting her to finally give up on this game of cat and mouse. The woman gives the Critter a harsh glare, attempting to hide her anxiety with aggression. “Go on,” She murmurs, daring the little thing to do something. Anything. “Go ahead and get your master… see if it stops me from runnin’ away. You and I both know that I’ll git outta here eventually.”

The tumbleweed visibly saddens, and it fills the woman with guilt. At one time, she called these helpless little Critters her ‘friends’- some days, they were all that got her through the day. But after she started trying to run away with the kids… the runaway shudders, biting her bottom lip to muffle a sob at the silent mention of her young son. She couldn’t risk it though, not again. That alone is the reason she knows she will succeed this time- magic attracts magic, and the Nomad had simply followed the energy of his son to catch her last time. So she left him- she took her only magic-less child and ran, abandoning little Hunter in his crib to cry in silence for his mother and sister.

A new determination filling her heart, the runaway straightens, giving the tumbleweed Critter an sympathetic glance. “I know that this ain’t yer fault, darlin’… but please, go home,” She begs, her voice a quiet whisper- though it sounds deafening to her this late at night, when there’s no one around. No one but her and the Critters. “I ain’t goin’ back this time… I’m sorry, friend.”

The Critter stares at the woman- unblinking, unfeeling, as if it doesn’t even hold artificial life in its body- before it finally turns away, sharing the woman’s will to escape. Slowly, it rolls away, and with it’s departure the woman breathes a sigh of relief. Okay, that makes things easier… without a tracker, she can get farther. But she still has a long way to go. Hiking up her backpack, the woman presses a reassuring kiss to her daughter’s cheek and continues on, leaving no sign of her presence in her wake. The Nomad can scour the whole desert, but she won’t let him catch her. Not ever again.

“Annabeth… Driller?”

The runaway- Annabeth- glances up from where she’s been cuddling her baby, taking a moment to give the conductor a weary smile. “Yes, that’d be me,” She says, trying and failing to hide the fatigue from her voice. She hasn’t slept all night. “Somethin’ the matter?”

“We’re boarding soon,” The conductor explains, before pausing, giving the woman and her baby a curious onceover. “Don’t got many folk with last names ‘round here- you local?”

“Not anymore.” Anna states, standing to her full- though rather unimpressive- height, her backpack hanging from only one shoulder while she focuses on keeping her grip on Skout.

“Oof, sounds bad,” The conductor admits, giving Anna a tentative smile- he’s trying to be sympathetic. Anna wouldn’t be surprised if he’s seen more than a few runaway mothers in his time as a train conductor. “He a real jerk?”

“The absolute worst,” Anna confirms, hurrying past the man to board her train. “You take care now, sir.”

“You too, miss. And goodbye to you too, little one!” The conductor says, taking a moment to grin at Skout. It’s hard for strangers not to coo over the sleeping toddler- it’s all of that long, red hair, just like her mother’s.

The train takes off not long after, and Anna treats herself to a seat at the back of the train, away from everyone’s prying eyes. There, she lays Skout down on the seat next to her, keeping a tender hand on her daughter’s head. Skout’s about four and a half now, yet the girl keeps quiet for the most part. Anna sees it as a mixed blessing usually, but right now it’s 100% a blessing- she doesn’t need her sweet little girl to be attracting too much attention right now. Besides, Skout’s used to this. Sure, Anna’s never gotten this far with her before, but she doubts that her baby understands that. She probably thinks her Daddy’s gonna bust in at any moment and take her and Mama home.

Anna sighs longingly at the thought, though she tries to keep her conflicting emotions at bay. Try as she might, Anna can’t help but think back on her golden days with Benjamin. They had once been much happier- at least, Ben made her believe they were. Benjamin had found her in a nearby town to his secluded forest, and he had frequented her family’s oil mill for resources on a daily basis. Ma and Pa had hated him, warning their daughter that magic would only bring trouble, but Annabeth… she had been blown away by the stranger. He had been exotic to her and the townsfolk- tall, strong, wise in ways that none of the coal miners or oil drillers ever could be, all dressed up in hooded and concealing clothing that had only continued to interest the young lady.

Benjamin- he had preferred Benny or Ben back then- had obviously been aware of her schoolyard crush, and he had toyed endlessly with her as a result, making time for her during his visits to town to tell her all sorts of stories, filled to the brim with his exploits as a wizard on the run. His magic had only further cemented Anna’s affections, his tricks playful yet intriguing. On Anna’s 18th birthday, Ben had made all the tools on her family’s farm dance for her. Pa had been furious, but a young Annabeth had been swept off her feet, and Ben damn well knew it. Soon after that, he had offered to marry her, promising Anna a life far superior to mining oil and coal for the rest of her days. Of course she said yes.

Annabeth had ran away with him, escaping her constricting family to live a happy and free life in the wilderness with her true love… but fate had other plans. He got her pregnant within a few weeks of their ‘marriage’, and while Anna had been over the moon, Benjamin had been… brooding. He had been clinical with his movements and mannerisms, running his hands over her slowly bulging belly at every opportunity, his hands glowing at times. This had frightened Anna to some extent, but when she had questioned him about it, Ben had waved it off as him putting protection spells on the baby… or babies, as they found out months later. With no access to a doctor, Anna had been forced to give birth in the cabin, her only assistance being Benjamin’s Critters petting her hair and stomach through the ordeal, with Benjamin at the foot of the bed, caring for the babies as they arrived.

She gave birth to twins- one boy and one girl. The girl had been first, and an hour later her brother had joined her in this brave new world. It had been Anna’s idea to name them Skout and Hunter, something Benjamin had simply shrugged at. “Whatever ya come up with I'll love, honey,” He had said, when Anna asked why he didn’t want to help name them. “Anythin’ fer my sweetheart.” Back then, that had comforted her, but now...

The sound of Skout’s whimpering is what breaks Annabeth out of her reminiscing, reminding her of why she’s here and not there, trapped in that claustrophobic little cabin. Slowly, Skout sits up, and greets her mother with a sleepy smile. “Mama!” The little girl coos, eyes glistening in the early morning sunlight.

“Good morning, dear,” Anna says, reaching out and placing Skout on her lap. Absentmindedly, she runs her fingers through Skout’s hair, attempting to rid the girl of any tangles. “How’d you sleep, baby?”

Skout grimaces, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. “Not good,” She admits, pulling back to give Anna a frightened look. “Where’s Daddy?”

Anna sighs, readying herself for what’s about to come. “”Daddy’s… not here right now. He’s on vacation with Hunter,” She lies, figuring that this is better than telling her daughter the truth- Skout doesn’t need to know who her Daddy really is this young. Nearby, an older woman gives Anna and Skout a sympathetic smile, the lady attempting to give the mother moral support. “And we’re going on our own vacation, too. Somewhere far away.” Anna adds, hoping this will be enough to comfort her daughter.

It doesn’t work at all. “But why? Where’s Daddy? Where’s buba?”

Anna tries to will away the urge to cry, but tears are running down her cheeks before she can stop them. “Because we need a break, baby girl. I know that this is confusing and scary, but you gotta be strong. Be strong for Mama.”

Skout just sobs bitterly, the other train passengers looking away out of embarrassment, not wanting to stare at the clearly upset toddler. “I wan’ Daddy!” She wails, collapsing against her mother’s chest.

Annabeth just holds her close, allowing herself to cry with her daughter. She wants to give Skout what she wants- what she needs- but it’s too dangerous… Benjamin is too dangerous. This is her only chance of survival… Anna just prays that someday, somehow, Skout will understand. For now, she’ll settle for Skout hating her.

It takes some time, but eventually, Annabeth feels like she’s successfully escaped.

Skout’s just turned five years old now- she’s always running, always exploring the area. She’s not yet used to the lack of vegetation, but Anna knows that those memories will slip away eventually, and with their passing will come security in her new home. She still asks about Daddy sometimes, but mostly she just seems to miss Hunter. Everytime it comes up, it absolutely devastates the young mother, but she knows that it can’t be helped. Even if Benjamin somehow couldn’t put a tracking spell on Hunter, the boy would still be a target- his magic is potent, and without a teacher, he could very easily lose control and accidentally hurt someone.

As much as it pains Anna, she knows that this was the right path to take, and despite all her worries… this place is good. She now lives in a small oil drilling town- one that’s very similar to her childhood home. It’s cozy here, and the townsfolk don’t ask too many questions. Even when they do, Anna always gives them the same response: “We’re on vacation.” It’s vague enough to not reveal many details, but it’s enough to clue everyone into the idea that they really shouldn’t ask anymore questions. Besides, Skout likes it here, and that alone is enough to make Anna feel like she’s finally free of her old life.

Of course, it’s around this time that Benjamin decides to show up.

He arrives in the late afternoon, the low crowing of birds acting as an ensemble for the dangerous nomad. Anna’s sitting on the porch when she catches sight of him, the man’s tall, wiry frame barely able to be seen in the horizon, but Anna knows right away that it’s him- the energy surrounding him is too volatile to ignore. Slowly, Anna stands from her rocking chair, trying to hide her frantic movements as she scans the area for Skout. She finds her a few feet away, playing with one of the stray dogs in the area. Anna whistles, and immediately Skout comes running, her grin contrasting with the tense atmosphere.

“Skout, sweet baby, please head inside,” Annabeth requests, already maneuvering her toddler into the house. “Go hide under Mama’s bed, ya hear?”

Skout gives her mother a confused look, but otherwise doesn’t argue, dashing into the house to follow her mother’s instructions. With her daughter safe for the moment, Anna glares at the incoming wizard, refusing to break eye contact as the man draws closer. Soon enough, he’s upon her, the man dressed in his usual garb of a large, shrouded hat, a dark blue serape, long brown jeans, and a baby blue, long sleeved shirt. The Nomad stares Anna down, his mouth downturned in the corner to show how upset he is. Slowly, he reveals Hunter in his arms, the little boy wrapped up in the same baby blue blanket Anna knitted for him when he was born.

“Annabeth,” Benjamin says, his voice a deep drawl that sends shivers down Anna’s spine. At one time, she found his voice comforting- now it just fills her bones with an instinctual desire to run. “Wandered rather far from home, didn’t ya?” He doesn’t really sound mad, but he’s always been good at lying.

“This is my home now, Benny. You best git ‘fore I get the sheriff,” Anna threatens, attempting to hold her ground. “I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t comin’ back… obviously ya didn’t listen.”

“Didn’t listen?” Benjamin repeats, thoroughly unimpressed with the short woman’s tough girl routine. “Baby, yer the one who ain’t ever listened. Didn’t I tells ya that nobody outruns the Nomad of Nowhere?”

Anna swallows, shifting her weight somewhat. She honestly didn’t expect Ben to follow her out this far, not when he’s been so careful to keep a low profile these last few decades. “I… I ain’t scared ‘a ya.” She finally manages to say, tears building up in her eyes. She tries to will them away, but it’s no use.

Benjamin’s stance softens, his frown turning sympathetic. It’s enough to make Anna wonder- at least for a moment- if he really loves her. However, it doesn’t last, and without invitation, Ben climbs onto the porch, unwrapping Hunter and settling the toddler on his hip. “I don’t want you ta be scared ‘a me, baby,” Ben whispers, voice low and gentle. He’s trying to win her back. “It ain’t gonna be like last time, I promise. Lookit ‘lil Hunter ‘ere-” He holds out the boy to Anna, evidence of crying on the child’s face. “-He’s been crying fer days, wonderin’ where his mama and sissy went! Ya can’t leave us!” Okay, that last bit has to at least partially be a lie- Hunter’s never spoken a word and Benjamin damn well knows it.

Right now, Anna’s thankful for the fact that her house is farther away from anyone else’s- the last thing she needs is a crowd to watch the ‘domestic dispute’. “I’ve said it ‘fore and I’ll say it ‘gain- I ain’t goin’ back, Benny. I ain’t lettin’ you hurt me or my baby ever again.”

Benjamin stiffens, before sending a deathly glare Anna’s way, causing the redhead to shiver. “I ain’t ever laid no hands on my babies, you got dat?” He untenses somewhat, though his stance still appears hostile. “What, you gonna abandon yer son now? You gonna leave us ta fend fer ourselves?”

“Yes,” It comes out as a bit of a sob. Anna trembles, unable to keep the defiance in her eyes for much longer. “I ain’t goin’ back… I can’t.”

There’s a lengthy pause, before Benjamin steps forward, trying to hug Annabeth in an attempt to win her over, but Anna backs away, not allowing the nomad to win. “Git the Hell outta here, Benny,” She orders, voice hoarse and angry, her glance refusing to meet the milky white irises of either her son or ex-husband’s eyes. “Go on… I SAID GIT!” She shouts, taking a nearby broom and holding it as a weapon, her glare unforgiving.

Slowly, Benjamin backs off, climbing off of the porch. As one last attempt at winning her back, Ben maneuvers Hunter to look over his left shoulder, the tiny toddler staring sadly at his mother, an arm held out to her, his fist opening and closing expectantly. It’s enough to make the tears finally fall, but Annabeth holds her ground, refusing to yield. With no other way to court her back- and with magic being too dangerous to use when there are witnesses nearby- Benjamin finally decides to go, Hunter refusing to break eye contact with his mother as the duo leave. It’s only after they’re gone that Anna begins to sob, letting her fingers untense around the handle of the broom, until she finally lets go. It hits the porch with a clatter, but it’s not loud enough to wake Anna from her worst nightmare.

It’s only after she’s regained her composure that Anna dares to go back inside. She finds Skout under her bed, the girl looking as though she's been crying. “... That was Daddy, wasn’t it?” Skout asks, after giving her mother a long, heartbreaking stare.

Annabeth slowly nods, willing herself to not start crying all over again. “It was, sweetie.” She whispers, too afraid to speak any louder.

Skout breaks, sobbing as she launches herself out of her hiding place and into her mother’s arms, the girl’s thin frame shaking with every sob. Anna waits out the storm, scooping Skout up and laying down with her on the bed, humming under her breath between small kisses to her daughter’s forehead and cheeks. It takes awhile, but soon enough Skout settles down, her sobs decreasing to pitiful sniffles, though her grip on Anna doesn’t cease, not that Anna really wants it to. Carefully, Anna sits up, her back resting against the headboard of her bed as she readies herself for The Conversation. The one she’s been dreading for weeks.

“... Why’d you yell at Daddy?” Skout asks, once she’s sure that it’s safe. It breaks Anna’s heart that Skout might be afraid of her.

“‘Cus Daddy’s… Daddy’s not very nice.” Anna says, trying to find a way to explain this to Skout without traumatizing her in the process.

“So? Not everybody’s nice, Mama. Mister Donley next door’s a right piece a work, ain’t he? You says so!” Skout points out, and if it weren’t for the somber mood, Anna would laugh. It seems like Skout’s been listening better than Anna’s given her credit for.

Anna sighs, shaking her head. “It ain’t the same, baby girl,” She explains. She swallows, knowing now that there’s no way out of this conversation without telling Skout the truth. “Baby, Daddy ain’t safe. He… he hits, and you know how hittin’ ain’t allowed, right?” She waits until Skout nods in confirmation to continue. “Well, he does it a lot, and that’s really bad. He’s really bad. So we can’t go back.”

Skout still looks upset, but it’s only after she’s sure that Anna won’t go into more detail on her own that she speaks up. “But… what ‘bout buba? Why’s he stayin’ with Daddy?”

Anna bites back a sob at the reminder, trying to convince herself over and over again in her head that she was right to leave him behind… but with every passing day, it’s a less convincing argument. “‘Cus Hunter can’t come.” She states, hoping that will be enough.

She should know better than to expect Skout to take that answer at face value. “Why not?” Skout prods, not understanding her mother’s reasoning.

It takes everything in Anna not to snap at Skout- after all, this isn’t her daughter’s fault. “‘Cus Daddy won’t let him come,” She says, trying a somewhat different approach. “I’m sorry, baby, but there ain’t nothin’ we can do about it… but someday, somehow, you’ll be with Hunter again. You’ll find your buba.”

Skout sniffs, trying to will away her tears. “... You promise?” She asks, an agony in her voice that makes Anna’s heart ache with guilt.

Anna nods, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “I promise, my little Skout. I promise.”

Skout grows up. She grows up so goddamn fast, Anna wonders sometimes where the time went. After turning Benjamin away, the nomad obeyed her orders and left her alone, and for that Annabeth has always been grateful. Yes, some days she wishes to wake up in bed beside Benjamin and pretend that nothing bad ever happened, but with each passing year she’s more comforted by his absence. Never again will she be forced to watch him kill an innocent passerby for having stumbled into the briar, or endure anymore psychological manipulation at his hands. Finally… finally, she feels like she’s moved on.

Like she’s mentioned, Skout has grown up rather fast, the energetic redhead becoming her own woman as time passes her by. She stopped asking about Dad and Hunter after awhile, and nowadays… well, nowadays she’s been studying. The oil town doesn’t have a school, but Anna’s been sure to buy the girl as many books as she can afford. Skout’s already proven herself to be resourceful, if nothing else, learning how to read faster than any of the other kids in town. She reads obsessively, taking the time to piece together stories and ideas in her head, and has also proven herself to be the best repairman in town. Anna’s never been more proud.

It’s on a gloomy, almost somber day that Skout comes running through the door- her hair a mess, her shirt’s top button undone- startling Annabeth out of her daydreaming. “Ma! Ma, there’re soldiers in town!” Skout shouts excitedly- her wordplay makes it sound like there’s danger, but her eyes give away the teenager’s eagerness.

Anna blinks, taking a moment to dry her hands off with a dish towel- she had been doing laundry when her daughter came in. Slowly, she stands from her formerly crouched position, giving her child a worried glance. “Soldiers? What you mean, darlin’?”

Skout closes the door behind her, grinning from ear to ear at her mother. “They’re called ‘Dandy Lions’!” She explains, handing a flyer to her mother. On it, there’s an advertisement to join a far away town named Oasis’ royal guard. “And they’re in town lookin’ fer bright eyed pupils and soldiers! Mama, I could finally go to school somewhere! They’ve got opportunities for people like me! Sure, I’ll start out as a spittoon girl, but I can work my way up! Oh, Ma, I’m so excited!”

Anna’s hardly listening, as her eyes have found themselves glued to the flyer. Oasis… on the tiny map painted into the flyer’s corner, Anna can see that the town isn’t far from the Briar, and if that’s the case… It’s far too dangerous. Yes, she’s recently promised Skout that she can go away for schooling if the opportunity arises, but this… this can’t be the one. “I’m sorry, baby, but no. You can’t go. It’s… it’s too close to Daddy.”

She hasn’t brought up Dad in a long time, and the look on Skout’s face shows that the teenager is upset at his mention. “So? Ma, I can handle myself just fine! ‘Sides, who’s ta say that old bastard’ll recognize me?”

Because he can sense your energy. Because he'll kill you if he finds out that I'm not there to protect you. Anna holds back from saying that, aware of what it will imply- Skout doesn’t remember that her Dad was a magic user… and she certainly doesn’t need to remember it anytime soon, not when the townsfolk have made it clear to her daughter that magic is nothing but trouble. “He just would, darlin’... again, I’m sorry, but you ain’t goin’ and that’s that.” Anna’s voice is stern and low, trying to remind Skout of who’s in charge.

Skout huffs, glaring daggers at her mother. “But, Ma… there’s this girl… she’s leadin’ ‘em, and she said that she’ll get me outta ‘ere… I could be more than an oil driller.”

And there it is. Annabeth, all too suddenly, realizes how her mother must’ve felt when she ran away. The look in her daughter’s eyes- love at first sight, adoration for a cause she barely understands- is something Anna recalls feeling almost two decades ago… she had been in love with Ben, and right now, her daughter’s in love with a woman who’s promised her the same things Benjamin did. That thought alone makes Annabeth terrified, scared that someone is going to kidnap her daughter. It doesn’t matter if Skout thinks she’s in love- Anna isn’t about to let her daughter go through everything her mother’s been running from.

“My word is final, Skout Driller. You are to stay here, with me, until I say otherwise. It’s far too dangerous, and this mystery woman could very well be just as bad as your Daddy.” Anna explains, leaving no room for arguing.

Tears build up in Skout’s eyes, but they’re rubbed away before they can fall. “Dammit, Ma…” Skout growls, frustrated beyond belief… but it’s better than dead. Better than kidnapped. “You just don’t get it! You don’t get what it’s like ta be trapped in some nowhere town, wishin’ you could be somebody! Don’t ya understand? I can’t get nothin’ done in my life in dis place! … I don't wanna grow old and die here. I gotta find out if I can be somethin’.”

Anna sighs. Hard. She really doesn’t want to get into this with her daughter, but… fuck it, there’s obviously no way around it. She has to tell her. “... I ever tell you how I met yer Daddy?” She asks, hoping that the pause has given Skout time to calm down.

Skout visibly falters, shocked by the question. It’s enough to break her tough girl act, at least for a little while. “No, you… you never really brought Dad up much when I was a kid.”

Anna walks over to the couch and takes a seat, motioning for Skout to sit next to her. She doesn’t continue her story until Skout sits. “When I was yer age- so ‘bout seventeen- there was this handsome stranger… he’d come to my family’s oil mill once a month to buy oil and food, so we got ta know each other pretty damn well. He was… God, Skout, when I first met him, he was the kindest gentleman I ever did meet. He’d tell me all sorts of stories, about how he’d grown up in a place where the trees had leaves, and everything was green and alive. He told me he loved me. He told me he could get me outta there… that he could help me be somebody. ‘Course I said yes when he proposed.

“After that, he and I ran away from there- I never even told my folks goodbye. They’d never liked yer Daddy, but I thought they was being harsh with him… shoulda known they was onto somethin’. Anyways, he and I moved way out south, and, well… we had you. And your brother, of course,” Anna pauses, noticing how Skout tears up at the mention of Hunter. Quietly, Anna reaches out and rubs Skout’s shoulder, trying to comfort her. “Few years later, things got… worse. Daddy would get paranoid, start hurtin’ anybody who wandered near da house, and while he never hurt you or yer buba, he’d take to bruisin’ me a bit. Nothin’ major, but that among other things convinced me that I had ta get away. And yer Daddy, he knew I was runnin’... he hid Hunter, so that I couldn’t bring ‘im, but I still ran. I still got us outta there.

“So what I’m tryin’ ta say is… people can shower ya in love, can make all sorts ‘a promises, but dat don’t mean they’re good people. And people… they can tell how smart you are, baby girl. They can tell you’re one in a million. And they’re gonna try and convince ya that they’ve got everythin’ figured out, and that they’ll take care of ya, but they’re likely lyin’. Skout, baby, promise me you’ll be cautious, and that you won’t trust strangers. Promise me that you’ll stay here.” Anna takes hold of her daughters hands, trying to plead with her eyes. “Don’t leave me here,” She wants to beg. “Don’t leave me like Daddy did.”

“Mama…” The look on Skout’s face says it all- a stranger’s stolen her heart, and she doesn’t even want it back. She wants to be loved by somebody other than her mother, and in some way, Anna understands that. It doesn’t mean she thinks it’s smart, though. “Toth ain’t like Dad, not one bit- she and the Dandy Lions’ll keep me safe! I know you don’t believe me none, but… trust me, Ma. I can handle myself. ‘Sides, if’n I do run inta Dad, Imma give dat bastard whatfore!” Her grin is warm and loving, and goddammit… Anna’s never been good at saying no to that face. And she does have a point- she'll be surrounded by soldiers, meaning it'll be too dangerous for Benjamin to come near her.

Annabeth sighs, leaning forward and hugging her daughter. “... Okay,” She whispers, voice croaking with unshed tears. “But you promise me you’ll be safe, baby. And don’t go trustin’ nobody who says they be havin’ magic! And remember to write home! And-”

“Ma-” Skout gives her mother a somewhat frustrated look, but at least she isn’t angry anymore. She appears calmer now, glad that she’s finally been understood. “-’A course I’ll be writin’ to ya! And I know better than to trust magic. What am I to ya, a little one?”

“Sometimes you are, in my eyes. You’ll always be my darlin’ baby,” Anna admits, helping Skout to her feet as they both stand. “Now come along… let’s git you packed. Oasis looks to be a long ways from home.”

It’s a few years before Annabeth sees Skout again, not that she entirely expected to. Around here, if somebody’s kid manages to find a way out, they never come back. And just as well- Anna honestly hates it here some days, hates how no one here can stand change, but it’s home nonetheless. Besides, she wants to stay here in-case Skout ever comes home… which she does. It’s late at night when she comes home, a swift knock at the door waking Anna from her nap. She sits up, rubbing her lower back- she’s getting too old to pass out in her chair, but sometimes she just dozes without realizing it. She blames it on a life filled with stress and worry.

Slowly, she stands, soon quickening her pace when a second knock raps the door. Opening it, Anna is greeted by, first and foremost, the sight of her beloved daughter. “Skout!” She shouts, embracing her child in a tight hug. She doesn't give two shits if she wakes the neighbors. “Oh, honey! What’re you doin’ out here?” She pulls back, examining Skout’s face.

Skout looks absolutely exhausted, her hair somehow more wild than usual- when in God’s name was the last time she cut it?- with dark bags underneath her eyes. But her daughter ignores the questions, her movements making her appear erratic and scared. “Mama, you think I can come in now? I, uh…” Skout looks around, constantly checking over her shoulder. “I really wanna git inside.”

Something’s clearly wrong. Anna nods, stepping aside to usher her daughter in. It’s only then that she realizes that Skout’s brought company. The stranger is short- they’re a tad taller than Skout, but that’s not much of an accomplishment- their body covered in a large, dirty quilt. The newcomer wears a big, wide brimmed hat on their head, and their glove covered hand is joined with Skout’s bare one, the redhead leading the stranger inside- the blanket covers everything but the hat, making the stranger temporarily blind. This can’t be good; this stranger is clearly on the run. What the fuck has Skout been getting into!? Wordlessly, the duo enters, Anna locking the door behind them once they’re inside.

“I guess I best get us some tea… how you like your’s, stranger?” Anna asks, trying to coax the stranger into talking.

“He’ll have it like I do, Ma. He seems like the honey lovin’ type,” Skout answers for him, maneuvering the man to stand in the center of the living room. “Sorry, he ain’t much fer talkin’.”

“That’s fine, sugar. Not everybody likes ta chatter.” Anna says, leaving the room to get the kettle started.

After firing up the kettle, Anna takes to watching in secret from the doorway as Skout pulls the blanket off of the stranger, and… oh no. No, it can’t be. That can’t possibly be… that’s not Benjamin. Anna breathes a sigh of relief as she realizes that it really can’t be Benjamin- the stance is wrong, this man is too short, his body slimmer, somehow. When the stranger turns around to meet Anna’s stare- he must’ve felt her eyes on him- his eyes are the same milky cream color as Ben’s were, but somehow he’s… different. The hat fell off when Skout pulled off the blanket, and now Anna’s being treated to the sight of short, scruffy black hair on the man’s equally black head, the hair soft and curly. But if this isn’t Benjamin, then it has to be-

”Hunter isn’t talkin’.”

Benjamin glances up from his book, raising a nonexistent eyebrow at his wife. “What you mean, baby?” He drawls, setting his book aside.

“I mean he ain’t sayin’ nothin’! He won’t make a peep! Hell, even Skout is babblin’, but Hunter won’t make a sound. He just sits there, starin’ at me… it a species thing, hun?” Anna can’t hide the distress from her voice- she’s not familiar with how Benjamin’s race works, and she’s scared that this isn’t something that can be fixed.

Benjamin’s response does nothing to soothe her worries. “Bring ‘im ta me.” He orders, sitting up, settling his hands on his knees. He looks older than he should be… then again, he’s always said that he’s been alive for centuries.

Annabeth wastes no time, hurrying outside to get her son. He’s with Skout, the two ten month olds crawling around in the grass, a few rock Critters playing with the twins. “Hey!” Anna calls, earning her the attention of both babies. She walks over in strides, scooping up Hunter with ease. “You critters watch Skout for me, alright? Daddy needs his baby.”

One of the Critters- the largest rock, she notes- salutes. Anna would chuckle if she weren’t so worried. Carefully, she carries Hunter inside, the toddler grabbing a fistful of his mother’s shirt for leverage. Once she’s back inside, she hands Hunter to Benjamin, who sits the toddler down on his lap. With a clinical gaze and glowing hands, Benjamin inspects the toddler. “Say ‘Ah’.” He orders, and obediently, the toddler opens his void-like mouth, though no sound escapes. Gently, as to not harm the child, Ben sticks a glowing, gloved finger into Hunter’s mouth. The boy grimaces, unhappy with the taste, but otherwise doesn’t fuss. After a time, Benjamin reclaims his finger and cusses under his breath.

“Well? What’s wrong with ‘em, sweetheart?” Anna asks, giving her baby boy a longing look- she wants to hold him close, to will a voice out of him.

“He’s mute,” Benjamin keeps it simple, but it’s clear even he’s frustrated. “Fuckin’ hell… he ain’t ever gonna be able to use vocal spells… such a pity.”

“Vo- honey, our baby’s a mute, and yer worried ‘bout spells!?” Anna can’t believe her ears- how can Benjamin think about magic at a time like this?

Benjamin stands, giving Anna a harsh glare. “You thinkin’ I don’t care? ‘Course I do, he’s my son! But he’s got the Gift, baby, and he ain’t ever gonna be without it. He’s magic, jus’ like me! He’s gonna have to learn spells eventually, ‘n you damn well know it! You really gonna bitch at me fer worryin’? Fer wonderin’ how I’ll protect ‘im?”

Anna swallows, before ducking her head, defeated. “... No, dearest. I just… he ain’t ever gonna call me Mama, or you Daddy… aren’t ya a little sad ‘bout dat?”

Benjamin softens, reaching forward and hugging Anna with one arm, sandwiching Hunter between them. The baby blinks, before going back to clinging to his mother, unwilling to let go. “Oh, baby, don’t cry,” Benjamin murmurs, kissing Anna’s cheek- his lips are ice cold. “It’s gonna be okay. Skout can talk, can’t she? Our baby girl’ll more than make up fer Hunter’s silence. We’ve got eternity to figure it out.”

Anna nods hopelessly against her husband’s chest, burying her face in his shoulder to hide her tears. 'We’ve got eternity’... It feels more like a threat than a promise.

Finally managing to escape the memory, Annabeth wastes no time in closing the distance, hugging her long lost son close to herself. Skout looks more confused than a reindeer in summer, but Anna will explain later- she just needs to hold him close again, to rejuvenate that lost contact. Slowly, Hunter hugs her back, appearing grateful for the surprise hug. Has he been this touch starved? Benjamin was never really affectionate unless he needed something from her, so it should come as no surprise to Anna that her son would be deprived of such a thing… still, she forces the thought away and hugs him tighter, likely hurting Hunter’s ribs, but she can’t bring herself to care. He’s home. He’s finally home.

“Uh… Ma?” Skout raises an eyebrow at her mother, thoroughly confused. “Why you hugging the Nomad ‘a Nowhere?”

Anna ignores her for the most part, keeping her grip on Hunter. It’s not until her son starts squirming that she lets go, stepping back to look her son over. His face from the eyes down is covered in a red bandana, but otherwise his clothes perfectly match those of his father’s… maybe that means that Benjamin’s dead? Anna knows she should be happy at the thought of it, but she can’t keep herself from internally mourning for him. He’d been nice, when they first met… it’s hard to forget that short-lived kindness, even after all the abuse. Anna finally just grins at her son, before focusing her gaze on Skout.

“Skout, baby… I wish you’d told me you was bringin’ yer brother home… I woulda made you both dinner.” Anna can’t hide the sobbing note in her voice, tears dripping down her face.

Skout’s eyes widen, though Anna can tell she isn’t convinced. “It’s gonna be a long story ta tell, hun,” Anna explains, figuring that now isn’t the time. “Fer now, I think you two need some rest. Y’all must be exhausted,” She turns her attention back to Hunter, who looks even more shellshocked than Skout. She rests a hand on his cheek, savoring the contact. “Don’t you worry, sweetie, it’ll all make sense in good time.”

“Yeah, I uh… think restin’ sounds good right ‘bout now…” Skout murmurs. Suddenly, however, a harsh knock hits the door. The redhead visibly pales, giving her mother an incredibly apologetic look. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Ma… look, there’s a lot we gots ta explain too, but… Mama, jus’ play dumb, I beg of you! Tell ‘em we ain't here! Please!”

Anna nods, understanding completely. Back with Benjamin, she’d been made to play this role before… she’s more than willing to do this again for her daughter. “Go on then… yer bedroom’s still there, hide in there with yer brother!”

“Ma, I really don’t think he’s my-” Another knock shakes the door, interrupting Skout. “Fine fine,” She says, grabbing Hunter by the hand and leading him away. “Come on, you! We gotta hide!”

Hunter waves to Anna as he and Skout disappear down the hallway, causing Anna to chuckle. However, she schools her expression as she approaches the door, taking a deep breath before opening it. A tall, muscular man is there to greet her, wearing barely any armor, a large scar running diagonally across his right cheek. The stranger gives Anna an unimpressed once-over. “So sorry to bother you at this hour, miss,” The man says, keeping his voice friendly, though it’s clear he’s willing to use violence to get his way. “However, it’s come to my attention that a dangerous criminal and his accomplice have wandered into town… was wonderin’ if you’ve seen anyone suspicious.”

Anna puts on a sweet smile, trying to play up the innocent housewife routine. “Oh, I ain’t seen nobody new ‘round here! Nobody but my kids! They’ve been visitin’ me all week long, ain’t dat nice? Don’t often get ta see my kids!”

The man raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t give away his suspicion. “Funny, ‘cus I coulda sworn I saw that Nomad and his accomplice head in this direction…”

Anna continues to smile, waving the man off. “Nope! Nobody here but my kids and I!”

The stranger shifts his weight, allowing Anna to see Toro’s emblem on his shoulder armor. “You wouldn’t find if I… talked to them, would you, miss?”

Anna doesn’t even blink. “Sorry, they’re both asleep! They’ve been helping me with the pumps all day, and they’re absolutely exhausted. Maybe ask one of the neighbors? Martha next door’s a real chatterbox ‘bout gossip!”

It’s clear that the champion isn’t fully buying it, but there’s just enough truth in Anna’s explanation to warrant her innocence. “Well, if you say so… you make sure to come find me if anything changes. I’ll be in town.” With that vague threat, he walks away, leaving Anna in peace.

Anna shuts the door and groans, breathing a sigh of relief once the champion is gone. It’s been a long time since she’s had to do that- not since she was with Benjamin. Slowly, Anna makes her way into Skout’s bedroom. The redhead is hidden under the covers of her bed, and upon closer inspection, Anna finds Hunter hidden under the very bed itself, his terrified shivering causing the bed frame to shake. “All clear, kids,” Anna calls, pulling the blanket off of Skout and giving her daughter a tired smile. “You can come out now… I think he’s gone.”

“Oh thank the stars,” Skout says, before giving Anna a sorry look. “Sorry ‘bout puttin’ you on the spot like that, Mama… there’s a lot we gotta talk about.”

“Yes there is… but I wasn’t kiddin’ when I says you gotta rest up first- you look like you ain’t slept in days,” Anna chides. When Hunter peeks out from underneath the bed, Anna crouches down and tousles his hair, letting out a soft chuckle. “That goes fer you too, son.”

“Yeah, about that-” Skout begins to say.

“Rest. Now. Ya look damn ready ta faint,” Not to mention, I need time to figure out how I’m gonna explain this to you two, Anna thinks, but pushes those thoughts aside in favor of focusing on her kids. “Think ya can share yer room with yer brother?”

Skout blinks, looking ready to continue asking about this, but she eventually seems to give into her own desire to sleep. “Yeah yeah, he can sleep with me… but I ain’t sharing a blanket with ‘im! He can sleep on the bed, but no cuddlin’!” She points her orders at Hunter, who looks away in embarrassment.

Anna laughs at this, thoroughly amused by her children’s antics. “That’s fair… now get some sleep. We can discuss all of this in the mornin’,” She promises, helping Hunter to his feet. Once he’s up, he gives the bed a worried look. “It’s alright… here, I’ll git you another blanket.” Anna offers, trying to quell the nervous tension in the room.

Once Anna gets back with a large, blue quilt, she drapes it over Hunter’s shoulders. Her son visibly relaxes, clearly glad to have a blanket to sleep with tonight. Has he been sleeping enough? It’s hard to tell if he’s sleep deprived or not, but his sluggish movements are enough for Anna to go off of. With the promise of a bed to sleep in tonight, Hunter now gladly hops into bed beside his sister, wrapping himself in the blanket like a burrito. He lies down silently beside Skout, who already appears to be dozing off. With a whispered goodnight, Anna leaves her two children in peace, allowing them to finally sleep… and for her to finally figure out how in the hell she’s going to explain all of this in the morning. But it’s worth it… or at least, it will be.

Her kids will likely have to leave tomorrow- if Anna had to guess, she’d say it’s Benjamin’s old bounty that now rests on her beloved son’s head, and Skout’s just along for the ride- but she can at least guarantee them a big breakfast and an explanation. And if she’s lucky? Well… maybe she can finally keep her promise to Skout.

A/N: And here it is! My first contribution to this fandom (other than theory/shit posts)! I hope y’all like this fic; feel free to ask me any questions you have for the AU! I plan on doing another fic soon- one from Nodad’s (Benjamin, the original Nomad’s) perspective, so look out for that one! I just got inspired to do this one first because of signomad’s heartbreaking comic for my twins theory! Also, another shout out to bl00dw1tch’s Nodad Theory- I bring it up every time I post something for the Twins AU, but it’s still honest to God the reason this AU (theory??? If I’m right then hOLY FUCK) exists at all. So go check those folks out! See you next time!

~Supercasey

[inappropriatefangirlneeds]

Gotham s4ep18 “That’s Entertainment”  Personal Review

 “Expect no mercy, just a hail of bullets.”   Warning spoilers below

* Yeah ALFRED PENNYWORTH give the kid a bullet prof car, might as well just shoot right at him * “What are we waiting for? Those people need our help.” “Good man” Jim Gordon getting right to BRUCE WAYNE to put him into an explosive collar is pretty much undermining his words last week about Bruce endangering himself and his accusations against Alfred of supporting this. But it´s the bigger picture, right. It´s always the bigger picture with all of them. Just that all of them keep thinking they got the best judgement of what the bigger picture and greater cause is. * “But even if it does maybe, by facing Jerome I can show the people of Gotham that standing up to terror is the only way to take its power away.” “Well said.” Bruce Wayne talking to JEREMIAH, addressing his accomplishments with such eloquence and politeness was remarkable to watch. And it makes me want to see some sequels about his education so far. That´s not just something you just can do, that´s a practiced skill he´s capable of invoking whenever needed and it´s wonderful. It´s a fine line between reasoning and manipulation!  I really loved that they have had him keep appreciating Jeremiah´s research after the whole mess. It´s just a glimpse on what the fandom does every now and then point out: Batman with his bulletproof car might be able to do some good with questionable methods but Bruce Wayne would be capable of bringing remarkable change for the sake of Gotham and it´s citizens. It´s a shame that this responsibility keeps being neglected. How much hospital equipment does a bullet proof car buy? * “It was an act.” “I think you're more sure about that than me.” I´m glad they at least keep a bit of ambiguity there, only if it´s just a tiny moment. You don´t just completely change by a plant induced nightmare, that just can´t eradicate all you´ve gone through. * “What, you have a laugh? No bloody way.”  Idk why but this was hilarious * “For once I agree with Alfred.”  Oh Selina ..  * “Boom. Headless people.” * “Quite the dilemma, Jim. You gonna let me fall and die? Or are you gonna pull me up and arrest me? What's it gonna be? Lawman or murderer? Ah. Good ol' Gordon. Always playing by the rules.” JIM GORDON and this old question again. I almost expected him to not care about Jerome falling. Also how much does Jerome know about Jim doing stuff like going to retired mob bosses and beg them to return? Can someone tell him? Would that make him laugh? *  Also Jim Gordon messing with a detonators signal (again) ..  good that Jerome doesn´t have Nygma on his team * OSWALD COBBLEPOT looks so pretty, I´m done * With Oswald´s expressions throughout this whole enterprise I am not in the slightest surprised that Jerome has had doubts about him :D You can do better than that Oswald, we´ve seen it. * Jim  & Oswald was too precious. “I mean, I was willing to play along with him for a while. Perhaps he had a way to make us all rich? A return to the good old days, you know? But nothing good will come of this.” “Or maybe you just don't like the competition. Jerome casts quite the shadow.” “Oh, please! He's a maniac, an anarchist. He is not interested in money or power. And I am an honest criminal, Jim.” * “What's worse than that? How can you run an empire in a city full of lunatics?” As much as Jim Gordon keeps pointing out that Oswald caring about the state of the city is only for the sake of his own goals and aspirations I however do see my (head)canon confirmed that Oswald cares for the city. Maybe not more than about himself but still. He was horrified by what Theo Galavan had planned and he certainly didn´t need to care about these people. And I do think that he would have been capable of putting on a better poker face, lean back longer and step upon some ashes to claim what´s left. It´s not like the city has seemingly quite well survived a couple of gas attacks. Why not this one too?  Also Oswald was ready to subject it to a mob war. This clearly was more than a power struggle and jealousy towards Jerome, Oswald was not willing to step over a certain line of (“unnecessary”) cruelty. * “I´m home” Okay this killed me, as much as this plotline is icky, BARBARA KEAN having felt out of place and just wrong all her life now feeling that she has a purpose and worth killed me. This though is remarkably ugly and I don´t like it: “Why don't you do it?” “Because I am the one true heir of an immortal god's ancient dynasty. And I don't dirty my fingers with the likes of you anymore.” And the hell, why is she just always the love interest? * What I also really love about this is: “The Barbara I know would've already sold all of this junk to the highest bidder.” “Junk? This is my destiny.” “And being with me and Selina at the club? That isn't? You begged me to partner with you.” “Can't you see who that is up there? That is me and Ra's, 400 years ago.” “Oh, please, I mean, she doesn't even look like you.” “It looks exactly like me. It is me. I have finally found my true purpose. I'm not gonna let your jealousy distract me.” “Ra's influenced history.” “He was a cult leader, and he still has them brainwashed.” “And what about me, am I brainwashed? There are things written here that could change the way we view the past forever. Perhaps, I am the one to bring that change to light.” I guess it´s because it´s just playing right into a couple of headcannons. And it brings back some reference to her being an art gallery owner. And now I´m even safeish to headcanon that this was not just for prestige and money but that she truly was invested and interested in art(history). This finally gives her some personality and passion. Her doing that research about the glowing hand already sparked my interested, because I know Bruce & Co did it do but you don´t just get deep into historic research like that, you gotta have some background to dig around properly. And that “change the way we view the past” line omg! You don´t just say something like that without caring about history. I´m delighted. It´s not just ohh I got all the ancient magic at my hand to do stuff and things with it there is also this element of knowledge and curiosity about the past! And I´ll die with that headcanon. Just imagine young Barbara Kean having an interest in history, buried deep in dusty books but her parents discouraging her. Like who cares about that. That´s not a career and it´s not gonna buy an expensive apartment or bring prestige to the family name.   With going for the art gallery option Barbara found a way to keep associating with the wealthy elite, like her parents want her to but also thought she could keep a bit close to things she was interested in. But along the way this started to sometimes shift into resentment because it´s not quite what she actually wants to do. She even appreciates modern art the more she learns about it but it´s just not quite right and this could be the reason why Tabs picked up some dismissive attitude or remarks about things Barbara actually values. Her parents just estranged her from her interest so far that even after they were gone she´s just about having control .. eg about the underworld (and a couple of other fleeting  stuff and things because this show is a cluttered mess) instead of being able to reconnect to what she was interested in, also they were quite successful with hammering into her that this is just not an option to be anything else than stupid interest or hobby. Also: The Cult & Brainwash thing & TABITHA GALVAN Can we talk about that bit, about how the contrasted Barbara´s personal past and now almost painful moment of feeling she found some worth with on the other hand TABITHA GALAVAN´s past of actually having been in a cult. Can we appreciate that they addressed this. Also this just renews another headcanon of mine: That a big failure of the Dumas Order´s was neglecting Tabitha. They obviously trained her but after that statement it´s also obvious that they failed to indoctrinate her like they did with Theo Galavan. Once failed and once going over a couple of lines with Silver, Tabitha was very quickly ready to abandon the grand plan and holy mission. I guess the Order only saw the male heir as being of any importance and that´s what they taught him (and indirectly also taught Tabitha) it was Theo´s mission, Theo´s legacy and in the end also Theo´s accomplishment. Tabitha was surely kept close and in line but they failed to incorporate and include her.  Personal Headcanons aside .. what is this plot even ??! And what the fuck is that horrible odd picture?! Especially the faces look so off. * “That's why I'll outlive you. That's why I'm loved 'cause I don't give a damn about the rules. “It's a long way down. You sure you'll outlive me?” “Oh, I'm sure 'cause I'm more than a man. I'm an idea, a philosophy. And I will live on in the shadows within Gotham's discontent. You'll be seeing me soon. Au revoir.” * “Finally set you free” Even if JEROME VALESKA´s “they are both the same” talk has a point (and given the remarks about their childhood they are both shady, the Ecco devoted her life thing is still creepy af there is one)  even with that JEREMIAH VALESKA  has made a choice to protect himself and use his mind to create, buildings and structures but also an electrical engine that creates a grand amount of power to supply the city (and I´m just gonna assume he would not try to milk every last penny out of it) that´s all far from destruction and chaos and that is a choice and I want to believe that choices do matter. That there is some gas action happening that eradicates all that is just cheap.  And it does undermine Jerome´s words about being an idea and philosophy that will live on with Gotham´s discontent. I don´t want to see this as Jeremiah being set free, I want to see this as Jeremiah being robbed of his choices and agency. And while I can get behind the general idea that refuting rules, deprecating law and embracing destructive chaos stemming out of neglect and discontent could be an interesting concept this also gets cheapened if its new poster boy is someone who is forced into this role. Arguably Jerome´s upbringing (I´m just gonna assume a general horribleness and abuse is very much what happened no matter the details) as opposed to Jeremiah´s way out of this has if not forced paved a way into the discontent, and what his was it grandfather (Edit: father in 2x3) said about him being a curse on the city was the role he found he could embrace rather than being hurt over it. So maybe Jerome could be also seen as a case of self fulfilling prophecy that others pushed upon him but there still was a choice so I would not equal that to being changed through a toxin. If they wanted to really sell the philosophy idea they would have planted some seeds in the DeadJeromeOnCar scene, which imho was really well done solemnly and actually kind of sad, but they could have put someone in there disrupting that notion with some destructive “not gonna go to respect the dead body or any rules in any way” notion .. 

* What´s up with the voices and language? MR. FREEZE got a new distinct tone and intonation that I just can´t point my finger on, or is it only me?  And has JONATHAN/SCARECROW ever shown signs of YodaGrammar? “More laughing gas we need to make.” Did I forget about it, did the boy talk like that? * “Gotham's Moral Authority Society”  Gotham's Moral Authority Society …….. Why do I feel more threatened by this than by any of the murderous criminals .. ?!

[wickedvillainy]

Negan: Take Me Back To The Start (Part 1)

✳ Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. ❈ 

-⊱ What made Negan, Negan ? Frankly, I have no idea, but here’s my shot at it. Nothing contained in this story is official information, I just followed my inspiration and the very few informations we have on the character so far. ⊰-   ➹ P.S: I do not read the comics.

➸ Plot: This story is set somewhere after the apocalypse began and before Negan became the one that we know now... And maybe, just maybe, the reader has a lot to do with that night and day transformation. 

✧ Warnings ✧ : None... Yet.  

A loud noise resounded, making you jump awake. It came from the roof. You sighed, you should have followed your instinct instead of listening to your fatigue and sore legs, this abandoned office wasn’t a safe place to spend the night. 

You grabbed the knife you always had at your belt, and tried to hold your breath a moment in order to listen carefully to the noises above your head. It seemed to move, faster than a dead-head would, yet the noise it made was similar to something heavy being dragged on the flat roof. 

You looked through the window. It had been cleverly condemned by wooden boards but the space between them allowed you to peek outside. It was night, the reflection of the moon was shining on the old cars aligned in front of the small building. You squinted your eyes, hoping to see what was moving on the roof in a reflection but obviously it was too dark, and your eyesight wasn’t that good to distinguish anything helpful. 

There was another loud sound and then silence fell back all around you. You tried to convince yourself that a dead-head had somehow mysteriously ended on the roof, but you knew deep down it was unlikely. Your stomach tied in knots and you held your knife tighter. Not hearing anything was worse than you had expected. Now you couldn’t tell where your enemy was or if he had even bothered sticking around. Because that thing that had provoked that noise was your enemy, dead or alive. It was just how the new world was, and you were trying your best to get used to it. You couldn’t trust anyone. You couldn’t show mercy. Not anymore... 

You wanted to fight, whatever it was, you promised yourself that if it ever passed the door, you’d attack it before it could possibly hurt you. Taking a deep breath, you placed yourself on the side, hoping to be hidden behind the door if it was opened. That’s when you heard heavier footsteps, as if someone was circling the office. You glanced at the window, sure that you had seen a shadow quickly passing by from the corner of your eyes. Your heart started pounding fast in your chest; you were ready, knife in hand, to attack. 

The knob slowly turned, it was so discreet, you knew it wouldn’t have been enough to wake you up and the thought made you shiver... It wasn’t even safe to sleep anymore. 

The door opened, slowly, and you held your breath. Your first instinct would have been to hide, or try to runaway, but when the silhouette of a man entered the office, you were seized by an adrenaline rush. Unsure if he was dead or alive, you aimed for the head. 

You moved, swiftly and, like you had been taught, you planted your knife in the temple of your opponent. Instead of the blade going right through the head, the man moved, proving that he was indeed alive. You hadn’t been able to kill him on the first try but you weren’t going to give up that easily, not this time. He turned around to look at you, he was pressing his hand against his bleeding wound. Then you saw him move his other hand, he was holding a baseball bat and was getting ready to use it against you. A baseball bat! That was a good idea, as silent as a knife but with a wider range to attack and reach the enemy. 

It proved itself efficient, as you felt it hit your stomach, causing you to fall to your knees with a whimper of pain. You were upset, you knew you should have been able to dodge it, but the darkness of the office had made it too hard to evaluate quickly enough. And there you were, lying on the dusty carpeting, holding your ribs as you fought to catch your breath back. 

The man approached, and you felt like your death was near. A sensation that you had experienced way too many times lately... You saw him rise his bat once again and, deciding to take a chance, you let go of your knife, and your ribs, in sign of surrender. 

“Stop... Please.” You begged, out of breath. 

The man stayed still for a second, before reaching for something in his pocket. Suddenly, you were blinded by a bright light. 

“Oh, shit.” You heard him say. 

You tried to protect your eyes with your hand. You couldn’t see anything. 

“Sorry.” His low voice said again, and he pointed his flashlight in direction of the ceiling. 

Your sight recovered, you dragged yourself to the nearest wall. Your knife was still on the floor but you had a plan B. You drew your gun and pointed it at him, aiming between his two eyes. 

He didn’t seem that surprised, nor was he panicked. 

“I have one of those too, sweetheart.” He simply said, using the hand holding the bat to lift his shirt up and show you the gun tucked in his pants. 

“But mine is aimed at you right now.” You remarked, trying to sound as menacing as possible. 

“Good point.” He admitted, he then turned his back at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were a woman right away. I wouldn’t have hit you. Think you’ll be okay ?” 

You didn’t reply anything, focused on your target. He turned to look at you, clearly waiting for an answer but since you were stubbornly silent, he decided to move on with the small talk. 

“So ? Are you here alone ?” He asked, taking another look at the abandoned office. 

“No, I’m with a whole group. And they’ll be back anytime now.” You threatened. 

“Really ? And where do they sleep ? On that pillow over there?” He asked, pointing at the miserable pillow you were sleeping on a moment ago with his bat. “Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

That last sentence didn’t change your mind the least, and you kept your gun on him, ready to shoot as he walked around the small space. He put the flashlight on one of the desks and used his free hand to press against his temple again. Then, he took a look at his palm and noticed it was as bloody as the side of his face was. 

“You got me good.” He simply declared, and you could have sworn you saw him grin for a second. 

Slowly, you got up, your eyes fixed on him. You wanted to use your gun at your advantage so instead of letting your fear paralyze you, you gathered all the courage you had left and took a few steps in his direction. 

“What about you ? Are you all alone out there ?” You asked him, faking confidence in your tone. 

“No, a german shepherd has been following me for a few miles now.” He answered, casually. 

“And where is he now ?” 

“He comes and goes, he only really approach me when I have food in my hands, the rest of the time he keeps his distances.”

“Wise animal.” You remarked. 

“That’s what I always tell him.” He smirked. 

He sat down on a chair, his gaze slowly scanning the multiple papers hanging on the wall in front of him. 

“A vehicle wrecking yard. That’s clever. You must not get bothered often, what would anybody hope to find here ?” He remarked. 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You snapped. 

“In all honesty, I was looking for a car that could work, had planned to spend the night in one of those carcass but it got a little chilly.” 

“Trying to find a working car in a wrecking yard, that’s stupid.” You stated. 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” He shrugged. “Now will you put that gun down ? It’s slightly infuriating.” 

“Why would I do that ? I don’t know you.” You replied. 

“I’m trying my best to break the ice though!” He said, getting up so quickly that you almost pulled the trigger on him. “My name’s Negan.” 

He took a few steps in your direction and you backed off until your back hit the wall. You felt your entire body starting to tremble, your hands started shaking and you knew you had lost your focus for good. 

“I’ll take that if you don’t mind.” He said, as he gently took your gun away, leaving you defenseless. 

You held back your tears. You were scared, of course, but also upset. You had sworn that you’d never let yourself be at a man’s mercy ever again, and yet, the story was about to repeat. 

“Just to be clear here, you’re not held hostage, you’re free to go if you wanna. I just don’t want you to shoot me during the night.” He explained, before putting your gun next to his under his shirt and picking up your knife from the floor. 

He sat back on the chair, wincing as he once again touched his bleeding wound. You looked at the ajar door, and then back at him. You were left without defense, but couldn’t decide what was the most dangerous for you. Going out in the dark without a weapon and dead-heads walking around or staying in the security of the office with a stranger that hadn’t killed you yet ? 

Once again, you sat down on the carpeting, making sure to keep enough distance between you and him. He glanced at you, but didn’t say anything, placing his bat on the desk. 

“What are you ? A baseball player ?” You asked, carefully. 

“Sort of... Not really.” He replied, changing his mind along the way and you felt like he didn’t want to talk about it for some reason, he even attempted to change the subject. “I think I’m bleeding out.” 

You didn’t reply anything. You couldn’t say that you were sorry, he had deserved it. If anything, you regretted not killing him right away. A moment went by, the room was plunged in silence, still barely lit up by the man’s flashlight. You watched him, trying to stop the bleeding with his hand and failing. And for the first time, you saw what he looked like when he was worried. 

A few more minutes went by until you took a deep breath, breaking the silence, and got up, walking towards your pillow under a desk on the other side of the small room. You opened up the dirty pillowcase and grabbed the roll of bandages you had hidden in there, alongside a few painkillers and a cereal bar. 

Again, you felt like it required every ounce of courage you could find in yourself to walk to the man. You could feel your hands shaking as you unrolled some bandage in front of him. You teared it apart, and firmly pressed it against his temple, hoping to stop the bleeding. You realized how deeply you had cut him, and for a brief moment, you finally felt sorry about it. 

You took a better look at his face. Half of his beard was stained with his own blood. He was looking down, making it seem like his eyes were closed as you carefully took care of his wound. Eventually, you took of the blood soaked cloth and replaced it with another one, still firmly pressing on the wound until it finally stopped bleeding. Then, you tied some bandage around his head in order to protect the injury and prevent it from bleeding out again. You were left with an empty roll and you loudly sighted, remembering the herd of dead-heads you had to fight in order to retrieve that and a few outdated painkillers from an infested drugstore. 

“You didn’t tell me your name.” The man finally said, and even if he didn’t mention it, you knew he had noticed how much you were trembling from being so close to him. 

“That’s because I don’t want to.” 

“Alright...” He replied, glancing at you as you took a step back, once the bandage secured. 

He looked at you from head to toe, it was quick, but it was enough to make you uncomfortable. 

“I hope I didn’t hurt you too bad. Let me take a look, see if your ribs are broken.” He started, immediately lifting your shirt up to reveal your stomach but you backed off again, heart going wild. 

“Don’t touch me!” You almost screamed, tears filling your eyes. 

He seemed surprised by your reaction but lifted his hands up in sign of surrender. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” 

You turned your back at him, finding shelter under the desk, next to your pillow. He didn’t say another word and you stayed quiet too. You didn’t dare to lie down, too afraid that you might fall asleep if you did, and spent the entire night, eyes wide open, listening to every sound the man made as if it was announcing imminent danger, waiting for morning to pierce through the sealed windows. 

To Be Continued...

[choupetit]

GOT Recap: Dragonstone

Airdate: July 16, 2017 

Season 7, Episode 1 

 Our long national nightmare is over at last! Game of Thrones is back on the air!!! That’s right folks, Winter is Here, it’s Christmas in July and as last night’s episode proved to us…we actually can have nice things. Leading up to this day I kept reading that even though this is a shorter season, things are gonna move crazy fast. I won’t say that was the case for the Season 7 premiere, but “Dragonstone” was still a great episode, and Mama D has the recap for you. So in the words of our favorite dragon queen: Shall we begin? 

 Appetite for Destruction 

 We start off with Walder Frey throwing yet another feast for his extended family. Immediately I’m thinking this could be two things: a flashback or Arya doing her favorite face-changing parlor trick. It quickly becomes clear that it’s the latter scenario. Walder gives a toast to his kin and after everybody has taken a good ol’ swig from their cups, he starts to talk about the Red Wedding and his family’s bravery in slaughtering the Starks. Sarcasm and disdain drip from his voice and suddenly the room starts to gag and choke and pretty soon every man in the room is dead. Booyakashah!! Arya strikes again! She pulls off her Frey face and leaves the witnesses with some dope parting words to pass onto anybody who asks what happened. “Tell them the North Remembers. Tell them Winter came for House Frey.” Total badass. Not a totally surprising scene since we already knew it couldn’t be the real Walder, but still thoroughly enjoyable to see Arya avenge her family. Methinks Winter will be heading to King’s Landing soon. 

 Next we see a barren, frost-covered landscape and from the distance, a snow storm is building. I was really hoping for Queen Elsa to come prancing through yelling “Let it Go!” - mainly because my toddler just discovered “Frozen” for the first time - but nah, it’s just another shot of the army of dead trotting along. They’ve picked up a few decomposing giants along the way and now I have some new nightmare material, so that’s cool. Turns out, this is all a vision Bran is having while Meera pulls him on his sled to the north side of The Wall at Castle Black. She gives a good knock at the gate and Dolerous Edd, whom Jon left in charge, answers. After a quick “How do I know you’re really who you say you are?” check, Edd lets Meera and Bran in. 

 Sidebar: I gotta wonder at this point - have they just inadvertently allowed Bran to breach the Wall’s magic barrier that keeps the Night King and his Whitewalker posse out? We all know what happened after the Night King touched Bran in a previous vision and suddenly could walk through the magic field that was protecting the Three Eyed Raven’s cave. I mean…is there a time-limit to this sort of thing? Ya know, kinda like when Pac-Man can eat ghosts for a short while. In this case, the Night King is Pac-Man. Obviously, duh. Anyhoo, just a little question that is brewing in the back of my mind. But other than that, yay for Bran! Hopefully now he can get word to Jon and Sansa that he’s alive and that Jon is half Targaryen. 

 Speaking of, the Stark siblings (that’s what I’m calling them for now, m'kay?) are gathered at Winterfell with all the Northern houses and Jon is putting together a game plan to defeat the Night King. It’s pretty simple: put on your mining gear to stock up on Dragon Glass - and lots of it. Also, he tells Thormund and his gang of Wildlings to head to the Night’s Watch stations which haven’t been properly manned to help defend the Wall from the Night King. 

 Somewhere in the discussion, House Umber and Carstark are mentioned and Sansa seizes the moment to inform Jon he’s being too soft on traitors to House Stark. Later, in private, Jon tells Sansa not to undermine him by disagreeing with him in front of all his dude pals while he’s being a leader and stuff. Ugh, sisters, amiright? Sansa tells him she thinks he’s a natural leader but doesn’t want him to make stupid mistakes like their father and older brother did - which led to their early demise. Basically, what we are saying here is sometimes you gotta be a stone-cold boss biatch to make others fear and respect you, and Sansa thinks the men in her family have been too merciful in the past. She totally has a point. 

 A messenger interrupts their disagreement and hands Jon a raven from Cersei which roughly says “Bow down to me or die, Sucka! You ain’t no King in the North!!!” Jon brushes it off like “Whatever! Winter is here and the Lannisters are cold-weather sissies. They’ll never make the trek north. Oh, and btw I’m kinda busy trying to figure out how to save us all from the real threat: Whitewalkers.” Sansa warns him not to ignore the Lannisters and reminds him that when Cersei puts somebody on her sh*tlist, they eventually end up dead. 

 Field of Schemes 

 Aaaand…cut to King’s Landing where Cersei has commissioned a jumbo sized map of Westeros to be drawn in the courtyard so she can play Risk: GOT edition. Jaime starts laying down the truth bombs: Daenerys is on her way to kill them and claim the throne, hardly anybody in the seven kingdoms still supports them, oh and P.S. they haven’t even talked about Tommen’s suicide yet. Cersei, narcissist that she is, frames Tommen’s death around how he betrayed her by killing himself and totally leaving her in the lurch. “Jeez, get over it already, Jaime, cause he’s dead and he ain’t coming back.” Damn, Cersei, that was way harsh.  And as for all their enemies, guess who’s coming to dinner? Crazy Euron Greyjoy, that’s who.  He has a ginormous armada and is looking to raise his station and power by marrying a queen. 

 We see the throne room of the Red Keep where Euron makes his case to Cersei and proposes marriage. They have so much in common, after all: they’re both as nutty as a Payday bar, they wanna rule the world, and they wanna kill anybody who’s ever crossed them, including a family member or two. Cersei declines his proposal on the grounds that he’s not trustworthy, so Euron vows to return with “a gift” to change her mind. I can only assume he plans to bring back Tyrion’s head on a platter. Or maybe queen Dany’s? Or, perhaps even a boatload of fidget spinners made of the bones of Cersei’s enemies. Either way, pretty sure it’s gonna be a dead person he woos her with. #hejustgetsme

 If you’ve been wondering how Samwell Tarly has been getting on, then you’re in luck! We see a nauseating cycle of Sam’s everyday activities which is pretty much working as a custodian and handling lots of nasty bodily fluids. Apparently nobody believes the Whitewalker threat so they aren’t letting Sam near the super secret library of special books that only maesters get to read (Spoiler alert, it’s porn. Just kidding). Undeterred, he sneaks a few tomes out to study on the sly. 

 We get a brief glimpse back at Winterfell of Petyr Baelish aka Littlefinger being his usual creepy manipulative self, asking Sansa if she feels safe or happy. She tells him to take a hike. Brienne and Thormund have an awkward sexual tension moment - which is really what we all hope/live for in every episode. Brienne asks Sansa why Baelish is still here. When Sansa says she still needs his army, Brienne muses “He wants something”. To which Sansa replies “I know exactly what he wants”. Not much going on in this scene other than the sense that Sansa is playing Littlefinger - or, perhaps she simply thinks she’s playing him. Littlefinger is such a slippery slimeball that you never really know if he can be bested. Time will tell. 

The Road Less Traveled

 Quick Arya update! She passes though a forest in the Riverlands and comes upon some singing Lannister soldiers. Really, this is just an excuse for Ed Sheeran to sing a medieval version of “Shape of your Body”, and we get confirmation that Arya is on her way to King’s Landing to kill Cersei. 

 Elsewhere in the Riverlands, the Hound is traveling with Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr and is trying to get his head around what makes Dondarrion so darned special that he keeps getting to cheat death with the help of Thoros’ Fire Priest powers. They are camping at a house where the Hound previously killed the owner and his kid - it was a while ago, but the Hound is acting extra guilt-ridden and ashamed. Thoros builds a fire and tells the Hound to look in the flames and tell him what he sees. The Hound, to his own surprise, sees a vision of the Night King and the army of dead descending upon the Wall. Looks like the God of Fire has a new convert. 

 Everyday I’m Hustlin’ 

 We’re back to Sam at his home in Old Town, poring over his illegally borrowed Citadel books and he discovers that Dragonstone is sitting atop a mountain of Dragon Glass. Eureka!!! He’s gotta let Jon know, asap. Also…we get a surprise cameo from Ser Jorah in Old Town - or rather, Jorah’s festering arm when Sam is making the rounds in the quarantine area, picking up bedpans and the likes. A hand grabs him and a voice asks if the Dragon Queen has arrived yet. 

 Which gives us a perfect segue to Queen Daenerys arriving at Dragonstone. As she steps onto Westerosi soil for the first time since her exile, her face displays all the feels - awww, there’s no place like home, even if it’s one you can barely remember. Music swells as she walks up the serpentine path to the entrance of Dragonstone and she walks through the abandoned corridors into the throne room and finally enters the War room with Tyrion. Dany rakes her fingers over the dusty table/map of Westeros and asks “Shall we begin?“ 

Tell me if I’m alone in this: I was having some serious heart palpitations in that last scene ‘cause I was expecting an assassin to suddenly pop out and savagely kill either the Queen or the Queen’s Hand - especially when they were standing by the window.  THAT’S WHAT GAME OF THRONES HAS DONE TO ME!!!! I’m always subconsciously expecting somebody to die. So, if you’ve ever wondered if GOT PTSD is a thing, let me assure you, it is. What a great start to the season, though! I’m curious to see how all the rumors about the fast pace this year are gonna shake out. There are a lot of irons in the fire so I think we’re in for some real treats and there is definitely potential for things to move along quickly. At this point it seems clear there is going to be a major battle at the Wall where Thormund and team are headed. Euron’s gonna do something crazy and, likely, shocking. Dany seems well-positioned to take back the Seven Kingdoms. Arya is gonna have a major clash with Cersei. And mankind, in general, may just stand a fighting chance to defeat the Whitewalkers, assuming Dany is happy to share the Dragon Glass wealth. I’m pretty stoked for next week. Also, I’m not-so-secretly hoping we’re gonna see Gendry sometime soon. Fingers crossed!

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds  Chapter 8

TW: Alcohol Use

Awkward, uncomfortable, questionable sex. You have been warned

Authors Note:  I am so so sorry.  Please forgive me. I promise to kiss it and make it better.  Eventually. The next chapter is already done and just being edited.

                                           “I dare you to kiss me.”

  There. The ball was in his court now.  I half expected the same reservation and avoidance I had been getting from both of them all along but instead, Shannon’s face brightened as if all his Christmases had come at once.  He gave me that lopsided grin I was becoming so familiar with before closing the distance between us.

  “Fuck yeah.” He tangled one large hand in the hair at the nape of my neck before tilting my head into his, his lips crashing into me in a powerful kiss.  He wasn’t the least bit shy or hesitant, greedily devouring me as his tongue explored my mouth.  Fervently he delved into me again and again, those full, powerful lips locked against mine as he laid claim to me.  I tried not to notice the way my pulse quickened at his touch.  I knew I had had too much to drink, I knew he had too, and that a good part of this was likely just alcohol-fueled abandon, but I had a point to prove and he wasn’t exactly unwilling.  As a matter of fact, I figured he was just about perfect for the task at hand.  

   We moved back to the sofa and Shannon wrapped himself around me, smoothing the hair from my face before diving in for another wet kiss. He was sloppy and potent, devouring me in long slow measures. I wanted so much to be in the moment, to lose myself in his wild touch, but my brain would have none of it.  I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on behind that door. I couldn’t stop hearing Jared’s voice when he called me sweet and innocent, or Roger when he had called me a prude.

  I slipped my hand behind Shannon’s neck, my fingertips tracing slowly around to the front of his throat before flattening my palm against his solid chest.  There was that familiar Shannon scent again, the one he had left behind on my blanket that I pretended not to sniff whenever I sat down next to it.  When he moved his kisses to the side of my neck, pressing my face against his shoulder, I pretended not to sniff again.  

  Suddenly he grabbed my legs and swung them around on the sofa so that I was stretched out beneath him, causing me to squeal in surprise. I glanced around the room quickly to see if anyone had reacted.  On one hand, I didn’t want an audience of random strangers watching us, but on the other hand, I did want one very specific audience.  They were nowhere to be seen though and again I pushed away thoughts of why that might be.  At some point, another couple had taken up residence on the other end of the sofa but they were paying no more attention to us than we were to them. We were tangled into each other then, his hand at the small of my back clutching me tightly against him.  I could taste the cinnamon of the Goldschlager in his kisses, feel the callouses on his fingers as his hand cradled the side of my face, hear the wet little noises of our lips that suddenly seemed louder than anything in the room. Everything felt warmer and fuzzier, my motivations moving further and further away as his mouth as fingers roamed my flushed skin.  I found myself clutching the back of his head as I nipped at his earlobe, whimpering into his neck when one fumbling hand slipped across my breast.

  ...we’ve had too much to drink, i’m drunk, he’s drunker, you’re not making good decisions jane, is he making decisions at all, you’re just taking advantage, this is a bad idea…

  There was a riot in my head but I shut it all out until Shannon began fumbling with the button on my jeans, slipping his fingers under the waistband on a journey that should not be taken in a room full of people.  I grabbed his wrist.

  “Stop, Shannon.”  I told him, panting, “this isn’t exactly private.”

  He left my jeans undisturbed but didn’t stop kissing me.  “I can get us privacy,” he said, that hand moving back up to cradle my head gain.  “Please.” His voice was a needy groan now, hot breath against my throat as he pleaded.  “Please, Janey.  I want you so bad.”

     I looked up at him, those beautiful eyes dark pools now, hair mussed from my fingers, and thought that maybe this had gone too far. I had only half expected him to even take the dare and kiss me back, I certainly hadn’t planned this far ahead.  His pleas weren’t falling on deaf ears though.  Drunk of not, I was acutely aware of how my skin was heating to his touch and the wild somersault my stomach had taken at his suggestion.  I wondered however if he was too drunk to even carry through.  

  “You’ve had a lot to drink Shannon,” I told him. “Can you even….” I trailed off, embarrassed.  He just smiled and ground his hips against me, showing me that yes, he was very much capable, and right now. Assuming we could find somewhere private to slip off to, that still left one hurdle.  “Do you have a condom?”

  He stood up and held his hand out for me.  “And a spare.  Come on, I know the perfect spot.”

  He pulled me up from the sofa, pausing for another scorching kiss, and led us on a stumbling journey through the house.  We stepped out of the kitchen door into the backyard and he pointed at a large tree, far from the house, near the fenceline.  I looked at him in confusion.

  “Treehouse,” he said.  “There’s an old treehouse back there.  No one will bother us.”

  Well, I figured, this at least was something to tick off for the next game of never had I ever.  I followed him across the dark yard and up the old wooden ladder until we found ourselves in our own private arboreal hideaway. As soon as I climbed off the ladder Shannon was on me again, pulling me in tightly against him as he resumed kissing me in the same voracious manner he had been using inside. I pulled his shirt over his head and allowed touch to linger on his strong arms. His sweat dampened skin felt like it was on fire underneath my fingertips.  He fumbled with my shirt, trying to match my state of undress to his own, but he got tangled in the buttons and I ended up taking it off myself.

  I started casting about for a less dusty place to lie back. Seeing my discomfort, Shannon retrieved his t-shirt I had previously tossed aside and laid it out on the middle of the wooden floor.  I felt a twinge of guilt.  What the hell was I doing? But before I could process that any further he was kissing me again with those powerful lips and the haze of alcohol met the haze of lust and all other thoughts were obliterated.  He was just such a damn good kisser, not only in the way his lips claimed me or his tongue danced against mine, but in the way that he cupped my face in his big hands, the way he groaned softly when I took his bottom lip between my teeth, the way he kept me so tight against his chest I could actually feel our breathing syncing up. Whatever clarity I was able to gain instantly melted away again at the heavy heat of him pressing down on top of me.

  I was barely aware of how the rest of our clothes were shed.   It seemed in no time at all he was over me, naked, nudging my legs open with his knee.  When I realized he was already pressing himself into me I gave him a quick shove back.  

  “Condom Shannon!  We talked about this!” Intoxicated or not, this was one place where I was prepared to stand my ground. I hated guys that would agree to protection only to start fighting you as soon as it was time for the main event to start.  But he immediately started fishing around for the jeans he had kicked off and pulled the desired foil packet out of a back pocket.  

  “Sorry. I got carried away.”  His voice was still sounding slurred, and I realized it was probably just drunken forgetfulness.  I wondered if he was too drunk to be doing this, if I was taking advantage, how I would feel if the tables were turned.  But I didn’t want to turn back now.  I needed something to distract me from the jealousy that still twisted in my gut.  I knew that part was wrong, but I had really begun to want him by now, and so I just focused on those feelings.

  I noticed he was having some trouble with the condom and figured I’d give him some help.  Settling on my knees in front of him, I took the condom from his hand and then took an actual look at the semi hard whiskey dick that was now bobbing in front of me.  This was a problem on two fronts, obviously because semi hard is not good enough for either condom application or fucking, but that should be easy enough to remedy.  The bigger problem was actually the Bigger problem – the guy had some size to him and even semi hard I had real concerns about where that thing was or was not going to fit.  He was certainly bigger than anyone I had been with before.  I figured I wouldn’t know until I tried though.

  Wetting my hand with a little spit first, I began to slowly work up and down the length of him and was rewarded with a series of deep groans if not a change in firmness.  When my best ministrations didn’t push us over the edge, I decided it was time to up the ante and brought my mouth into the game, swirling my tongue up from the base until I slipped his head between my lips.  This elicited a string of soft swear words and I felt his hand reach in to knot itself in my hair. I was eager now to see what I could accomplish with this beast and set upon taking him into my throat as far as I could manage while my hand worked the base of him.  In minutes he was rigid and rocking his hips into my mouth.  I pulled away with a soft pop and rolled the condom into place.  

  Shannon quickly re-positioned us on top of our little t-shirt nest and once against started to press into me.   I tried to relax and tilt my hips into him but he was pushing in too quickly and the burn was terrible.    

  “Ow!” I protested.  It seemed like drunk kissing for Shannon was a whole lot easier than drunk sex.  “Careful!”  I pushed back on his chest and he eased up, apologizing, but then immediately started pressing forward again.  

`   “Hey! You’re hurting me!”  I protested again.  I was seriously doubting that we were going to get anywhere when Shannon stopped moving, leaving just only those first inches inside me, and just went back to kissing me, the same intoxicating kisses that had shut down my sensibility before.  God, he felt so good against me.  I wanted this to work.  I wanted him.

  “God Janey, you are so tight,” he groaned against my ear.  

  “I know.  Just slow down, okay big guy?” I said.  He nodded and went back to kissing me, slowly rolling his hips against mine.  Just when I started to relax though he abruptly picked up the pace again, forcing himself further into me than I was ready for.  This time I pushed him off me.  

  “Jane, wait…” he started to protest but I pushed him over onto his back and moved to straddle him. As the soberer of the two of us,  I figured this part would go much better if I took over control.

  I reached between us and aligned his tip to my entrance, then began sinking down slowly.  When Shannon again started to piston his hips against me I shoved him down hard against the wooden floor.  “I said slow down cowboy.  Give me a chance here.”

  Once again slowly I began grinding down on his hardened shaft.  This time he finally got the idea and waited underneath me in stillness, his hands tracing small patterns on my thighs.  As my body began to adjust to this new level of fullness a fire seemed to ignite around it, sending tendrils out to the rest of my body.  It stopped hurting, then it started to feel good, then it started to feel really good.  I let my head fall back in abandon as pleasure took over, and now the soft groans and string of swear words were mine.  

  Eventually, Shannon started moving with me again, his hands kneading my breasts as we twisted against each other. He slowly slid his hands down to my waist, catching me in his powerful grip as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.  This time I was ready, and even though I knew I would probably be sore tomorrow,  I didn’t care about anything but the way he was making me feel right then. I could feel my climax approaching, tantalizingly just out of my reach, and I wet two fingers in my mouth, trailing them down my body until they found the little nub of sensitive flesh just over my entrance.  Shannon looked up, his eyes devouring me as I rode him, one hand continuing to work my swollen bud as the other pinched and pulled at my nipple until I finally fell over the edge with a shuddering moan.

  Quickly he flipped us over, catching my knees against his arms as he slid back home again.  I could hear the party still going on yards away but the only sounds in the dark room were our ragged breathing and the noises of our damp bodies meeting each other.  Shannon was gazing down at me through heavily lidded eyes, and I reached up to touch the side of his face.  “Jane,” he whispered, so reverently that something caught in my gut and I felt a panic begin in my chest.  I realized this was not just a drunken romp to him.  Quickly I turned my face away, trying to hide the flood of emotions now washing over me.  If he noticed he gave no indication, lowering his head to nuzzle my neck as drove into me with increasing fervor.  I tried to reason with myself, told myself I had made him no promises, professed no feelings at all, but I knew I was in the wrong, and what was worse was that I had known it right from the minute he kissed me, I just had rationalized my way around it.  

  “Janey, baby, oh, fuck….” His voice was a warm purr in my ear, dripping with promises I did not want.  I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and hoped that all the sudden vocalization meant that he was almost finished.  I so desperately wanted this to be over, wanted to get away from him before he realized how I had used him.  I bit my lip and juddered my hips against him, trying to drive him closer to his release.  After a few long minutes, he gave a hoarse cry, clutching me to him as he shuddered through his own orgasm.  

  As soon as he moved off me to remove the condom I was grabbing in the dark for my clothes, hoping to make a quick getaway.  Shannon was having none of it though. He pulled me back against him even as I held my balled up jeans in my hands, raining kisses on my head.  I could feel hot tears forming behind my eyes and I struggled to at least maintain a neutral expression.

  “Hey, don’t be in such a hurry,” he told me.  “They aren’t going to worry about us for a while.”

  I disentangled myself from his arms and started pulling clothing on. “What if someone comes out here?” I reasoned.  

  Shannon just grabbed my hand and tugged me back towards him, this time kissing my wrist and arm.  “No one is coming out here.  I don’t think anyone else even knows it’s here.”

  I pulled away again and handed Shannon his jeans as a further hint. “Please, I just want to go back inside.”

  He looked at me with a puzzled expression and I could see the hurt starting to form in his eyes.  It twisted my gut and I could feel a tear escaping to run down my cheek.  “Jane?”

  I tried one last time to cover my behavior with excuses.  “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well. I must have drunk too much.”

  Shannon relaxed visibly with the explanation and started helping me get into my clothes.  “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t…” he trailed off, looking stricken.  I quickly cut him off.    

  “No, no, my stomach just…” I shook my head.  A few sobs broke their way through my alcohol weakened defenses at that point, but I quickly quieted them and wiped the tears from my face. Thankfully he accepted that explanation and quickly dressed.

  “We should probably get you home. You want to see if we can find Roger?” he suggested.

  I really didn’t want to face Roger at that point but I knew I couldn’t leave without him. I nodded and silently followed Shannon back to the house.

  Finding Roger and Jared turned out to be a lot easier than I anticipated.  As soon as we walked back into the kitchen, there they were, leaning against a counter and joking and flirting with a pair of redheads. They did not look at all as if anything had transpired between them. The sick feeling in my stomach intensified.

  “Where the hell have you two been?” Jared exclaimed on seeing us.  I didn’t answer.  I couldn’t even look at them and instead kept my eyes on the floor.  

  “What. The. Hell.” Roger’s voice was furious.  I looked up to see his blue-grey eyes turned to hard flint, his jaw clenched as he looked wildly between Shannon and me.  It took me a minute to understand his reaction.  

  There Shannon and I stood, Shannon looking all freshly fucked and smiling, and me, surely looking a mess, with a tear-stained face and running mascara, clothes rumpled and shoes in hand.  

  “Roger, no, please…” I started to explain but his fist was already drawn back.

tagging: @msroxyblog

tags are open

[serenitykrp]

—WARNING : suspect may be armed and dangerous! YANG JAEWON, code named ORION, is a CREW MEMBER on an unidentified firefly-class ship, traveling through the ‘Verse under the radar. They are known for being confident, assertive, and goal-oriented, but beneath the surface, they have proven to be argumentative, insensitive, and stand-offish. Although their origin lies somewhere on their home planet VALLURIA, they have been caught by stardust and lost to the great expanse.

YOU ARE YOUR OWN EXPLOSION, BRING US YOUR VERY BEST VIOLENCE.

he is a forceful personality, a hurricane personality. his upbringing has bent his heart into twisted, jigsaw puzzle pieces, propelling him to bite, growl, scratch and learn how to survive by the edge of his teeth. he believes in actions more than words, and purpose more than chaos. he makes himself a force of nature, a human wildfire, mixes together the pieces of his soul that never seemed to match; longing for violence and understanding, adventure and peace. he has learnt that self-control is the only way he can get what he wants, and being confident and perceived as strong is often the difference between life and death. any insecurities or overabundance of emotions, he masks them with slight sarcasm, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and shoves them down even deeper than they already had been before. he doesn’t love hardly anything at all, but the few items or people that he does, become so ingrained on his heart that he is more than willing to kill for them.

he wants to surround himself with people he knows he can trust, or at least intimidate into respecting him. he is a headstrong individual, full of confidence and determination, so he knows he’s not the easiest person to live with, but he understands that there isn’t really any need to like one another—just get along and be useful. he can be ruthless with strangers, suspicious and deadly, and he is not kind to those he deems worthless or disloyal, but that’s simply because he knows the responsibility he owes to his crew, to make sure they’re safe on every job they embark on.

he doesn’t often show real emotions, preferring to bottle it up until it eats him alive, but he thinks of his crew like family and is very under-the-surface, lowkey about his protective nature over them. all of them are as important to him as any of the money or treasures they find, but he tries not to reveal any of that, doesn’t want to let them know his attachments to them. he can’t seem weak. he tends to slip up though sometimes, whenever any of them get hurt really badly, often secretly blaming himself for it, no matter the circumstances.

THERE IS NO NEWS, THERE IS ONLY THE TRUTH OF THE SIGNAL.

rule one : never look back.

the universe is full of chaos and blackness and sometimes there are no answers or reasons why. suns don’t spin to please anyone, stars don’t explode out of any malice or intention. the sky yawns and folds to its own whims and doesn’t share secrets with anyone just passing through, a blanket-wrap of diamonds in pure darkness. since his first breath, jaewon has taken these things in stride, understanding that he might never know who his parents are, why he first recollection is standing beside a dumpster, skin dressed in trash, heart formed from scraps.

it could have been anyone to pass along across this dusty alleyway, early in the evening as the large, orange sun just began to kiss the horizon; it could have been a squadron of The Zero Hunters or a clan of “the restless believers,” or wild dogs, hungry and ravenous for anything, pawing for scraps that tumble through the war-torn city streets. this isn’t the planet where tourists meander and stumble through, this isn’t the picturesque, pretty daydream the wealthy elite like to pretend they are surrounded by. valluria is the gutter, the grey area of the spectrum, a playground for the greedy and blood-thirsty, the ninth circle of hell—a desert planet mining for spice, with no hope and no other final destination.

this is the boy’s first memory, the closest to a womb he can ever bring himself to accept. there is nothing before right now, no one there to explain the universe or how it works, so from then on, he just assumes the rules are his to create.

he doesn’t remember how long he sits there until he hears someone else rummaging in the trashcan at the end of the alley. he is not terrified at all, merely curious, too young and too much a blank, white page to really know fear. he peeks out of from the box he’s shielded himself with and sees another kid there. older, trashy clothes, dirty from head to toe, too-thin arms, and a scowl as mean as any kid can look.

“what do you want?” the grungy scrounger snarls at him, giving him his best intimidating look, as though they aren’t both just as desperate for the same sort of food amidst all this garbage. “go away, go somewhere else!”

he tilts his head and frowns for a long moment, dark eyes glinting eerily in the dimming light. “i have nowhere,” he responds matter-of-factly, not willing to beg because something deep in the pit of his soul tells him never to grovel. “i have nothing.”

the kid smirks at him. “join the club.”

rule two : be like them but not one of them.

he is led back to a den of thieves, all of them older than him and taller than him and meaner than him. they teach him ruthlessness, they teach him that pain is survival, and fear belongs to other people. you can’t be scared when you have a purpose to fulfill: get food, rob treasure, steal anything, and get away fast. he runs smart, evading anyone who chases him by sheer determination, and trusts that his feet will take him back to the shed the same way he trusts his lungs to breathe in air.

the city is nothing but a grouping of shacks, small huts to house miners between 14-hour-shifts inside the spice mines, every step taken is only a few inches closer to inevitable death. if the desert storms don’t rip your soul straight out of your body, the constant wars fought between crime lords just might. provisions are scarce out here, and always fought over. spice is valuable and lucrative; individual lives are not. they are street rats, the abandoned mongrels, dodging the battles and explosions between factions, and if either clan catches them, they’ll either kill them or put them to work—which is basically the same thing.

he is quick and assertive, fearlessness and unspoken power in every step, so by the time he is eleven, he begins turning their little ragtag gang into a more profitable, organized group of criminals. he is given no position of power officially, but he’s surprisingly smart for his age, alert to things he probably shouldn’t be, and he has a way of looking straight through someone when they speak to him.

rule three : trust no god.

he is out in the desert again, outrunning a sandstorm as though they are old friends playing tag, when his whole crew is found in their hideout and slaughtered without hesitation. when he comes back, he finds nothing solid of any of them, pieces of their bodies strewn across the floor, intestines and brain matter splattered against the walls like gothic decorations from a madman. he is surrounded by the stench of iron, a smell he’ll never get out of his nostrils now, forcing himself to take a big whiff of it, forcing himself to take a slow step further inside.

understanding such a horror is nearly impossible for a thirteen-year-old, but his brain freezes this moment in his memories to dream about later, picture-framing the destruction to agonize over night after night for years to come. the ghosts he finds there haunt him with every new step he takes, but then the shadow of a net falls across his vision, wrapping itself around his arms and torso, the evil chuckle of a slaver just behind him.

on this planet, these sorts of things happen; no one will shed a tear. the poor are in abundance and therefore somehow their lives mean so much less, and it burns through jaewon’s blood like fire, the very idea of it. people get snatched up and disappear all the time, sold for ransoms or labor or sex objects, phasing in and out of reality until you’re not rightfully sure if they were ever there in the first place.

when he wakes up, it’s to the sound of bartering, the slave market anthem, and they have his hands chained behind his back, but they’re going to need a lot more than that to keep a monster like him down. the slavers want his teeth and bones and skin all laid out for display in the most degrading fashion, but they must laden him down to the floorboards with more chains, fasten him with a mask on to keep his mouth shut. he won’t stop struggling and he won’t stop fighting; there’s no way he’d ever go quietly for these assholes. he’s hoping he’ll be problematic enough that no one will buy him, but after two or three months of blistering sundried heat in the day and beatings in pitch darkness at night, eventually someone picks up the tab, and he gets branded with a slave trade number.

that night however, before they can shove him off, he involves himself in the middle of a revolt, falls into the heat of a firefight. it’s nothing new for valluria, but this time it seems to be a prison breakout by an interstellar crew of a spaceship, and obviously he doesn’t actually care which side wins, but he has a deep-seated hatred for slavery and the men who killed his friends and captured him, so his first action once the cage is broken is to find a gun. he is the son of this shredded desert, born in the midst of battle, and you’re not truly a vallurian if you don’t know how to shoot straight.

rule four : don’t settle for scraps anymore.

“which side are you on?” asks one of the ship’s crew, after the fight is over; an older woman, scars on her face like battle trophies, her eyes cold and steady as stones. he’s pretty sure she’s ready and willing to put a bullet in him any second he says the wrong thing.

he doesn’t hesitate. “whichever side gets me the hell off this planet.”

it’s not his first step into the life of thievery, but it is what gets him onto the crew of this ship, a smuggling vessel under the control of a woman named vera, the same stone-eyed woman he’d met before. she captains the ship like an extension of herself, dictates to her crew members like an ironclad storm, and he wants to be just like her. she’s much older than she looks, and much colder too, but for all her clipped words and strong demeanor, she gives jaewon a softer patch in her soul, talks to him like he’s a person instead of a dog, recognizes the drive in him to achieve.

it’s not long before he’s learning everything there is to know about the ship, about the intergalactic system, about their codes and the alliance, what to avoid, how to conduct business. he pours himself over the interwebs, memorizing engine compartments and pilot techniques, politics and histories and diplomacies. eventually, they let him fly the ship, finding it entertaining that the youngest member of the crew seems to think himself capable of greater things than what he was raised with. he doesn’t know where his ambition will stop, but he won’t accept any limits or rules laid out for him—none except his own.

he falls in love with the stars, all his sand dunes replaced with asteroid belts, his storms with dust clouds, the heat of constant summer with the frigid emptiness of the void there’s a feeling of freedom up here, a wide openness begging to be seen, to be felt, to be experienced.

rule five : the universe owes you nothing.

the need to be unrestrained overrides the need to conform ( always has, always will ) and when the union of allied planets tries to take away the stars from him and the rest of the crew, they all sign up to fight against it. jaewon has to wait a year before he looks the part well enough to play it. he is still underage, but for a boy with no past and no family, that’s easily overcome, and even at seventeen, he knows the independents can use him. he decides that even if he dies in an unmarked grave, it will still be worth it, and maybe his ghosts will welcome him when he enters that final blackness.

of course, that ain’t exactly plan a, so he puts his experience and his impressive determination to good use, being young and fearless, something of a daredevil. right out of the gate, he proves himself qualified to run missions and handle extreme bloodshed and war; having been immune to it as a child. he trusts his instincts more than most, and survives more than most, raising through the ranks by way of recommendation as well as ascension through combat. the alliance has the upper hand in just about every battle fought, but the independents don’t make it easy for them, and that’s his rallying cry.

by the time he is twenty, he is made sergeant, and the pounds of blood on his hands only multiplies.

they lose the war of course, about a year later, and yes he is one of the few traversing through the mounds of corpses, wading through the pools of blood, in serenity valley. this valley, where the tides of the war shift forever out of their favor, this valley where defeat becomes certain, where no amount of resolve in his chest can justify the amount of deaths on his hands. this valley where hope and faith become replaced with grim reality, and he swears by every breath in his body that even though the verse itself might fall under the boot of an empire, he never will.

rule six : take control.

the armistice has his old crewmates settling down on various different planets, finding lives for themselves, picking up pieces of their pride in any solace they can uncover. and he doesn’t blame them, he doesn’t fight them on any particular point. except vera, he comes to heads against her for a minute.

“i can run the ship.” it’s pretty much been his goal since he first stepped foot on it. “if you won’t take it, let me have it.”

“jaewon, the back end is falling off. there are patched-up holes everywhere. you’re not going to take this ship anywhere except maybe the junkyard back on valluria.” she looks at him sternly. “it’s about time you figured yourself out, anyway, don’t you think?”

back to valluria. back to the planet jaewon wanted nothing more than to escape. when he thinks of his home world, he just only remembers the net collapsing around him, the stench of blood and sun and despair. he doesn’t want to figure anything out anymore. and anyway, he can’t look back, it’s against his rules. but they touch down anyway, onto a small city on a desert’s edge, and he is forced to say his goodbyes. it feels like everything is falling apart, everyone scatters to the winds, and jaewon’s chest is like a graveyard for about a month. he can feel it in his gut every waking hour; he is not supposed to be here, he doesn’t fit in here.

being back on this planet is like walking into a beartrap you already know is there. he hates it, he hates the misshapen buildings, all weird edges, the dust storms. he doesn’t see vera for a few weeks, before she finally sends him a wave, giving him the keycodes to the ship. she tells him to fly it to the nearest docking station and get whatever money he can for its pieces and parts.

as soon as he gets those codes though, he already knows what he’s going to do with them instead. he doesn’t hesitate.

the idea of letting anyone else touch the ship, pull it apart, rip out its heart and display it disgustingly for wealthier assholes to pick and choose ( insert memories of him being chained to the ground, covered in a mask while someone yells out prices for his head ) turns his stomach inside out. he’d rather crash and burn with it, than give up the one thing in the whole damn universe he’s actually come to love.

once a thief, always a thief.

coming back is like returning into his own ribcage, fitting his soul back into his body, inhaling air for the first time in what feels like forever. it’s the only place he’s managed to belong to. “miss me, baby?” he asks the long, empty corridors as he makes his way to the front piloting station, firing it up and then riding it the fuck out of there, heading off-world. he lands on a nearby moon and gives it a makeover, renaming it serenity, in honor of the lives lost in the war, the ghosts that haunt his shadow, the only chains he’ll ever allow himself to wear.

rule seven : the universe has no limits, don’t adhere to any.

[lives-depend-on-this]

Chapter 1; Food Ends Lives

Aka. Rolling around on the bloody floor is my form of revenge

5 years. It had been five years since Error was taken and every night Geno dreamed of him. He could still remember vividly his younger brother screaming for him. It wasn't fair but he had Fresh to protect. He didn't want to live this life but his youngest brother was 15, he needed to protect him. If it wasn’t for Fresh Geno would have ended himself long ago, stopped fighting the endless fight that was the horrid world they lived in.

Geno hardly darted around a corner as a group of loud humans passed by the convenience store he had been raiding. He curled up until he was nearly positive they passed before he stood again. He started rounding up as much food as he could find until a gunshot sounded and a bullet went flying through the spot his skull had been before part of it melted. His head shot up and he looked where it had been shot just to see a figure in a large black cloak.

"Who are you?" The figure hissed and Geno took a step back. 

"I'm just getting food for my brother. Please let me pass." He whispered and when the figure looked up, much to his horror, he caught skeletal bones. The person attacking him was a monster.

“What are you doing? You're a monster too! Why are you trying to kill me?” Geno asked as he stepped back.

“Because. Your in my shop.” He hissed.

“Who even are you?”

“The names-“

"Error wake up!" Error whined and rolled over, covering his head with his pillow. Much to his distaste, Nightmare wasn't like his brothers and didn't allow him to stay sleeping despite his protests.

"I didn't save you five years ago just so you could sleep in every morning lazybones. Get. Up." Nightmare lightly kicked Errors' side and the glitch whined, swatting at the general direction of the other's voice.

"Is he still asleep?" Dust peaked into the room and burst out laughing. In front of his very own eyes where the two oldest members of their little group, the two leaders. One was curled up on a cot, half heartedly waving his right hand in the air whilst his face scrunched up. The other was covering his mouth to hold back his laughter as he stood over Error, who was now swatting at Dust's voice instead of his own.

"Yes," Error whined before accidentally hitting himself. He yelped and Dust nearly fell down the stairs that lead to the room the leaders shared.

"Dust!" A louder voice, Horror, yelped as he ran up the stairs to catch the other who was pretty much falling down said stairs.

"Both of you come help me!" Nightmare called and Dust hastily shook his head to his friend who happily carried him downstairs, abandoning Nightmare with a very, very, sleepy Error who didn't take 'wake up' as an answer. Luckily for Nightmare, and unluckily for Error, the one more awake also didn't take 'no' for an answer. 

"I hate you." Error grumbled as Nightmare dragged him downstairs using the darker ones tentacle.

“No. No you Don’t Error.” Nightmare hummed and his best friend whined loudly, struggling to escape.

“Nightmare! Let me go!” He whined and Nightmare grinned, instantly releasing Error from his spot floating mid air.

“Nightmare! Ack! No fair!” Error squealed as he was dropped straight, face first onto the floor in which had not ever been cleaned.

“Sorry but I did what you asked.” Nightmare walked over into the ‘kitchen’ with no intent of helping his best friend, and roommate, up. 

“Night come back!” Error whined and his friend just laughed.

“Nope. But here’s what I will do. I will make us both some food. Mine, better obviously, yours, whatever I can scrounge together afterwards.” Nightmare opened the door and walked into the ‘kitchen’ without another word. Error groaned and, just to spite Nightmare, rolled around on the floor instead of getting up.

“You should really get up. If you don’t remember, we killed a few watchers on that floor.” Dust hummed and Error shrugged.

“I’m rolling in their blood! Perfect way to get my revenge!” Error grinned and Dust fake gagged.

“You do realize Nightmare won’t let you upstairs unless you shower right? And I’m almost positive you don’t wanna sleep down here with me and Horror.” Dust reminded the eighteen year old who groaned.

“Noooo!” 

“He’s right. But if you, let’s say, get up, then maybe you won’t have to worry about showering.” Horror piped up and Error, begrudgingly, stood up and flopped down on the old, dusty, couch. 

“SOMEONE GO SEARCHING! WE NEED MORE FOOD!” Nightmare called out and Dust raised a hand.

“I’ll do it.” He sighed, walking out.

Ink and Dream couldn’t remember how this started. They had run out of food the day before so they went to search for some but they heard something and then Blue screamed. Loud cheers and heavy footsteps sounded and Blue began screaming louder, calling for his friends.

Now there was a pitiful race down a side street for the smallest of their little rag tag group of friends. 

“Blue!” Ink rushes down the street after one of his best friends who was being carried off by a gang of humans.

“Ink! Dream!” Blue screamed as he struggled in the human's grasp.

“Please give him back!” Dream screamed, nearly in tears. They couldn’t catch up. They were all hungry, tired, and barely able to speed walk, let alone run or fight. The sun was blistering down on them and the heat was nearly unbearable

They couldn’t save Blue. They could only pray someone else saved him or the humans didn’t kill him.

“Ink do something!” Dream begged as he stopped running, too tired to keep running anymore, sweating profusely.

“I can’t Dream… I can’t.” Ink hiccuped as he collapsed, much too hungry and tired to stand. So they watched as people carried him away. The small skeleton they had fought to keep with them, they had killed watchers to keep with them. They watched him get hauled away,

The humans had Blue now, and most humans didn’t believe in mercy.

[gruntadminloch-moved]

A large grin is plastered on Benji’s face, seemingly beaming with cheerfulness, which was rather unusual for him. However, the Grunt was in a good mood, and he felt rather confident in himself. (The fact that he had Emmett walking beside him wasn’t totally because it made him feel better.) In his hands he held two gifts, one of which he had found months ago in decent working condition.

The other had been from today’s loot. He had convinced Aiden to do a little snag n grab as the blond called it. (Well it wasn’t like he really had to convince his best friend, Aiden was always up for mischief.) Benji himself had been focused, on the look out for anyone who was a glaringly obvious tourist. they had a pretty small haul, but Benji had found what he was hoping for among the Pokemon they grabbed.

With a bright smile on his face he ascended the stairs to greet the soon to be receiver of said gifts. “Hey Loch!” He called, waving enthusiastically at the other male. “C'mere. I have some presents for you!”

His first gift was the Polaroid camera. It worked well enough, with Benji having tested it out when he first found it, as well as today. There was plenty of film left in it, and Benji felt giddy at the thought of the other’s reaction. After all, Loch had said he liked taking pictures.

His second gift was a Woobat, caught in a quick ball. When he first let it out it had seemed cautious, barely moving as it surveyed it’s surroundings. Judging by it’s behavior, it’s trainer did not have it very long before coming to Alola.

Once Loch was near him, he held out the gifts. “Here, these are for you. Aiden and I had a small haul today, just to make sure we hit our weekly quota.” Well that wasn’t the complete truth. but it wasn’t a flat out lie either. “And this I found a while ago when I went poking through some of the previous owner’s stuff. It works pretty well. Just gotta be careful with the shutter button, it gets stuck.”

Loch’s day had been filled with planning gifts for his friends–loved ones, really, as they were a small group he cared dearly for.  He was going over his list when he heard the commotion of Benji trotting up the stairs, crying out to him, waving, and he smiled brightly at the sight of the boy he was so fond of and abandoned his task in favor of getting up to go to him.

His eyes widened at the sight of the old camera, although it didn’t look too old, maybe like it’d been a little dusty shortly before at worst.  Photography was a new hobby for him(well, hobbies in general were a little new,) so getting something so nice so early… . “B-Benji…I really…I don’t have time for this.”  He examined the camera, still new to the concept and mechanics of them since he mostly stuck to the one on his phone, and then took a few steps back, obviously going to aim it towards Benji to catch the grunt as his first memory with the gift. (Some of the grunts milling about made faces or gestures, having had taken notice.  It really only made it more special.) “Thank you…I’ll try and take lots of pictures with it!”  Hopefully he wouldn’t run out of film, though.  It’d probably be hard to find more!  He shook the photo as he moved on to the Pokémon he’d been gifted, examining the Quick Ball it was within.  What Pokémon was quick to run away?

The Pokéball was put in his hand first, however, but he saved it for last.  Didn’t want to devote all of his attention to the new partner, after all.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting of stolen Pokémon, but… .

Well, a foreign Pokémon was not quite it.

The soft cry the Woobat released when Loch tapped the button on the ball to let it out was more akin to a chirp and made Loch anxious he’d have to reject the gift for just a second–birds typically had feathers, and he couldn’t do feathers–but the shaggy bat that materialized from the data shifted and turned curiously, looking anxiously around noisy Shady House.  The sight of the mound of flying fur caused Loch to drop the ball, which hit the button, returning it just as it turned to try and look at him with its covered up eyes–assuming it could see at all.

“AAH!  C-come back!!”  He was quick to scoop up the ball and rerelease the bat Pokémon, which was now extra confused and flustered by the laughing of its new trainer.  “Th-this–this is–”

He beamed at it as it sniffed at him with little ultrasonic waves to familiarize itself with him.  “Hello.”  He greeted, holding his hands out to hold and pet the little psychic creature.  “I…thank you, Benji.  This is…”

He laughed, poking the bat’s nose, careful of the heart-shaped hole.  “This is lovely.  I love it, I–haven’t had a flying type in a long time.  Thank you.”  He held the foot-tall ball of bat to his chest a little, before wrapping an arm around Benji and burying his face in his shoulder, too.  “These’re really thoughtful.  I’m sorry if mine isn’t nearly as much so… .”

But that was for later.  For now… .

Welcome, Woobat!

Pokéball: Quick Ball  Nickname: Stavens OT: [DELETED] Gender: Male (coinflip’d)  Type: Psychic-Flying Place Met: Shady House, Floor 2 Hallway Level Met: 42 (rng’d, 1-58 which is the highest level you can find Woobat in the wild) Moveset: Heart Stamp (Psychic; status; 30% flinch chance) Attract (Normal; status; inflicts infatuation on Pokémon of opposite gender appropriate attraction) Air Slash (Flying, special, 30% flinch chance) Future Sight (Psychic, special, does damage two turns later, can hit through wonder guard, protect, detect, and can knock out despite use of endure, cannot hit the user) Nature: Timid Favorite Flavor: Sweet Ability: Unaware Characteristic: Alert to sounds