#speculativefanfiction

[melody-dramatic]

Children of War and Bitter History

I wrote and published on 07.17.2019 for a prompt on the madmaxkinkmeme forum on dreamwidth. Since that forum is pretty much dead, I've decided to also publish it here, and on Ao3, and on ff.n.

From the age of seventeen, she had born three children for that snake of a man. All boys. He had been pleased.

The first one, strong and hale and nearly eight pounds, looked to be the heir Joe wanted. He grew up to be lean, energetic, and not a lick like Joe. No matter what Joe did to the boy, there was just no meanness in his spirit. He wouldn't even hurt a bug. But he was happy to drive cars, and so Joe told him to drive cars, thinking maybe guzzoline and the thrill of speed alone would put some fire in the boy's blood. One day, her boy (a man, at that point, old enough and smart enough to be the next Immortan of the Citadel if he so pleased) rolled his car and broke his spine. Looking back, Miss Giddy wonders if he did it on purpose. (She named him Crow, for one of the only birds she knew. Clever and dark and quick were crows, and so was her son.) She's almost sure that he did. ("Appropriate," Joe said of their son's death. "He always did have a weak spine." And that's when Giddy truly started to hate the man.) The second boy (and this one, she named Walker, after the legend of an old Captain of the Old Days, one destined to lead her brothers and sisters to Tomorrow-morrow Land), who was much like the first except with a touch more bite in him, rode into the desert to help gather salvage (to look at the place where his brother died, as he often did, Giddy knew). He never came back. Miss Giddy still hopes for him, but it's a cold, heavy hope that sits at the bottom of her heart and reminds her that there may be a chance that he lived, but she'll never know, unless he comes back to her. The third is Rictus. And, well... she had been just a tad too old for bearing children, and Joe had started showing the signs of sickness, so she understands how Rictus came to be. Too large, with a heart that wouldn't be able to support his body beyond the age of thirty, and... his mind was something else. She thinks his normal-sized heart couldn't get enough air through his very large body when he was a young'un, and so his mind's slow now. Like a child. He will always be a child. A massive, foolish child. She cries for him. She cries for all her boys. If it weren't for Joe, she would never have had them, but if it weren't for Joe, she would still have them. Her good boys. The eldest could have made the Citadel a paradise, but they hadn't been able to bear the world, and Rictus only services because he is too absentminded to understand the truth of the world around him. She shoots and misses. She's relieved, for a moment (because he gave her the boys, he did, in a sick way, and she hadn't realized the sickness of that when she was younger), and then horrifically angry at herself for not taking the easy shot when she had the chance. Because he is angry, and he doesn't give a damn about her anymore (did he ever?). He just wants his young, beautiful, healthy Wives and their precious cargo. More healthy boys like Crow and Walker. He drags her along. It hurts. Her bones are brittle and her breath is short and she's used to the comfort of the Vault. She can't take this, can't, and Rictus looms only a little while away. She wonders if he even remembers that she is his mother. Probably not. She's cut, she's bruised, she's broken. She's choked on too much blood and sand. She is too old and too tired to resist. Organic's vicious, sawtoothed tools can rend her papery skin open and she is not sure if that can be healed. Not that it matters. They abandon her with Angharad's ripped, ruined body, and she is going to die today. This is all on Joe's orders. She cannot believe that she ever felt anything but hatred for the man, this wretched father of her beautiful, broken sons. She hates him, hates him, hates him. She screams, a sound full of all that hate, and it breaks her throat and her heart open. It is over. There shall be no more Joe, not for her, and all the better. She cries for the crows to kill her quickly. She cries for her dead sons, and the living one with his brutish, hurtful ignorance. She cries for Angharad. But then. But then someone comes walking through the dust, under the scorching sun, and she recognizes a War Boy. Or, in this case, a War Man. He is forty, at the very least, practically shameful for a War Boy, but far more than is expected from a Half Life. He pauses, standing before her with blood and paint smeared across his face. His nose is broken. She waits for him to decide to kill her. "I'm Ace," he says after a moment. Blood dribbles and drips. "Kill me and be done with it," she rasps. Her throat and lips are dry, cracked; peeling. From the hate and the heat. He doesn't move. "Have you seen me before?" "No... Yes." Several times. She's seen the Ace. He's been around for longer than any of the Imperators. He's Furiosa's favorite. He's been up in the tower plenty of times at Furiosa's heels, and he's always been... not unkind. It's a surprise, then, that he's still alive. She never thought about the unlikelihood of the Ace before. "I hoped so," says the Ace. He kneels down before her and carefully, carefully, takes Angharad's linens and uses them to cover the worst of Giddy's wounds. She does not have the strength to claw his eyes out when he gently hefts her up from the bloody sand, leaving behind Angharad's naked, shattered corpse. It will burn and shrivel in this heat in no time. Giddy wants to gag at the thought as she watches and watches until Angharad disappears behind the curve of a sand dune. They are silent for awhile, until she realizes that he is taking her back in the direction of the Citadel. "No more," she whispers to him, recognizing his mercy in Angharad's clothes wrapped around her. "Please, no more." "No one's gonna hurt you," he assures her. She hears the promise. "Never again. Furiosa will kill the old man, and the Citadel won't belong to him ever again. We'll be free." Hearing a War Boy talk like that is beyond madness, but so is Joe. So is she, perhaps. Maybe this isn't real. Maybe she is still with Angharad, and this manifestation of the Ace is just the crows carrying her spirit away. The Citadel is within sight when they stop to rest for awhile. The Ace finds a shady stop and does his best to keep the sand away from Giddy's wounds. His fingers are too calloused to be feathers, but she still thinks that he may be a murder of crows. "I think I loved him, once," she tells him, because if she's dead and he's here to carry her to the next life, then she might as well. "I've had three sons by him. I didn't realize how wrong it was in the beginning. I was just a girl, and he didn't seem so bad back then." The Ace nods. "He used you. He lied. It's alright." Such kind crows. "It's not." "... No. But you're alright. We're alright." She doesn't feel alright. She feels cut open and empty and over (is that death? Could be worse). But the worst of the dizziness has passed and the Ace cradles her away from the sun and the sand with utmost care. That's the closest she's been to alright in a long time. After a very long silence, she thinks that the Ace is going to pick her up and take her the rest of the way (to the Citadel, to the glittering Heaven, anywhere but Walhalla), but he does not. "You're not Ace," she finally decides. "But you are very nice crows." Not-The-Ace makes a raw, croaking sound that she realizes is laughter. "Now, Mum," he says, the laughter still pulling his lips and brightening his eyes, "if you can't tell the difference between me and Crow, who can?"

[snarkybluechristian]

The Bargain Between Gaster and God

“Why would you create free will when you knew how we would use it?” Gaster asked the Being in the void.

He had seen many timelines. Many, many timelines.  There were some where free will was used to the best possible ends.  There were too many others where it was used for the worst.

Gaster had seen enough. He wanted to influence a world where choice was not allowed, where the outcome was always for the best, where no one could decide otherwise.

Of course, Gaster could not do that without permission from the Timelines’ Creator.

“I knew how these worlds could turn out if choice were allowed, but…” the Being paused and then continued with a sad smile in his voice.  “I do not regret my choice.”

“Why?” Gaster asked angrily. “Don’t you see the pain it can cause?”

“Don’t you see the joy it can bring?” the Being replied.  “If you force someone to do the right thing because their actions cannot be otherwise, then do their actions really have any significance?  They act as a machine acts when you flip its switch. It only follows a directive.  It does not accomplish anything significant. It cannot think or choose.”

“Those who always choose wrongly shouldn’t be able to choose.  They are only capable of hurting and causing pain.”

“But they’re also capable of changing and bringing happiness.  You know that.  Don’t you, Gaster?”

Gaster pondered what the Being said and hesitated before he came up with his next reply.

“I see what you mean,” Gaster finally replied.  “I suppose if one cannot choose to do evil then they also cannot choose to do good.”

“You are beginning to understand,” the Being said.

“But what if I didn’t stop choice completely?  What if I only stopped its most negative consequences so no one would be hurt?”

“Do the choices still matter if at worst they can only help or hurt a little?”

“I think they do.”

The Being sighed loudly and said, “You’re a fool.”

“And you’re unwilling to compromise,” Gaster retorted.

“You really think you can improve the world by limiting free will?” the Being asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Gaster replied confidently.  “Yes, I do. I want to create a world that can only be happy.”

The Being shook his head sadly before he said, “Alright, then.  You have my permission to change this world and see if your plan for the world is more perfect than mine.”

Gaster silently nodded and flew past him towards the world he was guarding.

“But I have one condition,” the Being replied forcing Gaster to stop.  “You will only have one day to influence the world as you see fit without interference.  When that day is done, a challenger will come to oppose your design.  If your world cannot withstand this challenger without any alteration from your original design, that challenger will be granted control instead of you.  Do you accept these terms and conditions?”

Gaster turned around and said, “I do.  I am confident that my design can stand up to this challenger.”

“That’s what they all think,” the Being said before Gaster turned away to accomplish this mission.