#far cry new dawn garbage

[strawberryscorner]

Forgotten Sins Chapter 1

Tags: Amnesia, Stockholm Syndrome, Drug Use (Bliss), Religious Cults, Fluff and Angst, Car Accidents, Family Member Death, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation

Note: Hey, I just wanted to let you all know some things before reading this story, This is a reader-insert and it is written in the second person but she has/you have amnesia from the events in the first chapter so when asked your name, you can't respond with the "Y/N" answer so you'll get the name Dawn.

Also, I'm not from America so if British words slip in, forgive me because the character/you are meant to be American since it's Far Cry 5.

Other than that, have fun! (also, let me know if I missed something in the tags at any point of the story!)

Series Masterlist

Almost as soon as your dad drives past the Welcome to Hope County sign, the radio started playing a song about letting the water wash away your sins.

"What is this garbage?" he asked, going to turn the radio off but your mom smacked his hand away.

"It's what you need with that gambling addiction of yours," she said, returning to her phone, "no signal." She put the phone down and looked out the window.

"It's pretty cute here," you said, looking out your window.

"Pretty cute?" your dad asks. "There's nothing here!"

You roll your eyes and keep focusing on what's outside your window. Your dad always was a bit grumpy on these road trips, yet it was always him who insisted on taking them, good for family bonding. Now that you were an adult and had moved out long ago and your brother was going off to college, it was time for another road trip. While your dad and mom argued about the quickest way to your destination that your parents kept secret to add to the fun, you started humming along to the radio.

"Where even are we?" your mom asked.

"Holland Valley, well, just left it according to this sign," your dad said.

You see a shirtless man with the words greed and wrath tattooed on his torso running from a group of people, they're all shooting at each other.

"Is that real?" your brother asked, hearing the gunshots.

"Look away!" your dad yells at us as the shirtless man fell to the ground. You turn to look out the window on your brother's side but there were people with guns running towards the car, most likely to fight the people on the other side of your vehicle.

"Oh God, what is that?" your mother asked, pointing at a man with a beard and a red shirt that had been cut into a vest held up what looked like a rocket launcher, though you couldn't be too sure, you'd only ever seen them in video games. You see a rocket heading towards the car, no one has time to get out before it hits.

__________________

You wake up, one hand handcuffed to the railing of the bed you're laying on. The other hand goes up to touch your pounding head, only resulting in more pain so you quickly remove your hand. There isn't much in the room with you, just the bed you're laying on, a table and a chair.

"Ah good, you're finally awake," a man with long brown hair and a bushy beard said, pulling the chair closer to the bed before sitting down.

"Awake?" your throat was painfully dry and your voice came out weak, almost as a raspy whisper.

"You've been out for a while, a few weeks," he said, "weren't too sure you'd make it, no one else did."

"Made what? Who else?"

"What's your name?" he asked.

You thought about it for a while but couldn't remember, "I don't know," you answer honestly.

"Guess the accident messed with your brain more than we thought," he mumbled, "how about we call you Dawn?"

You don't know what to say, that's probably not close to whatever your name was but you couldn't remember so arguing against it seemed pointless. Eventually, you just nod your head, accepting your new name.

"Well, Dawn, you and what we assume to be your family were in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said. "You see, we got somewhat of a war going on here, a cult leader who calls himself The Father is trying to take over Hope County. Save us from what he calls The Collapse that he knows will happen because God told him. My people were captured by fucking Peggies - his followers. Now is the part that affects you, you and your family got in the crossfire between my people and the Peggies, well, they had a rocket launcher, fired it at you. We pulled you out of the car, but your family all died, your mom was already dead in the car, and your dad and brother died here later. I'm sorry."

You tried to remember it but you couldn't, you couldn't even remember your family, their names, faces, voices nothing.

"Why don't I remember?" you ask.

"You hit your head pretty hard, you might remember at some point but you may also never get your memory back," he shrugged.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"I'm Eli."

He stood up and took out a small key, "Am I right in assuming you won't be a danger?"

You nodded. While you had no memory to be sure, you didn't feel dangerous. He unlocked the handcuff.

"You can stay in here for a while, Hurk is right outside this door. Hurk get in here," a man with a beard and a red shirt walked in, he seemed familiar but you couldn't remember why.

"Do I know you?" you asked.

"No," Eli answered for the man, "but Hurk here will help you if you want to walk around."

With that, both men leave you alone in the room. 

You stayed in bed for a while, thinking about everything Eli had told you, trying to remember anything from any point in your life but you couldn't. You were thankful you seemed to remember your language and how to talk. Now, you needed to see if you were strong enough to be able to walk. Don't fall flat on your face, you thought to yourself before sitting in the bed, your feet touching the ground. You closed your eyes and held your hands out in front of you as you slowly stood up, when you did instantly fall, you slowly opened your eyes. You take a deep breath before attempting to take your first step, it was wobbly, and you fall forward but you're able to catch yourself on the chair Eli was sitting on earlier. You thought about calling for Hurk to help you walk but you wanted to do it on your own, your legs just needed to wake up, Eli did say you were out for a few weeks, naturally, your legs would be weak like your voice was. After a few seconds, you dare try again, letting go of the chair and pushing it a bit in front of you so you can use it to catch yourself again if needed. Which you did.

"Shit," you say to yourself, but it comes out more of a whisper. "Hurk?" you call out as loud as you can but it doesn't come out very loud and he doesn't come in so it's safe to assume he couldn't hear you. Well, I can still stand, you thought before getting up from the chair and throwing it at the door.

"Dude, are you okay?" Hurk said, throwing the door open, holding a gun, "whoa, sorry about calling you dude, I don't want to assume nothin' but I call everyone dude so I don't mean no disrespect or nothin'-"

"I can't walk," you interrupt him, not really caring to hear more of this odd apology when you just want to walk.

"What do you mean you can't walk?" he asks. You take a step forward and fall, he catches you and helps you back to your feet.

You make it outside with Hurk's help, he's pointing to everyone who walks by, telling you their names, what they usually do around here and how fun they are to talk to on a scale of "better to talk to Monkey King than them to actually a good listener, they're fine"  as you drink a glass of water.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"We're in Whitetail Mountains," he answers.

"Where are my family?" he looks to his feet when you ask that, "I know they're dead. Eli told me. But what happened to their bodies?"

"I'm not really sure," he scratched the back of his head, going quiet. You hadn't known him long at all but hadn't known him to do that.

"Well, what about the Pennys?"

"Pennys?" he looks confused for a while.

"The cult?"

Hurk laughs, "you mean Peggies."

"Yeah, Peggies."

"They're followers of the big guy, not Monkey King, the other big guy. You know, I almost joined 'em. They had guns, food, fine ass women, why wouldn't you join?" he paused, looking at you and when you didn't say anything, he continued. "Well, I didn't join because o' all these rules you have to follow, no partyin', no fornicatin' - that means fuckin', didn't sound so fun after that so I went home."

He was going to keep talking until a radio started making noise. He excused himself and took a few steps away.

"You want to know about the cult, sweetheart?" an older lady in jeans and a pink blouse asked.

"Yes," you said.

"I'm Adelaide, you are?"

"I'm Dawn," you said, remembering Eli's name for you.

"Well, Dawn, the cult has pretty much taken over Hope County, brainwashed everyone into believing the world is going to end and only Joseph Seed can save their souls. They take you in, make you confess your sins through torture then continue to torture you either by forcing you to make that Bliss shit until you lose your damn mind or by training you to be a soldier, ain't been many survivors to tell us how it goes but we can assume it's not pleasant."

"And people join willingly?" you ask, thinking back to what Hurk said.

"They do, some completely willingly, either with or without the knowledge of what the cult does, or some join willingly but after some tough persuasion.

And some join because they're idiots like my boy," she moves her head towards Hurk.

"You're Hurk's mother?"

"I am," she smiled.

"Come with me, we got a job," he said, interrupting our conversation.

"Me?" you asked, seeing him looking at you instead of his mother.

"Yeah, don't worry, it's not a big job, just collectin' some meat then droppin' it off," he got in a truck.

"Collecting meat? From where?"

"We're going huntin', you been huntin' before?"

"I don't know."

"I can teach you."

On the way to where he wanted to hunt, he spoke about his relationship with his father, it didn't sound like a very good one. It made you wonder what yours was like, maybe you'd remember one day. Instead, you smiled and hummed when it was appropriate. He didn't give you much time to speak.

"Here we are," he said, stopping the car and handing you a gun. "There's a lot of Caribou here?"

"Caribou?"

"You'll know it when you see it, they're hard to miss."

"Why are we hunting this thing?" you ask.

"For food, we gotta eat, don't we?" he laughed as you nodded.

You walk behind Hurk, he was telling you about the parts of the gun and how to shoot it. You had a hard time following what he was saying but he assured you it would come easy when you had to actually take the shot. You walked for a while without seeing anything more than trees but eventually, Hurk stopped you.

"There, see it?" he points towards a big animal with horns.

"That's a Caribou?" he nodded. "We're meant to kill that?" he nodded again. He really was crazy.

"Won't it attack us? With those horns?"

"What? Nah, 'course not. They ain't predators, they'll just run away."

You nodded, watching as he raised his gun. Part of you wanted to stop him from shooting the animal but he was right before, you do have to eat and you saw quite a lot of people to feed at the bunker. He shot the animal, but it didn't die.

"Shit, I missed," the animal ran off and Hurk chased it, not knowing what else to do, you ran after Hurk. Eventually, the Caribou slowed down near a lake. Hurk managed to kill it there.

"You stay here, I'll go get the truck." You turned your back to the animal, not wanting to see the corpse. The lake and trees were beautiful so you focused on them until you heard tires. You expected to see Hurk but were surprised to see three men with tattoos that said Wrath, Lust and Pride on each of them.

"What are you doing here, sinner?" One of the men asked, pulling his gun out but keeping it by his side.

"Nothing," you said, backing away, "hunting."

The men laugh at you but stop once you hear more tires, before anyone can react Hurk drives over the two men in front of you. One of the men flew over the truck while the other one is trapped underneath. The third man makes it back to his car and drove away. The man under the truck was probably already dead or at least it seemed that way since he wasn't moving or making any sound. The man who flew over the truck tries to get back up but is shot by Hurk.

"Alright, let's get that thing on the back and head off," Hurk said, lifting the animal. All you can do is watch. He just killed a man; sure he had a gun but you didn't expect Hurk to be so okay with killing two people. Even if he did kill the animal, that was different, that was to eat, this was for nothing? 

"Why did you kill them?" you ask.

"Well, they're Peggies," he said, getting back into the truck after loading the corpse onto it. They're Peggies, that's the only reason. Based on what you had been told, it was Joseph that was bad, the Peggies were just brainwashed but apart from that, you hadn't heard much. What Hurk did seemed worse than just not partying or training. Adelaide did mention torture as well but if Hurk could kill a man so easily, maybe they weren't telling the whole truth or maybe they just weren't any better than the Peggies?

"You gettin' in or what?" Hurk called from the driver's seat. You didn't want to but felt you had no choice; you didn't want to be left out here.

"Where are we going?"

"Chad Wolanski, he's a cool guy but can't understand him for shit though," he said. He speeds there, explaining he doesn't want to bump into any more Peggies.

"We're here!" Hurk calls out, getting out of the truck and you hear a man grumbling. Hurk lifts the Caribou out of the truck, sort of dragging it around the house. "Hey Chad, got a new member with me."

Chad mumbles something that sounds like hello.

"Hello, I'm Dawn," it felt slightly less strange to call yourself Dawn this time.

Chad and Hurk started talking while helping each other with the meat. You weren't sure how Hurk understood what Chad was saying, only one word per sentence was said loud and semi-clear enough to make out and the rest was mumbled and jumbled together. You kept yourself preoccupied with looking at the scenery. The radio was on and started playing a song about letting the water wash away your sins, it felt familiar and you easily hummed along. It made Chad mumble something angrily to Hurk.

"I don't know, I never had the radio on," Hurk answered, also raising his voice at Chad.

"Hey," Hurk called for you, "how you know that song?" 

"I don't know, it just sounds familiar somehow," you answered, unsure what the problem was, neither man said anything, just mumbled something to themselves. 

"Let's head back," Hurk said, saying goodbye to Chad.

Hurk was awfully quiet while driving, you reached for the radio, tired of the silence and not knowing how to fill it. Before you could turn it on a car drove in front of yours, making Hurk have to hit the brakes.

"Whoa, shit," he said, "are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, you?" 

"Yeah," he took his belt off and picked up his gun, "fucking Peggies. Come on."

You got out of the car with him. You stayed crouching behind your open door, Hurk moving forward. It was going well for him until, "Hurk, behind you!" You yelled but he didn't react on time, a Peggie from behind him hit him on the back of his head with their gun, knocking him out. You notice it's the Peggie who escaped after Hurk ran his friends over.

"Are you going to come with us willing, sinner, or are we going to have to make you?" the one from earlier asked you.

"I'll go," you said, standing with your hands up, scared of what they'd do if you didn't go willingly since two of them had their guns pointed toward you.

"Good choice," he said, his friends putting their guns down.

[gggoldfinch]

actual footage of me reading your response:

goldfinch rant supremacy🫡

hi yes ma'am now that I'm more well educated, I'd like to order the "ultimate blorbo Darth Maul's backstory" with extra hot sauce (details) and a side of "what makes you love Rogue One above all the other movies?" please and thank you 😁

also will b sure to binge all the movies and then read your fanfic after, I really love your character art for your OC btw! she's so so pretty, and that backstory you gave on her in the post makes me want to read more about her story! ily 🩷

RAAAHHHHAGHAHSJDKDK SHAKING CRYING EVEN HARDER THANK YOU YOU’RE SO WONDERFUL ❤️❤️❤️ ILY

Okay here’s the Ultimate Blorbo Darth Maul Backstory Speedrun: basically he was born to a powerful witch on the planet Dathomir where there’s a lot of segregation (yikes) and interesting tribal dynamics; he gets stolen by Darth Sidious aka Palpatine (because Palpatine is weird rivals with Maul’s mom), and is raised/groomed/ abused to be the perfect assassin & Sith Lord apprentice. Then at 22 years old (tragic, should’ve been at the club), during a battle with Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn (who he kills) and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, he is cut in half at the waist by Kenobi and thrown down a garbage chute. He SURVIVES THIS on sheer willpower and Sith rage alone, and spends the next 12-ish years descending into complete madness and Kenobi-fueled desire for revenge on a far-removed landfill planet. It’s here he builds himself spider legs out of literal trash and scrap and terrorizes the local fauna. A regular old Shelob (LOTR reference ba um tss). Then he’s rescued by his biological brother, Savage Opress (who’d been tasked with this by their manipulative mom), who brings him back to Dathomir to be “healed” by their witch mother. He’s now got a swanky new pair of robo legs, his insanity is “cured”, and he runs around shirtless for the foreseeable future. This takes place during the Clone Wars so lots of Clone Wars stuff goes on in the meanwhile. Eventually Maul and Savage overtake the planet of Mandalore (where the Mandalorians are from) and Maul becomes the Mand’alore (the king basically. Oh and he’s wearing clothes now womp womp). During this time a lot of stuff happens: they create a crime syndicate, Palpatine tries to cast aside and kill Maul (seeing as he’d replaced him twice by this point), Savage is murdered, and eventually after plot conflicts Maul is chased off Mandalore. Then Order 66 happens and the rise of the Empire and, with the rest of the surviving Force-users, he fades away to avoid detection. Here’s where my knowledge gets slightly hazy because the tail end of his story makes me sad and I Don’t Perceive It + I haven’t watched Rebels in its entirety: Maul joins up with the crime syndicate Crimson Dawn and ends up ruling it from the shadows, does this for another decade-ish, then fades into obscurity some time in his late 40s/ early 50s to dodge the still-rampant anti-Force sentiments in the Empire. He resurfaces again to pester this “post-Jedi Order” Force-sensitive kid, Ezra, and seems to have mellowed out greatly since his time as a ruthless Sith Lord (probably due to LITERALLY NEVER CATCHING A BREAK EVER). He confronts his long-time rival and the man who he sees as having ruined his life, Kenobi (he screams and rants and raves about him a lot, it’s pretty entertaining, if sad) one last time on Tatooine, is bested in battle, and kinda gives up and dies. Which is a mood, but yeah. Kenobi, who has been tolerating this guy’s feral insanity and hatred for him for decades, gives him an honorable Jedi funeral and burns his body, and I cry if I think too much about that! 😁 His story is rife with tragedy and violence and I doubt he’s ever happy except in the company of his brother who he fails to save, and he’s never loved or been shown love in canon and it’s heartbreaking because his entire life is a hurricane of abuse and misery and never getting his way and never being loved except by the one person he cares about but can’t save AGHHHHHHJJH

On to why I love Rogue One before I spontaneously combust: visually, it is PHENOMENAL! The characters (though I can’t name a majority of them) are easy to love and root for, and at its core it’s a story about the everyday little people who make big sacrifices along the way. It follows several people on their mission to retrieve the information that holds the plans to destroy the Death Star, to be delivered to the Rebellion, and each and every one of them dies in the process— yes even the main characters. It is a modern tragedy and you know when you start it there’s only one way it can end, and I hate to admit it makes me cry before the opening scene even begins to play. Not even joking, last time i watched I was sobbing at a black screen. Plus Mads Mikkelsen is in it 🫣 It isn’t necessarily my favorite, but that spot is taken by The Phantom Menace, but I def think it’s the most well-done Star Wars movie

And thank you for the lovely compliments, it means so much that you’d be interested in getting into the fandom for my silly fic. That’s genuinely so special to me 🥺❤️❤️❤️

[arjaandsimoni]

Broken Dolls

Content Warning: The antagonist of this story is a serial killer and the story begins with the fate of one of his victims. Reader discretion is advised.

A small scream, a loud snap, and the game was done. He looked down at the thing in his hands, so tiny and delicate, but now just completely gone and empty of life, the limbs bent at angles, as if they had double the number of joints they should.

He shrugged, chucking it away. There’d be others. There always were.

"Dead again…" came the voice of his partner.

“Yep, went ‘n broke another one…” he chuckled, straightening up and looking down at her body.

"Oh well. Where to next?"

“Hmm… ain’t been to London in a long time…” he mused, walking back through the cavernous wine cellar to the doorway. He passed a window, revealing a skeletal thin man with long gray hair and ashen skin, half hidden under a too large teeshirt and a pair of baggy jeans. “Lets go find a new doll to play with…” he chuckled, opening the door to reveal a pitch blackness so deep it seemed to suck the light from its surroundings. He walked through, then slammed it shut.

The last doll wouldn’t be found for another month, when a complaint of a smell caused police to smash in the door to the abandoned wine cellar to find the barely recognizable corpse, dental records identifying her to her parents and ending a month-long search.

Another victim of Pale, the serial killer who shouldn’t be alive.

London England, Four Nights Later

“LOOK OUT! HE’S COMING THIS WAY!” shouted Dawn, hanging onto the side of a building like a little girl version of Spiderman.

“SHIT!” exclaimed Nelen, dodging as an arm twice as long as a human should have almost took his nose off, razor sharp claws missing him by mere centimeters, the warlock rolling away and managing to get his back to a wall.

Standing nearby was a massive hulking beast of a man, most of its body hidden under a great ragged green cloak, just two eyes peering out of darkness to mark where its head was. It had arms almost as long as Nelen was tall, its legs far too long and thin to support it yet allowing it to move with an eerie grace, and antlers growing back out of its skull, covered with hanging moss.

Slung over its shoulder was a large bag made of sackcloth that was wriggling and shaking, a scream of terror coming from inside it.

“Stay on it Dawn! If it makes it back to the park that kid is as good as gone!” he shouted, lashing out with his arm. There was a flash of dull metal and the creature screamed like an enraged stag, a dingy grey dagger sticking through its left bicep, the skin around it steaming and reddening.

Dawn nodded, blinking ahead to the next building as the creature snarled and tried to follow her. “C’mon you bastard, just a bit closer… just a biiiiiit…” he growled, “NOW SHAMAN!” he shouted.

From out of the shadows of the alleyway burst Shaman Bond, a length of sharpened iron taken from a wrought iron fence held like a spear. His legs were a blur as he rushed the monster from behind and drove the makeshift weapon through its back and out through its front.

Nelen grinned, then vanished as Dawn teleported him up into the air above it, the warlock lashing out and grabbing its antlers with Merihim’s tendrils, then landing behind it and pulling with all his inborn strength as a Fullmoon! The creature reared back like an angry bull, then stumbled, and Shaman held the spear firm as it sank into the soft dirt, impaling the monster!

It thrashed its limbs and wailed like a child deprived of a toy… and then there was a moment of split time, and a tattered garbage bag was stuck to the fence post.

Nelen walked forward and picked up his iron dagger where it lay, then cut the ropes holding the sackcloth bag it had been carrying it shut, opening it up and pulling it back.

Inside was a young boy of no more than six, his eyes red with crying and his body trembling with fear.

“Hello lad.” nodded Shaman, kneeling down. “Its alright now, the monster is gone, we saw to ‘im.” he smiled, helping the boy to his feet. “Dawn, there’s a police station three blocks over, can you get him there? They can get him back to his parents.”

Dawn nodded, hastily putting her glasses back on and grinning, “Yeah sure, c’mon squirt.” she said to the kid, patting his shoulder and guiding him off through the alleyway.

Shaman straightened up and blew out his lips, looking at the trash bag, “Every bloody solstice, I swear…” he sighed, “Thanks for the assistance Fullmoon.” he grinned, shaking Nelen’s hand.

“No problem. Almost lost a cousin to one of the Fair Folk a while back. Any time they’re giving you grief lemme know.” he grinned back.

Shaman smiled at him, “Much obliged. Once your daughter gets back, I’ll buy us a round back at the Wulfshead.”

Nelen nodded back, pulling the bag down off the spike, then tossing it in a garbage can. He gathered up some nearby pieces of fairly dry newspaper and sticks, threw them ontop, then lit a match and tossed it in. Within a minute the contents were burning. “And that was the end of the wicked Narg Grin.” he nodded, dusting his hands.

"Do you have to say that?" grumbled Merihim.

“Yes, actually I do. Its how the damn things work.” he replied.

Shaman gave him a bit of an odd look, then shrugged. He’d worked with strange folk before, someone who talked to themselves wasn’t that weird… then he paused as his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and said, “Shaman Bond speaking… Penny dear! What a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t expecting to… ah… I see… well then. Hm… right, I’ll be along shortly.” he nodded and hung up. “Nelen, sorry mate but I’m afraid I’ll have to take a raincheck on those drinks. Something’s come up.” he said.

“Anything serious?” he asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle, but I’m afraid it’s a personal matter. You understand, I’m sure?”

Nelen nodded, holding up his hands, “Of course, in our line of work personal is personal. I’ll wait for Dawn and catch you at the Wulfshead next time.”

“Sounds lovely.” he smiled, patting his shoulder, “Thanks again though mate, couldn’t have done it without you.” he grinned, then walked off into the London night.

Dawn reappeared shortly after, looking around. “Huh, where’s Shaman?” she asked.

“Something came up and he had to take off.” replied Nelen. “How about we see if there’s a chips shop open?” he asked.

Dawn grinned, “Fish and chips?” she asked.

“Well, it is London. I’m sure I can find something that doesn’t taste like the inside of a shoe for me.” he smirked.

“Good luck with that.” snorted Dawn.

“Hah, yeah.” he chuckled, the two of them setting out. “All the damn spices the empire got in the old days, and they won’t use any of them...”

About an hour later...

The pair had found a twenty-four-hour takeaway joint and Dawn was messily devouring some fried fish sticks, Nelen eating the potatoes around them. He’d never been huge on seafood, but Dawn was a cat so… yeah.

“Wonder what Shaman had to go for.” she muttered, licking the batter off her fingers.

“You know how it goes Dawn. Its ‘personal.’ That means ‘you don’t ask.’ He doesn’t ask us when something comes up involving Merihim or other stuff like that, we don’t ask him when its…” he paused to clear his throat meaningfully, “… personal. We all got skeletons in our closets, everyone at the Wulfshead does."

As they walked along Dawn glanced at a TV, the announcer talking about the Jubilee in honor of the late Queen. “Huh, thought they had a necromancer on retainer.” she commented.

“They do, but there’s only so many times anyone can bring a body back before it can’t pass as human anymore. Heard a rumor that one of the maids posted on Twitter some pictures showing that he fucked it up and what she got brought back as actually ate a couple buck house guards before the rest could bring it down.” he replied, “The pictures are gone now of course, the royals stomped on that fast.”

Dawn laughed at that, “HAH! The beefeaters got ate?” she grinned.

Nelen snorted, “Yep, guess her highness was in the mood for long pig.” he grinned back as they walked through the crowd. They got a few odd looks there, though a couple chuckles were heard. As they made their way through the city looking for a convenient spot to open a door back to the Wulfshead.

“Hmm…” he looked around, then spotted a mostly empty alleyway with some convenient shadows. “That should do… Dawn?” he asked, looking around.

She wasn’t there. He blinked in confusion, wondering if he’d lost her in the crowd, when suddenly she appeared in the alleyway nearby. “Ugh, sorry about that. Some jerk tried to grab me. Gave him a good slash across the face and poofed first chance I got, probably freaking out that the kiddie he wanted to fiddle got some claws.”

Nelen frowned, “Ugh… did you see his face? We should probably report him and let the mundy authorities handle him.” he grumbled. He’d rather sort the guy out himself, loudly and violently, but he knew the right thing to do would be to set the police on him.

Dawn paused, then looked back at the TV nearby, “Actually… yeah, he looked like that guy, well, that guy with five claw marks on his left cheek now.” she said, pointing to the newscaster.

Nelen blinked, leaning in towards the TV in the shop window and adjusting his glasses, reading the closed captions.

“… Patrick Sampson, also known as the Doll Collector Murderer, The Pale Man, or ‘Pale,’ wanted in several US cities for child abduction, infanticide, and escaping prison has been spotted in London this evening. Citizens are encouraged to contact police immediately if they see him, but do not attempt to stop or restrain him. Assume he is armed and dangerous and be sure to tell police exactly where he was spotted…” said the newscaster as the screen showed an image of a man with long hair framing a sunken face with bags under his eyes and an unnerving grin.

Nelen raised his eyebrow, “Pale… That rings a bell…” he frowned, getting out his phone and opening it up, then bringing up the Wulfshead BBS. “… SHIT.” he stared.

“What?” asked Dawn. “He’s one of our type of problems?”

Nelen quickly scrolled through the listing. “Yeah, standing bounty. He’s not normal. Nobody is sure what exactly he is, but apparently, he’s supposed to be dead! He was arrested back when I was in high school, and they sentenced him to death. It was carried out two years ago and they apparently confirmed his death but…” he glanced back at the image on the screen. “… cops can’t handle this. Which way did you see him go?” he asked her.

She nodded, pointing down the street as she and Nelen rushed off. Drinks at the Wulfshead could wait, this one was more important. This wasn’t just some monster, Pale had a birth record and everything, a researchable history as a normal human being but somehow, he had survived a technique that was supposed to kill a person with one hundred percent lethality, then came back to kill again.

“So what is he?” asked Dawn as they trailed him, the feline managing to find him again pretty quickly. Pale didn’t seem to even be trying to hide his presence and it was mostly luck that people weren’t noticing him… luck or perhaps something else.

Nelen shook his head, “I have no godsdamn clue, nobody does. Anyone who could answer that tends to wind up dead with as many bones broken as possible.” he replied, “Pale is a real sick bastard… he sees young girls as ‘dolls’ and likes to ‘break them.’ Arms and legs first, then however many bones he can before they black out from the pain, then he snaps their neck to kill them."

Dawn made a face at that, “Wow…” she hissed low, “Even some of the nastier vampires we’ve gone up against don’t go that far… what is his freaking deal?!” she muttered.

“No clue… but he’s dangerous.” he nodded, “Merihim? Any ideas?”

"Search me Fullmoon. I’m not aware of him having any pacts with the Pit, and if he was a Christian being executed for murder is immediate entry into Hell. Commandment breaker and all. Upstairs is really hot on those lately." came the reply in the warlock’s mind.

He nodded, watching Pale ascend the steps to an old burnt out flat in a rather low rent area. It’d be a crackhouse except the crackheads had standards, this place was an inch from being knocked over… Hell a good storm would do it.

Nelen walked forward, peering carefully inside through the window, then nodded to Dawn. She took his hand, then focused and… suddenly they were on the far side of the building.

Dawn blinked, “… what the…”

“Dawn, we need to get inside…” whispered Nelen.

“I know we need to! That’s where I was aiming!” she hissed back, “Hang on, lemme try again.” she nodded firmly and… suddenly they were infront again.

“Oh come on!” she mrowled, glaring at the house. “One more try!” she nodded and… east wall. Then west wall, out front again, then roof, then back infront.

Dawn glared at the door, panting for breath as her eye twitched. “Okay, WHAT?” she snapped, “I can’t teleport inside there! Something is… I dunno… throwing me off!” she hissed.

Nelen looked at her, “Okay… THAT’S new… that shouldn’t be possible, should it?” he asked. He’d heard of spells to block teleportation, but not misdirect it!

“HOW THE HAIRBALLS SHOULD I KNOW?!” she snapped, “I’ve never heard of anything that can keep a Cheshire out! We’re cats, we get in everywhere! THAT’S THE WHOLE DAMN POINT OF BEING A CAT!” she yowled furiously.

Nelen raised his eyebrow, “I thought noon naps in the sun, eating fish, and making dogs go insane were the point of being a cat.” he replied.

“THERE’S LOTS OF POINTS TO BEING A CAT!” she glared.

Nelen shrugged, “Fine, well… when in doubt…” he walked up to the door, then turned his side and SLAM! A quick rush at the wood and the door practically fell apart!

"Well, sure, if you wanna do it the boring way…” she grumbled, following him up. “Why even have someone with my talents?” she frowned… then paused as Nelen put a hand infront of her.

The inside of the house felt… off… something about it made Dawn’s fur stand on end and Nelen could tell from years of fighting supernatural threats… there was something in there… “Dawn… be ready, I think we ma…” he started, then a massive white hand burst out of the doorway and grabbed them both, yanking them inside!

A minute later the door reformed and slammed shut, locking very VERY firmly.

For a minute all was blackness, the two of them looking around frantically as Nelen fished his flashlight out of his pocket, then turned it on and shone it around. “What the fuck… was that?” he muttered.

“I dunno, some kinda ghost? You said Pale was supposed to be dead…” she whispered, taking off her glasses and tucking them into her shirt.

“Yeah, but the mundanes know he’s around and show him on the news… that says still alive… but that was no human that grabbed us…” he nodded, turning the flashlight this way and that. “Dammit I can’t see anything!”

From behind them came a laugh. They both spun and Nelen shone the flashlight beam… but there was nothing there.

Then a whisper came through the old building… “Dolly… dolly dolly dolly… come play with me, dolly…” it giggled softly.

Dawn’s hair stood on end, the feline girl hissing. “Yeah, I am NOT okay with this… Nelen?” she asked.

“Fucked if I know… Merihim?” he asked.

"I got nothing Fullmoon! This isn’t a wraith! I can’t touch any spectral entities unless they’re infused with wrath!" warned the demon.

“So… unknown foe, something about it blocks Dawn’s teleportation, and you have no clue either. Well… shit.” he grunted.

And then they were aware of a presence… they turned and Nelen’s flashlight beam shown on an easy chair, and slouched in it was a lanky man with ashen skin and long grey hair.

Nelen stared, generating a tendril of Merihim’s essence. He narrowed his eyes and extended the tendril towards him, attempting to see if he was alive…

As soon as it got close the occupant’s head jerked up and snapped forward, the tendril jerking back just in time.

“Oooo… that’s new…” the voice giggled, and Nelen saw a pair of deep black pits for eyes and a jaw like a child’s caricature of fangs, a huge grin with long narrow and yet impossibly sharp teeth. “Hmm… ain’t gonna play with an old ugly thing like you, but your friend…” he slowly rose, then tilted his head, “Hang on, this dolly is different…” he muttered.

“I’m not a damn kid!” she hissed, pulling off her sock hat, then reaching back and pulling her tail free with a grunt, “I’m a cat! A Cheshire cat! And I’m nobody’s damn doll!” she arched her back, her hair fluffing out like fur as she extended her claws.

Nelen stood ready, conjuring a glob of Merihim’s essence and infusing it with the nastiest pathogen the demon could conjure. If what he’d read about Pale’s crimes were right no jury on Earth, supernatural or otherwise, would blame him…

“Hmmm… hmm hmmm… you’re really different…” he stared, then frowned, “But I don’t wanna play with a cat… you TRICKED me!” he snarled, his body swelling as he reached up to his ear, pulling out what looked like a long sewing needle.

"Wait… that needle…" whispered Merihim’s voice.

Nelen hesitated… and in that instant Pale made his move! Something poured out of his body, a milky white substance that seemed to permeate the air around him, and the house went insane!

Lights flashed and exploded above them, a table suddenly charged at them as its legs began to move like actual living legs, and ancient objects left inside the building threw themselves around as if an invisible hand was chucking them forward! Dawn yowled and tried to teleport them out, but only managed the next room which was going just as crazy!

"WHAT THE HELLS?!” shouted Nelen, “Is he a psychic?! Does he have a poltergeist bound to him? A necromancer?!” he gasped, lashing out with a tendril just in time to smash a chair to bits before it could tackle him before immediately conjuring a blood shield as the shards of the chair flew towards him.

Dawn couldn’t do anything! Her teleportation wasn’t working right and she couldn’t use her eyes on things that didn’t HAVE eyes!

"NELEN! Listen! I know what he is! I haven’t seen one in centuries, I forgot all about them! He’s a Sin-Eater!" came Merihim’s voice.

“Really?! Outstanding. WHATS A DAMN SIN-EATER?!” he snarled as a cuckoo clock tried to peck his eyes out, the warlock grabbing the hanging pendulums and smashing it into a counter.

"They’re kinda like us, but instead of being bound to a demon he’s bound to a special type of ghost called a geist! It’s how he survived being executed, he DIDN’T! The geist came to him the moment he died and held him together long enough for them to chuck him in the morgue, then he escaped!" said the demon.

“Good. Great. Grand. How do we kill him?!” he barked, conjuring a shield again just in time to deflect the contents of the cutlery drawer.

"… good question…" was the demon’s only reply.

The Sin-Eater cackled, standing in the doorway and enjoying the show, Nelen so focused on keeping himself and Dawn alive that he couldn’t even try to attack him.

“Hmmm, how long until you get too tired…” giggled Pale, watching him with glee, “Can’t keep that shield up forever, can you?” he grinned… “Soon it’ll be aaall over and…”

Then the front wall of the house exploded inwards.

All three of them looked towards the wall, and Pale’s expression faltered, Nelen and Dawn feeling their jaws drop.

Standing in the doorway was a man covered in golden armor, seamless golden armor with a flat featureless helmet covering his face. The man strode into the room as Pale snarled and threw everything in the kitchen at him!

He didn’t even flinch.

“… holy shit…” whispered Dawn.

“I can’t believe it… that’s… that’s one of the Droods.” added Nelen.

Even the supernatural community had their legends. The Droods were that legend.

The Golden Men, the Really Secret Agents, the family who acted as the shepherds of humanity according to some, who secretly ran the world according to others… but all the rumors had one thing in common: they all wore golden armor, and they were all in the truest sense of the word invincible in it.

Pale snarled and lashed out again and again, sending everything he could in the room at the Drood, but the man silently stalked forward as if he was just flailing his arms.

Nelen keept his shields up as hard as he could as the Drood strode right past them and up to Pale, grabbing him around his throat. He tried to wriggle free, but the golden hand held fast as another came up and gripped his throat as well, both of them pushing down with bone-crushing force!

It seemed whatever Pale was, he still needed to breathe! The Sin-eater clawed frantically at the gloved hand holding him, his body slowly shriveling form it’s monstrous form back into the face Nelen and Dawn had seen on the news. He kicked and pushed against the golden armored chest of his attacker… then there was a loud SNAP, and he went limp.

The Drood examined him for a long moment, then tossed him to the ground in a heap before turning to look at Nelen and Dawn. He regarded them, his shining face betraying nothing, then turned and walked back out the way he came without a word.

A moment later Nelen said, “Dawn… I never understood the British expression ‘lose your bottle,’ but… I damn near lost mine.”

Wulfshead Club, one hour later

Loren raised her eyebrow, “A Drood. Yer shittin’ me cous.” she replied, “Pull me other one, they’re legends even among us!” she snorted.

“I swear to whatever gods you care to name Loren, golden armor and all. I almost had a heart attack.” he nodded.

Dawn nodded as well, “Yeah! Trust me, you can’t trick my eyes, that was the genuine article. Nothing Pale threw at him even slowed him down!” she said, her eyes huge.

Loren shrugged, “I dunnae… what do ye think Shaman?” she asked.

Shaman Bond looked up from his beer, then shrugged, “Who knows? They clearly saw something… maybe we’ll never know the truth. Glad you two are alright though. Be a damn shame to lose good friends to something like Pale.” he nodded, raising his glass to them.

“Amen to that man.” replied Nelen, raising his as well. “Still, hope I never run into one of them again for a very very long time.” he sighed.

Shaman just grinned, drinking his beer and nodding in response as he leaned back in his chair.

There are stranger things in heaven and earth than man has ever dreamed, and the Drood Family is legendary even among legends. Over time Nelen and Dawn would likely question what they really saw that night, but that’s just how the Droods preferred it. Let them wonder, it helped keep things in order.

Back at the abandoned house however… there was no sign of Pale’s body, just a bit of disturbed dust on the floor among all the other debris.

Next Story

Previous Story

[jacobsknifeplay]

It Will Be Ok

Is it shameful to ship these two? It's pure in my mind. Genuine love and all..

A/N: None??... read at your own extent. I just needed this out if my system. Also here's a song to set the mood 💞 This will ways be a thing with me. Get used to it.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered. Her voice now hoarse from sobbing and screaming through the night. Ruelle was kneeling on the ground with her hands on her knees. Her arms stiff as she dug her nails into the fabric of her pants. A shudder coursed through her body as another wave of anger followed. Her features twisted and twitched, a small sob escaping her. Her lips parted enough to reveal gritted teeth in the effort to restrain yet another scream.

Rocking back and forth she sniffled her sob but was unable to prevent the small whimper that escaped her throat. Her heavy breathing began to pick up until she was hyperventilating. With arms now trembling from the vice grip on herself she reminded her body to breathe. Inhaling deeply several times she sighed as she finally regained her composure once more.

The moonlight illuminated the trashed place through the dirty windows. The shattered glass filling it's portion of the room with stars and glimmer. The blood on the floor only seemed to grow. Spreading ever so slowly like a snake slithering in the dark. She blinked the remaining tears away, sniffling softly, while looking over Rush's body once again. Her skull mask covered his face to return him some dignity beyond the grave.

This was her fault.

The slow creek of the iron door brought her back to reality, preventing her mind from wandering into the deep end, her attention now on her surroundings behind her. Looking over her shoulder the Judge froze by the entrance. Their shoulders visibly slumped down upon comprehension. Taking a ghostly step forward they hesitantly extended their hand outwards the Captain. Turning away from them, Ruelle sighed heavily, shifting her weight in discomfort at her failure before her. Her head lowered in shame.

"He wasn't supposed to die." She said after some silence, her voice breaking at the end. Heavy with guilt her eyes watered again, a shiver going up her spine.

The Judge sighed softly before closing the distance between them. Their steps softly echoing across the room then coming to a stop. Ruelle's posture was held together with every last ounce of her strength. Her refusal to break down again pulled at the Judge's heart. It was like seeing themselves all over again. Memories of the countless dark and hateful glares reflected by the bunker's restroom mirror. The self inflicted punishment of not being allowed to heal, to feel, contradicted with the inner cry of regret and help. It was all in front of them again. Ruelle was now that mirror and they couldn't have it.

Kneeling next to her they placed a hand delicately on her shoulder.

"Not your fault." They signed with their free hand. With the little knowledge they knew she understood they continued. "He's proud." They wanted to let her know he wouldn't have had it any other way. Rush would've liked to see the people of Prosperity free from the Highwaymen regardless if he's in the picture. Refusing to work for them meant that they were true at heart. That was all that mattered for the promise of a better future.

"I could've done better." Ruelle began. Looking down at her hands she breathed shakily. "If I had ju-"

Interrupting with a grunt the Judge tightened their grip on her shoulder. "Twins strong." They signed. "You're stronger." They shook her softly yet firmly.

Ruelle finally released the grip on her knees. Her hands aching from the long lasting tension they had been forced to keep up. Looking up at the Judge with defeated eyes she placed her hand over the one on her shoulder. "I don't feel strong Judge. I don't feel strong at all. I had sworn to protect him." Her tears couldn't be refrained from falling this time around. Soft wet streaks decorated her scratched cheeks. The corner of her eyes appearing to glow redder as her red nose began to sniffle again.

Without warning the Judge pulled them in for an embrace. The hand that was once on her shoulder now rested on the back of her head, the other wrapped around her pulling her closer. Ruelle buried her face at the base of their neck as muffled cries seemed to endlessly flow from her. The Judge rubbed her back in a soothing manner making Ruelle wrap her arms around them in response. They stayed like that for a while, until Ruelle's sobs eventually subsided to sniffles again. Resting their chin on her head they sighed softly as they continued to rub her back.

There was a long pause between them. Slowly Ruelle pushed away and looked up at the Judge. Her reddened eyes searched the ones behind the mask hidden in the dark. "How do I tell the others about this?" She asked. "How's Carmina going to react?" Fear flashes through her eyes up at the Judge in question.

The Judge shakes their head in response. "Don't worry." They signed.

Tenderly they clean the tears away with their index finger before cupping the side of her face. Instinctively Ruelle leaned into the touch looking down with a heavy sigh. There really was no point in worrying how they'll take it. It can't be hidden from them. Lifting her head by the chin her eyes widened in shock as she suddenly felt a pair of lips press softly against her forehead.

"It will be ok." An unknown voice filled the space between them. Gone without the trace of an echo, so soft only her ears could pick up.

Ruelle gasped as she looked up at the Judge as they pulled the mask back down. The moment was gone so quickly, Ruelle didn't catch a glimpse. "Let's go." They signed before getting to their feet.

[ihearvoicesinmyhead]

just met the judge in new dawn and I immediately need 50+ fix-it fics where the deputy overcomes their trauma and survivors guilt and learns 2 love again u__u

[ontherightsideofrockbottom]

I feel like we really missed out on not getting to see Sharky wearing Blade

[outranks]

Far Cry New Dawn character: Thomas Rush

[ufogoo]

he just. died this way. why is he like this

[jsup]

i had a dream last night that i was snooping around a peggie plant research facility in faiths region and showed up behind me and i panicked cause the seeds knew what i looked like so i grabbed the nearest thing to me to look busy and it was a beaker full of fluid so naturally i chugged it. faith said “haha oh it’s you deputy. you just drank like 17 doses of the new plant joseph asked me to make” and i was like NEW PLANT? and then i realized 2 things 1. i had a penis and 2. i was rock fucking solid. joseph showed up and said “it was plant viagra. i have erectile dysfunction” and i drank the only distilled portion they had so joseph grabbed two fistfuls of leaves and shoved them in his mouth and aggressively walked towards me and then we boned down right there in the hallway and i had the BEST 10 orgasms of my life

[brutal-nemesis]

Arthropod Day 2021: 🦀Time For Crab 🦀

Malacostraca Moment 😳🦀

So fun story I wanted this to be on a Saturday because SIDEWAYS SATURDAY but when I was deciding on the date I looked at the calendar for July without realizing it. Happy Sideways Stuesday I guess? 

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: drowning mention, animal attack (kinda chill tho it’s not really violent), dehydration, autocannibalism mention, parasitic insects, partial nudity, heckin surgery (but it’s CONSENSUAL (⊙ˍ⊙) who am I), suicide for convenience (immortal)

“This looks like a lovely spot for a vacation; thank you guys so much for finding it for me.” The small dingy had just landed on a sandy beach enclosed by dark rocks on either side, a lush forest leading deeper into the island. Casyts’s captor glared at him before harshly tugging the rope tied to his wrists, trying to get him to stand and step onto the beach with her.

“Shut your trap, Ragnarok, or I might change my mind about gagging you. Now get up or I’ll have my men drag you.” 

Castys sighed and rolled his eyes, getting up and following her so his rope burn didn’t get any worse. “Aye aye, Yvonne.” 

“That’s Captain Veldna to you,” she growled, jerking him forward. He stumbled a bit, but he was able to catch himself before he got sand up his nose. He debated trying to yank the rope out of her hands and running away or stealing the boat, but her very strong men were right behind him and that would probably just end in him having extra bruises. So he just followed her like a stupid little goat as she led him towards the rocks, hoping she wouldn’t leave him tied up so he could at least enjoy his time being stranded. But no, this was about sending a message to his crew or making him suffer or something. He didn’t really remember, he’d been dazed as hell when he’d initially gotten captured during a fight between their two ships. Blood loss was a bitch sometimes.

They forced him to sit with his back against a large rock, yanking his bound hands above his head and worming a large nail through the knotted rope before hammering it into the rock. “Not gonna lie, this seems a little extra. I’m not going to go anywhere, so, like, just let me-” Yvonne slapped him harshly across the face.

“You’re not here to have fun, you annoying little parrot.” She looked over at her men, who had just finished tying his ankles together and nailing them down in a similar fashion to his wrists. “If you lot are done, let’s leave.” She turned back to Castys, a wicked grin on her face. “I wonder how many times you’ll die before your crew finds you?”

“My money’s on eight. Do you want me to keep track and tell you next time we see each other? If only I could write in a diary what horrors I suffer sitting on this warm rock that you tied me to during high tide so I won’t even drown later. Now that-agh!” Yvonne stabbed him in the stomach, and Castys bit back a scream as she twisted her blade. 

“The sound of your silence is something I could get used to.”

“Well, the real question is, is silence actually a sound-” Castys’s very valid observation was cut off by the bitch yanking out her sword and promptly kicking him in the stomach. He couldn’t help but cry out, doubling over as far as he could. Yeah, yeah he should probably just shut the fuck up and let them get on their merry way before he got more unnecessary injuries. 

“Enjoy your vacation, Ragnarok,” Yvonne spat. As one last gesture of maturity, she kicked sand at him before walking off, and some of it definitely got in his stab hole, so that was nice. He watched them row away, sighing. Now it was just boredom city, but hey, at least he had a nice beach view. The sun was a few hours away from setting, not that it mattered that much since his skin was dark enough that he probably wasn’t going to get sunburned. 

Being tied to a rock on the beach was...just about as boring as he expected. His arms got all tingly after a while from being stuck above his head, so he couldn’t even properly relax, and a man could only watch little waves roll for so long. He had a nice view of the setting sun, and hey, that means the light of dawn wouldn’t be shining in his face. While the sun was still a little ways above the horizon, he heard an odd rustling noise over in the vegetation, different from the background sounds he had gotten used to. He looked over, hoping it was a friendly man with a knife.

It was not a friendly man with a knife. But it wasn’t something bad, either. “Oh shit hello crabs!” Castys watched as they scuttled out of the treeline onto the beach, glad to have something fun to watch. One of them was slowly making its way towards him, and Castys wondered if he would be able to convince it to snip his bindings. “Hey there mister crab man, come on down, and please for the love of god untie me.” Yes, yes he was talking to a crab, because why not go full send on the insanity right away? It would be so much more fun, and it’s not like anyone else was here to judge him. “Yeah crab get in my zone-wow you’re kinda big.” He’d thought the crab was closer to him, but nope, it had been farther away but giant. Not like giant giant but not, like, normal crab size. It was almost as big as his torso maybe, but he was never great at estimating the relative sizes of things. 

“You’re large but you’re a gentleman, ain’t ya? I don’t know why, but you just seem like a polite fellow.” The crab stopped not too far from Castys and just looked at him blankly. Or maybe it was making a face at him, but he couldn’t read crab body language. Could anyone read crab body language? Crabs, he would hope. “Could you bring me some tea, good sir? Or just...water. Water that’s not salty. I don’t actually like tea it literally tastes like nothing but you know what I would drink it now because I am thirsty.” There was a moment of silence. “Not like thirsty in the weird way some people are. I have no idea what that’s about. But like, I want water. Or...oh my god, Mr. Crab, bring me a coconut!” Castys closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Yeah… that would be nice. Food and water and it’s prepackaged and I don’t know how I would eat it because my hands are tied but I’ll figure it out.”

A sudden sharp pinch against his wound jolted Castys out of his daydream. He looked down in horror to see that the crab was holding something in its claws. Something pinkish-red that was dripping blood down onto the sand. The bastard. The crab brought the piece of his flesh to its mouth and just ate it while staring right at Castys. “That,” he blinked in surprise a few times, “was incredibly rude.” The crab stayed still, watching him as it did its weird mouth movements that were maybe chewing. “You are absolutely not a gentleman. I rescind everything. You little garbage boy. Rapscallion. I bet you never get invited to the crab raves.”

And the crab. Had the audacity. To reach out its stupid pincher. And do it again. “Little bitch!” Castys yelled, squirming against the ropes in an attempt to scare the thing off. Shockingly, it did not work, because wounded, dying prey squirmed all the time, and...that’s pretty much what Castys was in this scenario, wasn’t he? He was just stuck sitting here while that stupid crab ripped off little pieces of him with its stupid crab pincher and put them in its stupid crab mouth. If he was lucky, this would make him bleed out and die faster and then he wouldn’t have an open wound anymore, which would be a bonus. Though, it had sand in it, and then if it healed…

A problem for another day.

Not the next day, though, or the one after, because, hooray, he was still tied to a rock, so even though he did die a few hours later, he couldn’t do anything about the Sand In His Insides. He made up a song about it, but singing it loudly did absolutely nothing to scare away the crab, whom he had named Crabstard (Crab Bastard). Crabstard seemed to think Castys was his new best friend, coming back regularly for meals. Castys liked to imagine killing and eating Crabstard as a show of dominance, but that made him wonder...would eating Crabstard be a form of autocannibalism? Because Crabstard had eaten him...

He wasn’t sure what was worse, Crabstard and his stupid giant pinchers, or the mosquitoes. There weren’t a ton of them, but their bites were just awful, littering his arms and legs with swollen, white boils, which were unusual and also very concerning but what the fuck could he do about it. Because of course he couldn’t scratch them, and they itched so much it hurt and he just had to endure it. Just like he had to endure fucking everything. The heat of the sun, the awful tingling in his arms, the soreness of his wrists, Crabstard pinching off bits of his flesh, the maddening pain and itch of all his bug bites, the hunger and thirst, the boredom, and the...the loneliness.

No, he was fine, he was fine with just himself, it was always just him anyway. He wasn’t imagining his crew rowing to shore and untying him and tending to him in his cold, dark cabin, because he couldn’t get his hopes up, because they probably weren’t even coming for him. They were just going to leave him behind like everyone else and fuck he was wasting water like a useless idiot and he couldn’t stop or even wipe them away and he probably deserved this for everything he’d done so what did it matter?

And, great, the next day he started hallucinating a passing ship and a rowboat coming for him. Thank you, dehydrated whore brain! Let’s get our stupid little hopes up! Dang, the people on the boat kind of even looked like some of his crewmates, which was rude of his brain to make this so realistic looking.

It wasn’t until his first mate, Kaveri, was untying him that Castys realized that this was real, that they’d really...really come for him. “I’m so glad we found you, Captain.” She pulled him into a hug as soon as he was free, and he hugged her back as best he could with his sore arms. 

“I’m glad y’all did, too.” He leaned back when she let go and looked down at himself, wincing. “Well, before we get back to the ship, I am going to deliver a much needed death upon mys-“

“Captain, Captain, wait,” the ship’s medic, Sixtus, called as he ran over. He knelt beside Castys, taking his arm and examining the bug bites closely. “I knew it. These bites all over you are...they contain fly larvae. We’re going to need to dig them out before you heal yourself.”

“...what if I’ve died since I’ve gotten bitten. Like, earlier.”

“Well.” Sixtus breathed in sharply. “We will just have to wait for them to, uh, let us know where they are.” He sighed. “For now, let’s get you back to the ship and I’ll get out the ones I can. I don’t have the tools for it with me.”

“Can I kill Crabstard first?”

“Crab...stard?” Kaveri gave him a concerned look, and Sixtus felt his forehead.

“He’s a very impolite giant crab. He is my rival. I wish to vanquish him.” The other two shared a look.

“Do you know where this...this crab is?” Sixtus tried.

Castys held up a finger and opened his mouth, pausing for a second before shutting it and blinking a few times. “I. I do not. He just scuttles out of the trees to commit crimes every now and then. He has no friends.”

“Alright, in that case, no. You’re in no condition to wander around the island looking for a crab.” Sixtus held out his hand. “So, come on.”

“Fiiiine,” Castys groaned, letting the taller man help him to his feet. He was a little unsteady, but he was able to make it to the boat with Kaveri’s help. As they rowed away, he turned back to the island one last time, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yelled, “Fuck you Crabstard I hope you starve and die in a pit and the other crabs eat you!” 

Once they made it back to the ship, Sixtus ushered Castys into his office, instructing him to sit up on the examination table and take his shirt and pants off. Kaveri helped him, opting to stay in case Sixtus needed a hand. He examined Castys thoroughly, using a lightstone to get a good look at the swollen bug bites littering his body as well as the number of small wounds in his side.

“These from the, uh, crab?” Sixtus asked as he gestured to them.

“Yup. Him and his stupid pinchers.”

“Alright, I know you don’t really get infections, but I’m going to clean these out just to be safe.” He paused. “Also it just feels. Really wrong not to. It’ll bother me if I don’t.”

“Do whatever, doctor man.” Castys did his best not to let his pain show as Sixtus dabbed at his wounds with a stingy liquid. It really didn’t hurt that much, but when Kaveri placed her hand on top of his as he gripped the edge of the table, he didn’t wave her off. He’d let it be Fuss Over The Captain Day. For their sake. Because they seem to have been worried about him. 

“Alright, I’m all done with that, so if you could lay down, Captain, I’ll get started with removing those larvae. Kaveri, get him some rum and then hold him down.” She nodded, leaving and returning soon after with a small cup.

“You know, I haven’t had water in days,” Castys mused before winking at her and downing its contents. Kaveri shook her head.

“You literally emptied my waterskin while we were rowing back.”

“Oh dang, I forgot. Nevermind I’m actually not funny and am just stupid.” He scooted a bit and laid down with his hands behind his head. “Get rid of my worms.”

“They’re not-they’re not worms, Captain, they’re insects, since-” Sixtus stopped himself, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “Nevermind.” He cleared his throat. “Arms at your sides, please. Kaveri, if you would.” She nodded, holding down his shoulders as Sixtus turned Castys’s arm, locating the first larva he was going to remove. Castys breathed in sharply as the knife sliced into his arm, doing his best to keep still as Sixtus slid a pair of tweezers into the wound. The rum dulled his senses enough that it didn’t hurt as much as it could, but it certainly wasn’t painless, and he couldn’t help but gasp as Sixtus slowly pulled a small, wriggling grub out of the incision. He dropped it in a metal tray, cleaned the wound, and picked up his knife.

Then the process started all over again.

Castys didn’t bother counting how many times those tweezers probed around inside him, how many wet little plops he heard as another larva dropped into the tray. He focused on staying still, on the prickle of the rough wood table against his bare back, on the feeling of Kaveri’s hands on his shoulders, more comforting than restraining. They reminded him that he wasn’t alone in his suffering, for once. But he wasn’t supposed to need comfort, he was their immortal captain, the one who’d been through everything before and was strong enough to go through it again, the one his crew could always depend on to be strong. And here he was, teeth gritted against the pain, his forehead resting against Kaveri’s arm, fists clenched to mask their shaking, all over a few cuts and some little maggots.

“Alright,” Sixtus wiped his brow with the back of his hand, “I think that’s all of ‘em. That I can see, at least.” He looked down at Castys. “You had seventeen of those things in you, Captain.” He grimaced. “And possibly more, so please let me know if you feel anything, uh, wiggling. But for now, you’re free to...die.”

“Can’t believe I got a new world record for worm friends.” Castys grabbed the small leather pouch that usually hung around his neck from his pile of clothes, pulling it open.

“They’re not worms-”

“Thank you, Sixtus.” With that, Castys stuck his finger in the pouch and touched his death stone. He came back to life feeling infinitely better, but Kaveri and Sixtus still insisted he rest after he cleaned himself up. He grumbled, but he let Kaveri force him into his bed and bring him something to eat. Once he was finished, she collected his plate and stood awkwardly by his bedside.

“Do...do you want me to come back, Castys? Will you be alright?”

“Look, I’m honestly fine, you’re good. I’ve been through a lot worse, and I’m all healed up now so it doesn’t really matter.” 

She pursed her lips. “I suppose, but that doesn’t mean that that didn’t still take a mental toll on you, and…” she sighed. “Just...call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do.” She nodded, but as she started to walk away, Castys realized there was something he’d rather not leave unsaid. “Wait, Kaveri?”

“Yes?”

“Th...thank you. For, uh, finding me.”

“Of course, Castys. We’ll always be there for you.” Castys opened his mouth to reply, but he stopped himself and just smiled and nodded, his shoulders only falling once she’d left.

He wished that were true.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch

[birdship]

Leave It In The Sun: Chapter One (a Disco Elysium fanfic)

Warnings: Full game spoilers, eventual spicy scenes, basically the level of adult content in the game itself.

General summary: A slow(ish) burn exploration of life at Precinct 41 after Harry and Kim wrap up the case and Kim makes the move to Jamrock. Mainly just about how Harry and Kim's relationship might develop, and a sort of character study of some of the employees of Precinct 41 in general.

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Chapter one summary: Two difficult weeks after leaving Martinaise, Harry finally reaches out to Kim. Chapter length: Approx. 4.3k words

The sun is only just setting over the streets of Jamrock, drenched in rain and neon. The city stops to catch its breath in the intermission between day and night.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: And so do you. You could’ve sworn the nearest payphone was, y’know, nearer than this. Maybe that bone-shattering gunshot wound also isn’t quite as far along in the healing process as you thought either.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Brilliant claws of pain rake down your thigh as you lean against the payphone and try to center yourself.

You glance at the phone resting in its cradle, with some trepidation. Phone calls are always a bit… difficult for you. Especially these days.

SUGGESTION: You can still change your mind.

VOLITION: No. You came here for a reason.

SUGGESTION: Or… you could always just call her instead.

VOLITION: *Focus.*

You take a deep breath. The late spring air is turning chilly in the slowly setting sun. The rain drizzles lazily as it has all day, showing no sign of stopping. A handful of people are still--or already--out wandering downtown Jamrock, laughing and talking and hurrying home and running errands and entirely focused on just about anything in the world *besides* a washed up middle-aged man having a minor anxiety attack and moderate-to-severe hip pain next to a public phone at 6:04pm in the rain.

INLAND EMPIRE: The loneliness knocks the wind out of you. You thought you were used to it by now. It’s worse outside, around people.

DRAMA: The threadbare costume you created for yourself in the privacy of your dark, trash-strewn apartment doesn’t seem quite as convincing with an audience.

VOLITION: Stop the goddamn pity party and pick up the phone already.

The receiver is light in your hand as you fumble for change and the crumpled slip of paper you’ve had in your jeans pocket for the last two weeks or so. You slowly, deliberately dial the phone number written on it, as if some part of you is afraid that your fingers might just automatically fall into the patterns of *her* number instead.

VOLITION: They might. But you’re done hurting yourself.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Well, maybe not entirely. Yet. But you’re done hurting yourself *with her* for sure.

INLAND EMPIRE: You still feel like you deserve that pain. But it’s wrong to keep using her as the knife you gut yourself with. She deserves better, even if you might not.

LOGIC: In any case, this isn’t about her. It’s about you, and it’s about--

“Hello?” Kim’s voice is muffled and tinny through the old, worn copper wiring. He sounds tired, but you guess that’s not particularly surprising. You’ve been pretty damn tired too.

“Kim, hey, it’s uh, it’s me,” you reply awkwardly.

“Harry? Do you need something?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is the first time you’ve called him since leaving Martinaise, despite carrying that little piece of paper around for the last two weeks. He’s thinking, why now?

“Yeah, no, I just happened to be downtown this evening,” you ramble, “and I thought--”

“You’re drunk,” he says. It is completely without judgment. A stated fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Harry Du Bois is drunk. “Where are you exactly? I’ll--”

“Wait, no!” you exclaim, a little too loudly. A nearby pigeon makes a mad dash in the opposite direction at the sound. “That’s not it! I swear I’m basically sober right now. Mostly.”

A long pause on the other end. “Alright,” he says plainly. “So what can I do for you?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Make no mistake, he’s picking his battles here and gingerly stepping *around* that “mostly.”

EMPATHY: He’s just relieved it’s even that much.

COMPOSURE: How embarrassing.

VOLITION: Just start over. Your first sentence was garbage, but you know you’re under no obligation to continue it, right?

You take a deep breath, then try again.

“Well, it’s really more about what *I* can do for *you*,” you say as smoothly as possible. “You know that big motor carriage exhibition in town? It just so happens I’ve got *two tickets* to it.”

Another long pause. “You mean the one that ends today?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“And are you aware that it is currently around six o’clock in the evening?”

“Is it? I mean, yes. Yes it is,” you say confidently. “I am aware of the passage of time.”

“And you waited until now to do this?” he asks.

EMPATHY: He sounds more amused than annoyed, though you definitely detect a bit of both.

“Uh,” you falter. “Look, it’s open until 8:00, so do you want to fucking go or not?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: About half a kilometer away, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is sitting in the kitchen of his new apartment, already in his pajamas and winding down for the evening. It’s a bit early for that, but he figures he should take the opportunity to rest before he tackles that mountain of backlogged cases he was promised upon making the move to precinct 41.

Two weeks ago, he said goodbye to the strangest man he’d ever met. A man he found himself inexplicably drawn to in the week they spent together, and whom he thought about every day since. Wondering if he would take the lifeline Kim tried to throw to him, or if that little slip of paper would just end up forgotten at the bottom of a vomit-soaked trash can in some shitty bar. Wondering if the dawning trauma of everything that happened in Martinaise and the restlessness from sitting at home recovering from its aftermath would combine to pull him down into a dark place beyond Kim’s reach for good. Wondering and wondering to fill the silence. And now finally the silence is broken, but whatever this cry for help is, it is not the one Kim ever expected to receive.

But he knows one thing for sure: it *is* a cry for help.

“Alright,” Kim says finally. He takes a sharp breath. “Sounds good.”

The walk to his apartment takes a bit longer than you expected. It’s not that far from the downtown payphone, but you still wasted a good 20 minutes on the journey.

ENDURANCE: You are expecting too much of yourself too soon.

INLAND EMPIRE: It’s always one or the other with you, isn’t it? Too much or not enough.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Twenty minutes to walk a few blocks? Fucking pathetic. What kind of cop are you? Hell, what kind of *gym teacher* are you? Man up.

ENDURANCE: No. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing at all.

PERCEPTION: Beyond the apartment door, you can hear footsteps and soft humming.

You knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit. You were hoping you’d have a few spare seconds to think of something really cool to say.

REACTION SPEED: C’mon, say something fun and upbeat to prove you’re not a depressed sack of shit who’s been spending the past two weeks drinking alone in the dark.

DRAMA: Showtime!

“Howdy, pardner,” you hear yourself say.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Finger guns! For god’s sake, don’t forget the finger guns. Without them, you just look like a goddamn lunatic.

You do the finger guns.

Kim does not seem particularly impressed as he slowly looks from your outstretched gun fingers to the twisted grimace that now wracks your face.

“Please, holster those things before coming inside,” he says humorlessly.

You blow the pretend, metaphorical smoke from each of your hot weapons before stuffing your hands in your pockets. As you do this, he watches with an appraising look.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s wondering if this is *regular* weird or *drunken breakdown* weird. However, he is intimately familiar with your brand of stupid bullshit at this point and it doesn’t take long for him to place it in the former category.

“We should hit the road soon,” you comment as you peek curiously into his apartment.

“Hit the road,” Kim repeats with mild amusement, “in what?”

LOGIC: Oh. Right. The Kineema is property of Precinct 57. Not Kim Kitsuragi personally.

“Shit, yeah,” you concede. “But hey, if we call a taxi now--”

LOGIC: You’ll arrive just in time to immediately turn around and go home.

HALF LIGHT: You fucked up. You’re a fuck-up. Great job, idiot.

VOLITION: Try not drinking and blacking out all day next time.

LOGIC: Yes, but then…

“Fuck,” you inhale. “Fuckady-fuck-fuck. Shit. Goddammit.”

Kim waits patiently for you to catch up. You’re almost there.

“I should’ve called earlier, sorry,” you apologize. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

LOGIC: What is wrong with you is that you drank all last night, slept off a hangover most of the day today, and woke up in a daze about 45 minutes ago. But what’s done is done. No point in bringing that up now, right?

“Nor do I,” says the lieutenant with a small smile. “But whatever it is, I am no longer surprised by it, I assure you.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning on the door frame pathetically, a congealed ooze of mental illness and embarrassment. “Sorry for bothering you in the first place. You’re always so nice to me, even when I’m a pain in the ass.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Which is to say *constantly.*

Kim says nothing. Just sighs almost imperceptibly.

EMPATHY: Your self deprecation is frustrating for him, and he does not know how to respond to it constructively and compassionately.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He *does* think you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but a pain worth dealing with.

INLAND EMPIRE: For reasons beyond your understanding.

“Why did you agree to go in the first place?” you sigh. “You’ve got a brain that actually works, you knew it wasn’t gonna happen. If you’re trying to make fun of me, then, well…”

You pause.

“That’s just fine, I guess. Good job, carry on.”

He adjusts his glasses and looks away. “I appreciated the intention,” he says finally, in a measured voice. “And since I hadn’t heard from you the past couple weeks…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...He was afraid you wouldn’t bother trying again.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’ve been kind of busy. You know how it goes after cases like that.”

“I do,” he says. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “you’re welcome to come in if you like.”

You hobble into Kim’s sparse kitchen and collapse on a dining room chair. It creaks ominously under the velocity of the assault.

“I’m glad we have an opportunity to catch up,” he says politely, pulling up the other chair and gazing at your pained expression from across the table. “Your injury is healing well, I assume?”

EMPATHY: It is obvious that he does not in fact assume this at all.

You shrug, still trying to get a hold of yourself and push back the ache swirling at the edges of your mind.

He watches you struggle for a moment, then gently says, “it will take time to heal, but it *will* heal.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: *So please be patient and kind to yourself,* is the silent plea left unsaid. It hangs in the air pitifully. You both know it’s there.

“Time hasn’t exactly been a good salve for me in general,” you mumble.

He’s silent for a while. Opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

“Harry,” he says finally. “What happened in Martinaise is not your burden to carry alone.”

“I thought you didn’t like *personal issues*, lieutenant,” you say.

“I don’t,” he says with a frown, “but this…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is about me too, he thinks. As much as he hates to admit it. He doesn’t particularly like his *own* personal issues either. But the past two weeks were hard for him, and you didn’t make them any easier.

EMPATHY: He was worried about you, and--although he will never admit it to himself, let alone you--there’s a part of him that selfishly hoped you were worried about him too. At least a little.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s used to this line of work, and so are you despite the holes in your memory, but it never gets any easier to deal with some things.

EMPATHY: There was so much death that day. It haunts you. And now as you sit in Kim’s kitchen, the alcohol slowly filtering from your blood and leaving behind the dregs of a headache, you realize it still haunts him too. You both added perforations you never wanted to make.

ENDURANCE: It’s too much. Your head swims and your entire body aches in the throes of repressed grief fighting its way to the surface of a sea of quickly evaporating Commodore Red.

INLAND EMPIRE: Warning! Trauma containment center has been breached! Evacuate the area immediately!

HALF LIGHT: You’re going to cry, aren’t you? You’re going to fucking cry. Right here in his kitchen. Why can’t you keep your shit together for more than five minutes straight?

You are entirely unable to keep the tears from rolling silently down your cheeks, unbidden.

INLAND EMPIRE: You don’t have it in you to really cry properly, like a normal fucking person. Not anymore. Something has disconnected the wire from your “press here to begin sobbing during your emotional breakdown” button, and you’re not sure what or when.

ENDURANCE: But human beings *cry.* And despite everything inside you that’s broken and rotting, you *are* a human being. You can’t not be.

Kim’s standing next to you now, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

EMPATHY: That’s the point of this whole shoulder-touching business in the first place--your disconcertingly unhinged behavior has left him at a loss for words, yet compelled to offer *something.*

This goes on for the longest five minutes or so the world has ever seen. But finally, you’ve wrung it all out of yourself and the tears stop almost as abruptly as they began. His hand gives your shoulder a squeeze, then he sits back down in the chair opposite you, avoiding your eyes. He rummages in his pocket for something, then hands you a blue handkerchief.

“Where the hell do you keep all these?” you mumble as you reach for it. “Fuckin’... infinite handkerchiefs around here.”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared,” he says.

“For drunk idiots who throw up all over crime scenes and have mental breakdowns in your home?”

“Usually to clean my glasses,” he says flatly. “But at this point, I suppose it *is* fair to say that it’s also for your various crises as well.”

“Well, thank God one of us is prepared,” you say. “What would I do without you, Kim?”

He hesitates, a strange wistful expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. What *did* you do the past two weeks?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… That’s none of my concern,” he says quickly.

AUTHORITY: Who the hell does he think he is? You’re not a child who needs to be minded. You’re a grown-ass man who can sit alone in his apartment and get wasted if he fucking wants to. Assert yourself!

“Honestly? Drink, mostly,” you say with a self-conscious chuckle.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He just stares at you with the bleakest expression you’ve ever seen cross his face.

EMPATHY: He’s so tired. So frustrated. So disappointed.

INLAND EMPIRE: Oh God! He’s *disappointed* in you? This is terrible. Anything but that, please!

“I thought I was doing better,” you say quietly. “Guess not.”

“You were,” Kim says kindly.

INLAND EMPIRE: Tequila Sunset hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it still will. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe when you took up that mantle, it was like some sort of alcoholic event horizon. Tequila Sunset is the only way it was ever going to end. What other force in the universe could begin to exert as much gravitational pull over you?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: From the void we came, to the void we must return.

“Listen,” Kim tells you, “this is not surprising. It’s got to be harder now that you’re back in Jamrock.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s *easy,* baby. All your old favorite haunts are here. You know all the cheapest bars, the sketchiest parts of town with the purest amphetamines… You can’t remember the names of half of them anymore, but the muscles in your legs can trace the steps there perfectly. That shit’s burned into your body forever.

“Yeah.” You swallow hard. “Anyway, what about you? How’s Jamrock treating you?”

EMPATHY: The darkness clouding his expression lightens a bit.

“Good so far,” he says. “I’ve actually only been here for a few days. G.R.I.H. wrap-up took longer than I expected.” He pauses and looks out the window. “But I’m glad to be here now.”

“Really,” you say with a laugh. “In this shithole?”

“It has its perks,” he says. “I’m looking forward to beginning work at Precinct 41.”

“You’re not working solo, are you?”

“For right now, yes I am,” he replies. “I’m fine with that. I’ve done it before.”

INLAND EMPIRE: The idea of sharing a workplace with him and yet not being at his side when he needs you… it makes you feel cold, lonely, somehow.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You have a duty to Jean. Jean is your partner.

SUGGESTION: Fuck it, just say it. You know what you want to say. Say it and get it over with.

“You should work with me,” you blurt out. “We were such a good team in Martinaise. We could keep those good times rolling!”

“I’m flattered, but,” he says, turning his head. “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare…”

“Doesn’t give a shit about me,” you say. “Fuck him.”

EMPATHY: That’s not exactly true. You know it’s not.

INLAND EMPIRE: But the truth is complicated. It’s easier to just boil it down to *fuck that guy.*

LOGIC: Jean is bad for you, and you’re bad for him. Or, you used to be. And has anything really changed? Are you really any different? Maybe it was just the change of scenery that fooled you into thinking otherwise.

INLAND EMPIRE: Same old Jamrock. Same old coworkers. Same old bad habits. Same old *you.*

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kim says delicately.

“Forget about him,” you push, suddenly more serious about this than you intended to be. “I can arrange this shit with Captain Pryce, and I can deal with Jean.”

“I… uh,” he coughs. “I don’t know what to say.”

DRAMA: You’re in control of this show now. Pull an honest answer out of him.

You point at him and narrow your eyes. “I know what you should say: what you *feel* in your *heart*!” You pound one fist against your chest over your heart to drive home the point, then wince.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Please don’t do that.

You break the dramatic pose and lean back in your chair again with a shrug. “Or just tell me to fuck off. None of this wishy-washy noncommittal shit, though.”

He’s silent for a long time, watching and listening to the rain as it picks up outside. Then finally he gives you an apologetic smile and speaks.

“Harry,” he says kindly. “Fuck off.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Translation: maybe. But not now.

EMPATHY: He’s not angry, he’s deflecting. This is by far the nicest way you’ve ever been told to fuck off. Don’t take it too hard.

“Alright, alright,” you say. “Forget I said anything.”

You spend a while just making smalltalk at Kim’s kitchen table. None of it means anything, but it’s nice. It’s a nice, good, human thing to do, sitting and chatting with him. Makes your “regular well-adjusted person” costume fit a little better. The rain begins to let up a little in the fading sunset.

“You know, we could do something else if you like,” he says brightly. “Here in Jamrock, I mean.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah. Lots of stuff to do in Jamrock. Like speed and hard liquor. Or crying in the bathroom of a dive bar because you’re too fucked up on speed and liquor.

SUGGESTION: He probably wouldn’t go for that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: There’s got to be somewhere else to go. Something else to do with him. Think. What do you want to do with him?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh buddy, are you sure you’re ready to open that can of worms?

The lieutenant watches you as you rub your temples in an effort to massage the awkward thoughts out of your terrible brain. Then he says, “you know what, don’t worry about it. It’s fine, we can just stay here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going out on the balcony for a cigarette,” he informs you. “You can--”

“I’ll come with you,” you interrupt.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He pauses, wondering how many you might’ve had already. Then again cigarettes are, shockingly, by far the *least* detrimental of your *many* vices.

The two of you step out onto the lieutenant’s rather small balcony. It’s still raining very lightly, but this is probably as good as the weather is going to get tonight. Good enough. There’s really not quite enough space for two adult men to comfortably lounge around out here, though. You try to make yourself as small as possible as you fumble in your pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

PERCEPTION: You hear the soft click of a lighter and smell smoke on the gentle evening breeze drifting over from your left.

“Fuck,” you grumble. “I forgot my light--”

You realize Kim is holding out his own lighter wordlessly, still gazing out at the city sprawling out below.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods. He pockets the lighter again once you’re done with it, then leans on the railing and exhales smoke with a sigh.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Outwardly, he is silent and pensive. He almost seems anxious in a way. But in truth, he likes this. He’s enjoying standing out here in the rain and the dark and smoking his nightly cigarette by your side once more, just like that first night in Martinaise.

You rest your arms on the railing as well and try to map his sightline. Your arm presses against his in the cramped space, but he does not react.

“Pretty bitchin’ view here,” you comment. “Comparatively.”

“Mhm,” hums the lieutenant. “By Jamrock standards, quite bitchin’.”

PERCEPTION: His hand dangles loosely over the edge of the railing. It’s a bit smaller than yours and much thinner, bonier. Sharp and angled like a marble sculpture.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: A work of art. Just like the rest of him.

SUGGESTION: Wonder what that hand would feel like in yours…?

“Everything alright, detective?” Kim asks, smoke escaping from his lips as he speaks. You realize that you’ve been staring at his hand for longer than is generally considered acceptable by polite society.

“Just spacing out a little I guess,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Par for the course with you,” the lieutenant chuckles.

VOLITION: Don’t make this too weird. Don’t think about that cigarette dangling loosely from his beautiful hands, or how soft his lips must be, or how nice it would be to just give up all pretense and embarrass yourself and hug him tightly right here on the balcony. Whatever you do, don’t think of any of those things.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit.

“Well, it��s getting late,” you say, stubbing out your half-finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “I should probably go.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ve got work in the morning after all.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You do?

VOLITION: Just play it cool.

“Yes,” you say, nodding stoically. “Tomorrow is Monday. I am aware of this, and that is why I said that in the first place, and not for any other reason.”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Nailed it.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Kim says flatly, his face expressionless.

“I know that!” you say defensively. “I was just testing you. Come on, Kim, you don’t think I’m really that stupid, do you?”

He starts to say something, then thinks better of it and instead takes a long drag of his cigarette before trying again. “No, detective. I don’t think that.” Then he puts it out on the bottom of his boot and drops it in the ashtray.

The two of you head back into the apartment as the rain starts up again. You pull on your tarpaulin cloak in preparation for the long walk back home. But as you reach the front door, the lieutenant stops you.

“You know, you could just stay here if that would be easier,” he says abruptly, looking tense. “It’s late, and it’s raining, and…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...And the route from here to your home features at least a dozen bars along the way.

EMPATHY: He’s worried you might not be able to resist the siren song of their garish neon signs and blaring dance music spilling out onto the streets like a red carpet unfurling.

“And your injury,” he adds quickly. “It was causing you some pain earlier, wasn’t it?”

HALF LIGHT: You don’t need his *pity.*

INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you *do.* He knows you too well already.

EMPATHY: And, for whatever reason, cares about you a little too much. A terrible decision on his part, really.

“Yeah, good point. Plus your place is closer anyway,” you reply. “Thanks. Sorry to impose.”

He gives you a little nod. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Soon, you’re settled in on Kim’s couch under a small pile of blankets that still smell like artificial flowers, cloying and too sweet, freshly laundered.

He says good night and disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s strange somehow, lying here in his living room alone in the dark. Like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. Like sneaking into a museum after it closes.

PERCEPTION: In the hazy twilight of impending sleep, you notice a calendar on the wall across from you. You can just barely make it out in the dim light, and you realize something.

“Son of a bitch,” you shout, “tomorrow *is* Monday!”

Just before you retreat into the blanket nest you could swear you hear a muffled apology from the next room.

[bastard-of-the-barrel]

Hey, odd request but could you post the scene about where Kaz faints in the prison truck? I lost my copy of the book and I really wanted to read that scene today

The hinges held.

Another shout in Fjerdan, more footsteps. Then the crack of the reins and the cart surged forward, rumbling over the road. Inej let herself exhale. Her throat had gone completely dry.

Kaz took his place beside her. He shoved a hood over her head, and the musty smell filled her nostrils. He would put his own hood on next, then lock himself in. Easy enough, a cheap magician’s trick, and Kaz knew them all. His arm pressed along hers from shoulder to elbow as he locked the collar around his neck. Bodies shifted against Inej’s back and side, crowding up against her.

For now they were safe. But despite the rattle of the wagon’s wheels, Inej could tell Kaz’s breathing had got worse – shallow, rapid pants like an animal caught in a trap. It was a sound she’d never thought to hear from him.

It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.

---

The money Mister Hertzoon had left with Kaz and Jordie ran out the following week. Jordie tried to return his new coat, but the shop wouldn’t take it, and Kaz’s boots had clearly been worn.

When they brought the loan agreement Mister Hertzoon had signed to the bank, they found that – for all its official-looking seals – it was worthless paper. No one knew of Mister Hertzoon or his business partner.

They were evicted from the boarding house two days later, and had to find a bridge to sleep under, but were soon rousted by the stadwatch. After that, they wandered aimlessly until morning. Jordie insisted that they go back to the coffeehouse. They sat for a long time in the park across the street. When night came, and the watch began its rounds, Kaz and Jordie headed south, into the streets of the lower Barrel, where the police did not bother to patrol.

They slept beneath a set of stairs in an alley behind a tavern, tucked between a discarded stove and bags of kitchen refuse. No one bothered them that night, but the next they were discovered by a gang of boys who told them they were in Razorgull territory. They gave Jordie a thrashing and knocked Kaz into the canal, but not before they took his boots.

Jordie fished Kaz out of the water and gave him his dry coat.

“I’m hungry,” Kaz said.

“I’m not,” Jordie replied. And for some reason that had struck Kaz as funny, and they’d both started laughing. Jordie wrapped his arms around Kaz and said, “The city is winning so far. But you’ll see who wins in the end.”

The next morning, Jordie woke with a fever.

In years to come people would call the outbreak of firepox that struck Ketterdam the Queen’s Lady Plague, after the ship believed to have brought the contagion to the city. It hit the crowded slums of the Barrel hardest. Bodies piled up in the streets, and sickboats moved through the canals, using long shovels and hooks to tumble corpses onto their platforms and haul them out to the Reaper’s Barge for burning.

Kaz’s fever came on two days after Jordie’s. They had no money for medicine or a medik, so they huddled together in a pile of broken-up wooden boxes that they dubbed the Nest.

No one came to roust them. The gangs had all been laid low by disease.

When the fever reached full fire, Kaz dreamed he had returned to the farm, and when he knocked on the door, he saw Dream Jordie and Dream Kaz already there, sitting at the kitchen table. They peered at him through the window, but they wouldn’t let him in, so he wandered through the meadow, afraid to lie down in the tall grass.

When he woke, he couldn’t smell hay or clover or apples, only coalsmoke, and the spongy rotting vegetable stink of garbage. Jordie was lying next to him, staring at the sky. “Don’t leave me,” Kaz wanted to say, but he was too tired. So he laid his head on Jordie’s chest. It felt wrong already, cold and hard.

He thought he was dreaming when the bodymen rolled him onto the sickboat. He felt himself falling, and then he was caught in a tangle of bodies. He tried to scream, but he was too weak. They were everywhere, legs and arms and stiff bellies, rotting limbs and blue-lipped faces covered in firepox sores. He floated in and out of consciousness, unsure of what was real or fever dream as the flatboat moved out to sea. When they tumbled him into the shallows of the Reaper’s Barge, he somehow found the strength to cry out.

“I’m alive,” he shouted, as loud as he could. But he was so small, and the boat was already drifting back to harbour.

Kaz tried to pull Jordie from the water. His body was covered in the little blooming sores that gave the firepox its name, his skin white and bruised. Kaz thought of the little wind-up dog, of drinking hot chocolate on the bridge. He thought that heaven would look like the kitchen of the house on Zelverstraat and smell like hutspot cooking in the Hertzoons’ oven. He still had Saskia’s red ribbon. He could give it back to her. They would make candies out of quince paste. Margit would play the piano, and he could fall asleep by the fire. He closed his eyes and waited to die.

Kaz expected to wake in the next world, warm and safe, his belly full, Jordie beside him. Instead, he woke surrounded by corpses. He was lying in the shallows of the Reaper’s Barge, his clothes soaked through, skin wrinkled from the damp. Jordie’s body was beside him, barely recognisable, white and swollen with rot, floating on the surface like some kind of gruesome deep sea fish.

Kaz’s vision had cleared, and the rash had receded. His fever had broken. He’d forgotten his hunger, but he was thirsty enough that he thought he would go mad.

All that day and night, he waited in the pile of bodies, looking out at the harbour, hoping the flatboat would return. They had to come to set the fires that would burn the corpses, but when? Did the bodymen collect every day? Every other day? He was weak and dehydrated. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The coast seemed so far away, and he knew he was too weak to swim the distance. He had survived the fever, but he might well die out here on the Reaper’s Barge. Did he care? There was nothing waiting for him in the city except more hunger and dark alleys and the damp of the canals. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. Vengeance was waiting, vengeance for Jordie and maybe for himself, too. But he would have to go to meet it.

When night came, and the tide changed direction, Kaz forced himself to lay hands on Jordie’s body. He was too frail to swim on his own, but with Jordie’s help, he could float. He held tight to his brother and kicked towards the lights of Ketterdam. Together, they drifted, Jordie’s distended body acting as a raft. Kaz kept kicking, trying not to think of his brother, of the taut, bloated feel of Jordie’s flesh beneath his hands; he tried not to think of anything but the rhythm of his legs moving through the sea. He’d heard there were sharks in these waters, but he knew they wouldn’t touch him. He was a monster now, too.

He kept kicking, and when dawn came, he looked up to find himself at the east end of the Lid. The harbour was nearly deserted; the plague had caused shipping in and out of Kerch to grind to a halt.

The last hundred yards were hard. The tide had turned once more, and it was working against him. But Kaz had hope now, hope and fury, twin flames burning inside him. They guided him to the dock and up the ladder. When he reached the top, he flopped down on his back on the wooden slats, then forced himself to roll over. Jordie’s body was caught in the current, bumping against the pylon below. His eyes were still open, and for a moment, Kaz thought his brother was staring back at him. But Jordie didn’t speak, he didn’t blink, his gaze didn’t shift as the tide dragged him free of the pylon and began to carry him out to sea.

I should close his eyes, thought Kaz. But he knew if he climbed down the ladder and waded back into the sea, he would never find his way out again. He’d simply let himself drown, and that wasn’t possible any more. He had to live. Someone had to pay.

---

In the prison wagon, Kaz woke to a sharp jab against his thigh. He was ice cold and in darkness. There were bodies all around him, pressing against his back, his sides. He was drowning in corpses.

“Kaz.” A whisper.

He shuddered.

Another jab to his thigh.

“Kaz.” Inej’s voice. He managed a deep breath through his nose. He felt her pull away from him. Somehow, in the cramped confines of the wagon, she managed to give him space. His heart was pounding.

“Keep talking,” he rasped.

“What?”

“Just keep talking.”

“We’re passing through the prison gate. We made it past the first two checkpoints.”

That brought him fully to his senses. They’d gone through two checkpoints. That meant they’d been counted. Someone had opened that door – not once but twice – maybe even laid hands on him, and he hadn’t woken. He could have been robbed, killed. He’d imagined his death a thousand ways, but never sleeping through it.

He forced himself to breathe deeply, despite the smell of bodies. He’d kept his gloves on, something the guards might have easily taken note of, and a frustrating concession to his weakness, but if he hadn’t, he felt fairly sure he’d have gone completely mad.

Behind him, he could hear the other prisoners murmuring to one another in different languages. Despite the fears the darkness woke in him, he gave thanks for it. He could only hope that the rest of his crew, hooded and burdened by their own anxiety, hadn’t noticed anything strange about his behaviour. He’d been sluggish, slow to react when they’d ambushed the wagon, but that was all, and he could make up some excuse to account for it.

He hated that Inej had seen him this way, that anyone had, but on the heels of that thought came another: Better it should be her. In his bones, he knew that she would never speak of it to anyone, that she would never use this knowledge against him. She relied on his reputation. She wouldn’t want him to look weak. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? Inej would never betray him. He knew it. Kaz felt ill. Though he’d trusted her with his life countless times, it felt much more frightening to trust her with this shame.

The wagon came to a halt. The bolt slid back, and the doors flew open.

[jerardeusebio]

It was during my favorite season of the year that I was able to finally, quite literally, touch earth. It was both an exhilarating and peaceful moment, a sought out reprieve.

For a while now, I had been dreaming of establishing an herb garden for cooking. And in the hushed days leading up to the the Paschal Triduum, the shortest and most important season in the Roman Catholic Liturgical Calendar, I was able to, little by little, make a dent on this little dream.

The first thing I did, a week before, was to secure the plants from a seller by the highway, just beyond the borders of my hometown. I bought two kinds of basil: Thai and holy, and two kinds of mint: pepper and spear. I also selected dill and rosemary. What I bought most of, though, was my favorite herb, which I felt was also the prettiest of them all: tarragon. The seller gave me green tea, as a bonus for my purchase. I also bought two sacks of soil mix from him. At home, I placed the plants where they could acclimate in their new environment.

A few days before Holy Thursday, I was able to choose a spot for the herbs. It was right outside my mother's bathroom, conveniently positioned near our back door. Our gardener, Kuya Happy, helped me out by clearing the blue plumbagos that grew tired and unhealthy there. I also had him weed and border the space. Two days later, on Holy Thursday, I prepared the plot by cultivating the soil, taking out the stones. I discovered shards of glass from the accidents in the kitchen, a lot of rocks from past renovations, and some plastic garbage that ended up there when one of us slipped from doing the right thing. These things had to be taken out and so I had to be careful when using my bare hands. When that was done, I poured the contents of the two sacks, which really were just a mixture of garden soil, compost, and coir dust. I took pleasure in finally turning the soil with a shovel.

About an hour later, I positioned the herbs, still in their black polyethylene pots, on the freshly prepared soil, as how I would plant them. I left this setup overnight.

The next morning, early Good Friday, I woke up at the crack of dawn and planted the herbs one by one. In the middle of the process, I decided to inlay a few spare bricks to create sections, just to set boundaries for each kind of herb. When I was satisfied with their placement, I took an untended pot of variegated oregano and planted it in a corner. Behind the second row of plants, I inserted cuttings of Cuban oregano into ground. And almost next to the wall, I buried blue ternate seeds in shallow groove I made with my fingers. I sprinkled earth with the hope that they'd grow and crawl and take over the steel grid there, fixed on the wall. With everything in their place, I watered my new herb patch using cool water from our Artesian pump.

I stayed to stare at the patch, even when I was done cleaning the tools and and raking nearby leaves discarded by our nearby santol tree. It has been years since I actually, seriously attended to plants and our garden in this manner. Having shifted careers and allowing much of my training in horticulture to kind of fade away, to give space to my arts and humanities education, I found this project quite satisfying and nostalgic. I was planting no longer as someone who had to or was expected to, but as someone who felt the desire to. I'm now doing it as a teacher who cooks and enjoys doing so with herbs; a writer who knew, the moment he had felt the damp soil stick between his fingers, that he'll be writing about the experience, if not for posterity, then for the sheer rarity of the occasion. I stayed long enough to see the yellow tarragon flowers being swayed by a warm breeze.

Last year's Holy Week was a far cry from what I hoped it would be. It was devastating to me. Though I have a love-hate relationship with the religion I was born into, I've maintained an unflinching fascination and devotion to its rituals, especially when it relates to the Holy Week. And when it became clear that this year wasn't going to be any different, I sought another way to reflect on life and death, which is what I've always felt the season urges the faithful to think about. And nothing quite reminds me of life and its cycle than plants and the soil in which they are anchored in, which gives as much as it takes.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

*cracks knuckles and wiggles fingers in front of keyboard* if it's not to much to ask for mayhaps some brother's best friend with Luke where the reader's brother brings him along and they're S.O. (who hadms beef with Luke) shows up and Luke defends them when their SO makes comment about them. Overall they realize their SO is trash and Luke and them confess feelings :) Also just wanted to say how much ily and appreciate you FEEDING me and fulfilling my requests. You're a gem

Thanks for your patience while I work on this! Reader Insert (Gender neutral pronouns used). 

Note: This is the last one this time. Thanks to everyone that participated and sent me requests. 

Enjoy my Christmas 2020 Blurb masterlist

Enjoy my full masterlist

____________________

Luke’s boot click as he walks up to the house. It’s familiar, one that he had grown fond of when he needed a place to crash for an hour or two after a night of drinking, or the house he would be at to drink. Because let’s be honest, he could always be a riot especially when he got linked up with friends--especially with you and your brother, but mostly your brother. 

He knocks on the door, the night air just barely nipping at his hands as he tucks them back into the pockets of his leather jacket. His can hear the thump of the bass outside the house door. The Christmas decorations have started to come down. The lights remain up the the wreath is gone thanks to the new year just on the other side of dawn. And speaking of dawn, Luke checks the time one more time--11:23 PM. He has been out since nine at night, as he was supposed to hang out with the guys until the new year came in but when Luke’s phone buzzed around 11 with a reminder that there was a second party that he had accepted an invite to, Luke dipped. Sure he could ring in the new year with the band. But he’d see them again in a couple days. He wanted to come by, see how you were doing and hang out with your brother since he hadn’t gotten the chance to see both of you all at Christmas. 

“Look you finally showed up,” you laugh. “Took you long enough.”

“I'll have you know that this is my second party of the night. I am right on time,” he grinned. 

You laugh. “Very true. Good beers are in the fridge. We’re mostly in the backyard.”

Luke wraps you up into a quick hug. “Thanks for the tip. How’d you hear me knocking?”

“Had to pee. Curse my tiny squirrel bladder. Or maybe in your case, praise it.”

He gives a tiny bow as he makes his way to the kitchen. “All hail the squirrel bladder. Is your brother around? Or has he bailed to the forbidden upstairs with his girl?”

“He and his girls are on the outs. Don’t know how permanently, so he’s in the backyard too,” you explain, locking the front door. Then turn to follow Luke into the kitchen. Your drink was done too, you finished it right before answering the door. It’s totally not the fact that you were trying to avoid your significant other. Who hadn’t even had a drink before they first insulted you at the start of the night. You knew it was probably time to duck out of the relationship, but you just hadn’t found the right words or time to do it. 

Luke grabs a beer and holds it over the top of the open fridge door. “Want one?”

“Need something stronger,” you tease and then grab the handle of vodka off the kitchen counter. 

“Holy shit, what the hell happened?”

You hear your name bellowed and bouncing throughout the house. You don’t even a chance to sigh at the sound of your drunk significant other screaming your name before they shout it again. “Kitchen!” you holler, slamming the bottle back down. 

Luke jolts at the sound and watches your partner barrel around the corner. They single you out with a single digit. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Taking a piss. Letting Luke into the party. Fixing a drink. You know, doing what one does at a new years party.”

“I been looking all around for you.”

“Well, you found me. What do you need?”

The fridge door is a barrier, at least for Luke. He stands behind it, unsure of what is about to go down and mostly because he had forgotten about closing it when your significant other started screaming. But it seems like they were too preoccupied with you to notice him, until now. They gaze up to Luke is slow and the expression goes from bored normal drunk angry to something darker. “Were you fucking him, right here in the kitchen?” your significant other shouts. Their brows have furrowed, frown lines creating wrinkles on on their cheeks. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” you return. 

“No, no, Jesus. I was getting a drink. I just fucking got here,” Luke returns, stepping back from the fridge and swinging the door close, as if to reveal the fact that no pants were around ankles and they couldn’t have been. 

“You’re such a fucking whore.” The insult is thrown at you but Luke feels it in his chest. 

Luke steps closer, placing his body between you and your significant other. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He returns, hands shaking around the bottle of the beer. 

“You two are clearly fucking and you, you’ve been messing around my back with fucking everyone.”

“I haven’t touched anyone,” your screech in return. “I was taking a piss. I let Luke in and I went to fix a fucking drink.”

“No, but you cheated on me. Because you’re just never satisfied. You don’t think I’m good enough. Fucking town whore, might as well make your apartment the whore house.”

There’s a sharp clink and before you can look up form the counter where the bottle of beer titters and nearly falls another dull thud follows the sound. You look up to see Luke towering over your significant other on the floor. You rush forward and catch the bottle before it falls and get it stable before walking over to the two of them. 

“You’re going to fucking apologize and then you’re taking your drunk ass out of this party. Do not call, or text, or come crying back. Get the fuck out of here and stay the fuck away from them,” Luke warns. 

“Or what?” 

“Go.” It’s only one word, one syllable that falls from Luke’s tongue. You can see his hands visibly shaking. You know he’s not the type to actually resort to physical violence and you’re shocked that Luke’s the one that seem to start this. It had to be a shove but even that’s more than you ever expected from Luke. Granted, the lack of balance on your partner’s part helped to. 

“Have fun with them,” your partner chuckles. 

“You’re an asshole,” you finally speak up, stepping out from behind Luke and grab the handle of vodka. “You’re a giant fucking asshole and I hope you rot in fucking hell,” you huff, throwing some of the alcohol into their face. They sputter and shout up at you. But you don’t listen to it as you continue to rant on. “You’re the one cheating. You had your tongue shoved so far down Christine’s throat an hour ago I’m shocked she didn’t choke on it. You're the one sleeping through your entire office--you’re the one that people talk about. I worked, I worked as an escort for the last year in college to help after I lost everything and you think you have the right to shove it in my face. I can’t believe I tolerated this for this long.”

Luke takes hold of your arm to stop the pour. “That’s expensive vodka,” he teases. “I am glad though it’s not tequila.” 

You huff but stop, keeping your attention trained on the movement of your new found ex. “Get the hell out of my life.”

Luke checks his watch again--11:26. The front door opens and closes. “Okay, first thing first, you’ve got 34 minutes until the new year and you’re already hitting major goals by speeding about 170 pounds in mere minutes. And what’s your guess on how long we have to clean this up before your brother flips?”

“However long until the party ends, he sleeps and wakes up in the morning,” you return. “I’ll grab some towels.” 

Luke grabs some paper towels. He knows he can’t grab too many but he can at least attempt to keep the alcohol from reaching the rugs until you come back with the towels. You worry back down the hallway with an armful of towels and toss one out to Luke who uses it as a barrier to keep the rug safe. You take one and start trying to soak up the middle of the mess.

“Thanks,” you say, looking up from the floor. “For sticking up for me.”

“Of course. You don’t deserve that from anyone. And they were a garbage person anyway. Wish I had kicked their ass.” Luke takes another towel from the pile you dropped them in on the dining room table and starts helps keeping the alcohol from spreading too far into the kitchen.

“Hey, no. I don’t think I’ve got enough savings to get you out on bail,” you laugh. 

“Oh you wouldn’t have ratted me out. They would’ve deserved it.”

You nod with a bit of a snicker, grabbing another towel and help Luke with his end of the river of vodka. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have.”

“I can always count of you,” Luke laughs. 

“Call it older sibling complex. I’m use to saving someone’s ass.” You’re about two years older than Luke, but it doesn’t feel like that. And your brother that Luke hangs out with is older than you by a year and a half. But there were still some siblings after you, so it was just a chain reaction. You and your bother would cover for your other siblings, but only sometimes. Sometimes you got sick of jumping into the fire and what’s life without some healthy sibling rivalry. 

You and Luke manage to clean up the alcohol and go to grab the last towel at the same time. You’re holding the garbage bag so that you could transport said towels to the laundry room without dripping more alcohol all over the house. “I got it,” you insist. 

Luke doesn’t loosen his grip. “You sure you’re okay? Seems like a lot happened even before I got here.”

“I’ve been meaning to shed those extra pounds for weeks now. Today was just the final straw.”

“Did-did they ever say anything like sober? You know you can talk to me. I care about you.”

“I know you do, Luke. I appreciate it. But I’m okay. Well as okay as a person can be. I’ve known for a long time, like I said. They weren’t as sneaky as they thought they were.”

“But still. That’s a lot to go through. If you ever need someone, talk to me.”

You sigh but nod, looking into the rich blue of Luke’s eyes. “I will.” 

“I like you,” he confesses but he’s sure you won’t take it that way. “I’d like to keep you around and I need you to know I don’t judge you. I would never judge you.”

“I know,” is your whispered reply. 

He almost gives in. Almost kisses you but instead, Luke nods. “Good.” 

You finally get the last towel and take it to the laundry room, leaning into the washer. There was no way that was real. There was no way Luke leaned into you and there’s no way you almost leaned into him too. No, it’s just the alcohol you tell yourself. It’s just the moment--him coming to your defense. But you know just underneath it all there was something--small, tiny, almost something you could brush aside. But it always came back. 

Starting up the washer, from all the nights you crashed at your brother’s place. Originally you were going to move out with him, but he found some friends that wanted to go in on the house, and you figured that was better for him. You managed to find a place and some friends that didn’t mind going In on the rent either. That didn’t mean that you didn’t bug the shit of your brother though when you could, by crashing at his place or watching over the place whenever him and his friends needed a house sitter to take care of the plants that you gave him. 

You step out of the laundry room and find Luke walking down towards the backdoor, two beers in hand. “I figured you’d need a drink after a night like this,” he grins with a bit of a sheepish grin. 

“Or two, or three,” you laugh. “But thanks. Just-just don’t tell my brother. At least not until morning, I don’t need him trying to drunkenly get into a fight.”

Luke nods. “I understand.”

The two of you join the party and Luke finds your brother easily. But he doesn’t let his gaze drift too far from you. You have some friends you seem to have invited too and it’s not too long after your reunion with them that they are flocked around you. Luke can just faintly catch the gasps they release. But soon the group of you are too far, too deep into the dance floor that he can’t hear anymore or see what’s happening. 

“Two minutes!” Someone shouts. The party herds itself inside to watch the ball drop. But Luke lingers behind as everyone moves inside to find you and sure enough you’re lingering behind too. 

“The ball’s not dropping out here,” Luke laughs. 

“Don’t need a ball to drop to make a change,” you return staring up at the sky. It’s hard to see any of the stars but you imagine what they’d look like blinking back at you from so high up. 

“You made one hell of a change tonight,” he agrees. The backdoor stays open and he can hear the concentrated chatter of the group. 

You nod and look over to Luke. “I did make one hell of a change tonight. But changes can happen at any time, anywhere.”

“I agree.”

And you almost wish he’d look at you, so that you could say it and show him what you mean, so that you could even admit to yourself that you mean. But Luke doesn’t look down. So you settle with just watching him and then turn back to the sky. You slip your hand through his and think this might be change enough too. 

Luke squeezes your hand in return. He grins just a little but tries to keep it hidden before turning his attention back to you. You’re staring up at the sky still. The countdown’s started from inside and Luke just watches you. “Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One!” The house erupts into cheers. You squeeze Luke’s hand in return. 

[nightwingshero]

12-23 all your Far Cry OCs ! 🥰

Thank you, love!!! This may have gotten a bit long...I have a lot of OCs for Far Cry, don’t @ me. 

12. What OCs would have a chugging competition?

That’s an excellent question, and I think a better one would be who wouldn’t. Rowan, Grayson, Wren, Jane, and Randy are definitely the top contenders for that. Ivy would be a bit taken aback by it, and then politely decline. Whitney and Quinn...Whit would silently judge while also wishing that was her. Quinn is...he’s on the fence, I think that depends. Because he likes rooting for it, watching it, and laughing at them making fools of themselves, but if challenged, he won’t hesitate, and I think Mel would be in the same boat, but she’s less likely to rise to the challenge...she’s too uh...laid back to really feel competitive. Now, as for the kids go, it would be between Emmett, Freya, and Harper. It would start as a back and forth between Emmett and Freya, which would just pull Harper in with it as Braxton and Ana watch warily and Emmie is laughing her ass off. 

13. What OCs would arm wrestle? Who would win?

Randy, Wren, Rowan, Jane, and Quinn. Hands down (see what I did there?). Jane would only do it if provoked, in any other situation, she’s rolling her eyes in the corner and calling them idiots. Randy would obviously win, though it’s a good go with Quinn...and Quinn would honestly let Wren win. He’s trying to impress her, you know? Rowan won’t get off that easily, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Girl can hold her own. If it’s the kids, Emmett and Freya, all day long. Freya is just like her mother, and she’s so damn quick to rise to a challenge, and Emmett is a cocky little shit. 

14. Who would jump off the roof into a pool and who would video it?

Okay...this is probably something that’s going down at Whit’s house. And I’m telling you right now, Randy and Grayson are the first to go, quickly (and I mean quickly) followed by Jane, because she’s not going to be showed up by them at all (Grayson said something rile her up). Whitney is freaking the hell out, insisting someone is going to get hurt. Wren is videoing it because there’s no way in hell it’s not going on YouTube. Ro and Mel are actually scoring it. Ivy is trying really hard to ignore it, she got one day off and might have to play doctor anyway. It was Quinn’s idea...he just made it seem like Grayson’s and he’s enjoying the result of it while drinking an ice cold beer (he prefers vodka, but Whit didn’t have that...so she claims). 

15.What OC nicknames everyone?

They all do, honestly. My Scooby Gang are a bunch of just...sarcastic assholes and sweethearts. Grayson and Ivy might be the only ones that don’t. Jane is called Viking Princess most of the time by Wren, and Randy is Lumberjack Steve. Quinn is Blondie from time to time, Wren will call him Hot Shot, too. Randy will call him “Cap” in reference to Captain America (Quinn’s favorite superhero) and with him being a Security Captain. Rowan is playfully dubbed Huntress or Bambi, depending on who you’re talking to. But Jane calls her Robin Hood or just asshole. Grayson is just...Gray. No one really has a nickname for him, except for Quinn, who calls him Speedy from his background (which Randy then tells them the story of Wren nearly driving them off a cliff). Whitney is either Mom (sarcastically, of course), Miss America, Goody Two Shoes, or just Whit. And Whitney just...calls everyone hun, darlin’, sweetheart, sweetie, dear, etc. If she’s feeling extra fiesty, she’ll give an actual sarcastic nickname (she calls Cooper cowboy and lone ranger though). 

16. Who makes the plan, who follows the plan and who knows the plan is going to fail?

Making the plan consists of: Rowan, Quinn, and Randy. Ivy, Whit, and Wren are gonna follow it, and...well, Jane and Gray are gonna say “this is a stupid idea”. I honestly picuture it being that scene from Infinity War. Tony would be Rowan and Randy. Peter Quill would be Quinn. Draxx would be Grayson and Jane, Mantis is Whit and Mel. Wren is Peter Parker, and Ivy is Dr. Strange. Ivy was looking forward in time, watching every scenario in which she dies surrounded by idiots. I mean...this scene is literally just them in New Dawn. 

17. Who brings a surplus amount of silly string to a party?

Wren and Mel. Mostly because it’s probably a prank to ruin Whit’s perfect hair. It takes her forever to get it out due to the hairspray, but it was worth it. Jane recorded it so she can relive the screams. 

18. Who goes crazy over glow sticks?

Wren, Mel, and Randy! They love them. When they get wasted or high, they do this (its at 3:20, but seriously...watch it...because there isn’t a Brendon Urie vine that doesn’t embody one of my OCs...plus, he’s hilarious). But I could see them doing some sort of glow stick party. 

19. What is your OCs favourite game to play together?

Monopoly (Jane and Quinn are scary good at it), Just Dance, Cards Against Humanity, and Heads Up. Most of them end up in hilarious fights and yelling/laughing together...because they drink when they play. 

20. What OC has no directional compass yet still leads the group?

W H I T N E Y. Listen, I could literally hear the whole fucking group just collectively groan. She will swear she knows where she’s going and pretty much takes charge, even though she has no clue. But they follow anyway...so who’s really at fault here?

21. Who would pose beside a garbage can to take a picture to caption it ‘me’ later?

Wren, Grayson, and Randy. They would laugh while doing it, but Whitney would text back or show up at their house like “Sweetie, are you okay?” with cookies or some shit. Rowan is sure of herself and Mel is at peace with who she is. Quinn, Whit, Ivy, and Jane love themselves too much for that. 

22. What poses do the squad like to do when taking a group photo?

Oh. My. GODDDDD. Listen, they’re always doing stupid shit, even if Whit is demanding something serious. Whit will smile with Ivy while the others are doing bunny ears, carrying each other, climbing on each other, or doing other stupid shit. Lots of kisses on the cheek, piggy back rides, “sexy” poses, and just...they never take it seriously. Whit has one (1) good photo. 

23. What concert would your OCs all go to together and why that concert?

Arctic Monkeys, Queen, Lorde, or Taylor Swift, but it’ll most likely be Queen or Taylor Swift. Grayson has a huge crush on Adam Lambert, and who doesn’t love the music? And Randy knows all the words to Shake It Off and You Need to Calm Down is the group’s like....unspoken song...so...yeah, they’re going.