#redemption is bloody and exhausting but it’s so so worth it

[calamari-minecraft-corner]

Idk it’s something about in my AUs, especially my dnd con au that no one forgives dream for what he’s done- but they’re willing to move past it and get closure in some way or another.

Like what always gets me is that people expect redemption or the path to be a better person to be easy and simple and that everyone will forgive you for what you’ve done!

But no- I’ve always seen redemption as gritty and bloody. Something you have to push yourself to do and understand that some people will not give you forgiveness or closure or anything.

And that’s entirely okay because you can’t control how they feel.

But you can continue to go forward and be a good person, even if you have days where you go back into old habits.

Idk I’m just rambling about my own stuff on it-

[theshatteredrose]

Nugatory: The Secret War (Chapter 35) - Disgaea 5 Fanfiction

AN: Hope everyone enjoys reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FFNet

-

Chapter 35:

Void Dark’s castle, Dark Demise, was as impressive as Samuel’s imagined it would be. How the egotistical man had managed to generate such a stronghold, he could only speculate. He had more sway and power over his Lost Soldiers than Samuel could ever imagine.

It was not an easy Netherworld to reach. It really took Gorgeous Reborn barrelling into it for them to make their way onto its outer reaches. If only the Anti-Netherworld Combat canon, or whatever that blast was, worked. But Bloodis, more powerful than before, blocked it.

Incredible. Samuel was not looking forward to facing him in battle again.

Of course, Seraphina stumbled from the ‘force of the impact’ and landed straight into Killia’s chest and arms. That was not an accident.

He would have to give her kudos for that one.

Sadly for her, Samuel did not need to ram a Netherworld into an enemy’s fortress to find his way into Killia’s embrace. So, he would give her that little win. For now.

But because of that certain collision, Gorgeous Reborn was now connected to Dark Demise. Lost Soldiers were able to come and go as freely as they could. They had no choice but to plough forward and defeat every enemy they came across and end the war, one way or another.

That was not what was troubling Samuel the most, however.

Immediately upon stepping foot within the Outer limits of Dark Demise, they were attacked by unfathomably loyal Lost Soldiers. Yet, they were not ordinary soldiers. They were elites, yet they had also been enhanced.

But not by Seedlings.

No, it was from Majorita’s doing. Broken Faith Magia.

Yet, she, too, had given time limits. Not exact time limits like that of Seedlings. And they did not have the agonising deaths where Snap Draingons sprouted from their bodies. Their bodies simply overheated and they disappeared into the ether.

Different method, same disregard for life.

That child was vile. Truly vile.

That deeply troubled Samuel. Had she taken inspiration from the Seedlings? Were they just experiments in her eyes? Did she take delight in watching victims succumb to them? How did she know about them?

Samuel was not a murderous brute by any stretch, but he was greatly against Usalia’s choice to leave Majorita alive so that she could repent for her sins. He did not believe she had it in her to seek redemption. Not without constant supervision.

He could only hope that Usalia’s choice did not come back to haunt her. For if Majorita did not do an about face and change her ways, her future victims would also be blood on Usalia’s hands…

The only thing they had going for them for the time being was that their enemies did not have the same extreme power that Seedlings were able to grant their victims. Samuel’s Overload Skill was not necessary. They were strong enough to defeat them under their own combined strength.

Still, if they continued, they may be exhausted by the time they reached Void.

“Killia, I sense that Bloodis is up ahead,” Christo announced.

Killia simply nodded his head. “Yeah, his powerful spirit is undeniable.”

Samuel, on the other hand, could not help but wince. “Killia, want for me to-?”

“No, save your strength,” Killia quickly answered. “I need your support for when we face Void Dark in battle. I’m relying on you to ensure everyone’s safety. I…don’t want Void to hurt anyone again.”

Killia’s power had grown significantly that he could very well protect everyone on his own, but it was bolstering for Samuel’s own self-confidence that he needed him there for reassurance.

“I understand. I’ll keep everyone safe.” Samuel smiled and clasped a hand on Killia’s shoulder. “Besides, imagine the look on Void’s face when he realises he can’t hurt anyone.”

Killia gave a small, half smile. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

… … … … …

Bloodis…

Bloodis was Goldion all along. Ever since the first time Killia and Zeroken used Adviya Holy Water, all the way back on Dark Testament. All through their battles. Throughout every magical spear. Through everything Void Dark had done.

Everything he had done was in order to help them grow stronger? To teach Killia the Ultimate Demon Technique, Ultimate Skill, Macrocosm?

He…had endured many hardships himself. Forced into a role, by his own murderous and violent son. As Demon General Bloodis, he had devastated many a Netherworld. But as Goldion disguised as Bloodis, he had tried to help them from the shadows the best he could without raising suspicion. A delicate balancing act, one forcing him to watch helplessly as his own son slaughtered millions.

How could he…?

Samuel stood back with the others as Killia and Zeroken spoke to their old master, not entirely sure what to think. He was not close to the man; he never knew him or his legacy. He only knew him as Bloodis, which was truly a shame.

He should not have to pay the ultimate price for the actions of his unworthy son.

It was not fair.

Samuel did not want to insert himself into the conversation, as both Killia and Zeroken looked pained, devastated to see their former master is such a state. To know that he was to be lost to them. For good. And it was something that he, himself, had planned. His time was running out.

But…he had to know something.

Samuel stepped forward cautiously, reluctantly. “Excuse me, Goldion? I need to ask you a question and I need you to answer it honestly, please. Is there a man, a demon with brown hair, half of his head shaved, and with a grey scar covering half of his face, working with Void Dark from the shadows?”

Even with his heavy, fortified armour, Samuel knew that Goldion had turned his head to stare at him, contemplating whether or not to answer his question.

“Please, I need to know,” he implored.

“…There is.”

Samuel drew in a sharp breath and his hands curled into fists at his sides. Damn it!

“Samuel?” Killia called to him, questioningly with concern.

“That is the Arch-Overlord of Nugatory,” Samuel said simply. “I’m afraid Void is the one who’s been used and manipulated here.”

“What do you mean?” Goldion asked.

But Samuel shook his head. It would take too long to explain and Goldion did not have much time left. “Has this demon been gifting your Lost Soldiers objects that look like seeds, but gold in colour with the symbol of a sun with a water droplet etched onto the surfaced?”

Goldion paused before he nodded. “…That is correct.”

Samuel sighed and immediately raised his hands to rub his temples. “That is how Seedlings have been distributed throughout the Netherverse. The Arch-Overlord is behind everything.”

“But why?” Christo was the one to ask.

Samuel shook his head again, this time answering in the negative. “I don’t know.”

He paused suddenly as a realisation struck him. He dropped his hands from his temples and turned around to look at Christo. “Wait…according to legend, the Tree of Death is the misshapen form of a prison, one that holds the manifestation of destruction. Could Arch-Overlord believe in that legend? If so…he’s after the power and energy that Void has been gathering from the Netherverse. Then that means…”

Lieze was…

Samuel spun around to face the man in the dark armour once more. “Goldion, one more thing; Lieze…she’s here, isn’t she?”

Goldion fell silent.

Samuel could not help but allowed some of his frustration to show. “Please, I don’t have time for your silent treatment. If she’s here, then her very existence is in danger.”

“…She is here.”

Killia’s eyes widened. “What?” he uttered out in a short, breathless gasp. “Wh-what do you mean? How-?”

Samuel, himself, felt as though someone had punched him in the chest, but he gritted his teeth and hoped it did not show.

So…he was right.

He knew it was a possibility. Void himself said the war was for his sister. He told him himself.

He knew that there was a chance that Lieze was alive.

So, why did his heart clench and all but stop when Goldion revealed that Lieze within Void’s castle?

It was because he knew that she still had full reign over Killia’s heart, wasn’t it?

Samuel violently shook his head sharply and looked over his shoulder. No, it was not about his feelings. It never was. Now was not the time to think about himself.

“Void used Alma Ice Sculpture,” he said as he looked over at Christo.

Christo returned his gaze and nodded his head grimly. “And the war is an excuse to gather energy needed to ensure Alma Ice Sculpture’s continuous use. Yet, why the sudden uptick in power? If I understand correctly, Lieze was injured long before the war. Does prolong use of Alma Ice Sculpture require more and more energy?”

“The main question is, though; how long does he plan on keeping her alive through this method? How does he plan on bringing her back to life?”

Christo’s frown deepened. “…Broken Faith Magia.”

Samuel’s eyes widened. “Of course. That’s the reason why he’s kept Majorita around, despite her continuous loses to us. He must have been waiting for her to evolve her Overload Skill. To either steal or to sacrifice her in some method. Then…we shouldn’t have left her…”

They should not have left her alive. She was at Void’s mercy now. If she was not already dead, her Overload stolen. But if they had not, Lieze wouldn’t…

Samuel shook his head. “Sorry, Killia, Zeroken,” he said sympathetically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your time with your master.”

He stepped back, away from the group and Christo promptly joined him. The two huddled together as they continued their discussion in whispers in hushed tones.

“What do you think?” Christo asked him.

“Nothing good,” Samuel admitted. “Arch-Overlord may be attempting to use Lieze as a vessel. All the power and energy that Void Dark has gathered is to go to her. And Arch-Overlord wants to use her to power the tree. Why he hasn’t yet, I don’t know. But he must be planning something. He wouldn’t unleash Seedlings throughout the Netherverse for the thrill of it.”

He was definitely empowering the tree for a purpose.

“He must be waiting for Void Dark to revive her through the use of Broken Faith Magia,” Christo suggested.

Samuel nodded. “I think you might be right. A living vessel would be more useful than a dead one.”

The most frightening part to his revelation was the fact that brutal and violent as Void Dark had been, there was a strong possibility that he was being manipulated by Arch-Overlord. What was that demon capable of? Was he simply good with words and pretty promises? Or did he have the strength to back them up, too?

Both Samuel and Christo winced and shot each other sorrowful glances when they heard Killia’s voice desperately call out to his master.

Samuel turned around in time to witness Killia and Zeroken kneeling by their master’s side, each holding a hand in theirs, unable to do anything as their master’s body began to dissipate into the either in small orbs of light.

Then…he was gone.

Samuel dashed forward and immediately made his way to Killia. He dropped down to his knees and hugged him from behind; folding his arms across Killia’s stomach and torso as he pressed his cheek against back, between his wings.

That was all the comfort he could offer him for the moment.

Killia truly lost a precious person because of Void Dark.

But there was still a chance to save the one that had residency in his heart.

… … … … …

The encounter against, what they thought at the time was Demon General Bloodis but was actually Goldion, was not an easy battle. And the aftermath was even more devastating. So they returned to Gorgeous Reborn to recuperate for a short while.

And for Killia to take a few moments to gather his whirlwind of thoughts.

Samuel was partly to blame for that. The questions he had asked Goldion revealed a lot of distressing replies, but they were answers that they needed to know. Especially those regarding Lieze. But it was best that it was Goldion that revealed her existence and not someone else.

With a flutter of his wings, Samuel made his way onto the walkway above the main bridge and he quietly made his way to the lone figure sat on the corner platform. Killia stared out through the windows, at the Netherworld Dark Demise with an stoic expression.

“How did you know about Lieze?” Killia asked him as he approached.

Samuel bit the inside of his mouth to hold back a wince. “You remember the Netherworld where we met Void for the second time, don’t you?”

“When Void suddenly appeared and separated us? Yeah, I remember.”

Samuel lowered himself down to sit next to him. “Back on that world, when I was left alone with Void, I knew that there was no way I could fight him. So, in desperation, I attempt to engage in conversation with him. And, for some reason, it worked.”

Killia snapped his head toward him, to look at him incredulously. “What?”

“It wasn’t much of a conversation,” Samuel said with a forced half smile. “But I did get a few pieces of information out of him.”

Killia fell silent as he continued to look at him. “…Was it then that you realise that Lieze may be somehow involved?”

Samuel gave a slow nod of his head. “Yes. I asked him if the purpose of this war was his sister, and he confirmed it. She was the reason he was gathering energy. And with him having already stolen your Overload skill Alma Ice Sculpture, I put two and two together.”

The man beside him fell silent once more as he turned his head to look out over at Dark Demise once more. His expression was as impassive as before. Contemplative, Samuel hoped. Yet, he could not help but feel a little panicky.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Killia,” he began. “I didn’t want to raise the possibility and for it to be false. I didn’t want to break your heart. That is why I didn’t tell you about my theory from back then.”

Really, how did one start that kind of conversation?

“I wanted to say something earlier,” he continued to ramble, “but then Killidia happened, and then the Seedlings, and then I had my own breakdown and issues.”

Killia continued to remain silent and Samuel felt nauseated.

“…Are you mad?” he asked weakly.

“No.” Killia finally turned to look at him. “I understand why you did it. You did it for my sake. Everything you’ve done has been for someone else’s sake. This is no different.”

Samuel felt like he could breathe again. “Killia…”

“But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Samuel didn’t want to say it, but he had to now. “I don’t know what condition she may be in. Arch-Overlord has been confirmed to be involved. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I’m worried. If it was just Void, then there was a chance that he was just trying to bring her back to life. But Arch-Overlord’s involvement brings many unpredictable possibilities.”

Killia frowned as he suddenly looked at him with concern and…guilt? “You…you’ve been carrying this with you this whole time?”

“Ah, I guess so.” Samuel shook his head before he placed a hand on Killia’s shoulder, pivoting slightly to face him. “But this isn’t about me, Killia. This is about you. Lieze may be saved. How…do you feel about that?”

An uneasy expression flickered across Killia’s face and he released a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping forward. “…I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know how I feel honestly.”

Samuel did not know how to feel about it either. His head was a mess and his chest, his heart ached. So much.

It was selfish. Oh-so selfish, but he was scared that he was going to lose Killia. That the strong connection they had built up over the time they had spent together was coming to an end. It was going to be severed.

And there was nothing he could, or would do, to stop it.

If Lieze was alive, if she could be saved, Killia was going to choose her over him. There was…there was no doubt in his mind that he would. And when he did, Samuel would have no choice but to leave because…seeing Killia with someone else, even seeing him happy with someone else, would be too much for him. And his heart.

And he was afraid what would happen if his heart was constantly broken…

[bisexualklausmikaelson]

the sinking man (9/?)

.

nine: the last night you'll spend alone

.

The sky is orange today - looking almost as if someone set it on fire.

Kol Mikaelson watches from his balcony as the war rumbles on. Destruction, chaos, violence -

“Did you see that?” Rebekah whispers, hair in her face, mouth slightly open. “It’s wolf, isn’t it?” She croaks, eyes peering over the horizon.

Kol follows her gaze, he sees the grassy fields, the lavenders his sister planted in the meadows, the tall trees -

And then, a pair of bright yellow eyes watch him from a far.

“If it’s that little one from the other night again, I swear I’m not going to be able to spare its life again - tell Nik’s little strumpet that -“

“Kol,” Rebekah interrupts, watching the wolves surround their property, appearing all along the edges of their home. “It’s not just one wolf.”

He recognizes Jackson from the other night, but the others - they’re new.

“What are they all doing here?” Rebekah wonders, counting tens, twenties…no…hundreds of them.

The eyes multiply like insects, Kol feels as if his heart drops inside his stomach.

“I have no bloody idea.”

-

Orange - Hayley decides - is her least favourite colour.

It almost feels cruel, being safe inside this barrier spell inside Klaus Mikaelson’s mansion while the war outside rages on.

The other hybrids don’t seem bother by it at all. They still follow her around like lost puppies though, which is still pretty weird.

She tracks Tyler down in the evening, huddled up by a fire.

“Do you know what this is all about?” Hayley asks, as a few hybrids trail behind her.

“What do you mean?” He wonders.

She points them out, annoyed.

“Earlier,” Hayley sighs. “These guys wouldn’t share as much as a glance my way, now, they’re all googly-eyed like I’m sort of alien or something -”

“I don’t know,” he’s quick to answer her, all shifty and a bit nervous about what he’s about to say next. “It’s like…like they’re drawn to you,” Tyler says.

Hayley is quiet, taking a seat beside him as he seems to be coming to his own conclusion. She wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Wolves have a lot of history - as a species,” he explains. “A lot of it unfortunately, has been erased thanks to our weakness compared to the witches and vampires. We didn’t manage to survive as long, have as much to share from our past,” Tyler gathers, thinking of how little he knows about his own family.

She looks back at the wolves still looming around her, somehow, Hayley starts to think of them as lost children - the look in their eyes is so lonely and distant.

So much like another hybrid she knows.

“And,” Hayley breathes. “You think this is about my past? My family?”

Tyler takes a step back, side-eyeing her.

“I think,” he releases. “There’s something from your past that no one knows about, that’s probably why all the wolves are following you,” he reveals, sounding just a bit sinister.

She still can’t tell if he is a friend or a foe.

-

“Brother-”

Klaus bursts through the long mahogany coloured door with a swift kick, making his entrance as crude and loud as usual (walking right passed Elijah’s open arms).

“Niklaus,” he repeats, settling into the unfamiliarity in his brother’s scent.

Every time he sees him, he feels as though he is getting further and further away from him - Elijah wonders if Klaus even wants to see him, at this point.

“Cut the chit chat ‘Lijah,” he says, taking a quick look around his brother’s manor and spotting the array of wines he keeps stocked up on his dinner table. “Tell me, why did you want to see me?” Klaus continues, grabbing an old bottle of Bordeaux and opening it up.

Elijah sighs, taking a seat across from his brother, in their father’s old chair - like the patriarch that he is.

Then, Freya shows up, taking his mother’s seat beside Elijah - looking more and more like her, each and every day.

“I think you know why,” she whispers.

He observes her as she mimics Esther’s stature, from the length of her long ivory dress to the way she ties her hair. “Sister,” Klaus reminds himself. “What a lovely surprise,” he smirks.

Elijah notices the tension in the air - his wish for his family to get along seems for far gone at this point, he wonders if it’s even worth saving. “Take a seat, dear brother,” he advises. “We have much to discuss.”

Klaus scoffs, popping the bottle open, taking a large swig. “I’d like to make this visit brief, if you don’t mind,” he tells him, in the nicest way that he can. “I have something rather pressing to get back to,” a pair of wolf eyes flash in his mind’s eye and he swear it almost feels like home.

His brother is perceptive, he can tell something is different about Niklaus. “Your wolves, I presume?” He offers, studying the other’s expression for any semblance of redemption. “We’ve noticed quite a large amount of missing ones reported within the area,” Elijah explains.

“What exactly are you accusing me of?” Klaus chides, sounding a bit aggravated.

Freya’s hand slips into his as a form of support. Elijah closes his eyes, squeezes it tightly. “Nothing,” he sighs, breathing in. “I simply would like to propose an alliance,” he offers, breathing out.

Klaus hates this - how close these two are, it’s insufferable. He hates how close Rebekah and Kol are too, he doesn’t have that type of bond with any of his siblings. “An alliance?” He laughs.

“My witches, Elijah’s vampires, your wolves,” Freya steps in, noticing Elijah’s depleting state. “We could start a peace treaty, set an example for everyone else,” she suggests, eyes kind and soft.

Klaus can’t stand it - it’s like Esther’s ghost was looking right at him. “You actually think that’s going to work?” He jerks. “Ridiculous,” Klaus shakes his head, looking away from his sister.

Their mother had passed - long ago - when their father had been hunting them down for centuries on end. He called them abominations, monsters even. The first vampires created by their own witch mother who, in the end, was killed by her own creations.

Klaus still can’t forget the sight of Mikael setting Esther’s body aflame - none of them can.

“You have to at least try -”

“Might I remind you, dear sister,” he shouts this time, angered by the memory of it all. He wants to call her mother - to hold her close - to cry into her warm embrace. But instead, he resigns. “We are in the middle of a war, there is so such thing as peace in these times, only bloodshed.”

Klaus takes this as his cue to go, heading towards the door as he feels his sadness bubbling up from inside.

“Stop,” and suddenly, he can’t move. He looks back to see his older sister’s outstretched hand, casting a spell holding him locked in place. “I’m not letting you leave unless you agree to our deal,” she informs him, walking closer to him.

“Freya-” Elijah runs between them, standing in front of Niklaus, almost as if to protect him.

He’s surprised that his brother still cares so much for him and yet, Freya’s fiery spirit betrays him.

“If it’s a fight you want,” Klaus grits, pushing off the spell, eyes glowing like ambers. “I won’t hold back, being my sister won’t offer you any mercy-”

He lunges, going for her throat.

She stops him again, but he’s fast, one more attempt and she knows she won’t be able to fight him off.

“Let him go,” Elijah advises. “Please-”

Her brother’s tender voice is what gets to her. She knows how kind he is, how noble. She can’t say no to Elijah.

Freya releases Klaus and he quickly vanishes from their sight.

(The house seems oddly colder without him).

-

His sister is well matched, he thinks as he travels back home.

A strong witch - much more powerful than the last time he had seen her. Klaus knows that, if they were to ever spar again, one of them might have to die before the battle would end.

Mikael was the only member of the family they had all ever gotten together to kill - he never thought that it would come to this again. Being pitted against each other thanks to their differences.

The very nature of his birth is something his siblings should hate him for. But instead, Elijah just tries to get closer to him, at any cost.

Klaus’ desire for power is much greater than his love for his family.

It makes him wonder about their offer - if he’ll ever be able to trust his own blood.

-

(She counts the stars as she falls asleep -

Hayley slips in to her bed, surrounded by the hybrids, all scattered on her floor. Two stand guard outside her room, almost as if they’re protecting her.

She only notices that they are distracted when a certain someone enters the area.

“Klaus,” she realizes, as he stands by her doorway, looking all dimmed and quiet. “You’re back,” Hayley notices, stepping out of bed and making her way towards him.

He smiles for the first time today - suddenly forgetting all about the stressful journey he’s just had. He sees nothing but the girl standing before him. “That I am, love,” he muses. “Come with me,” Klaus offers her his hand.

She hesitates. “Where?” Hayley asks.

“To my chamber,” he shrugs. “You’ll be staying with me tonight.”

She wants to ask him where he’s been, what he’s been doing, if he’s ever going to leave her again - all these questions loom inside her mind. She’s never been with a man like him before, so full of secrets.

But, she sees the tired look in his eyes and decides that she can’t fight him anymore.

She’s exhausted too.

“Okay,” Hayley finally says, slipping her hand into his).

-

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 26

Masterpost

(For trigger warnings, please see the AO3 chapter end notes!)

She sleeps most of the time and when she doesn't, she eats raw amounts of increasingly bloody meat. Or maybe she can just tell better, keener sense of smell, the damp wood, smoking fire, the lifeless meat, the pines- She only gets up to pee, once a day at best, everything out of whack, draining somewhere , and it's not clear how long this can go, where she can keep getting the energy for this, how close she is to-

Bobbi monitors her closely. The baby starts kicking so hard Natasha gets stretch marks across her whole belly, not towards the edges but right over her belly button, and the next time the skin starts tearing, drops of blood squeezed out, delicious fresh blood, her own- This can't go on. She's afraid every waking hour that the baby will break through. It's visceral and inevitable, the final worsening of the symptoms of a fatal disease. Her body is not built for this. She's merely the instrument, the host, dispensable. The ruined carcass her monster baby will crawl out of into a world full of vampires, full of death, full of despair. And then it will either have horrible things done to it or do horrible things itself.

She hears them talk about her, too weak to respond. Maria is not one to mince words. "Why would you fuck a vampire, though? I mean, seriously."

"Yeah, no, I know. But I think she really… likes him."

"Well, that's stupid."

"I met him, though. And… I don't know, I don't fully trust him but- I don't think he's aware."

"He's a vampire . One of the monsters you hunt. Don't tell me he's not aware ."

"Biology, I guess. It's weird. But I think she'll see that sooner rather than later."

"Oh, let's hope so. It's sick."

"That's obvious. Let's just get her through it, and then we'll deal with that."

  She can barely think. She wakes and everything is white. Voices. Noises. Is she- She's still lying down, just not on the couch. It's awfully bright, electric. She'd say she's dead if she did still believe in heaven and hell and an afterlife that doesn't involve fangs.

"Why don't you just cut it out?"

The other voice is closer. "Might, actually. Do you have, for stitches- yeah, thanks."

"Seriously. It'll kill her."

"She wanted to keep it."

"You know it's a vampire spawn."

"I promised her."

"Who cares. Save her the pain."

This is far beyond. "What?" she tries to croak out.

"Natasha," Bobbi's voice says. "It has teeth."

  She can barely stay conscious. Her body has ossified, painfully, she can't even keep track of it. One long hard piece. She'll snap and break, be broken. Dry like leaves.

"The blood loss could seriously tip her over."

"Isn't that what you have the miracle cure for?"

"It might not be fast enough."

"Well, give it to her now then."

"Get the suitcase. Just in case."

Thumping steps.

"Natasha? Can you hear me?"

She tries but her bone cocoon cannot be moved. "Your blood pressure took a dive. I think there's damage to your kidney..."

  She can barely breathe. The words hardly reach her. Her cocoon is thick and heavy, completely enveloping her, slowly crushing her within. It's quiet and stifling, background thumping, her rattling breath louder than anything.

“...make it…”

“...moving…”

“...too much!”

“...sedate…”

“...not going to risk…”

“...that…”

“...happening…”

  The birth itself goes remarkably easily, as she is later told.

  She wakes an eternity later, and everything is still awfully bright.

The walls are white, the ceiling is white, her bed is white. There are white machines all around. She’s on a drip, as she’s been forever now, her arm riddled with fresh scars like one of a drug addict. Maria is leaning against a white cupboard, arms crossed, face closed off.

Natasha sits up easily. “What-”

“Cesarean section,” Maria replies. “Barbara gave you a lot of the crazy juice. It’s already healed.”

Natasha blinks, then pulls up the gown. There’s a scar from left to right, horizontally, on her abdomen, crossed with a smaller vertical scar at the center, ending below her belly button. Her belly is not where it was before she got pregnant but it’s already receded, and she panics like something’s missing, like she forgot something, a bag or- “Barbara said if you can get up, you should get up,” Maria adds. “She’s upstairs.”

They’re in the basement, the cellar. The cellar is a lab, that’s why everything is white. Sterile. “Did I bleed?” Natasha asks.

“Not until Barbara cut you open,” Maria replies simply. “It was in the middle of the day. We had it all patched up until sundown.”

She swings her legs off the bed, feeling so much lighter. Moving is easy to a degree she hardly remembers. The air doesn’t even feel cold. The stretch to her belly is gone, leaving some flabbiness and a lot of freedom of movement. “So it’s all good?”

“Well,” Maria remarks, removing the needle. “Almost.”

Natasha blinks. She’s forgetting something. “The-”

“It’s alive,” Maria says, handing her a glass of water. “Well, I’m not sure that’s the right word.”

She drinks slowly, so used to being careful with the swallowing because coughing is so exhausting. But she's still alive. Despite the- everything. Despite all of this shit. "Can I see it?"

"If you really want." Maria shakes her head.

She must think Natasha's crazy, with the vampire, the baby, the- sick. Did they say that? It feels so visceral. Like it makes her less than human, all this shit, the- She suddenly doesn't want it anymore, any part of it. She's tired, tired of everything, where she ended up. She wants them not to look at her with disgust anymore. She wants it to end.

She finishes the glass, head empty. Maria always studies her like she's crazy and dumb and cannot be trusted. Then Natasha gets up mechanically, the first time in forever she doesn't need help. She feels stronger and empty at the same time. Was it really worth it? Becoming this shell of a human just to survive? Give up her humanity to be strong enough to take on the monsters? What kind of a fool would think birthing a monster would bring her back any part of herself that's already long dead and buried?

Doesn't matter now. There's a door on one wall, of course also white. She opens it herself, gripping the handle. The next room is dark and only has the creaky wooden staircase. She holds her hands out to grip the grained wood. Maria follows her slowly, quietly. The staircase has a steep climb yet it doesn't exhaust her at all. She pushes the hatch open.

Upstairs is lit by candles, wooden shutters closed. Bobbi is standing by the cupboards, turning when the hatch opens, bundle of blankets in her arms. "Oh. You're up."

Natasha doesn't really know what to say to that, inching closer. There's a plate with strips of meat on the counter, strong smell. Bobbi rocks the bundle gently. "Everything alright? Your belly looked good already, half-healed."

"Yes," Natasha replies, coming to a stop. "It's healed."

Pale skin peaks out of the bundle. Bobbi nods, grabbing a strip of meat and feeding it to- A wave of sickness comes over Natasha.

God. Why did she do this?

The- the thing swallows the meat quickly, she can hear it chew and slurp. She suddenly doesn't want anything to do with this anymore. She wants to turn around and run away, go back to fighting monsters, not- not creating them, go back to being herself , whoever that is, fight and kill-

Bobbi wipes her fingers on the blanket and turns slightly so Natasha can see the blank face, the fat smeared around its mouth, the teeth, almost fangs, the empty dark eyes- Clint was right, James was right, they were all right, how could she ever believe to bring something good into the world when she's becoming every day more like the monsters infesting it, when she's so obviously beyond repair or redemption, a broken shell of a human that just pretends to feel, to believe, to dream - "Do you want to hold it?"

She's staring at the blank child-like face of the abomination like into a mirror, the unmistakable proof of what she has turned into. She has blurred all the lines, lost everything she claimed to hold dear, drenched her ledger in red. There's no way back. The world is holding a mirror to her face, a mirror of her own flesh and blood, and for once, she cannot look away.

Bobbi steps closer, pressing the blanketed abomination into her arms, checking that she has a solid hold on it. "There. It's a girl."

It's a monster, unmistakable from the upper canines, the pale marbled skin, the dark soulless eyes. It doesn't even feel warm through the blanket. She stares at it, swallowing, and the thing stares back blankly. It dawns on her this thing will never be a child, it will never want anything from her, no affection, no care, no nurturing, all it wants is to eat . How could she have been so wrong?

"It's quite heavy for an early birth," Bobbi remarks. "But that's not really surprising."

It's indeed heavy, plenty of dead weight. She has no doubt this thing would have kicked through her stomach if necessary. No concern for anything but its own survival. She swallows again, staring at the dark void behind those eyes. "Can I- give it back?"

"Sure." Bobbi has plucked it from her arms before she can reconsider. "You should still take it slow. The vampire blood seems to have worked well but we don't want to risk it."

The hatch is closed soundly. Maria doesn't seem particularly excited about any of this, shuffling over and dropping on the bench. The thing on Bobbi's arm opens its mouth, gaping hole, sharp teeth that seem a little too big for its mouth. Bobbi snorts softly, dropping another slice of meat down its throat. And just like that, Natasha's out of this whole thing. This is not her baby. This is not something she can take care of. She can't fix this. She's never going to have a relationship with this thing because this thing is never going to have a relationship with her. This is not her baby .

"It's very hungry," Bobbi remarks, feeding it more. "I wonder how it will grow."

It doesn't matter. It's not a baby. It's something to recoil from, the blatant sign of her failure as a human. Maybe, if she pushes it away far enough, that counts for something, that makes her more human again. Turn off this path. It'll be a dreary march but maybe she'll get somewhere, because there is no staying here. She sees that now.

She lays down on the couch, her couch, and falls asleep with her heart thumping.

  The thing eats, sleeps and stares into the void. It hasn't made a sound once. It breathes, though. Bobbi takes care of it good-naturedly because Natasha absolutely can't but it seems more professional than out of joy of having it. It's really not a joy. It is eerie, the dead baby, the soulless baby, the parasite. It may be out of her body but she's got the feeling it would suck the life out of her if it could. She can tell Maria hates it as well, though she never says it, but then again she never says much.

Bobbi says she has postpartum depression, without the usual fatigue, but she can't understand the crushing moral weight of having brought this into the world. For God's sake, she fucked a vampire . Even if it was James. It sickens her. What's so wrong with her that she couldn't see how wrong this all was? How could her moral compass break like this? Maybe it was Alexei, maybe that's what ruined her, maybe- she knows she's still not over it, even if she pretends to be, chopping the head off of the man she used to love, and now she loves a vampire whom she could never ever hurt- Fuck. She went wrong at so many intersections. Alexei, the careless way she acted in Saint Petersburg, coming here, giving up so much on herself that she's willing to inject vampire blood, growing so used to it it doesn't even disgust her anymore. No wonder she fucked a vampire. She's become everything she murdered Alexei for, and so much worse. Thinking about it drowns her in shame. She can't hide from the world anymore. She could barely hide what she'd done to Alexei and now, this thing , it'll never ever go away.

She follows Maria outside to chop wood because she can't stand being around the thing. Maria, of course, doesn't remark on it, calmly but forcefully driving the ax into the wood. Natasha looks for something to say to assure Maria she's not all gone, that she's still human, that she shouldn't get her head chopped off like Alexei. "I wish I had never had it."

Maria huffs, then splits the next block. She doesn't seem convinced. Natasha will have to do more than that if she ever wants to have some worth as a human again. "I don't want anything to do with vampires ever again. With those monsters."

"Good," Maria remarks briefly, letting her ax rain down.

Natasha looks for even more words, something of a frenzy. "I want them all dead. All of them."

Maria nods, angling the next block and handing her the ax. Natasha takes a deep breath and slams it down with all her might, blowing right through the wood and at least an inch into the chopping block. Maria whistles through her teeth, nodding with approval, placing the next piece of wood on the chopping block and collecting the stray parts of the previous one. "You got strength."

"It's the vampire blood," Natasha replies, taking another deep breath before driving the ax through the wood. It feels good. Finally doing something. "It makes me stronger."

Maria nods slowly. "Use it."

  She doesn't cry. This is not something to cry about. This is bare knuckles, quiet resolve, clarity. Not the agreeable kind but still one you cannot ignore. She sits around, staring at the thing, trying to find the faintest hint of humanity in it but coming up short. It's a monster and she never should have had it.

Maria went out into the forest to hunt. Bobbi is downstairs in the lab, testing how the skin of the monster reacts to UV light. The thing itself is lying on the couch table, all bundled up, breathing stupidly through the monster fangs. Natasha stares at it venomously.

She can't live with this thing. It goes against everything. Beyond good and evil, this thing is just - it shouldn't exist. There are limits even to what this wretched world can take and this is beyond them. All of this is on her, so she needs to be the one to fix it.

She takes a pillow. The thing stares at her with its empty eyes. It's not even scared. Maybe it knows. Monsters don't feel things, other than bloodlust. It has the fangs and a tiny resemblance of the claws as well but the dead eyes are the worst. There's nothing behind those eyes. She made this soulless abomination, her own flesh and blood, she brought this upon the world, she needs to deal with it.

She presses the pillow onto the thing's face.

It doesn't struggle, doesn't move, but it never does, only ever to open its mouth and demand more bloody meat. There's barely any resistance. She honestly hopes it fucking dies. There's no place in the world for this thing, they're all better off without it, it doesn't deserve to breathe air like a human when it's nothing more than a parasite and a monster. She presses the pillow down harder. The thing doesn't even react. She feels bile rising up her throat, the ugly truth making her gag, tears streaming down her face. She never wanted this. Any of this. She wanted something human , something real , something that makes her better, not this monster, this abomination, this disgrace. She never wanted the world to see how fucked up she is, fucked up enough to sleep with a vampire, to take vampire blood, to have the monster baby and believe it's going to be anything else than exactly that, a monster with fangs and claws and dead eyes and an insatiable hunger, it's dead already, dead to her, and maybe then she can wake up from this nightmare and go back to- to a world without vampires, an ugly and painful world but one with hope nonetheless, not this soulsucking dark pit, this endless tunnel, this sinful void-

Something rips her back, fingers digging into the pillow but futilely, and Bobbi pushes her back onto the couch and throws the pillow onto the ground, checking up on the thing- its face is red and it's breathing hard but it doesn't appear perturbed. "Shhh. It's okay."

Natasha feels even more tears stream down her face. Fuck. Did she really think, did she really convince herself that this would fix anything? That she could make any part of this undone? Bobbi takes the thing and sits down next to her. "It's okay. It's okay, Nat."

No, it's not. She just tried to murder her own- this is even lower, even darker. This is how bad, how inhuman she is, how low she has sunk. The thing stares at her without any anger, any curiosity, any accusation, just a blank slate. It's not evil. It's just… there. "No, it's not okay."

Bobbi strokes the top of its head. "It's fine, really. Nothing happened. You're both going to be okay."

She's not going to be okay, and this is not fine. If Bobbi hadn't showed up, she really would have- This is exactly how fucked up she is, how self-hating, how ready to do anything that promises the faintest reprieve. She would have smothered her own child with a pillow because- because what, it's not what she hoped for? As if that's on her child and not on her, she pushed this thing into this world, how can she blame it for anything, really, try to push her own flesh and blood away because she can't face what she's become, can't own up to it, can't accept it. This thing is her and wanting to hurt it for that, annihilate it for that, that's just pathetic and stupid and hypocritical.

"It's okay," Bobbi assures her. "It's going to be okay."

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Twenty-Nine

Clint knocked back the rest of his whiskey and took a deep breath. Today had been hard. Really hard. And he hated watching on the sidelines while you fought a bitter, bloody battle. 

You had fought hard. It was a valiant effort. But it was in vain. It just hadn’t been enough. And Clint knew you were heartbroken.

What he didn’t know was how it had gotten so... bad. How everything had gotten so far off track and into the woods. In his head, he could hear a conversation. One from long ago. One from the night he met you.

He and Natasha had been the first people to meet Tony. He’d been doing some consulting work or... something. Whatever it was that Tony had allowed SHIELD to pay him to do. 

Clint had met him following him around while he did Tony things, and of course, Nat had met him before that. It had been exhausting, and all Clint had wanted to do was eat and be unconscious for a little while. Tony was really good at making him feel like an idiot, and his impostor syndrome was in full swing. Because, how can Clint be worth his spot on the team if they want someone like Tony? A high school drop out with a GED and no real claim to fame other than some incredible marksmanship. 

At least. At least until Tony had declared that he was hungry and demanded some food be ordered. Clint had to give it to him, he was charming. Charming in a way that made you want to punch him in the teeth even as he made you laugh. But Clint was less than interested in talking. He was in full sulk mode. 

He didn’t want to be noticed. But that didn’t stop you from noticing. Newly instated as an official agent. Clint had heard of you but never seen you. Natasha was in charge of training you, and she had good things to say. You were green but had some up-and-coming talent, powers, and augmentation aside. 

Still. As you picked your way up to his perch, like a little nimble mountain goat, he couldn’t help but smile a little. 

“So,” you muse, handing him a plate, “How much chaos can I cause with a nerf gun?”

Clint cocked his head and gave you a look, “Chaos, huh?”

“It’s been a while since Fury’s been reminded he can’t control everything,” you say, smirking.

“And how exactly are you gonna remind him of that with a toy?” he asks around a mouthful of pizza.

“Wanna fuck around and find out?” you counter, pulling one out of your cargo pocket.

And Clint knew he should say no. And council caution but your smile had made his brain stop working and, as he watched you take aim at the side of Tony’s neck, Clint couldn’t say no. It was satisfying. So very gratifying that Stark was about to be under siege with nothing he could do about it. And as it devolved into nerf darts and makeshift barricades, not even Clint’s impostor syndrome could keep him from participating. He’d had your back, enjoying teaching you the finer points of sniping people from shadowy corners. 

He wished, studying the amber liquid in his glass, that you’d bothered to learn those lessons a little better. That you had learned to lie and sneak. To press your advantage and destroy someone. Because in the end, it had been your honesty. Your heart. That had been the undoing of all your careful plans. The same heart Bucky had exploited once, had betrayed you again. And Clint couldn’t even be angry at you. He knew that anything he could say was only a fraction of all the hateful things you were saying to yourself. And somehow, that had hurt more than he could say. 

_________

You lay on the mat where you fell. The day's exertion and your exhaustion keeping you down as you play your day in court back in your head. You’d had a strong case. Good lawyers. An Ace in the hole. Everything you needed. 

But you’d underestimated the fear of you. And the religious fervor that persisted in that county. So much so that even an endorsement of your character by Captain Fucking America hadn’t been enough. 

Not once, Bucky had given his statement. He’d said that Cap didn’t know what you got up to in your off time. Promiscuity. With him. Premarital sex. An abortion. It had been everything he needed. And, God bless the boys. Too young and indoctrinated to understand that someone could lie about you. The misogyny of the church too ingrained. When it had come time for them to speak, to be your ace in the hole and say that they had contacted you. That they were afraid of Stirling and had been seeking safety. They’d called you a Sorceress. Told that they feared you instead. And you knew. You knew they’d never come to you now. They could forgive a lot of things in service of getting out from under Stirling’s thumb. But not that. Not when they’d been told all their lives that a woman’s purpose was to have children and raise them.  They hadn’t looked at you again after. You were a murderer. Beyond redemption. They may not be able to judge you, but they were pretty sure they knew how god would, and. As such. They wouldn’t even attempt to come near you now. 

You wished you could have lied. Hidden everything. Even from Clint and just stayed away. If you had stayed away like you wanted, none of this would have happened. You never would have seen your family again. Never would have been abandoned again. You’d wanted this so much. To save your boys. But nothing was going to make it happen now. They didn’t want you. 

When the training room door bangs open, you pull yourself into a sitting position slowly. But you don’t turn. You know those footsteps, and you know it’s Bucky. 

He stands next to you, and you don’t move. Or turn to look at him. 

“Y/N,” he said, his voice approaching something like tenderness, “I did it for you.”

When you don’t answer, he presses on, “You wouldn’t be happy out in the country playing housewife for Barton and cleaning up after those kids.”

He offers you a hand, wanting to pull you to your feet.

You look up at him slowly, and he smiles a little, “C’Mon. I’ve got a place we can go to. No one will find us. Not till the dust settles.”

“Fuck you,” you bite out, shoving his hand out of your face. 

Bucky pulled back, calculating. You were supposed to be broken. Properly broken. Willing to come with him. Shaken out of all your little pastel daydreams.

“You don’t mean that doll,” he rumbled, trying again, “Come on. I can make it feel better.”

You get to your feet and try to get away from him. Not trusting yourself to keep your anger in check. Not trusting yourself not to kill him if he didn’t back off. And metal fingers close insistently around your wrist to stop you. 

And you don’t think. All you do is react. Eyes glowing silver and nothing but a red, raging, awful haze takes place where reason and compassion usually sit in your mind. 

And when you rear back to hit him, Bucky plans to deflect it. He thinks he can dodge it. But when he puts his hand up to block it, the force of the impact shattered every bone in his arm and left Bucky reeling back from the pain, and he knew that if someone were to touch his arm, it would feel like a tube of toothpaste with marbles in it. And he also knew that the healing process was going to be excruciating. 

“Touch me again,” you growl, teeth bared.

“Y/N,” he said, a sense of danger rising in the pit of his stomach. 

“Fuck around and find out Bucky,” you tempt, “You wanna see how easily I can rip someone apart? You wanna see what else those fuckers did to me? Touch me again. I promise. I’ll slow it down so you can watch.”

Energy crackles as your fingers curl into fists at your sides, and Bucky knows. He knows that he has to tread very lightly, or you're going to tear him to pieces. He knows that currently, no one in the tower can stop you. And not for the first time, he’s thankful for his metal arm. At least that one you can’t liquify. 

So as he rocks back on his heels reluctantly taking his fighting stance and you start forward, he knows he only has once chance. He has to stay out of your way because if you get a hold of him, not a force on Earth can pull you off of him. Even the one on Asgard has to struggle to do it.

_________

Across town, the hair on the back of Clint’s neck stands up. He knows that you asked for space. For a little time to wallow and sort out your feelings. But maybe, just maybe, he figures he ought to get on home and make sure you weren’t doing anything you couldn’t undo. Because he had a sense. And awful sense that that was probably exactly what you were doing. 

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[hysterialevi]

Red Dead Rising | Chapter 1

Fanfic summary: 12 YEARS BEFORE RDR2 - Greed, money, and larceny. These are the only things Arthur has ever known; the only things he’s ever been taught. But when Dutch decides to hit a town called Harlow, what started out as nothing more than a plan to rob the local bank ends up igniting the events that lead to RDR2, and a 24 year-old Arthur is forced to confront his morality while the gang faces a terrifying enemy of their own making.

Point of view: third-person

This story is also on AO3 and Wattpad

Next chapter

Author’s note: Well! It’s been a couple months since I last sat down and wrote anything, but it feels good to be writing fanfic again. Please let me know what you think of this first chapter, and I hope you enjoy :) I missed doing this.

SOMEWHERE IN OREGON

APRIL, 1887

“GET BACK HERE, SHAW!” Farley roared over the thunder as he chased the deputy through the pouring rain. “We ain’t done until one of us drops dead!”

The other man frantically hurdled his way over a series of boulders and continued to climb the small mountain, his feet clumsily slipping on the wet rock as he desperately tried to escape his pursuer.

“I-It’s already done, Farley!” The deputy yelled back. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do that’ll change what’s happened!”

“Maybe not!” Ronan conceded. “But that don’t matter. Not anymore. All that matters now is killing you. So get back here and finish what you started, you goddamn snake!”

Storming his way up the steep hill, the ex-sheriff hoisted himself onto a ledge and let out a strained grunt, his fingers practically digging into the solid stone as cold rain streamed down his bloodied face.

Ronan was already drained of all energy just from hunting this man down, and the more he scaled this godforsaken mountain, the more he found himself wanting to give up and simply collapse.

But regardless of how exhausted he grew, or how much his body threatened to break underneath him, Farley absolutely refused to drop. He had already been through so much, and lost everything he ever cared for. His closest friend was dead, his wife was nowhere to be found, and now, the only life he ever knew was crumbling around him all because of one man.

It may have been futile, but nothing was going to stop Ronan from doing what he intended.

Nothing was going to stop him from killing Benjamin Shaw.

Whipping out his pistol, Farley quickly shot the deputy’s abdomen just as he began hugging a corner, causing the man to leave a trail of blood in his wake as he continued to flee.

“…Dammit!” Ronan muttered once he realized he missed. But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

Forcing himself up the ledge, the sheriff carried on with his pursuit and chased after Shaw as he limped towards the mountain’s peak, groaning in agony with every step he took.

By now, the monstrous clouds above them had parted slightly so that they were blanketing the entire region, allowing nothing more than a sliver of sunlight to bleed through as the rest of the land was shrouded in a miserable darkness.

From up here, it was impossible to see any sign of civilization hiding in the vast wilderness beneath them. For just a moment, Ronan felt as if he and Benjamin were the last remaining men on Earth.

There was nothing out here except the two of them. Nothing except two, insignificant killers fighting to the death… all for something that had already been destroyed beyond repair.

It was meaningless, and the world would carry on without them even when they were dead, but killing Benjamin was one of the only two things Ronan gave a damn about anymore -- and by God was he going to do it.

Finally reaching the top of the mountain, Ronan found Deputy Shaw sitting against a lone tree just by the cliff’s edge as he clutched his waist, groaning and cursing to himself while blood continued to stain the grass below.

It seemed unlikely that Benjamin would survive his injuries, but when the conniving man finally noticed Farley’s presence, he did nothing except let out a weak chuckle, his voice slowly faltering in pain.

Shaw smiled at the former sheriff from a distance and laughed, revealing the red-stained teeth he had uttered so many lies through.

“…A-Alright, Farley…” Benjamin panted out, casually raising his hands in defeat. “…You… you got me. Well done, I guess.”

Slowly prowling towards the injured deputy, Ronan kept his gun aimed directly at Shaw’s head and glowered at him with a wounded gaze, trying to conceal the broken man hiding inside.

“Shaw.” The sheriff replied in what was almost a whisper.

He had about a thousand thoughts rushing through his head right now, but none of them reached his mouth. He knew neither what he wanted to say, nor what was worth saying.

And so, Benjamin spoke in his place.

“I-I suppose… you want an explanation…?” The deputy asked. “Is that it?”

Ronan clenched his jaw at the response. “You could say that.”

The sheriff continued, barely speaking in an audible tone. “I treated you fair, Ben. Always did. So why’d you do it? What do you gain from all of this?”

Shaw hung his head low, not even bothering trying to talk his way out of this one.

“Awww… it weren’t nothing personal, Farley. Just business. We have our jobs, after all, and I was just doin’ mine. Trust me. It’s what’s best for my people.”

Ronan picked up on the last statement.

“Your people…?” The sheriff questioned. “And what about Andrew? That poor boy had barely grown into a man before you murdered him. You think this is what’s best for him?”

Benjamin appeared unfazed by that. “Better him than my folks.”

Angered at the reply, Ronan suddenly lurched forward and forcefully grabbed Shaw’s collar, hauling the man’s face closer to his.

“You sick son-of-a-bitch…” Farley nearly growled. “I’d kill you right now if it wasn’t for my wife.” He violently shook Benjamin in his grip. “Where is she, you bastard? What have you done with Annabelle?!”

Shaw choked on the blood gathering in his mouth and let out a series of coughs, eventually spitting the red liquid on the ground.

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout her…” he mumbled out. “She’s in safe hands.”

Ronan yanked him closer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Benjamin looked the sheriff in the eye, repeating his answer. “I said, don’t worry about her, Farley. She’s with my people now. She’s safe.”

Farley remained unconvinced. “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

The deputy smirked, but in an oddly sincere fashion. “I done told… a lotta lies recently, but that… I promise you. My friends… they’ll take good care of her. It’s what they do. What they’ve always done.”

The sheriff sighed in frustration. “But where is she? Who are ‘your people?”

Benjamin shook his head and gave Ronan an apologetic gaze, keeping his lips tight.

“Oh… now, you know I can’t tell you that, old friend. S’much as I’d like to. It’s… it’s confidential. I’m sure you understand.”

Farley persisted. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

Shaw only grinned at that and patted the sheriff’s fist in a friendly manner as he slipped away, hacking up even more blood.

“…Well, you will. Someday. You’re a smart fella, after all. I mean… you found me, didn’t you?”

Ronan’s tone softened and he gazed at the ground, his expression plastered with regret.

“…So I did. After it was too late.”

Benjamin nodded in understanding, his brow furrowing due to the pain. “Yeah…that’s usually how it goes.”

Realizing that there was nothing he could say or do that would convince Shaw to help him, Ronan finally released the man from his grip and steadily rose from the ground, his coat wildly flapping in the adamant breeze as he reluctantly prepared his pistol.

As much as he hated to admit it, it did pain the sheriff to kill Benjamin. Despite everything he had done in these past couple of weeks, Ronan still hadn’t forgotten the deputy he once called friend, and it certainly didn’t help to lose another familiar face right after saying goodbye to young Andrew.

Farley may’ve despised Shaw with all his heart and hated him for his crimes, but he also didn’t want to destroy the one remaining piece of his past left. There was a warped sense of camaraderie between them, and in a twisted way, it almost made Ronan want to spare him.

…But he knew he couldn’t.

Reloading the gun with one last bullet, Ronan pulled the hammer down and stared helplessly at his old partner, wondering how in the hell he got here.

It wasn’t too long ago that Farley was a respected sheriff in his town, but now… he was no more than an outcast. Just another lost man who had given in to vengeance and betrothed himself to a lifetime of pointless redemption, only to discover that no one gave a damn anyways.

Ronan Farley was already dead, as far as civilization was concerned. He was nothing but a tarnished face whose only legacy would be hushed whispers and cautionary tales.

He had become the very man he once hanged for a living, and the world had forsaken him because of it.

He was alone.

Taking a deep breath, Ronan inched his finger over the trigger and aimed the pistol directly at Benjamin’s head, trying to hide how much his hand was truly trembling.

The only thing that Farley could hear aside from his own heartbeat was the low cracking of the distant thunder and the wretched howling of the wind, both of which filled his head like a wailing phantom.

He was finally ready to carry out what he had come here for, and to live with whatever consequences arrived. He was ready to put all remorse aside.

“Goodbye, Ben,” Ronan said flatly as the day came to an end. “I wish I could say I was sorry.”

Shaw smiled loosely at that and closed his eyes, resting his head against the tree.

“…You really shouldn’t be.” The deputy let out one final, jagged breath. “I just wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

Ronan shook his head and gazed vehemently at the man, softening his tone as the sky began to lighten around them.

“Don’t we all.”

~~~~~~~~~~

EARLIER THAT YEAR

FEBRUARY

HARLAN LAKE, DAWN

Filling the silence of the dying night, a few birds started to sing joyously into the emptiness just as the sun began peeking above the jagged horizon, its vibrant light painting the nearby mountains with a striking salmon color that stood out prominently from the deep, purple atmosphere.

It was rather peaceful at this time of day. Aside from the birds, there wasn’t much activity among the local wildlife at the moment, and the humans inhabiting the area had yet to rouse from their slumber either.

All of their tents were still shut, and the only noises coming from their camp were the distant sounds of content snoring accompanied by the soft crackling of a flickering campfire.

Meanwhile, their horses slept unperturbed under the numerous trees surrounding the vast lake as their leaves rustled in the crisp morning breeze, softly swaying in a way that almost made it look like the forest was breathing.

As for the unseen fish in the lake, a few of them had just started periodically poking their heads above the rippling surface, eager to feed on the insects buzzing around in the air.

But for the moment, everything was calm. Not single thing disturbed the overall peace in the region, and the only person to be ambling about was a distinctive man who was currently making himself comfortable on a stump.

He paid no mind to the nature slowly waking up around him nor to his fellow gang members who still lingered in their dreams, and instead, focused entirely on the peculiar item in his hand.

It was a letter.

And not only that, but a letter from someone he didn’t expect to hear from again. The two of them parted ways a while ago, after all, and he didn’t anticipate the other to contact him so soon.

They seemed quite determined in their plan to meander down a different path in life the last time he saw them, so it was both a pleasant and worrying surprise to see that they were trying to reach out.

Whether it was to ask for help or to officially say goodbye, he didn’t know. He just hoped that everything was alright. There was little to no safety in their line of work, and if anything had happened to his dear friend, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

The man supposed there was no point in delaying the inevitable and hastily unfolded the piece of paper, curious to see the message waiting on the inside:

“Hello, old friend,” the letter began. “It’s Hosea. I know it’s been nearly an entire year since I last contacted you -- and I regret that -- but I’m afraid I’ve hit a wall, Dutch.”

“My life with Bessie -- it’s been going well. We’ve settled down for a bit and tried to squeeze ourselves back into civilization... but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the times I spent with you. And with Arthur.”

“I love Bessie with all my heart, of course. There’s no denying that. In fact, she’s the reason I decided to put the gang behind. I wanted to start a new life with her -- a life away from crime. But after all this time of being separated from you degenerates, I’ve learned that there’s no use in hiding the man I truly am.”

“I was never meant to be a man of civilization. You know that. Being bound by the law feels like wearing a leash around my neck, and frankly, this old boy’s grown tired of it. Needless to say, Bessie ain’t too happy about my choices, but I’ve got something good for you, Dutch. Something you might be interested in. And I’m willing to bet it could help the gang too.”

“Come meet me in New Aubertin at the end of this week. It’s a city to the northwest, accessible by any train station. I’ll send a contact in my stead to greet you just in case the law gets wind of our ideas. Look for a man by the name of Thomas Moreau. I’ve instructed him to wait for you by the pond. He’ll lead you to me. Oh, and one more thing: bring Arthur with you. The boy doesn’t need to be there necessarily, but I miss him dearly. It would be good to see you both again.”

The man flipped the letter to the other side, reading its final sentence.

“...Stay safe, Dutch. We’ve got big plans ahead of us.”

[of-forossa]

🔥 -sticks leggy out-

@derjaegermond // to you as a moth to open flame, without a drop of embarrassment or shame // accepting.    

She had found him in his moment of greatest weakness, bloodied hands clutched together in desperate prayer over the butchered corpse of the monster that had once been his comrade close-as-kin. His faith fractured in the face of a bleak revelation, his will crumbling with the slaying of a brother-in-arms and the promise of two more to follow, there had been no easier prey than he for a serpent such as herself to seduce with promises of Truth long sought out and unspoken Redemption he chose to see in them for a church damned by the very blood it revered.

With a devil he had dealt that night, sold his soul once sanctified through blood and death for the Church to the service of a heretic who honored no gods or masters but herself, and taken to a crusade all their lonesome against the madness that had taken root in this cursed city long before either of their times.  

How serpent like she was, truly. Coiled and drawn taut for the perfect moment, the venom on her sharp tongue and sharper fangs deadly as she strikes for the throat of the looming monstrosity that had ruled iron-fisted without opposition from even the greatest hunters, she is beautiful in the way a snake was by nature intended to be mistaken, unseen, underestimated even for all the strength in its winding form. Her hands are a healer's but he sees the poison in her acidic eyes that can so easily slay as save, can perceive the shape of scales beneath pallid skin that whispers to the animal intuition clawing from within his own boiling blood, can all but taste on the tongue the virulent plague shared between them threatening to swallow them both should they stray too far from the oh-so narrow path between ignorance and insight leading to curse’s end...  

Oh, beautiful and terrible to behold indeed.

“Is that an actual question?” Here Brom sits, weariness building up within a breast splattered with drying blood only half his own. She is out of sight but far, far from out of mind as he feels the claw-tipped digits through her gloves poke and prod at the silver bullets embedded in the flesh of his scarred, misshapen back. With nary a wince at even the most insistent probing of open wounds, he snags the nearby bottle of absinthe and swallows a quarter of it with a baring of fangs once welcomed as proof of perseverance, the glass cracking slightly in protest between clenched jaws. Ruined eyes not unlike dying embers steal a glance at her from over his shoulder, burning low with something akin to resignation, exhaustion, and perhaps some small measure of truly morbid curiosity. “You’re intelligent. Compassionate in a way I only dreamed my fellows within the Church could’ve been. Willing to reveal the truth of things the Choir,” the name is spat with a vehemence only hatred provides, “would dare not touch or even consider if only to save themselves from judgement. All for Yharnam. All for strangers who hate you for not being just as damned as they are…”

Another swig of the bottle scorches a path down his greedy gullet as the first of several bullets drops into her tray with a dull clink, and Brom shakes his head with a morose chuckle. “I hope you survive all of this with your heart intact, Helena.”

She was terrible, yes, if only for how the worth of her has opened his eyes to the failings of himself and those with like good intentions. Such is truth, one he would use to redeem or destroy the Church they now warred against.

“For all that makes you beautiful,” he admits without shame, “everything pales in comparison to a heart that lives to save.”

[rookisaknight]

No Cult AUs, but like, still sad about it

The thing is I'm deeply uninterested in "no cult" AUs where the Seeds are just like, completely functional members of society because so much of what we see of their personality is linked directly back to their own trauma. Obviously, your pain doesn't necessarily define who you grow up to be, but just because they're not inherently evil doesn't mean they wouldn't have rough edges. Starting a murder cult in Montana isn't the problem, it's a symptom of the problem. (That's a fun sentence)

I want a Jacob who did some fucked up things during military service, and who didn't get the help he needed. Who still spent time in the shelter before John and Joseph found him. Things are a bit better in Montana. At the very least he finds some solace in the woods, away from people and overwhelming stimulus.

But he still refuses therapy. Refuses to sit down with anyone he thinks is trying to poke around in his head. He's unwilling (some might say afraid) to give up all the ugliness inside of him. Miller, juvie, his father, all of them shaped him into the man he is. He doesn't know who he is apart from all that, and he refuses to find out.

He's as mean and tough as the timber wolves he trains. More than a few establishments have barred him for violent incidents, sometimes when he's having an episode and others that are just a part of his personality. There's very few who understand that there even is a softer side. That there's only a handful of people on this rock that he cares about, but he'd move heaven and Earth for them without batting an eye, no questions asked.

Jacob also struggles a lot with his own understanding of his masculinity. Juvie and the military were both toxic environments for a boy to come into manhood. He's not a monster, but it's hard for him to push that out of his head. To not snidely remark that maybe John should try skirts if he's gonna spend so blessed long on his clothes. To stop himself from pushing Rachel out "while the men talk" or snort that maybe Deputy Pratt is "batting for the other team" if you catch his drift. And it sucks, and it's gross, but it's there. 

It's also the only part of himself that he allows to change. Grace Armstrong is one of the few Hope County veterans he actually talks to and feels any sense of connection to. They get drinks on occasion, swap the few war stories they actually have any fondness for and shoot the shit. And one night, she quietly informs him one night that while he’s probably the closest thing she has to a best friend if he calls Adelaide Drubman a whore or insinuates that Jess needs taming, she will not hesitate to stick her boot so far up his ass he won’t shit right for weeks. She’s giving him a crash course on “feminism for gross white mountain men” and helping him come to terms with parts of his own sexuality that he’d been afraid to look in the eyes before. He’s not there yet, but he’s learning.

There are untold sleepless nights. Many of those spent curled up under his blankets, blocking his ears against imaginary gunfire and closing his eyes tight against what he fears he’s going to see. Jacob Seed wakes up every morning, looks in the mirror, and doesn’t recognize or like a single bit of what stares back at him. But he hopes he’ll find peace in the mountains. He’s taken up wood-carving. Maybe using a knife for a less bloody purpose would help...

Joseph takes regular medication for schizophrenia. Alarms are set on his phone (An old flip model, Faith has yet to convert him to a touchscreen), and he rarely misses a day. The meds aren’t perfect: the drowsiness can make his temper shorter than it should be, and the weight gain and constipation can make diet maintenance a struggle. But he’s a disciplined man. He manages. And keeps the voices at bay to the best of his ability.

Medication and regular therapy (when he could afford it) have killed off the more manic sides of his religion, but it hasn’t taken away his faith.  Their miserable youth drove Jacob farther from God. It drew Joseph closer. Perhaps an instinctive desire to understand whatever it was that drove their father into such fits over perceived wickedness. And yet, the God he encounters is not one that belonged to his father. It seems to be one that belongs entirely to Joseph. Not exactly a comfortable Hallmark brand, but something that compels him to disciplined behavior. Fills him with peace, and a desire to share that peace with others.

He talks theology with Jerome on fishing trips. They don’t agree on a lot regarding God. But there’s a kinship there. If they’re two blind men trying to feel out the shape of an elephant and coming to different conclusions on what they hold, at least they agree there is something to feel. 

He remains something of a manipulator. Father Seed is an open and accepting presence, one with the ability to reach into the very heart of your pain, expose it, and then apply a quick and ready balm. When he takes the lectern he is a gifted thinker, an eloquent speaker, and a charismatic communicator. Perhaps its an aspect of himself. But when he goes home Sunday night, takes off the suit and steps into jeans, he becomes reserved once more. Those who have seen the transformation find it almost spooky. The eyes go from a warm embrace to a cold calculation. The Father doesn’t get crossed often, but those who scheme against his congregation or offend his family finds themselves quickly exposed by him, their insecurities laid bare and attacked. It's unnerving how he can easily pick up on the tells of a weak self-image, of a troubled family or a problem with drinking. The Sherriff sometimes jokes he’d make a good detective. Or a con man.

Joseph Seed has a knack for sowing discomfort. Something about him is a little too...open. Like he unlocked a part of his soul most keep to their private selves and laid it out on the surface. But his perceptiveness gives him great strength as a counselor, and for every person who swears he's a devil, there's someone who knows he helped them out of their deepest and darkest places.

John had to work hard to unlearn the lessons from his abusers. He could afford the finest therapists in the world but until Joseph found him he refused to go. At some point, before reaching adulthood he picked up on the general notion that parents shouldn't hurt their kids the way all of his had. But it was so hard to tell himself that he didn't....deserve it.

Was it wrong to say there were moments where he was almost proud of it? The world was full of sinners, but thanks to his parents he had the courage to face it. To take his punishment and atone. The self-mutilation, the whippings and fasting and hours in prayer until his voice was hoarse and his knees bled.....maybe others viewed them as grotesque but to him, they were redemption. He didn't ask why it had to happen to him. He could only think that maybe the world would be a better place if everyone did it.

It created a split in his sense of self-worth. On the one hand, he viewed himself as a maggot straining for approval from on high, unworthy of even the crumbs of forgiveness yet anxious to gobble them up. That self-loathing tormented him, drove him to drown his agonies in substance abuse and turn to the pain of a knife or a needle to make him feel punished enough. And yet, on the other hand, he saw himself as superior to everyone else. At least he knew his place in the hierarchy of creation. Better a worm that knows he's a worm than a worm that thinks he's a lion.

John's a mess of coping mechanisms. In college, there was the bottle, self-harm, and a lover or two or three. Always putting himself in the most degrading position possible, because at least then he felt like he could deserve affection. And after graduation...there was a tight control. Every hour was stuffed for maximum productivity because free minute meant time where the dark thoughts could creep and catch him unawares. he wouldn't let himself go to bed until he was ready to drop from exhaustion.

Joseph, Jacob, and even Faith learn to spot the signs of when things are getting bad for him. When the dark circles under his eyes are growing more and more prominent but his clothes are immaculate. When Joseph finds him stashing razor blades (he hasn’t hurt himself since moving to Montana, but having them within reach becomes important to him). When Faith finds him screaming at someone because they brought him the wrong blueprints for the youth center. It's tricky, because openly acknowledging The Thing will only make John try harder to cover it up. But they find subtle ways of defusement. Jacob lays off giving him a hard time, for once. Joseph finds ways of lessening the work on his table and manages to carefully sneak in commendation during their weekly meetings. Faith insists on cooking for him and visiting regularly under the pretense of discussing her college plans. It's not a perfect system, but its the best they know to pull him out of it

Rachel Jessop still takes the name Faith Seed. Not for any heraldry purposes. But because she wants to feel....a part of something. The converting process asks you to put off your old self. Rachel Jessop, the druggie, the abused, the disappointment, the unloved, was such a bundle of hurt and anguish and self-destruction that the only way she felt she could put it behind her was to recreate herself. The last name was easy. The Father had given her a family, and she would wear that fact proudly. 

Faith was because it was what was required of her every day. The faith that tomorrow she would be able to stay off the needle. That she wouldn’t harm herself tomorrow. That the only tears she would shed would be tears of joy. Joseph said faith was perhaps not the right word for it. After all, all these things took effort on her part. But for her, they also required trust in a higher power, to guide her and keep her on the Path. 

Though she cast off Rachel’s name, so many of the worst parts of her followed into the new identity. The codependency and abandonment issues, so strong sometimes that she can’t go home that night, to the small, but empty cabin that she’s made her own. Joseph and John both have a guest bedroom set aside for her, and she takes advantage of this frequently.

Her desperate need to please the people around her is often imperceptible. She seems so bright and happy and full of life that many take her as the finest example that Eden’s Gate saves lives. But there is so much pain behind the smile. An offhanded comment about her hair from one of the teens in her bible study sets her off in an obsessive spiral for a couple of days after. At church events, she stays longest, cleans everything up. Her phone is constantly buzzing with messages from all the lonely hearts of Hope County. She neglects her mental health in favor of helping others.

If she can just....if she can prove to Joseph that she was worth saving...She hated feeling like a pity case. Like in her core she was still that same wretched sinner that showed up stoned to her first sermon. Who stole her best friends credit card and went on a shopping spree. Who baited her sickly mother with empty promises of daughterly love in order to get money for rent, or more often, meth. She’d been hurt by so many people in her life that she had felt like she was justified in hurting everyone else in a directionless act of revenge. And now that she’s older, she’s worried she’s ruined herself for honestly helping others. Every act she does is not enough to assuage her guilt, that sometimes fills her up so much it makes her nauseous.

She’s working with Joseph on this. They meet once a week to discuss her spiritual progress. At his recommendation, she also visits a counselor fairly regularly, which seems to help. And in all honesty, this might be what makes her connect so well with the teenaged population of Hope County. She knows what its like to feel like an unlovable outcast, to worry that you are disappointing everyone. Faith, in her own way, is dazzling. Most just wish that she knew that too. 

[insane-control-room]

It was the Age of Wisdom

Comfort is not something that comes with knowledge.

Part three of A Tale of Two Liars

Or; what Johan did after telling @halfusek‘s Magenta

Part two

With a brief appearance @pipesflowforeverandever‘s Gingie

Johan collapsed again, crying until his eyes and nose were sore and scratched, but he forced himself up, ones and zeros swirling his limp limbs, holding him up like a puppet. He was so very exhausted, extremely and painfully distraught, and horribly, emptily, drained. His body trembled as he stumbled forward, summoning a wall of numbers to lean on, taking slow steps to the door marked with flickering yellow letters, yellow letters fading with each painful stride. He was just going to go back to his “office”, back to his numerical dopamine, back to his nightmares and lies.

He was so weak.

He swiped a hand over eyes, rubbing tears off his lashes, shivering and lips trembling.

He was so tired.

He could not even hold himself anymore, the numbers encroaching his body tightening their hold, vices on his wrists and ankles, reminding him what he belonged to, to what he was slave to, the fact his volition did not exist, held up like a grotesque broken marionette.

Another failure glaring him in the face.

He failed him, he failed his dearest Maggie. He should have… been more subtle? Been more firm? Been more gentle? Not panicked? What could he have done differently to receive any other result? The only way he could have avoided this rift would have been to continue to ignore the calamity behind Magenta’s closed doors. In that case, he would have lost him even more, he would have watched as he disintegrated and pushed too hard for a futile cause. He would watch himself be pushed away, pushed aside, left alone again. Now he could at least say he tried, but what good are his attempts? What use did this have? Would it make Magenta even more paranoid and suspicious of the other Joeys? Would he leave them to-

Information about him being sent overhead.

He groaned as the words spilled into his mind.

Gingie was there.

A question posed on him.

He blinked.

Yes, he knew what was happening, what, was he an idiot? Was he blind? Of course he knew.

Gingie was such a wonderful man, but he too wore a mask around the other Joeys. He too made the same mistakes, he too caused his own ruin, he too made hell on earth - but within, inside, he was good and pure and funny and sweet and gentle and kind.

Just like Magenta was not who he seemed, neither among the others of himself nor within his own dimension, hiding himself from both worlds. Johan saw it. He tried to reach out to him, the real parts of him, and got another mask, a new mask, one made, handcrafted, just for him.

It was so much worse than the old one.

An iron maiden of lies and defense.

Built so intricately around him, so as to constrict him in place, not allowing him to even breathe, lest he skewer his lungs, or better yet, lack thereof. Holding him in a chain of fear and sadness and anguish. Fear that he would ruin things even more. Sadness that he had ruined what had been. And the anguish, the utter, the complete, the full, the absolute ANGUISH of losing him. Of losing Mag. Of ruining what he had had. He was just a mess of ruin. Henry had once told him he ruined everything that he touched, that everything he did was just causing despair.

He tried so hard to fix what he had done.

He tried so hard to fix what others had done.

He tried so hard to hold onto what he had.

Nothing.

He was left with nothing.

Errors caused him to backtrack and go over and repeat and do again, and completely rewrite everything he had done left him with nothing.

Others kept making his mistakes, in spite of the desperate hints he left and frantic clues of their own demises, and they would ignore the needed and repeat the foul misdeeds of his own, each in their slightly skewed variants of collapse.

He had nothing.

He never had anything to begin with.

And he was so tired.

So tired of trying.

It was not worth it.

He could not even keep him.

He could not even help him.

Now, he had even less than before, nothing squared.

Absolute zero.

He let himself give a hollow chuckle.

Like the temperature, he was so cold.

So utterly freezing.

Henry had told him that he was a boiling hot head, that he was a flaming and raging fire.

He clearly cooled off when Henry left.

Or maybe he was always cold.

Maybe he was at the point of being boiling and freezing at the same time. Maybe h-

Why? Why now? Could he not just brood in peace?

No, he did not want to participate in some cockney bloody bastardly game of murder! He had killed enough people in reality, he had destroyed his own world enough, he did not need to kill anymore! No more! Enough!

The wall holding him up vanished, and he pitched forwards and tumbled and rolled in the void.

He curled up, whimpering pathetically.

Man up.

Wimp. Useless. Worthless. A zero. Glitch.

Stop. Think of redemption, think of happy endings. Think that one day, you might get one.

He might.

He just had to keep moving, keep working, keep trying.

Pushing himself far beyond his limits.

He could collapse and die of exhaustion when it was done and over.

The thought of fading away with the knowledge that everything would be good… it eased the aching in his chest.

He looked at the door to his office, it seeming so far away, and he dropped his physical form, traveling slowly along the coded lines.

He thought of Gingie again - his own choice this time - and felt a need well up in him as he slipped back into physicality and trudging into his office. A deep seated need he had for so many years, for so long, occasionally rising to clog his throat and eyes and heart.

A need for some paternal comfort.

‘No’, he squashed it, inhaling sharply into a throat with no release. Gingie was busy. Gingie did not have time to deal with him. Gingie was too important to have to work around him, but he was kind and benevolent and fatherly and god he missed soothing words or a kind gesture….

Johan was standing at the interdimensional door of his mockery of an office, unsure when he had gotten there.

His hand was already on the knob, the slotlike destination picker glowing yellow with the name.

His heart ached sharply, the pain stinging it’s way to his eyes, tears surging to assault his vision.

Without thinking at all, he ran through, crashing into the man (who had been conversing with his dear friend Snowy) and collapsing onto him, shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

It took a moment for the older man to register what had happened, and he gently smiled sympathetically, though the lanky one could not see that, his head pressed onto Gingie’s shoulder. Gingie pat his back.

“What happened, m’dear?” he asked soothingly. Johan struggled to speak, gasping and crying. “There there, breathe. There we are. What happened?”

“M-Maggie…” was all he managed to say, and once he started he could not stop, crying the man’s name over and over, just, “Magenta, Maggie, mi amor, Maggie, mi rey, Mag, Magenta….”

“Oh dear, did something happen between you two?” he inquired gently, Johan nodding against him as his sobs broke into hiccups. “It will be alright. It’s not like you can never see him again!”

A laugh ripped out of Johan, a hollow, spiteful, hysterical laugh, startling Gingie.

The wail that followed struck deep into any heart willing to listen to a broken one.

[yesbiffwritesthings]

“don’t get your hopes up too high”: An Exhaustively Curated 2018 Playlist

So, since time immemorial I have been putting together year-end playlists and for a long time they were pretty sloppy affairs overall.  Last year, I decided to make up some kind of formula for putting these playlists together.  Basically what it comes down to is, from every new album I listen to, released in the given year, I pick one song.  No repeating artists because that gets to be too much (although featured acts aren’t subject to this rule).  When deciding what releases are going to get my attention, aside from my own personal tastes (skews toward alt. rock and punk a lot of the time) and releases from longtime favorites (this year we saw releases from Metric, and Animal Collective, as well as a long-awaited A Perfect Circle album, and even a Spotify single from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs), I try to get give more of my time to queer artists (and this year there were TONS of queer acts releasing great music--Adult Mom, Laura Jane Grace & the Devouring Mothers, Janelle Monae, Snail Mail, SOPHIE, etc. etc. etc. hallelujah).  I also try to make an effort broaden my musical worldview by making time for artists that operate within genres I don’t always naturally gravitate towards.  This was a great year to get back into hip-hop (Rico Nasty, Cardi B, Tierra Whack, Black Panther OST) after not really vibing with some of the directions it has taken in the past ten or so years.  I have also tried to include a track by every band I saw in 2018, providing they actually released something in 2018 and it is available on Spotify (strong apologies to Partner, Bully, Shellshagg, Kimya Dawson, Rozwell Kid, Los Campesinos, the incomparable Liz Phair, and the legendary Fleetwood Mac--y’all didn’t release anything this year).  I give myself until the end of January of the following year to finalize my expansive, year-end playlist, and here we are.  This years playlist is over 15 hours long--almost long enough to put on while you’re doing all that laundry you've been putting off.  I hope you enjoy.

Full list of songs:

The 1975 - “Love it if We Made it”, from A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships

Ab-Soul - “Bloody Waters” [ft. Anderson .Paak], from _Black Panther _OST Adult Mom - “Drive Me Home”, from Soft Spots Amanda Palmer - “Mr. Weinstein Will See You Now” [ft. Jasmine Power], from “Mr. Weinstein Will See You Now” single Amen Dunes - “Miki Dora”, from Freedom American Pleasure Club - “New Years Eve”, from A Whole Fucking Lifetime of This Animal Collective - “Jake & Me”, from Tangerine Reef Anna Burch - “Quit the Curse”, from Quit the Curse Anna Calvi - “Don’t Beat the Girl Out of My Boy”, from Hunter Antarctigo Vespucci - “Not Yours”, from Love in the Time of E-Mail Arctic Monkeys - “Four Out of Five”, from Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino Ariana Grande - “No Tears Left to Cry”, from Sweetener Ava Luna - “Centerline”, from Moon 2

The Bascinets - “Jangle Bee”, from 378 Vol. 1 EP Bat Fangs - “Bad Astrology”, from Bad Astrology Beach House - “Last Ride”, from 7 Bear Hands - “Back Seat Driver”, from “Back Seat Driver” single Bettye LaVette - “What Was it You Wanted” [ft. Trombone Shorty], [Bob Dylan cover], from Things Have Changed Big Freedia - “Karaoke” [ft. Lizzo], from 3rd Ward Bounce Billie Eilish - “When the Party’s Over”, from “When the Party’s Over” single Black Belt Eagle Scout - “Soft Stud”, from Mother of My Children Bleachers - “Alfie’s Song (Not So Typical Love Song)”, from Love, Simon OST Blood Orange - “Charcoal Baby”, from Negro Swan Bob Dylan - “He’s Funny That Way” [Gene Austin cover], from Universal Love: Wedding Songs Reimagined Booji Boys - “Locked (Barely Open)”, from Unknown Pleathers EP Boygenius - “Bite the Hand”, from Boygenius EP Brandi Carlile - “Every Time I Hear That Song”, from By the Way, I Forgive You The Breeders - “Walking With a Killer”, from All Nerve  Bristletongue - “Thistle Among Roses”, from Femme Florale EP Brockhampton - “Thug Life”, from Iridescence

Camp Cope - “The Opener”, from How to Socialise & Make Friends Cardi B - “Ring” [ft. Kehlani], from Invasion of Privacy Caroline Rose - “Bikini”, from Loner Caroline Says - “Cool Jerk”, from No Fool Like an Old Fool The Carters - ��Apeshit”, from Everything is Love Cat Power - “Wanderer”, from Wanderer Celine Dion - “Ashes”, from Deadpool 2 OST Chai - “Fried”, from Pink Chance the Rapper - “My Own Thing” [ft. Big Purp], from “My Own Thing” single Childish Gambino - “This is America”, from “This is America” single Christine & the Queens - “Girlfriend” [ft. Dâm-Funk], from Chris Chvrches - “Get Out”, from Love is Dead Closer - “This Year”, from All This Will Be Cloud Nothings - “So Right, So Clean”, from Last Building Burning Company of Thieves - “Window”, from Better Together EP Comrade Question - “Never Change”, from Four Seasons Con Connections - “Low, Low, Low”, from Foreign Affairs Control Top - “Type A”, from “Type A” single Courtney Barnett - “Charity”, from Tell Me How You Really Feel Cupcakke - “Total”, from Ephorize

Damn the Witch Siren - “I Don’t Want to Say I’m Sorry”, from Red Magic Daphne & Celeste - “You & I Alone”, from Daphne & Celeste Save the World Dashboard Confessional - “We Fight”, from Crooked Shadows David Byrne - “Everybody’s Coming to My House”, from American Utopia Death Cab For Cutie - “Gold Rush”, from Thank You For Today The Decemberists - “I’ll Be Your Girl”, from I’ll Be Your Girl” A Delicate Motor - “Do For Self”, from Fellover My Own didi - “Haru”, from Like Memory Foam Dilly Dally - “Bad Biology”, from Heaven Dirty Projectors - “I Found it in U”, from Lamp Lit Prose Django Django - “Beam Me Up, from Marble Skies Downtown Boys - “Fotos y Recuerdos” [Selena cover], from “Fotos y Recuerdos” single Drake - “In My Feelings”, from Scorpion Dream Wife - “Spend the Night”, from Dream Wife DRAM - “WWYD?”, from That’s a Girl’s Name EP Drinks - “Pink Or Die”, from Hippo Lite

El Perro Del Mar - “We Are History”, from We Are History EP EMA - “Dark Shadows”, from Outtakes From Exile EP Empath - “The Eye”, from Liberating Guilt & Fear EP Empress Of - “Love For Me”, from Us Ezra Furman - "Suck the Blood From My Wound", from Transangelic Exodus

Father John Misty - "Disappointing Diamonds Are the Rarest of Them All", from God's Favorite Customer Fatoumata Diawara - "Nterini", from Fenfo (Something to Say) Fields & Planes - "Alice", from Press First Aid Kit - "It's a Shame", from Ruins Fischerspooner - "Discreet", from Sir  Flasher - "Business Unusual", from Constant Image Florence & the Machine - "Hunger", from High As Hope Frank Ocean - "Moon River" [Audrey Hepburn cover], from "Moon River" single Franz Ferdinand - "The Academy Award", from Always Ascending The Frights - "Over It", from Hypochondriac Fucked Up - "Tell Me What You See", from Dose Your Dreams

Gabby's World - "Winter, Withdraw", from Beast On Beast Gerard Way - "Baby You're a Haunted House", from "Baby You're a Haunted House" single Gia Margaret - "Smoke", from There's Always Glimmer Girlpool - "Picturesong", from "Picturesong" single The Go! Team - "The Answer's No--Now What's the Question?", from Semicircle Goodbye Honolulu - "Lorry Can't Love", from More Honey Goat Girl - "The Man With No Heart Or Brain", from Goat Girl Greta Van Fleet - "When the Curtain Falls", from Anthem of the Peaceful Army Gymshorts - "Ding Dong Ditch", from Knock Knock

H.E.R. - "Lord is Coming", from I Used to Know Her: Part Two EP harunemuri **- "sekaiwotorikaeshiteokure", from harutosyura Hatchie - "Sure", from Sugar & Spice EP Hinds - "To the Morning Light", from I Don't Run The HIRS Collective - "Not For You" [Moor Mother remix], from Friends, Lovers, Favorites Hop Along - "Not Abel", from Bark Your Head Off, Dog Hovvdy - "Late", from Cranberry Hozier - "Nina Cried Power" [ft. Mavis Staples], from Nina Cried Power EP

Iceage - "Take it All", from Beyondless  Idles - "Smaritans", from Joy As an Act of Rebellion Illuminati Hotties - "The Rules", from Kiss Yr Frenemies Interpol - "If You Really Love Nothing", from Marauder The Interrupters - "Gave You Everything", from Fight the Good Fight Iron & Wine - "Milkweed", from Weed Garden EP

Jack White - "Over & Over & Over", from Boarding House Reach Janelle Monae - "Pynk" [ft. Grimes], from Dirty Computer Japanese Breakfast - "Dreams" [The Cranberries cover], from Spotify Singles Jay Rock - "Redemption" [ft. SZA], from Redemption Jeff Rosenstock - "Let Them Win", from POST- Jenn Champion - "O.M.G. (I'm All Over It)", from Single Rider Jenny Hval - "Spells", from The Long Sleep EP Jorja Smith - "I Am", from Black Panther OST Joyce Manor - "Fighting Kangaroo", from Million Dollars to Kill Me Juice WRLD - "Lucid Dreams", from Goodbye & Good Riddance Julia Holter - "Turn the Light On", from Aviary Juliana Hatfield - "A Little More Love" [Olivia Newton-John cover], from Juliana Hatfield Sings Olivia Newton-John  Jupiter & Okwess - "Ekombe", from Kin Sonic

Kacey Musgraves - "Space Cowboy", from Golden Hour Karen O - "YO! MY SAINT" [ft. Michael Kiwanuka], from "YO! MY SAINT" single Kendrick Lamar - "All the Stars" [ft SZA], from Black Panther OST Kero Kero Bonito - "Time Today", from Time 'n' Place Kesha - "I Need a Woman to Love" [Janis Joplin cover], from Universal Love: Wedding Songs Reimagined  Khalid - "Love Lies" [ft. Normani], from Love, Simon OST King Princess - "Pussy is God", from "Pussy is God" single Kimbra - "Right Direction", from Primal Heart Kississippi **- "Adrift", from Sunset Blush Krimewatch - "The Big Picture", from Krimewatch Kurt Vile - "Check Baby", from Bottle it In

Lala Lala - "I Get Cut", from The Lamb Laura Jane Grace & the Devouring Mothers - "Reality Bites", from Bought to Rot Laura Stevenson - "Maker of Things", from "The Mystic & the Master" single Lauren Ruth Ward - "Well, Hell", from Well, Hell Leikeli47 - "Top Down", from Acrylic Leon Bridges - "Bet Ain't Worth the Hand", from Good Thing  Loma - "Relay Runner", from Loma Long Neck - "Elizabeth", from Will This Do? Lord Huron - "Wait By the River", from Vide Noir Low - "Rome (Always in the Dark)", from Double Negative  Lowpines - "Parasite", from In Silver Halides Lucius - "Woman", from Nudes Lucy Dacus - "Timefighter", from Historian Lykke Li - “Jaguars in the Air”, from So Sad, So Sexy

The Men - "Come to Me", from Drift Meshell Ndegeocello - "Smooth Operator" [Sade cover], from Ventriloquism Metric - "Dressed to Suppress", from Art of Doubt MGMT - "One Thing Left to Try", from Little Dark Age Middle Kids - "Edge of Town", from Lost Friends Mister Moon - "Plastic", from Codes EP Mitski - "Nobody", from Be the Cowboy Mountain Man - "AGT", from Magic Ship Mourn - "Candle Man", from Sorpresa Familia Muncie Girls - "Jeremy", from Fixed Ideals Mungbean - "Wednesday", from "Wednesday/Aimed at You" single

Natalie Prass - "The Fire", from The Future & The Past Neko Case - "Gumball Blue", from Hell-On Night Flowers - "Head On", from Wild Notion Noble Vices - "Wheelhouses", from "Wheelhouses" single Noname - “With You", from Room 25 Nothing - "Us/We/Are", from Dance On the Blacktop Now, Now - "Window", from Saved

Ohmme - "Icon", from Parts The Ophelias - "Lover's Creep", from Almost Ought - "Disgraced in America", from Room Inside the World Ovlov - "Stick", from TRU

Palm - "Swimmer", from Rock Island Parquet Courts - "Normalisation", from Wide Awake! Peach Kelli Pop - "Parasomnia", from Gentle Leader Peggy Gou - "It Makes You Forget (Itgehane)" [edit], from "It Makes You Forget (Itgehane)" single A Perfect Circle - "So Long & Thanks For All the Fish", from Eat the Elephant Petal - "Stardust", from Magic Gone Phoebe Bridgers - "Friday I'm in Love" [The Cure cover], from Spotify Singles Pinky Pinky - "Robber", from Hot Tears  Poppy - "Play Destroy" [ft. Grimes], from Am I a Girl? Preoccupations - "Espionage", from New Material Princess Chelsea - "I Love My Boyfriend", from The Loneliest Girl Protomartyr - "Wheel of Fortune" [ft. Kelley Deal], from Consolation EP

Q-Tip and Demi Lovato - "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" [Elton John cover], from Revamp

Radattack - "Rock & Roll Party Queen", from "Rock & Roll Party Queen" single Rainbow Kitten Surprise - "Hide", from How to: Friend, Love, Freefall Remember Sports - "Making it Right", from Slow Buzz Rico Nasty - "Oreo", from Nasty Robert Delong - "Favorite Color is Blue" [ft. K-Flay], from See You in the Future EP Robyn - "Missing U", from Honey Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever - "Exclusive Grave", from Hope Downs Ron Gallo - "Really Nice Guys", from Really Nice Guys EP Rosalia - "Di Mi Nombre", from El Mal Querer Saintseneca -  ” Good Hand", from Pillar of Na Say Lou Lou - "All Love to Me", from Immortelle Screaming Females - "Deeply", from All at Once Shame - "Concrete", from Songs of Praise Shannon & the Clams - "The Boy", from Onion Shannon Shaw - "Golden Frames", from Shannon in Nashville Shilpa Ray - "Shoot This Dying Horse", from Nihilism The Sidekicks - "Twin's Twist", from Happiness Hours SiR - "Summer in November", from November Skating Polly - "Free Will at Ease", from The Make it All Show Sleep - "Marijuanaut's Theme", from The Sciences Slothrust - "For Robin", from The Pact Smashing Pumpkins - "Silver Sometimes (Ghosts)", from Shiny & Oh So Bright, Vol. 1: No Past, No Future, No Sun Snail Mail - "Pristine", from Lush Snarls - "Lonely", from Snarls EP SOB X RBE - "Paramedic!", from Black Panther OST Soccer Mommy - "Cool", from Clean SOPHIE - "Immaterial", from Oil of Every Pearl's Un-Insides Souther - "Enough", from Blume EP Spiritualized - "On the Sunshine", from And Nothing Hurt SSION - "1980-99" [ft. Patty Schemel and Sky Ferreira], from O St. Vincent - "Los Ageless" [piano version], from Mass Education Stef Chura - "Degrees", from "Degrees/Sour Honey" single Sunflower Bean - "Burn It", from Twentytwo in Blue Superchunk - "Erasure" [ft. Stephin Merritt and Waxahatchee], from What a Time to Be Alive  Superorganism - "Night Time", from Superorganism Swearin' - "Big Change", from Fall Into the Sun

Tanya Tagaq - "Run to the Hills" [ft. Damian Abraham] [Iron Maiden cover], from "Run to the Hills" single Tanlines - "Row, Row, Row Your Boat", from Presents EP Teenage Wrist - "Dweeb", from Chrome Neon Jesus They Might Be Giants - "Let's Get This Over With", from I Like Fun Third Eye Blind - "In the Fade" [Queens of the Stone Age cover], from Thanks For Everything EP Thumpers - "Tenor", from Life All In EP Tierra Whack - "Fuck Off", from Whack World Titus Andronicus - "Above the Bodega (Local Business)", from A Productive Cough Tom Misch - "Isn't She Lovely" [Stevie Wonder cover], from Geography Tomberlin - "You Are Here", from At Weddings Toto - "Hash Pipe" [Weezer cover], from "Hash Pipe" single Tracyanne & Danny - "It Can't Be Love Unless it Hurts", from Tracyanne & Danny  TT - "Take One", from LoveLaws tune-yards - "Colonizer", from i can feel you creep into my private life Turtlenecked - "Knocked Down By Another Ghost", from High Scores of the Heart TV Girl - "King of Echo Park", from Death of a Party Girl Twin Shadow - "Saturdays" [ft. Haim], from Caer

U.S. Girls - "Rage of Plastics", from In a Poem Unlimited Ultra Beauty - "Pegasuss", from Ultra Beauty EP Unknown Mortal Orchestra - "Hunnybee", from Sex & Food

Vacation - "Action Road", from Mouth Sounds #2699 The Vaccines - "Surfing in the Sky", from Combat Sports Valerie June - "Mad About the Girl", from Universal Love: Wedding Songs Reimagined

Waxahatchee - "Takes So Much", from Great Thunder EP Weaves - "Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)", from "Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)" single The Weeknd - "Wasted Times", from My Dear Melancholy EP Weezer - "Africa" [Toto cover], from "Africa" single Westerman  - "Albatross", from Ark EP Wished Bone - "Ohio", from Cellar Belly The Wombats - "Dip You in Honey", from Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life  Wussy - "Cake", from What Heaven is Like Wye Oak - "I Know It's Real", from The Louder I Call the Faster it Runs

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - "Thirteen" [Big Star cover], from Spotify Singles Young Fathers - "Fee Fi", from Cocoa Sugar Young Guv - "Ain't Fallin' in Luv Again", from 2 Sad 2 Funk Yowler - "WTFK", from Black Dog in My Path Yungblud - "I Love You, Will You Marry Me", from 21st Century Liability

https://open.spotify.com/user/barfwalker/playlist/7mCLnG6CZG1yB4q8uhzcys?si=Ip-Lka-0TOWCWRLMXGZ26w

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part II

Redemption in You

Trigger warnings: canon language/drug use. PTSD/angst/self-harm.

Game spoilers

Please enjoy!

 MacCready had just returned from long patrol and in spite of being exhausted, he had insisted on being included in Wraith’s meeting with Hancock and Preston. Touting himself as the foremost expert on the Gunners, he had argued that his input would be “invaluable”. And yet, the young man was sprawled, fast asleep, the full length of Wraith’s office couch, covered by a furry Dogmeat blanket, contributing nothing but the occasional loud snore.

“I don’t think we can wait much longer!” Wraith was in a fury over the latest settlement attack. “They gain in numbers almost daily and I feel like I’m helping them. Every raider boss the Minutemen cut down just adds to the Gunners’ recruitment options.” She had stood up from her desk and was pacing and gesticulating as if she was conducting an orchestra, “If we don’t do something soon they will have every ex-raider in the Commonwealth, rank and file against us!”

“General, we simply don’t have the people.”

Preston’s repeated protest wore thin on Wraith’s nerves. Mostly because she knew that he was right. “They are growing much faster than we are.” She leaned forward across her desk and focused her laser gaze on the ghoul, “Hancock, if we were to attempt a direct assault, how many Neighborhood Watch could we count on from you?”

“Can’t believe I’d be the one to preach caution but, Preston is right.” Cocking his head to the side he returned her stare unflinchingly, “You know I hate to tell ya ‘no�� but, there is no way I’m gonna send my people to the grinder. That’s what it’d end up being sister, a huge, fucking bloody mess. The risk ain’t worth the reward, you feel me? Fahrenheit has been on my ass about learnin’ some patience…” He trailed off, shaking his head.  

“Then I’ll go myself! I have some power armor…” Loud, howling protests from Preston, Hancock and Dogmeat cut her off and she plopped heavily into her chair.

“Now wait a minute, we’ve been through this one-woman-army bullshit! MacCready! Wake the fuck up and back us up here!”

“Mmmmugh… You can’t go and kill yourself. Don’t be stupid.” MacCready had turned his head and was attempting to glare at her past Dogmeat’s panting muzzle, “What’s the point of havin’ a inner circle if you won’t listen to us?”

Wraith stood back up, waved her hands toward the ceiling and turned her back to them in a flurry of impotent anger. Spinning back around, mouth open for rebuttal, she was cut off by a knock on the door.

“Excusez-moi, madam.” Curie opened the door and stuck her head in, “Ze sun is setting and Monsieur Danse did not return with the rest of the work crew.”

“Danse was assigned to the morning shift. Are you sure he didn’t return earlier and he isn’t just in his room?”

“Non madame, a crew member just informed me that he’s been out all day.”

“Shit.” Wraith quickly skirted her desk, shooting what she hoped was an authoritative look at the three men as she headed to the door, “This discussion is tabled, not over.”

“You want me along sister?” Hancock had started to follow her out.

“No, you stay and babysit.”

MacCready flipped her off, “Ha! Up yours!”

 Wraith had Curie run back to her clinic to grab a field med pack as she speed walked to one of Sanctuary’s warehouses. As she reached for the lantern she was after, Deacon’s face flashed in her mind.

No! No time for you. Go away! You weren’t my friend; just using me to defeat your enemies for you. Not my friend!

Waiting outside, Curie handed Wraith a ballistic weave Minutemen trench. She had, once again, been about to run off to possible danger while wearing nothing but a flannel and jeans. Smiling her thanks and shrugging into the coat, she reached out for the med pack. When it wasn’t immediately surrendered she waved her hand up and down with impatience.

“I should go with you madame.” Curie’s notoriously cheerful tone had been replaced with something bordering on scolding, “I should go to make sure you are both…”

“No, Baby Bird; this is a solo mission.” Taking the pack she turned back and forced a cheerful smile as she walked away, “We’ll be just fine.”

This should have been handled a while ago you fucking coward. You told yourself that you were giving him time apart to think, to come to terms with his new reality, when really you were just too scared to face him.

Jogging across the small bridge and up the hill toward the vault, she was once again confronted by a mental image of an unmistakably sad Deacon.

Why did he make that face? Because, you dummy, he’s a liar and a very good actor! He was never your friend and there was never any chance of being more… Stop obsessing; you have Danse to worry about right now.

Cresting the hill, she could hear the unmistakable sound of an ax chopping wood. As she navigated the broken ground and brush the sound continued almost unceasingly. There was a rhythm to the “thunk” sound and it wore on her already frayed nerves.

Danse was a visually impressive individual: tall, traditionally handsome with an impeccable physique. When she finally spotted him, her first thoughts were in line with admiring his form while swinging the ax. He looked pretty damn fine. However, as she moved closer she could see flecks of blood all over his white t-shirt and it was dripping freely down his arms. Swinging an ax all day had ripped the palms of his hands open and yet he continued as if oblivious to the injury.

His mental state decidedly questionable, Wraith decided to pop Buffout, just in case the situation became physical. “Danse? Hey, stop for a sec.” He continued on as if she wasn’t there. “DANSE, STOP!” Nothing. It wasn’t that he was ignoring her, more like he couldn’t hear her. She stepped behind him and deftly disarmed him, sweeping the ax behind her back.

The response was savage: whipping around while snarling, he raised his bloody hands and flexed his fingers like claws. His face a twisted mask of rage, he bore a striking resemblance to a yao guai.

Despite the threat, Wraith took a step toward him while yelling up at his face, “What the fuck are you doing?! Look at your hands! Danse?!”

“M7-97.” In an instant all emotions fled from his face and his eyes became dispassionate and empty.

“What?”

“M7-97. ‘Danse’ does not exist.” His shoulders sagged somewhat and he wouldn’t look into her eyes. “I was instructed to process this fallen tree for lumber. I am completing my assigned task.”

Taking a deep breath, Wraith tried again, “Danse, look at your hands. Don’t they hurt?”

“It is inconsequential data. A damage prevention signal…”

“THAT’S WHAT PAIN IS, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” In her anger, Wraith threw the ax, rather artfully, into a nearby tree. The Buffout, combined with her own considerable strength, resulted in the tool being completely embedded in the trunk.

Well… shit. Stupid. Violent and stupid.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she counted to 10 and tried again, “You are an organic being, not a Mr. Gutsy. You need to eat and drink and rest. Danse, you’re bleeding and sweating, how many robots that you know of do those things?” Hoping to elicit some sort of emotion, even if it was anger, Wraith was intentionally crass, “I know for a fact that you take dumps! How many protectrons are there who shit?”

“DANSE DOES NOT EXIST!” His face was florid in his anger. He took a menacing step toward her but then suddenly swayed on his feet and would have fallen had Wraith not caught him.

Gently lowering him to a stump, she steadied him with one hand while removing a canteen from her pack. “Tilt your head back.” For a moment she thought that she would have to somehow fight the water into him but thankfully he complied. As he drank involuntary tears filled his eyes. “That’s it, nice and slow.”

When the canteen was empty, Wraith kicked a split log next to Danse’s stump and plopped down. “I’m going to field dress your hands now. When I’m done I want you to drink some more water and eat something.”

His eyes were empty again and he didn’t fight or acknowledge her as she worked. Cleaning and wrapping his large hands she was overcome by self-deprecation as her mind ground her down. She couldn’t stop thinking about how sad Deacon had looked, or that when she returned from Goodneighbor, Curie had barely spoken to her and seemed to be slightly scared of her.

Did Deacon talk to her before he left? Did something happen? Did he… would he have hurt himself? No. That doesn’t make sense. And now… poor Danse... I scare and ruin and I’m so LOUD and mean!

Despite her best efforts she started to cry. “I’m so sorry Danse! This is all my fault. I should have been there for you but instead I avoided you like a fucking coward!”

“No.”

Her eyes were on his in a flash. He looked away but she could tell he had returned. “Yes Danse, I completely destroyed your life. I literally burned it to the ground!” She was sobbing now, her face in her hands, “I killed all your friends!”

“My friends?! You mean all those people who immediately turned their backs on me? Who wanted me dead?! Who… who thought that I was… was a spy? Who thought that I knew?! And that everything I had ever done for them was a lie to further some Institute agenda?!” Danse had stood up but wobbled on his last few words and he sat down rather heavily.

“Not all of them. Haylen didn’t.  She pleaded with me to spare you.”

“She… she did?” Surprised, he leaned toward her.

“Yes, which is one of the reasons I didn’t kill her.” Wraith stood up to pace, “I scared the shit out of her, I’m sure, but I didn’t kill her. When Hancock and I boarded the Prydwen, I grabbed her and told her she needed to round-up all of the squires and as many of the fucking cats she could find and get off the ship. I told her to pack them into a vertibird and go back to the Capital Wasteland. God knows I have enough on my conscience…” She trailed off once she realized Danse was crying. Not an involuntary watering of the eyes but a real emotive response.

“Thank God!” He had brought his wrapped hands to his face and was openly sobbing into them.

Wraith didn’t know what to do. She wanted to hug him but felt she didn’t have the right. Sitting back down, she reached out and rather awkwardly patted his shoulder. To her surprise, he grabbed her and pulled her into a crushing embrace.

“I don’t know who or what I am! What am I supposed to do now?!” He cried into her shoulder as Wraith patted his back. After a few moments he released her, Wraith passed him another canteen and the two sat sniffling as he drank. “Ugh. I’ve been so rude to your ghoul.”

Wraith cocked an eyebrow, “You’re going to have to be more specific, Danse. My friends are quite lovely people and a lot like potato crisps; you can’t have just one.”

“I’m sorry. I’m still being rude… the mayor… Hancock.”

“Well… just lose a couple of hands of Poker to him and I’m sure all will be forgiven.” Although she was joking Wraith figured an honestly repentant Danse would get considerable traction with the ghoul.

“Oh, of course, he gambles.”

Wraith rolled her eyes at his tone, “With our group we normally bet chores rather than caps; Mac hates doing dishes.”

“Why… why did you join the Brotherhood? You declined in Cambridge. What made you change your mind?” He had been looking at the canteen in his hands but now moved his eyes to Wraith, “Did the Railroad send you… did you just…”

“That’s actually pretty complicated.” Wraith frowned at her feet while trying to decide how much to tell him. How much would he even believe? “I did it to save you.”

When Danse’s face clouded over with doubt and confusion, Wraith’s explanation tumbled out of her in a hurried rush of words, “In Sanctuary there is a woman. She knows things… things that she should have no way of knowing. She told me that there was a ‘soul lost in steel’ and only I could ‘lead them home’.” Wraith returned her eyes to his, “At first I thought that she meant Maxson. That’s why I tried so hard with him. It took me a while to see that there was no saving him.”

“He is dead then? Arthur?” His tone was resigned.

“Yes.” Wraith didn’t flinch or look away, “He was dead before the charges went.”

“You…” He swallowed, “It was you then?” There was pain in his tawny eyes.

“No. I had intended to but lost control. Hancock killed Maxson.” There was no regret in her voice. As far as she was concerned he was a fanatical monster and completely irredeemable.

Monster. How many would say the same about me?

They sat quietly, lost in their heads, as Danse finished off the second canteen. It was fully dark now and for a time they listened to the eerie sounds of a Commonwealth spring night.

Wraith stood up and lit the lantern and began rummaging through the med pack, “There should be jerky and sweet leather in here…”

“Sweet leather?”

“Yeah, it’s mashed up mutfruit, corn and carrots, boiled down, dried and then cut into strips. It’s really tasty. In fact, we have to keep an eye on MacCready while we’re making it cause batches have a way of ‘disappearing’. Here we go!” Wraith handed him the sweet leather first and watched in amusement as Danse made an involuntary “BOS-new-thing-scary” face.

After the first hesitant bite he smiled, “It’s softer than I thought.”

Wraith returned to her log and passed him some jerky, “Danse, I think we can help each other a great deal, if you feel that you can trust me.”

“I trust you.” He said it softly and gave her a sad smile.

“I would like to move you to the clinic.”

“What! Why?!” He noted her more formal tone and was immediately on guard.

“I thought you said you trusted me.” She gave him a smile that she hoped was gentle, “There are plenty of available rooms and Curie is almost always there. She isn’t a psychologist as far as I know but she is a capable doctor. She is also kind and sweet and soothing to be around. She’s like a balm.”

Danse had stopped eating so Wraith pantomimed the action to remind him: taking an imaginary bite and nodding when he mirrored her. It was a very motherly thing to do and it touched him. Chewing and smiling he had an odd thought about how much Wraith reminded him of Haylen.

“I’ll be close too; my office and house are right next door. As to who you are and what you’re supposed to do… well… I have some ideas but that can wait. Moving forward from this will be hard. You are going to fall. You’re going to have days when even getting out of bed will seem the greatest of challenges. Curie and I will be there for you but you’re going to have to steady yourself as well. Taking responsibility for your past and facing the consequences of your actions will require massive fortitude but I believe you’re up to the task.”

Wraith offered him a huge encouraging smile, “Starting tomorrow you’ll be with me. I have a huge walk-in freezer project that I’d like to get done before summer. There will be lots of physical work for you. I also would like to get at least a small unit set up for Curie before her next semester starts.”

“Semester?”

“I have Curie training field medics for the Minutemen. She also insists on my core group being trained. That includes you FYI.” Wraith began tallying items up on her hands as she spoke, “The lumber project, the mill, Mac wants more sand bags behind the practice targets before his spring semester starts, he’s been bugging me about watchtowers too. Oh, and I want a better road cut out…” She made a vague circle gesture with her hand, “here.”

“MacCready’s semester?”

“Yes. I have Mac teaching sniper school and basic gun skills to… well pretty much everyone.” Wraith sighed: 101 projects and only one her.

“MacCready teaches… people?”

Danse’s incredulity made Wraith chuckle, “Believe it or not, that kid has a vast amount of skill and knowledge. Folks get used to his… brusqueness. Oh, please don’t tell him I called him ‘kid’ again; for some reason it really pisses him off.”

“You can’t be that much older than him.” He hurried on when her eyebrows popped up, “I mean besides the two hundred years spent frozen.”

“Danse, I was thirty-eight when I became a meat popsicle.”

Shocked, Danse looked at her as if for the first time. He had never seen her with long hair as she had worn it buzzed but there didn’t seem to be any trace of grey. Her light green eyes, although frequently sad and tired weren’t framed by crow’s feet either, “Well, you are remarkably well preserved.”

She snorted in amusement, “Flash freezing is the way to go.”

Waving his bandaged, mitten hands, he looked mortified, “No! No, that isn’t what I meant!”

Standing and stretching, she gave a regretful glance to the ax before repacking the med kit. “I know what you meant and that’s kind of you. You ready to go home?” She held her hands out to him and to his surprise he needed her help to stand up.

 The next couple of weeks were filled with highs and lows for Danse. In one moment he looked to the future with hope and in the next he dwelt on his past with despair. Curie was God-send: her gentle positivity a perfect counterbalance to Wraith’s sometimes harsh, “accountability=reality” take on life.

Then after having several good days in a row, an emergency broadcast from Radio Freedom threw a wrench into his recovery. There had been an accident at the Castle and Preston was critically injured.

“He just got back for fuck’s sake!” Wraith was in a flurry of motion and within 20 minutes, she, MacCready, Curie and Dogmeat were jogging out of Sanctuary. “Danse, you’ll be okay.” She had stopped to give him a reassuring hug, “Sofie has all the task lists and Hancock will be back in a week or so to pick up a load of freezer parts. Sturges has everything labeled and set aside in warehouse B.” She took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, “We will be back as soon… Soon.”

MacCready’s helpful advice was less conciliatory, “Try not to burn the place down, tin can.”

 Then they were gone.

Sofie, a tiny ghoulette, was the village head whenever Wraith was away. Standing next to Danse she barely reached past his waist. “Don’t worry honey; they’ll be back before you know it.”

He tried to keep busy. He focused on the big watch tower (Wraith had already named it “Big Mac’s Nest” and although MacCready had scoffed at the name, his huge smile told on him). Mostly, Danse hated going back to the clinic at night. All alone in the large house, his mind would start cranking out little nightmares to torture him. After 3 days of trying to work himself to unthinking exhaustion, he reverted back to robot mode. Speaking only when asked a direct question, if at all, he went about his duties with as much life and enthusiasm as a plastic toy.

Sofie had been warned to make sure that he ate and she took it seriously. She would sit with him after bringing him food but neither spoke and she wasn’t even sure that he knew she was there.

When Hancock and his provisioner Bossy arrived in Sanctuary the ghoul made a bee-line for Wraith’s office. After speaking briefly with Sofie he headed over to the watchtower looking for Danse.

“He’s not here.” The foreman seemed irritated, “He hit himself with a hammer and was just staring at it. He was freaking me out, so I told him to go and take a break. Check down by the river.”

“I just fucking walked across the goddamn Commonwealth…” The ghoul continued to mumble irritably as he made his way back through town. When Hancock spotted him, Danse was standing under the big bridge and staring at a tire as it bobbed through the water. “Hey crew-cut, I have a present for ya.”

Danse turned from the river, his eyes dispassionate, “Hancock.”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be me. Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, that’s fascinating. Here, check this out.” Hancock maintained a rather forced smile as he handed the large man a book on medieval armor and weapons. Although the cover was worn, the tome was in remarkable condition, all things considered. “There’s some cool knives and swords in there too.”

Looking down at the book then looking back at Hancock, Danse seemed to thaw, “Why?”

“Well, shit kid, I figured you’d like it.”

“No. That’s not what I meant. Why would you give me anything but your scorn?” His eyes narrowed in mistrust, Danse took a step backward while holding the book at arm’s length. “I have never been anything but rude to you! Why would you even speak to me, let alone give me a gift?”

Hancock lifted his arms, palms up, to appear as non-threating as possible, “Never thought giving someone something thoughtful would be met with this level of resistance. I have another copy, for one. And two, Wraith trusts and likes you a whole lot. For me, that carries a ton of weight.” Hancock’s tone became softer, almost gentle, “She handed you the strand of thread and it’ll be interesting to see what you do with it.”

“I’m sorry… Strand of thread?”

“She gave you a piece that you never had before and as you pull it, all that bullshit that you’ve been told, all the lies and hate, it’ll unravel. That small reality you’re left with? That’s something you can build on. Something true.” Hancock’s gentle smile was genuine now, “I know one or two things ‘bout turnin’ over a new leaf and trying to find redemption. It takes time son, so give yourself a break.” Hancock watched the rippling emotions cross Danse’s face then turned and walked away. “I’m going to help Bossy load up all that junk. You should come help us.”

 Danse was reading in his room a week later when someone knocked on his door. Answering, he was so shocked to see Wraith he stood frozen, speechless and blinking.

“Um… hi Danse. You okay?”

“Yeah. Yes! Hi!”

Laughing a little, she pointed to the book, “I see Hancock decided to give it to you after all.”

“Yes. Yes he did. He and I talked as well. I think… we might be friends now?”

Wraith’s warm smile spoke volumes, “I’m happy for you both. Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

Wraith filled Danse in on Preston as they headed toward the Sanctuary warehouses. Soon after returning to the Castle, he had been crushed between two brahmin. “I’m so glad we had some of Curie’s students there. He would have died had they not started treatment right away.”

Stopping in front of warehouse C, Wraith undid the padlock, then adopting her formal “General” voice she turned to Danse, “I’m fortunate to have friends like MacCready and Curie who are able to teach the Minutemen and anyone willing, these important survival skills. I’m hoping, Danse, that you might also help the Commonwealth in much the same way.” She opened the door and made an “after you” gesture before following him inside and flipping the light switch.

Danse had never been inside C. From the outside it was clearly the biggest of the three and had two huge generators hooked up outside. As the lights flashed on he could see why: the entire space was filled with power armor.

“Sturges and I have been working on my little… collection, but we don’t have the expertise that you possess.” Smiling sadly, Wraith crossed her arms like she was hugging herself, “Nate would have loved this. I think he would have liked you a lot too. You remind me of him sometimes.”

Danse ripped his eyes from the treasure trove in front of him. Blushing, he cleared his throat, “You… you want me to teach the Minutemen to use power armor?”

“Yes. I realize it’ll take some time. We are short on people and some of these units are in pretty bad shape. With you helping us with acquisition and training, in maintenance and tactics, we can avoid a lot of trial-and-error.”

Danse had been wandering the room like a kid in a candy store when he came to a dead stop in front of a familiar set of T-60d armor. “This… this is mine?!” He placed his hands on the breastplate, “How did you get this?”

“Maxson gave it to me.” Her mouth twisted in disgust, “It was a reward for my loyalty. Danse, I kept it for you. Regardless of what you decide it’s still your armor.” She followed him as he explored. “You wouldn’t have to actually join the Minutemen; Mac didn’t. Your knowledge can help us as a consultant. If you do decide to join I will appoint you a suitable rank as an officer of the Minutemen Cavalry.”

Danse couldn’t help but smile, “Cavalry?”

“I haven’t nailed down a name yet but I want to incorporate ‘Dragoon’ into it. I have to keep with the revolutionary theme after all.”

Continuing his exploration, Danse gave a low whistle when the Quantum X-01 suit came into view.

Wraith leaned against his arm, “Nice, huh? That one is for you too, once again, regardless of your choice. I want you to know that whatever you decide, I’m your friend and you will have a home here in Sanctuary.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Danse put his arms around her, his voice cracking with emotion, “I will follow you and help you with whatever you need, my friend… my General.”      

 Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my master link located under my bio. I will be updating and re-posting the master as well. Please consider reblogging, I could us the signal boost. As always my ask is open (anon too) if you have any questions/concerns/comments. =^..^=

[unwoundbobbin]

Nine Worlds 2018 - Sunday & Homeward

This write up is bought to you by a pack of Nerds, so who the hell knows how coherent it will be by the end.

(Actual footage of me)

From Saturday!

Sunday:

Our Last Best Hope for Science Fiction: 25 Years of Babylon 5

A look at a ground breaking sci-fi series, celebrating a show we love and how it grew from a something set on a space station to something truly special.

(Two Centauri, a starfleet officer, and a Morden(?) walk in to a panel...)

This is the panel I missed the talk on Golems for, and much as I wanted to see the Golems, this was 100% worth the trade, because I’ve never met that many people who are in to B5 before, and it was a really funny and thought provoking panel with some beautiful moments in it, including the moments of silence when we remembered those from the Babylon 5 family who have gone beyond the rim.

There was also discussion of favourite moments from Babylon 5. Mine has to be this, from the Centauri’s final assault on the Narn Homeworld. Peter Jurasik’s acting is superb here, but I love that the writers and director made a place in that episode to show the flipping of Mollari when he realises what he’s done - how out of control and repelled he feels by what should be a moment of triumph. And the moment he starts to work his way back towards some sort of redemption.

I think my favourite quote of the whole thing was by the person cosplaying as Londo Mollari:

"Behold minbari Jesus - his name is Jeff" 

(This psycop lurked for the entire panel. It’s as perfectly creepy and wonderful as it sounds. When I mentioned that on twitter, it devolved in to a Babylon 5 pun war...)

When I came out of the B5 panel, the one person I’d seen with a brain slug had become a collective. And they continued to grow in number throughout Sunday. Props to the person who spent an entire year making brain slugs to give away to strangers at Nine Worlds.

(The frightening brain slug collective. They continued to multiply throughout the day. Possibly the creepiest cosplay of the weekend, just because they continued to multiply.)

History’s Hidden Heroes III

Following two years of back-to-back success, the ‘History's Hidden Heroes’ session returns to its original format of ten to fifteen minute mini-talks by individual presenters discussing their favourite figures lost - or pushed aside - from mainstream history. Introduction by EK McAlpine, with talks from Tara, Avery, and Reiley.

This session was run by EK, and the speakers were Avery Delany, Tara Brown, and Reiley Daniels who all spoke about people in history who were part of the LGBTQ community, including some who were trans (though not remembered that way), some who were gender non-conforming, some who were openly queer at a time when that was (more) dangerous than now.

Avery spoke about trans masculine people in history, including a pioneering doctor, James Barry (note - while that Wiki article generally avoids using any pronouns at all, there is a source from the time quoted that misgenders Barry, so be careful if that would cause you any distress).

My favourite quote from Avery was “Do some queer history“, but I also really appreciated something I didn’t get the exact words of, but amounted to the idea that someone wouldn’t live as a gender different to the one they were assigned at birth for over 50 years if they did not actually identify as that gender. I really wish I’d got the actual words, because that quote stuck with me as much as anything.

Tara Brown spoke about three women of colour who were pioneers in blues and jazz - and sexuality, Ma Rainey, Bessie Smith, and Gladys Bentley.

One of the most interesting, and awful, takeaways from this talk was the brief discussion about how there is some difference in the historical record as to the sexuality women presented, and that this is due to McCarthyism which basically forced at least Gladys Bentley to present herself as no longer a lesbian. It made me so cross to think of a person as comfortable in their sexuality as Bentley having to forcibly change themselves because of the massive risks that being out and proud served in the backwards looking 1950s America.

Reiley spoke about a quack physician called Charles Hamilton (misgendered practically everywhere on the internet), and the importance of checking multiple sources and subjecting them to due scrutiny.

If anyone enjoyed this panel is interested in other hidden heroes from sources that aim at diversity in who and what they talk about (and use content notices), I highly recommend @missedinhistory, Sawbones, and @rejectedprincesses.

The Future of Nine Worlds

It's time for a chat about Nine Worlds and where it's going. If you have strong thoughts about what you'd like to see the event become, and would like to get involved in making things happen, this is your in-person opportunity to talk about the options and understand how we got where we are.

Went to this, and I honestly don’t have a lot to say about it - not a lot a could say about it because I’m very much not the right person to speak about what happened in the majority of the session.

I will say that the announcement that Nine Worlds was re-constituting after this year’s con felt like a blow to the gut.

(This was an incredibly powerful moment, and to know that even though the current director is stepping back a future nineworlds is possible meant so very much.)

(Main point by what may turn out to be the future team was that Nine Worlds is too precious to lose)

CN for discussion of police at con, and a failure act appropriately to the stated concerns of a con-goer (and more concerned people who did not speak about it at the Future of Nine Worlds panel). When this section is over there will be a delightful gif of Wonder Woman deflecting bullets so scroll below her if you will find this section challenging.

What happened next is best summed up by Alecto101 in this post which I urge you all to read (also please read this followup thread by the same person). Her recollection of what happened at that panel is extremely accurate. I was there, and that is what happened. It was not dealt with adequately by anyone there in an official capacity. Most people who wanted to say something in follow up raised the fact that Alecto101 had not had her question and concerns adequately addressed, and when the people on the stage did so, it was in an inappropriate way that put the emotional and intellectual workload back on the person who had rightly raised legitimate concerns.

I have absolutely no patience with the people who immediately strawmanned (Oh, you don’t want police there at all - you can’t exclude attendees based on job) - I was there and at no point did Alecto101 suggest that.

What I’m trying to say is something EK said much more eloquently: “Concerns about how police participate in 9W and the separation of their jobs and their everyday lives as fans are ABSOLUTELY valid and not the same as “ban cops”.“

The developments since have been a little more positive, and I’m hoping that the reconstitution can be used as a way to build in representation of PoC from the beginning rather than trying to add on later. The way 9W works for members of the LGBTQ or disabled communities needs to be the way it works for the BaME community too, or it is not diverse (I’ve paraphrased here. I’m pretty sure I’ve just mangled the original quote. I can’t remember who said it but it wasn’t originally me).

For followup, I recommend reading Avery Delany’s thread here and this thread on the official Nine Worlds twitter account. This web page from Nine Worlds is also very important reading. If you have the physical, emotional, and mental spoons to do so, please consider signing up to be part of the future.

Finally, if you’re thinking about writing to Alecto, please first consider this tweet from the official Nine Worlds Team: “We do not want people to interact with the blogger on our behalf. We do not need defending. We do not want them pursued again for conversations they don’t want to continue. Their opinions are valid and we are glad to have heard them. “ and just DON’T.

After that I had more con crash, and tried to manage it myself in the quiet room, before worrying that my nose blowing was going to upset those who had sensory overload and needed genuine quiet, and ran away to my room where E wrapped me in a blanket and fed me biscuits until I was human again. She is awesome and I’m totally in her debt. (Thread here of what I struggled with wrt the quiet room - I am not saying it should go away BTW - I don’t know what the right answer is, just that I found it challenging for my own particular issues)

The end of the con was then barrelling towards me at a terrifying speed. I went off site for food with some friends, and then we all formed half of a team for the unofficial “The Not The End of the Con Quiz” as team Last Best Hope for Victory, and we only went and bloody won! Massive props to @knittedace and @laalratty who basically carried our team through two rounds pretty much on their own (even though one of our team who shall remain nameless nearly submitted “Aragorn” as the name of the giant spider in Harry Potter, which was caught before we submitted for marking, but they shall not live it down... for a while anyway :))

(Team Last Best Hope for Victory. Actual quiz victors!)

Went to bed at midnight after several rounds of Slash, which was really the perfect end to a great con (even if I did keep crashing).

(Me on my way home. I look pretty knackered there, but it doesn’t even touch how completely mentally (and to some extent physically) exhausted I was, and still am. Completely worth it though.)

I may have listened to this on the journey home and sobbed. Like I said on my Friday post, it’s somehow become the song of the con for me.

[moonlit-nightingale]

.:RP:. Rainy Aftermath

Characters: Saranqerel Qalli (male Xaela), Dain (male Xaela)

Rating: PG-13ish for blood and wounds

Origin Date: 15 Feb 2018

Returning from an evening hunt, Sari finds the older Xaela wounded and bleeding in front of the shop.

Note: The beginning is a loose narration since this started in game before constant hotel wifi DCs forced us to Discord.

=============================

Sari had returned from the Shroud in Adder gold hunting gear, rabbits tied at his belt for supper. In the rain, he spots the bloody figure of a comrade and brother slumped in the front yard. The younger tends to the chest wound aetherically before getting Dain inside to continue treatment as news of a battle involving Quill members against a voidsent is told.

Dain winced a moment, reaching to help in loosening the top. Beneath the jacket and above his lower layers were enchanted plates and mail. Heavy things he was careful to remove. <He's starting to grow up. I didn't want to see his journey end before he is worth something as a man.>

Sari took careful care of the armor pieces and loose cloth, stacking them to his other side neatly before standing. The medical kit was tucked safely away in the kitchen. <I can admire that, brother, but you also have others that need you too. Once you're bandaged up I can go check on your comrade if needed.>

Red ringed eyes rested on the plates. A certain half-glaze to those normally sharp and hunterly pupils. Once again it was a moment before he responded to Sari. <He has gone to Bentbranch, knowing a healer there... I imagine he will be fine.>

<Alright then...> The small bag was fetched and brought over before the smaller male sat back down again. The ringbands he wore for hunting were thrown in the pile of nearby gear before he began to unwind the cloth bandages. A quick glance up deepened his frown. The wound was brutal, aye, but it seemed only one symptom of many. <Speak to me, brother.> At those words he uncorked a small vial of sharp smelling liquid, soaking the bandages in it on his lap.

<I...> And Dain trailed off. The single word hanging in the air as he looked to the bandages. Already certain they would burn when they touched the wound! But such would keep it clean, there had been many in the war with less luck. <I was surprised when I found myself here. When I left, and the stimulant wore away, I wasn't here. I was in Yanxia wading through a blood filled valley. I was on the Steppe with Gyousei, putting void worshippers to the sword. But really I was in front of your house.>

Concerned blue looked up from where he was recapping the vial. All his learning swarmed in his mind whether he wanted it to or not. <Stress and near-death experiences cause trigger visions. Perhaps that's what happened? His death is still rather recent and its wound fresh.> Indeed the bandages stung as they first made contact over red flesh and trained hands made sure they pressed flush against the knit wound, wrapping the cloth firmly about.

Silence followed. The samurai only shifting to let the bandage come and cover the wound. To be bound tight and secure. <I hate no man more than I hate Gyousei.> Dain finally stated. Not in anger, or even disgust, but in an almost depressed resignation. <It started when I was lost my legs... I think the spirit of sloth had entered me, and Nhaama has grown displeased. That... I am being called again, to fulfill my name sake, and to fill the narrows with blood.>

<Hatred still breeds attachment, like it or not.> His own tone was more resigned than accusatory. The soaked cloth applied, a dry and thicker wrapping was applied to protect it and tied off. That was all he could do. Sitting back, the Adder kept his eye on Dain in worry. But far was he to fuss anymore, that was what a child did. <Battle is in our blood, aye. But there is also life so why tempt death with battle after battle? Even the Mother knew when to lay her weapon down.>

<I was born clutching blood and leaving my mother barren. I am a child of death.> With the bandaged firmly in place his mechanical left hand came to lay over the wound. The limb had been refined slightly, more slender, easier to move, but still foreign enough to draw his eyes to. <So I am being punished for running from my calling... But, I do not want to return. I want to pass on my style and... and I have a child coming.>

Words had been turning in Sari's head but they came to abrupt halt at that. <A child?> He leaned forward, very much into Dain's space, ignoring the fact he was dripping all over the other. Oh well, they were both soaked. <Then that's even more of a reason to rest, brother. Our birth doesn't dictate our place. I respect the Mother's guidance as much as any of Her children but... We make our own paths, too.> The worry was visible on his face now.

<A-aye... Kotori is with my child.> This earned it's own fidget from the man. The metal hand briefly clutching at his chest before he let it drop to his side. Sari suddenly being in his space wasn't something he had expected! Though the man was much more emboldened then he had ever known him to be as well. <I found out recently... we don't even have a name yet.>

<That's wonderful news, brother!> The frown disappeared into a wide grin as one of his hands went to the one at the metal one that fell from Dain's chest and squeezed it with his words. The build of the limb didn't bother him one bit. <That is a reason for you two to put the blade down, if only for awhile. Don't you think?>

<I... I don't know... These, visions, won't stop and...> Then he shook his head a moment. Watching Sari squeeze his hand before a short laugh left him. <You really are a good tender aren't you? So eager with children. I'm glad to see that joy in your eyes.>

Cheeks reddened a bit at that and he was quick to let go and sit back, regaining his composure with a clear of the throat. <That...is not what we're discussing. It's your health, mental and physical!> The long tail thudded lightly on the other side of the couch.

<You should adopt, I think you were born for as much.> Then he sighed. His right hand reaching down to rest atop of Sari's head, messing the smaller man's hair affectionately. <...I will survive, I imagine, perhaps you're right. I have... even signed away from many combat missions. But I am their blade, forged to be swung, I don't think I have value to my family without that.>

<You have plenty of value.> All those moons of building composure and political face was dissolving rapidly in the presence of a close friend. <A blade can be sheathed until it's needed.> He didn't pull away from the actions of the older male, still a bit red in the face at the turn.

<I don't know if... I believe that. So few even cared when I was injured, but, I hadn't realized it then.> Dain rested slowly back into the couch. Continuing to pet Sari's hair until his arm grew tired and it to rested dully in his lap. <I do what they cannot. When I can no longer...> Then his head merely shook, eyes closing. <No. forgive me. You're right.>

<Aurochshite,> was the mutter. <I'm sure they do but were caught up in the mess of the battle.> At the departure of weight from his head, bright blue was quick to fix back to Dain, frown back on his face. <I am right. You have a mate and pup on the way. Your place is to defend them as you defend your comrades, not seeking out fights.>

Red ringed eyes shifted, staring down into Sari's. In another context the almost blank expression of his face might have been dangerous where instead here it was a thing exhausted. Physically and emotionally. Once again the larger man paused. Eyes going to his lap before speaking. <Will they ever stop.>

The expression was well-read, a hand going to Dain's once more in comfort. <The visions? Or the enemies? ....likely not either, my brother.>

<I am tired.> The words were said simply, blankly, as unresponsive as his hand was at first before squeezing sari's in return.

<You have every right to be.> His studies were quick to lead him to the conclusion of what he was witnessing. It was one thing to read about in a clinical sense, another to see it in the face of a friend. Sari hesitated, debating on what role to take. <Have you sat and talked with others about these visions besides me?>

<Kotori and Faol, a physician whom told me I have 'battle fatigue.'> The words became progressively quieter until the dreaded term. Dain was aware he wasn't well, somehow it had made things worse in his mind. <I don't think he understood my people immersed in blood and death for all our days. It would have affected them or... Narisada, Narisada who stood as a terror and a bandit before his redemption, so. I am certain I am being punished. I am slothful.>

<You are far from that. You have been a friend and a brother to me. It holds great weight for me and I hope it holds some for you. Without you I'd likely be drowning in the bottle, passed out in the garden as you found me before.> Where Dain's words fell, Sari's held firm. <Aye, the Eorzeans don't understand much of us. But,> he shifted about to face the other head on, still having the hand in his firmly. <I want you to come and talk to me of these visions. Perhaps it will help.>

Though initially seeming unresponsive he did meet Sari's gaze when the other man didn't back away. There was a great cloud of uncertainty to his eyes, knowing the proper path but unsure if he could follow. If he could be healthy. <I will do as you ask, Saranqerel.>

The gaze remained firm for a few moments before the younger male leaned forward to give Dain a light hug, careful of the wound. <You have those that care for you, family, friends, comrades. We all want you to be healthy and happy. And we'll get you there one way or another. So if you want to fight, fight the path to those two things.>

<If you phrase it violently that does make it easier to accept.> The man mumbled into the hug. Only using his right arm, as he didn't want to accidentally squish Sari with the less tactically functional left!

<Then I did my job right,> the Adder chuckled lightly into the other's shoulder before slowly leaning back and settling back on the couch. <You need to dry off and rest. Do you think you can manage the stairs? I can call your comrades and tell them where you're at and that you're alright.>

Dain nodded. Carefully pushing himself up to his feet. Adjusting his top to be back into it's proper way, even if it lacked the armor. <Stairs? Surely you don't think they'll best me...> The man started pridefully before sighing. Starting to move bellow, though, carefully so. <I'll manage. I owe you for such hospitality.>

<You owe me nothing.> Sari removed his sopping wet boots and put them to the side before going to make sure the samurai was sturdy going down the stairs. He didn't touch Dain, mindful of one's pride, but remained close if he should topple. Though what could the slender male really do if the much bigger one did tumble? Well, they'd both go rolling down and right into that decorative shelf!

Even if he was bigger the weight of those metal limbs was considerable! It would be a terrible accident and fortunately one that was avoided. Though he swayed slightly he did make it downstairs.

At the sight of that sway, Sari was quick to remain close and stuck by the other's side like glue. <I don't have anything that'll fit you but bundling up in a warm blanket by the fire should help.> The healer was sure to make the other plop down in front of the large fireplace in the corner of the room. The embers had fallen low, showing he'd been out of the house for bells, but he was quick to throw a few more logs on to rekindle the flame.

<Your pants would be little more than undergarments for me.> The other teased softly. Making no real action to resist Sari's guidance. Settling in front of the fire place and at least removing his top gingerly. The rest of his scars and scab like scales were plainly visible, a long life of warfare.

The other Xaela was no stranger to such things, his own bundle of burns and scars hidden under the cloth and leather armor in Adder colors. A heavy blanket was pulled from a chest nearby and set next to Dain. Then he was off across the room to grab some of the floor cushions for the other to arrange however he liked in front of the fire. <Then you'd better stay put and recover before you have to force yourself inside a pair. I imagine it would be /quite/ uncomfortable.>

<They would break at the front.> The man snorted loudly, letting himself be taken care of for once. IT wasn't something he enjoyed, but he also trusted Sari almost as much as Kotori. Which was saying something quite considerable given his nature! <I should be okay to move in the morning... Aulex, a Count from Ishgard, has returned to the digsite... I may head to Shirogane, tend to my dojo.>

<You'll be okay once your healer says you're okay.> The damp clothes were gathered as they were shed to rest on the mantle of the fireplace to dry out as the heat built.

<You sound like Mau...> The man laughed to this much before drawing the blanket over his shoulders. Resting into it's warmth. <Confidence is a good look for you brother.>

The name made him blink before he recalled the one being referenced. Not /that/ Mau. Ugh. Clothes set to dry, Sari went to shed his own to join Dain's. At least he had something to change into as he went to rummage in the nearby dresser. <I had to learn... When the Adders approached me with the commission, the old me wouldn't have done well. I couldn't let them down after such an honor.>

<The old you was cute, but I don't think it was a fully developed self... It's like the angry and brash thing I was when I met my sensei. So full of hatred...> The man laughed a bit, looking over to the other half naked man. <Well. I still am, but I make better use of it now?>

A blush at the word 'cute' as he pulled on sleep pants in the corner. Nuh uh, he was never CUTE. Clearing his throat, he looked over his shoulder with a mild glare. <Does an angry and brash thing call others 'cute?'> he huffed.

<I should add cruel as well. A cruel creature does when it embarrasses the target.> Dain laughed lowly. The others reactions certainly amusing!

A 'hmph' from the smaller man as he stomped over and pulled the blanket over Dain's head. <I'm going to make some hot tea. You'll finish it before going to sleep.>

This brought a slight jump, the man's right hand coming out to catch himself before he fell to the floor entirely! <Aye, aye.> The man confirmed as he drew the blanket from his eyes!

With that, the Qalli retreated to the stairs to go put a kettle on. It showed to his trust in teh other to do such brash things to the older male.

Dain was certain he wasn't all that much older than Sari! Or at least had thought them almost the same age when they first met even. Now he simply settled by the fire. The flickering flames bothering those eyes before they closed to meditate.

[twodimecastle]

all he has | ao3

a/n; @thekastlediaries, thanks for being an incredibly talented writer and making me want to start this blog? or something

The bullets. The bodies. The blood on his hands. It’s familiar. It’s routine.

She’s not.

She’s new. Unexpected. He doesn’t know what to make of her and that scares him almost as much as it intrigues him. He doesn’t know what to make of the unexpected these days, especially not in the darker corners of Hell’s Kitchen. Frank was pretty sure he’d turned out every kind of coward and asshole and righteous man the city had to offer with his twisted crusade, but she’s something different.

If he wasn’t so numb, it’d be fucking terrifying and maybe a little attractive.

But whatever it was inside him that felt anything good-anything with some sense of lightness, of wonder-died with his family. Now there’s only the relentless sense of bloody purpose that pushes him out of his apartment and into the streets at night. The purpose that had pushed him into that fight, into this hospital bed, into this room with her. With Karen. And he thinks, just maybe, there’s something about her that feels a little redemptive. That might help him, if he lets it; if he lets her.

“I need to talk to her alone,” he had said, the words dropping from his lips before he’s really aware of what he’s saying. She won’t. There’s no way. She knows who he is, what he’s done, what he could do. She’d have to be out of her goddamn mind.

“I’ll do it.”

Maybe it was the way she didn’t look at him like he was a lost cause; a monster. There was fear there, but it was different to the way it looked on everyone else’s face and there was less of it. The files in her hands weren’t shaking, and he thought maybe they should be. There was something pulling at the back of his mind that felt almost like grim amusement. The recklessness or the sheer stupidity that made her stay here, just the two of them was almost funny. She didn’t look like the type to blindly trust so it had to be a fools’ courage or wanton disregard for her own life that kept her here with him, hands steady.

She tells him about his house with more confidence than he can remember it, and that should worry him, but there’s a half smile playing about her lips and it’s more reassurance than he’s had in years. He still doesn’t understand her but there’s something about her that makes him feel like they’re the same kind of person. Fraying around the edges and hurtling blindly around each unexpected turn as they try to make it through the day, but still somehow, against all odds, in one piece.

She doesn’t drop his gaze and her cool blue eyes are deep and unreadable and it feels like he could drown in them.

He isn’t entirely sure he doesn’t want to and that scares him more than anything else. 

He’s in the stand and the eyes of the courtroom, of the cameras, of everyone watching are a heavy, oppressive weight on him. Even Murdock’s blind gaze is weighty-almost tangible with its peculiar intensity. This kind of scrutiny is unnerving. This isn’t what he’s used to. Every instinct, every fibre of his being is aching to run, to flee the weighty eyes and the judgement of the masses who don’t understand his sense of purpose; who will never understand his loss.

The weight of the other lawyer’s eyes is less hostile. Nelson is afraid, but Frank’s come to recognize types of fear and this doesn’t feel like the kind he faces down in dark alleys. If he cared to put a name to it, whatever is scrawled blatantly across Nelson’s face is tension, is pain, is trepidation. Not fear.

Karen’s stare is no less weighty than every other set of eyes in the courtroom but it isn’t oppressive; isn’t painful. There’s a measure of uncertainty in them but he can feel the low-level electricity of someone believing in him. He hasn’t felt anything like that in longer than he cares to remember. He doesn’t think he’s going to want to remember this moment, though. He knows what he’s going to do and he knows she won’t agree with it. He doesn’t need the kind of help she says he does, doesn’t want the cloying artifice of sympathy from the faceless masses, a reflexive, undeserved response to whatever bullshit fight or flight response they say Frank is exhibiting. The false compassion for the claims that he’s incapable of differentiating right from wrong, that he can’t be held accountable.

Bullshit.

His freedom is not worth marring the names of the good men out there who suffer in silence.

Frank can be held accountable. Should be held accountable.

He’s going to make sure of it.

She’s pointing a gun at him, and he’s not afraid of her pulling the trigger. He hasn’t been afraid to die in years. But there’s a tremor in her hand that has never been there before and he’s pretty sure that she isn’t going to shoot him. Mostly.

“It wasn’t me.” His voice is rough and low. As close as he gets to soothing, and given the haunted look in Karen’s eyes, Frank figures she could use a little soothing right now.

He takes another slow step into the room and her grip on the gun shifts; tightens. He’s not sure if it’s the product of careful research or blind luck or instinct or whatever, but it’s the right gun for her. Small. Effective.

“Hands on your head, or I will unload this thing, I swear to Christ,” she hisses through gritted teeth. He isn’t sure if she knows she’s lying to herself, but he slowly raises his hands to his head, not breaking eye contact with her. Her hands are shaking slightly but the gun is steady, held levelled at his head as he takes another slow, deliberate step towards her.

“It wasn’t me,” he says again. She doesn’t believe him, but that doesn’t matter right now because he can hear the faint click of a gun-not her gun-and suddenly he’s hurling himself at her, pushing her down. She hits the floor hard and he’s tucking her slim frame protectively under his. Better him than her. He’s not afraid to die. He probably deserves it.

The gunshots are deafening and there are splinters flying and glass shattering but all he’s aware of is Karen’s racing heartbeat and the way she’s trembling under him. She’s terrified. Terrified is infinitely better than dead, though.

“Stay low.” The order is issued brusquely and she doesn’t even think of arguing, just complies. Smart girl. Not smart enough to shoot him on sight, though.

He shouldn’t be here. Here in this booth, in this diner, in this city. Alive, even. Frank’s fucking positive that he shouldn’t be alive. But here he is. In this booth, in this diner. Sitting in front of her. And Karen doesn’t look afraid of him, though god knows he isn’t sure why at this point. She’s meeting his gaze for the most part, her hands are steady on the coffee cup and the heaviness in her face isn’t condemnation, it’s exhaustion. He knows it’s there because of him, because of the stupid, reckless shit he’s done over the past few days. He downs his coffee in one, savouring the bitterness as it goes down. He’s not sure if he actually likes the taste or the discomfort that goes along with drinking it, but either way, it’s all he’ll have.

He’s not surprised or even offended when she tells him she almost shot him. He’d have deserved it, and she’d have been stupid to not have at least considered it. He’s still not sure he doesn’t want her to shoot him, but his job isn’t done. What he wants doesn’t matter till his job is done.

“You don’t lie to me.”

That shakes him, though he supposes it’s true. He hasn’t lied to her. Not really. The idea of someone actually trusting him is almost absurd, given everything he’s done. It still feels good, though. It’s almost a novelty at this point. Then again, having any kind of human interaction that isn’t entirely centred around his own violence, around everything he’s done since that that damning day at the carousel. This is different, if only slightly.

There’s a catch in her voice when he prompts her to talk about Murdock. He doesn’t understand the way she keeps her distance; pushes the man away. If it’s love-and Frank thinks it is, or at least could be-the hurt doesn’t matter. Just being together is enough. But really, what does he know about love at all. He’s been holding himself apart for years-he feels more animal than human some days but all that matters is his crusade. And now, somehow, her safety.

He doesn’t want to think about how that happened.

The shot echoes through the woods but it doesn’t drown out Karen’s last words to him, ragged with desperation and a fear that he hasn’t felt from her in the entire time he’s known her.

Monster.

She’s right. He’s been telling her since the beginning, but some part of him, at the back of his mind-the part that held on to a softness half remembered from his gentler past-thought, or hoped, she’d never figure it out. It was a sweet dream. Someone who didn’t look at him with condemnation in their eyes. It’s not a surprise he managed to shatter it, the only surprising part is that she’d clung to her view of him as someone worth saving for so long.

Frank Castle is dead.

He wasn’t lying to her. He’s been dead since his family was. The good parts of him, anyway. It feels like the blood in his veins is more caffeine and rage and cold, calculating violence than life these days, and as he yanks guns and ammo down from the walls of the shed, he feels a less human than he has in a long time. There’s always danger in him, surrounding him, but tonight it feels like whatever nameless, faceless beast lurks under his skin is closer to the surface than ever. Almost consuming him. He wouldn’t care if it did. A heavy hopelessness coils in the pit of his stomach as he surveys the tactical gear on the wall in front of him and he knows who he is now, whether he likes it or not. The cold steel of the gun is familiar under Frank’s hand and his fingers curl around it, reflexively hauling it up against him, bracing the heavy weight against his hip as he surveys the shed. This is what he knows. This is what he does. It’s not pretty and it’s so far from the right thing that he’d almost laughed in Karen’s face the first time she’d told him he wasn’t a bad person. There’s blood pooling on the floor around his boots, but it doesn’t matter. It barely registers to him. He kicks Schoonover’s body to the side as he crosses to the door, pausing at the threshold. Frank Castle is long dead, but walking out of this shed is the final nail in the coffin.

The bullets. The bodies. The blood on his hands.

It’s all he has now.

[ageofwrathrpg]

Name: Luka Viktorovich Ikashev Age: 26 Ability: Telekinesis  Faction: LESYAS as an ASSASSIN-IN-TRAINING/THIEF Faceclaim: Rob Raco Availability: OPEN

THE STORY || CW: Army Death, Violence

On the day Luka was born, his father died. It was redemption, his brother had told him. For the four years of his life that he knew Lucius, he loved every second of their time together. Lucius was so much more than his older brother; he was his father-figure and his hero. When he left for the army, Luka would sit outside their home every day, sucking his thumb and waiting for him to return. A year later, a soldier returned: the bearer of bad news. Lucius wasn’t coming home. From then on, Luka only had his mother and elder sister, Valeriya. They were a sad excuse for a family – not quite dirt-poor since inheriting Lucius’ army pay, but still facing the rancid weight of poverty. Luka’s mother still faced the trauma of her husband’s abuse. Throughout his adolescence, Luka knew tragedy, hunger, and the bone-chilling screams of his mother’s episodes. During the nights, Valeriya would be with him and would cover his ears.

Despite his sister’s efforts, Luka still grew into a walking calamity. He tricked, lied, cheated and stole. In school, despite being a bright boy, his grades suffered from his indifference. Often, he would get involved in fights, and often he would lose. Luka became used to bloody noses and swollen eyes. The pain made him spiteful. Valeriya and his mother begged him to stop. They begged for him to be good, but they didn’t know the nasty things that were said about them. They didn’t know that the pain of the punches could never compare to their acid words or knife laughs. When Luka was 13, he was expelled for throwing a brick at one of his peers. It flew so quickly, so furiously, and missed only because Luka told it to.

Luka knew he was special. Lucius had said that he was. When he was expelled, Valeriya took the chance to run with him to join the Lesyas. At first, Luka had felt like they were running away to a circus. The Lesyas were all jokes, completely ignorant in their backwards thinking. All of his time there, though, made him soft. Valeriya could sense his initial discontent and would spend more time with him than ever. Slowly, he grew accustomed to this new life. It took years, but his numb resolve eroded into a vulnerable kind of bitterness.

THE CHARACTER

Luka doesn’t think that he’s worth much anymore. He’s a domesticated wolf with a humiliating collar around his neck. His dog tag reads: If lost, please return to the Lesyas. Luka can’t decide if he’s terrified or giddy, but he likes it. The Lesyas give him a sense of purpose but he’s exhausted from his own internalized rivalry. He finds that he agrees with them – that humans and Vilas are equal – but that means that he isn’t special, and that means that Lucius was wrong. Though he’d never admit to it, Luka is remarkably sensitive. He takes things personally and it’s his nature to react explosively. He’s still learning to defuse.

CONNECTIONS

Valeriya Viktorevna Ikasheva - His sister is many things. She’s kind and clever and the best mother that a kid could ever ask for, but she’s also infamous to Luka for her disapproval of Lucius. It’s really a shame that Luka’s put his brother on such a high pedestal. Perhaps if Luka never knew him, he wouldn’t have such a difficult time agreeing with Valeriya; the sibling who stayed. Despite his turmoil, he still loves her. Despite his teasing, he knows that she loves him too.

Nikolai “Melnyk” Romanovich Melnyk - Melnyk is funny, albeit strange, and Luka has made it a habit to smoke with xim after the training sessions that they share together. It completely goes against Luka's nature that he should befriend someone as gentle as Melnyk, but his naivety is endearing. A part of him wants to watch xim break. 

Sergei Arsenyevich Vosteck - Luka feels bad for the kid. Losing Lucius was hard enough, but Sergei’s twin is still out there and alive and probably missing him like hell. Luka wouldn’t say that they’re friends, but he’d be lying if he said that he doesn’t enjoy their conversations.

Kostya Chen - She should have been a psychiatrist, he thinks. She’s always looking at him with such sad, sympathetic eyes and it makes him feel as though he’s somehow disappointed her. A long time ago, he used to try and appease to her better half, but since he’s given up on that. Now she’s the victim of his most penetrating glares.

Kit Aleksovich Yelchin - Despite the fact that Kit is relatively new to the Lesyas, Luka can’t seem to remember a time before him. Kit seems to understand Luka better than anyone he’s ever met, and he’s eternally grateful for their friendship. Kit is a stark contrast to Luka’s dark personality, all optimism and exuberant energy. Somehow, it's never exhausting.

[[ More Connections ]] 

ETC

The Lesya Manor is much more luxurious than anything he’s used to, but it’s a welcome change in comparison to his rotten home. He’s not homesick because he never really belonged there, either.

He’s allergic to chocolate, and some Lesya is adamant in leaving candies outside his door. He gives them to Kit and doesn’t say where they’re from.

He hates the smell of cigarette smoke but is addicted to the nicotine. 

His neighbors used to say that he has his father’s unpredictability. It’s his biggest insecurity, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

When he was 17, he tried to run away and join the Rosteks. Valeriya found him at a bus stop and took him back. He doesn’t resent her for it. He’s scared that he’ll try to do it again.

[thehollywood360]

North Hollywood, CA (TheHollywood360.com) 03/26/2017 –  Panic! Productions in conjunction with Theater68 located at 5112 Lankershim Blvd, North Hollywood presents John Patrick Shanley’s twofer – the world premiere of Shanley’s 15-minute play “Poison” and “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea.” Set design for Poison and Danny and the Deep Blue Sea by Danny Cistone, with lightening designed by Jenny Nwene.

Artistic Director of the 68 Cent Crew Theaters and Director Ronnie Marmo shared this about his own decision to play Danny 8 years ago in L.A during the 13 by Shanley Festival. “I walked around with the “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea” script in my back pocket for 10 years before I felt remotely qualified enough to play Danny; the material is so dense, not something to mess around with” … “I am extremely excited to revisit Danny and the Deep Blue Sea as director…Seeing the material from this point of view had made me fall in love with the play even more. Our production is extremely powerful and affecting- these are authentic characters and Renee and Bailey will be leaving it all on the stage at every performance.”

Tonight, Marmo takes on the task of bringing John Patrick Shanley’s dark, psychologically disturbing play to North Hollywood, and bring it he did. Marmo’s casting of Renee Marino and J. Bailey Burcham as Roberta and Danny respectively is spot on. The two play the whacked out, train wrecked souls to perfection. Marino and Burcham find themselves unwittingly starring in a modern, twisted “Beauty and the Beast” set in a seedy bar instead of an enchanted castle. The tremendous acting chops it takes for these two attractive, charismatic, easy going actors to turn themselves into people so raw and ugly is exceptional. The sheer amount of energy it takes night after night is draining. They give 110% wringing themselves out on the stage for their audience in the way only great actors can. Marino had this to say about playing Roberta in her first professional play; “I’ve done plays before, but in college, never professionally. Danny and the Deep Blue Sea is my first professional play. Playing Roberta is one of the most rewarding experiences I ever had. It’s been so satisfying. I leave feeling emotionally exhausted, but I love every minute of it. “

It is gut wrenchingly emotional within 10 minutes of the play’s opening scene.  You’re looking around the audience for a psychiatrist in the hopes that they’ll call a 5150-psychiatric hold on these two. The first scene opens on a sparsely furnished bar set, clearly a dive. Roberta is sitting legs apart, sprawled in one of the chairs, beer in hand, eating pretzels with the scariest resting bitch face imaginable that screams, “Don’t mess with me.” Danny, keeping it classy in his dirty wife beater, greasy hair, blackened eye, bloodied hands and carrying a pitcher of beer and a mug enters a few minutes later and sits at the table across from Roberta. Already my thoughts run to how I’d never want to meet either of these two loose screws in a dark alley.

Couple that thought with the intimacy of Theater68 whose stage is less than 3 feet from the theater’s front row, and the audience has an “in your face” view of quite possibly the most damaged people you will ever come across. The theater’s intimate design invites the audience to step into the character’s deepest despair. Occupying that space between madness and redemption causes one to feel as if they have over stepped boundaries right into Roberta and Danny’s circle of pain, hopelessness, venomous anger and ultimate redemption. It is uncomfortable, almost too personal, and too raw of an experience to digest in such a small space and span of time.

Marmo no stranger to Danny and the Deep Blue Sea directs Marino and Burcham’s broken and battered Roberta and Danny with the skill of someone who has walked the dark side of this play; beginning by setting us up with Shanley’s self-destructive characters that collide with each other with the intensity of a perfect storm. The excellent direction and acting guarantees turning away is not an option, though one may at times desire to do so!

These are truly broken and nasty characters, raw, bitter, and filled with hatred, anger and rage at the circumstances in their lives. Roberta a 31 yr old divorced, single mother with a jacked up 13 yr old son both live with her parents and she loathes it. She heads to the local dive bar in her neighborhood seeking some peace of mind from her own screaming thoughts. Burcham when asked to describe Danny had this to say “He’s a gorilla, he’s a brute, and he’s dangerous, he’s a poet …. And he’s vulnerable.”  29 yr old Danny who looks older than his years is fresh from a street brawl arrives at the bar, bruised, bloodied and weary from the turmoil in his life hoping to find solace from the rage for just one night.

J. Bailey Burcham and Renee Marino as Danny and Roberta.

From there on a ping – pong match of words laced in deep pain and rejection lead these two perfect strangers to unburden themselves on one another in the hopes of receiving forgiveness, acceptance, and redemption from their painful pasts.

Burcham (Damn Yankees, The Producers) and Marino (Jersey Boys the film, Damn Yankees) are fiery, repulsive and endearing as Danny and Roberta. These two play off each other with such intensity that the audience is left gasping, and then holding its breath, unable to jump in to help, unable to look away from the chaos in front of them.  In one terrifying scene, so close is the audience to the stage that they can see the sweat on Danny’s brow and hear Roberta whisper “harder,” as she stares death in the face.

A sob is heard from the audience as the reality of being thrust into the very vortex of these two desperate, shredded people is too much to grasp. Roberta begins to crack open, a desire to ease Danny’s pain and not just her own emerges. She begins to veer toward a more temporary release wielding the only weapon she has against a man who towers over her; her beauty, her body.  In desperation, she begs Danny to come home with her and to “pretend” for just one night that they see the light in each other, rather than the darkness.

Alone in Roberta’s room they begin to settle into the idea that they can have what others have. Roberta telling Danny that he’s not a beast and “Why can’t we have one night? I need to step away from myself just for one night.”  Danny grabs Roberta’s bride doll off the shelf and begins to question her about it. He tells her that he went to a wedding once.  “I wanted to be the bride, all dressed in white, flowers, and people talking nice, special. Yeah special.  I wanted to be the bride.” Not because he was conflicted, but because for once he wanted others to look on him as special, attractive. Danny’s vulnerability begins to come through and Roberta begins to open up to him. Slowly at first than like a flower, petal by delicate petal opens as she tells Danny,

“Let’s be romantic with each other Danny.”  Danny resists at first, but then with these simple ineloquent words, “You got a nice nose…it’s like, it looks at ya, your nose, and says “hello”.  And you got a nice chin too. It goes up when you smile. Like a balloon. No better, like a bird! Yeah, like some kind of bird.”

His words flow over her soul like a healing balm, telling her he loves her “friendly ears” and her nose that says “HELLO!”  They become vulnerable with each other in a sweet halting way.  Roberta becoming endearing as we see her through Danny’s eyes.  Danny becomes more like a teddy bear than a beast with his silly words and his adorable grin, “sexy hair,” and “beautiful eyes” as we begin to see him through Roberta’s eye. Danny proposes and she accepts. They fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to the sound of birds outside of Roberta’s window.

Having been given a taste of the beauty, peace and normalcy he has always craved, Danny has now found something worth fighting for. In a desperate attempt to help Roberta forgive herself, he offers her the very thing she needs for her stained and tattered soul…forgiveness. Roberta is offered the ultimate gift by Danny. All she has to do is receive it.  Will she?  Can she?  Come see the play and find out! Bring the Kleenex! Lastly, this production is not for the faint of heart, and absolutely not for a younger audience. Keep the kiddies at home unless you want them to end up in therapy! It is that disturbing.

POISON

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Flynn and Katie Zeiner

Kelsey Flynn and Nicola Tombacco

John Patrick Shanley’s 15-minute play Poison makes its world premier under the direction of Kay Cole at Theater68. This one act play stars Italian actor Nicola Tombacco as (Kenny), Kelsey Flynn as his desperate girlfriend (Kelly,) and Katie Zeiner as a con artist, gypsy fortune teller. Zeiner is out to make a buck at Kelly’s expense. Kelly is obsessed with getting Kenny her ex boyfriend back, and she’s willing to spare no expense at insuring that she regains his love. Zeiner’s hilariously played gypsy fortune teller is more than happy to assist Kelly by selling her a poison that should do the trick! Emphasis on trick here!  Shanley’s Poison presents before Danny and the Deep Blue Sea.

 Extended Two Weeks! 

Ticket Information:

www.plays411.com/danny

Or call 323-960-4429

Theater68

5112 Lankershim Blvd. North Hollywood, Ca 91601

 panicproductions.org

John Patrick Shanley’s Twofer “Danny And The Deep Blue Sea,” And “Poison” Make For An Intense Night Of Theater At @Theater68 In NoHo! North Hollywood, CA (TheHollywood360.com) 03/26/2017 –  Panic! Productions in conjunction with Theater68 located at 5112 Lankershim Blvd, North Hollywood presents John Patrick Shanley’s twofer - the world premiere of Shanley’s 15-minute play “Poison” and “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea.” Set design for Poison and Danny and the Deep Blue Sea by Danny Cistone, with lightening designed by Jenny Nwene.